The Art of Listening

"A disaster was coming near. I almost asked Faussone how he could have committed such a serious oversight, but I restrained myself, to keep from spoiling his story. In fact, just as there is an art of story-telling, strictly codified through a thousand trials and errors, so there is also an art of listening, equally ancient and noble, but as far as I know, it has never been given any norm."

Not in Hong Kong, anyway – the only place where they don't wait to hear your telephone number first before repeating it back to you.

Friar Tuck

I promised a bit of investigative new journalism in the wake of the revelation that Hong Kong hacks charge punters 1,800 dollars a head ("head" seems particularly apt, as it is a sort of bounty: "Pay up and we'll look after you") to attend their annual knees-up at the world-famous Mira Hotel ... somewhere in Kowloon.

Rather like the friars of medieval England, who gained quite a reputation for running a side business in bestowing absolutions and pardons in return for saying a special mass for their benefactors, their modern counterparts at the HKJA are happy to grant an indulgence when it is expedient.

The highlight of the HKJA beanfeast (an able bean counter must be a key ingredient in the recipe for a successful evening – a successful year, even) is the auction, which typically follows performances by a third-rate local celeb and a Government official (they don't qualify for ratings).

The auctioneer badgers and embarrasses tables into upping the bid for such choice items as a calligraphy penned by the tedious guest of honour or a bottle of red wine (French, of course – the realities of international viniculture are rather lost on locals, who prefer to be able to get a kick out of being able to pronounce Château Latour), until they finally go for a staggering 20 or 30 thousand dollars.

Drawing on the HKJA's code of ethics (yes, they have one), which has a rather nice bit which says that "a journalist shall strive to ensure that the information he/she disseminates is fair and accurate", it would be more accurate to say that he badgers and embarrasses some of the tables, but not others.

Thus (and I know there will be some who find this difficult to believe – it isn't after all very fair, is it?) the likes of Commercial Radio, Metro Radio and Cable TV are never bullied, while dear old RTHK gets it like the spotty boy at school with the National Health glasses held together with a Band-Aid.

But buying an overpriced bottle of the undrinkable produced by the unendurable for the uneducatable is a price that the many large organisations which attend these events are only too happy to pay. What's 30 grand for the likes of CLP Power, Hongkong Electric, PCCW, the MTRC, Ocean Park and the Hospital Authority, when they understand that their reward for swelling the coffers of the HKJA will be to see the iron fist replaced by the kid glove for the remaining 364 days of the year?

Mira, Mira on the Mall

No beer and sandwiches for the annual beano of the Hong Kong Journalists Association, which will be held on 15 May. Instead, they're charging organisations $21,600 per table for the privilege of attending a dinner at the Mira Hotel in Tsim Tsa Tsui.

That's the Miramar in old money, which is not only not the most salubrious joint in town, but also not by any means the most expensive. Certainly, not compared to the InterContinental (formerly known as the Regent), where the hacks used to host their annual jamboree – at a mere $18,800 a table.

One wonders what the theme of the evening will be. How to survive the recesssion? Journalistic ethics?

FedEx in for Bumpy Ride?

FedEx Express (a company that clearly graduated from the CLP Power school of naming) is among the organisations whose representatives will be dispensing their wisdom at the snappily-named "Classified Post/Hewitt Best Employers in Hong Kong 2009 HR Conference‏" on 25 May.

As regular readers will know, I'm usually a tad sceptical about the benefits of attending these kind of events. But at just a thousand bucks a head for early-bird SCMP subscriber applicants, this one is a snip compared to previous shindigs with assorted has-beens.

I'm sorely tempted to go along. Not only does the Grand Hyatt do decent grub, but I'm guaranteed to receive "successful insights directly from the top minds", that is, from "senior management of companies that are surviving and thriving in the downturn".

As if the opportunity to sit at the feet of one of Hong Kong's top minds, that of the Secretary for Labour and Welfare, Matthew Cheung Kin Chung, wasn't enough, the lure of listening to Clifton Chua, the managing director of the local branch of FedEx Express, explaining how FedEx is "thriving" is virtually irresistible after the recent bumpy landing at Tokyo's Narita Airport, an accident which left no crew member "surviving". (The action begins at the 30 second mark.)

I wonder if Clifton will do a bunk.

Luck of the Irish

The envy of the hordes of drunken New Zealanders who have descended on Wan Chai to whinge to Filipino bargirls about a referee that lost them the World Cup two years ago, this morning I received two pairs of tickets for the Hong Kong Sevens courtesy of the SCMP, who were running a competition modestly asking the participant to answer the tricky poser: "If the SCMP were a rugby player, who would that be and why?"

Like a teacher at HKU SPACE badgered by students to give them "tip-si" before an exam, the newspaper kindly provided the key to success, spelling out in the rubric that "a bit of pandering will be judged favourably".

So, pander I did – and won one of the ten sets up for grabs, as I did a couple of years ago.

One very happy Irishman will be enjoying the Sevens, since I prefer to hold onto the few brain cells I still possess, skip all the mismatches and non-contests and tune in for the final on Sunday evening in time to see the great Ben Gollings guide England to another victory.

After Ireland's Grand Slam win at the weekend, Seamus says he's going to punt plenty on a West Indies win over Scotland. After all, he reckons, still pinching himself after his stroke of fortune in acquiring tickets at the eleventh hour at face value, good luck always comes in threes.

Show Me a Normal Person ...

... and I'll cure him. I'm not sure who first said it, but it's a recurring theme of thinkers and writers. Maybe because they're living the vida loca themselves.

Primo Levi expresses this idea through his character Faussone (probably the only literary hero whose occupation is a crane rigger) in The Wrench, as the skilled manual worker reflects on the Calabrian girl he took along with him on his first job:

"At first, I thought she was kind of strange. I didn't have any experience, and I didn't know that all girls are strange, one way or another, and if one isn't strange that means she's really much stranger than the others, because she's abnormal; I don't know if you follow me.”

I think we all do.

Then there's Aldous Huxley in his Brave New World Revisited (actually a better read than the original published 26 years earlier in 1932), where he quotes psychiatrist Erich Fromm:

"'Let us beware of defining mental hygiene as the prevention of symptoms. Symptoms as such are not our enemy, but our friend; where there are symptoms there is conflict, and conflict always indicates that the forces of life which strive for integration and happiness are still fighting.' The really hopeless victims of mental illness are to be found among those who appear to be most normal. 'Many of them are normal because they are so well adjusted to our mode of existence, because their human life has been silenced so early in their lives, that they do not even struggle or suffer or develop symptoms as the neurotic does.'"

Huxley's point is that people who are able to adjust to an abnormal society (what he calls de-individualised people) may thereby merely be demonstrating the parlous state of their health. Such adjustment can be a measure of their mental sickness.

Something to consider for parents or educators who are attempting to bring up bright, "well-adjusted" children. The brightness in those young eyes may yet be replaced by a vacant stare in later life.

Playing Before Oneself

I will review more fully the extraordinary historical novel Jud Süss ("Jew Süss") by the German-Jewish writer Lion Feuchtwanger when I have seen the film version made by the Nazis. This proved to be the most successful anti-Semitic feature film ever made – compulsory viewing for SS and police, as well as for Einsatzgruppen before they headed east to "wipe up" behind regular army units. It was also sent to the non-Jewish populations of areas to which Jews were about to be deported to make sure they fell into line with officially mandated Nazi "truth". By 1943, three years after release, Jud Süss had been seen by more than 20 million people.

Jud Süss is a fable about the disatrous consequences of the lust for power, the desire for mastery and the enslavement to concupiscence. The book is dark and disturbing, complex and chilling: there are no good characters, and the evil characters, although often weak, stupid and proud – rather, because they are weak, stupid and proud – make the reader feel uncomfortable because they hit too close to home.

Here is the eponymous anti-hero, Joseph Süss Oppenheimer, attempting to justify himself before his uncle, Rabbi Gabriel, trying to convince both his uncle and himself that his primary motivation was not to enrich himself as the Emperor's financial councilor:

"He clasped the idea to him, for it flattered him; he had suggested it to himself so as to be able to suggest it to the other. He played before himself almost more than before the other, destiny, conviction, a mission."

Loving Your Work

"If we except those miraculous and isolated moments fate can bestow on a man, loving your work (unfortunately the privilege of a few) represents the best, most concrete approximation of happiness on earth. But this is a truth not many know."
(Primo Levi, The Wrench)

Sitting on the Fence

... is presumably okay. But lying on the fance is strictly prohibited at the Sai Kung Sports Ground, where father and daughter won Gold in the parents/students 4 x 100 metre relay.

Only two teams, mind.

Not Enough Attention as a Child?

At lunch yesterday in one of my local cha chaan tengs, I had one of those experiences that isn't as rare in Hong Kong as it ought to be; so common, in fact, that it's earned its own category in my fancy new indexing system, "Hong Kong Theatrics" (although why I should then have a separate category called "Hong Kong Government" is a good question).

I'd just placed my order when this Chinese fellow comes over from a nearby table to say something to me in English, which I don't catch.

"I'm sorry," I say, returning to my Jud Süss.

The chap is persistent, but I still can't understand him. Even the man I'm sharing the table with seems perplexed.

Third time and I get it. He's complimenting me on my Cantonese, which is very decent of him but hardly a reason to leave his seat. After all, ordering a club sandwich and a coffee isn't that difficult.

Pregnant Pause Denied Lily Chiang

The fraud charges against former Hong Kong General Chamber of Commerce Chairman Lily Chiang Lai Lei will go ahead in the District Court on 3 April, after her application for a four-month adjournment was rejected by Acting Principal Magistrate Bina Chainrai. As the prosecution noted, Lily and her defence team have already managed to have the case adjourned several times since charges were first laid against her in January 2008.

At the age of 47, Lily is six months' pregnant with her fourth child, which is due on 19 June according to Apple Daily.

Charged alongside Lily is Pau Kwok Ping, formerly chief executive of Eco-Tek Holdings, the company founded by the beleaguered mother to be. Together they face two counts of fraud stemming from alleged dealings during the company's initial public offering. Pau has followed his ex boss's lead by applying for a judicial review, in the, I suspect, equally forlorn hope of obtaining a jury trial, but this will at least give the accused a bit more breathing space, as proceedings could only start, it seems, once a determination on that point has been made.

Pau, as one might expect, is an interesting character in his own right, as is clear from a 2004 SCMP article by Stephen Seawright entitled "An out-of-court settlement ends a three-year lawsuit against suspect shareholding transactions", from which I will draw, as linking to the Post is a waste of time, since only subscribers can read any article cited.

In 2000, the company of which Lily was chairman at the time, Pacific Challenge Holdings, placed new shares worth almost 20 per cent of the firm's stock to two independent individuals, one of whom was Pau, who despite being an executive director of the Chiangs' family company, Chen Hsong Holdings, was deemed independent under the listing rules.

As Seawright wryly observes, "The placement shows how the general mandate, which allows new shares worth 20 per cent of existing stock to be issued in one tranche, could be used by management to dilute the influence of shareholders with whom they are at odds. Slashing the permitted size of the general mandate would lead more companies to use rights issues, giving shareholders the chance to raise their stakes to prevent dilution. So far, Hong Kong's regulators have refused to do this."

All this followed the proposed purchase of a firm called Cents.com, an interesting attempted piece of business which was successfully voted down in a shareholder revolt led by Norwegian minority shareholder Kistefos Investment under its chief executive Erling Thiis, who insisted on poll voting (one share, one vote) at a time when it was the norm for connected transactions to be conducted on a one shareholder, one vote basis.

As Thiis wryly observed in March 2002, "I would not advise international investors and fund managers to invest here as the standards of corporate governance are questionable and the regulatory system appears to be flawed. Regrettably I have experienced Hong Kong as a banana republic."

Back to Lily and I can't help wondering if she's hoping her case will be heard by Amanda Woodcock, another Acting Principal Magistrate, who appears to be possessed of a very equable and forgiving disposition towards minor Hong Kong celebrities.

On the Shelf

The Hong Kong public library system has a lot to commend it, especially in terms of the range of books stocked and the reservation and pick-up facility. However, when it cites the UNESCO manifesto to underscore its role as a "living force for information and as an essential agent for the fostering of peace and spiritual welfare through the minds of men and women", a return to Planet Earth would be in order.

Some time ago I drew attention to their email notification service, which pledges to deliver the first overdue notice to borrowers "15 days after due date", when other libraries actually tell you in advance. Mind you, I bet they don't amass so much in fines.

Recently, on a trip to Causeway Bay to celebrate a birthday at the excellent Cammino restaurant at the Excelsior (fellow lamb lovers should know they serve the best rack in town), I stopped off at the Central Library to pick up a recording of Monty Python's Life of Brian, which was listed as being "On shelf". It was only when I got to the counter that I was told that I could only watch it in the library. I asked them to change the wording under "Status" to reflect this, but I'm not holding my breath.

I would, following the practice of those people who write to the SCMP to say that they'll never use various goods and services again – as if Cathay Pacific, Microsoft, Nestlé, etc. care that much – blacklist Hong Kong Public Libraries, but sadly they operate a bit of a monopoly. And, as I say, they've got some good books. A fair trade, I suppose, for a bit of peace and spiritual welfare.

Treacherous Paths and Disturbed Slopes

Having walked in the Tai Po Kau Nature Reserve last Sunday in the mist, I returned on Saturday afternoon to enjoy a tramp through sun-dappled woods.

The lizards were out in force, scuttling into the undergrowth at my appoach, as were some of the other common fauna associated with a walk in Hong Kong, including the Security Guard and the couple in training for an assault on the north face of the Eiger.

The flora was no less varied, including a Palm Rampant and two vines entwined in quite a fight for supremacy on the forest floor.

This week I decided to extend the walk to take in Grassy Hill, which at 647 metres gives panaromic views of Tai Mo Shan, the Shing Mun Reservoir, Ma On Shan and The Palazzo in Sha Tin.

To get from the Nature Reserve to Grassy Hill, you need to take a path off the Yellow Walk at the southern-most point of the Tai Po Kau forest walks. After taking the fire road-access road for 100 yards, you turn right. This turning is very hard to miss, as the Hong Kong Government have kindly posted a sign asking walkers to exercise caution in the face of any disturbed slopes they may encounter.

This warning complements one they've posted in the Nature Reserve alerting hikers to the threat posed by seditious, obscured footpaths. And there was I thinking the the people trying to enact Article 23 were the real obscurantists! There's so much to learn on a stroll through the Hong Kong countryside.

The landslip itself proved a bit of an anti-climax – no need for crampons here.

However, the next bit of the walk (turn right 300 yards down the forbidden footpath) is quite a test, as you climb 300 metres in about 1,500 metres to the summit, which is pretty steep. Not a problem, though, for a gang of brave souls who'd been sent out to paint the electricity pylon halfway up the hill. With a bit of help from coils of rope and some sachets of Emergency Drinking Water, they'd safely negotiated their way up to their post.

I, in my turn, after pausing on top of the trigonometrical point at Grassy Hill for a cup of coffee from my trusty thermos and overcoming the temptation to "deface or damage" the obelisk, laregly because I didn't have my Swiss Army knife with me, made my way back to my car on the Tai Po Road via Lead Mine Pass and the Blue Path. As pleasant a way to spend four and a half hours on a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon as I can think of.

Did the earth move for you?

News from the telegraph online that Ed Milliband's girlfriend is the "preferred counsel" for a company seeking a £20 billion nuclear power deal from his department.

No wonder they call him energy secretary.

Good Coffee Guide

Words of wisdom form Primo Levi in The Wrench:

"We had finished our coffee, which was loathsome, as in all countries where the accent on the word for coffee falls on the first syllable ..."

The story's set in Russia, which won't surprise anyone who's been there.

Day For Night

Having watched enough contemporary movies recently, I decided to take a couple of fabled French films out from the university library. The first, by Jean-Luc Godard was Weekend (this was before the insane Académie française decreed that English words were de trop, though Godard clearly intends to signal his attack on Western values by using the Anglicism). And it's crap. Boring and, naturellement, pretentious. It's also dated – with its references to the Six-Day War, the Vietnam War and the war between the sexes. The only decent bit comes at the beginning, when the bird – who's quite tasty – starts discoursing (they discourse in these kinds of French films) about a lesbian experience she once had. Sadly, though, no flashbacks, and it's all downhill from there.

What, though, can one say about Francois Truffaut's Day for Night (La Nuit Americaine)? It's not only probably the best film made about film-making, it's also a wonderful film in its own right. Funny and poignant, above all it's a film about being human. It even features a cameo by Graham Greene, as an insurant agent, a particularly plummy, not to mention, tall insurance agent.

The film is brimful of memorable scenes: the kitten who can't act (it must have been watching Graham Greene), the fading alcoholic actress who can't remember her lines or even where the sitting room door is. In a special feature on the DVD, Nathalie Baye (who's aged far better than co-star Jacqueline Bisset) recollects that there were two scenes which Truffaut in retrospect had wished he'd included in the film. One would have shown the iconic morning make-up session, by which the insecure private person is transformed (to some extent, at any rate) into the confident actor. The other would have focused on the nitty gritty of filming a love scene, showing all the paraphernalia in the bedroom, as well as the man whose job is to ruffle the bedsheets and the actor who hates being kissed.

Agnes Wu Running on Empty due to 20-hour Working Days

It has emerged that Agnes Wu Man-ching, dealing director of Karl-Thompson Securities turned TV pundit, was probably running on empty (apart from maybe the odd chicken from the wet market, which isn't a lot better when you think about it) when she broke down on Cable TV on Monday afternoon after hearing that HSBC had slid to a 13-year low.

In an interview granted to the SCMP a while back, Agnes confessed that besides being a supporter of the opaque small-circle functional constituency system and an opponent of politicians who claim to help blue-collar workers when "they are not part of the blue-collar class and send their children to international schools", she worked 20 hours a day. Goodness me! Someone send this woman on a time management course.

The interview hints at other factors that may have had some part to play in her meltdown. In one of her four free hours a day she goes to the wet market for chicken – does a stall stay open all night for her, I wonder? – and, far more seriously as far as potential damage to her health is concerned, while at the market, she saw, as if in a vision, Rita Fan Hsu Lai-tai "on her left" and Ma Lik "on her right". Enough to send anyone over the edge.

"Overall, I feel very remote and detached from their world," she lamented to the interviewer. A cry for help that no one seems to have heeded – with such tragic consequences.

Agnes Wu Video + Subtitles for the Hard of Believing

Not Agnes Wu Mang-ching, the financial analyst, who broke down on Cable TV yesterday when HSBC dropped from HK$37 to HK$33 after the kind of hit usually seen only on racedays at Sha Tin.



She was devastated at the impact it might have on the poor people who were rich enough to buy the shares at 80 dollars a pop last year. In minimum lots of 400, that works out at HK$32,000, so if I were you, my lamb, I'd save the tears for a more worthy cause.

Revolutionary Road

Although not nominated for best film, Revolutionary Road is a cut above at least two of those films, Milk and the execrable Slumdog Millionaire. It's the kind of film that provokes discussion, a film my 12-year-old daughter raves about, so much so that she wants to read the book when her schoolmate's finished with it.

If it weren't for the fact that I'm married and not generally in the mood for a dissection of marriage – that's a feature of marriage, perhaps even the function of marriage – I'd probably want to read the novel by Richard Yates, which probes uncomfortably below the surface of affluent 1950s America. By all accounts it's superior to the film starring Kate Winslet and Leonardo di Caprio in their first outing since the one set on (and off) the Belfast-built boat.

A number of critics have carped (with some justification) about the stageiness of the production and the overly-stylised approach. David Ansen of Newsweek is representative of this school:

"[Sam] Mendes, a superb stage director, has an innately theatrical style: everything pops off the screen a little bigger and bolder than life, but the effect, rather than intensifying the emotions, calls attention to itself. Instead of losing myself in the story, I often felt on the outside looking in, appreciating the craftsmanship, but one step removed from the agony on display."

While I think that's a fair criticism, mine is rather more prosaic; namely, that, while the young couple think of themselves as "special and superior", there's absolutely no evidence for this assertion, apart from the fact that they're played by Kate Winslet and Leonardo di Caprio. Thus, the only book on view in the entire film is Berlitz French, which Leo's seen holding a couple of times. Leo and Kate appear to have no talents and no hobbies.

Now, my wife says that this is part of the message of the film, some kind of ironical underpinning. She may well be right, but I can't help feeling that what was left in the book might be the key to a truer and fuller understanding of the story the author wanted to tell.

Putting Tai Kok Tsui on the Map

First, a piece of useless information. When Sun Hung Kai Properties wanted to put their new development in Mei Foo on the market, they arranged to have the address of an office building on the same street changed. Thus, what had for 20-odd years been housed at No. 1 Po Lun Street changed overnight to No. 9 Po Lun Street, so that Manhattan Hill could get top billing on that street.

By another numerological sleight of hand that would have done Mayor Daley and the Dems proud in 1960, the four towers that shoot some 65 floors into the sky were changed to six – four being an unlucky number in Chinese society, since it sounds like "die" – by the simple expedient of dividing one block into two and disappearing Block 4 as if it were just another opponent of the Argentinian regime dropped into the South Atlantic from a great height under Messrs Videla and Galtieri.

Just down the road from Mei Foo, 88 ("Double Dosh") Tai Kok Tsui Road is the address that has been cunningly obtained by the moneymen behind Kowloon's latest "boutique hotel", The Cosmo Kowloon Hotel. A recent missive that found its way onto my desk proclaims with more than a hint of desperation that "Cosmo Kowloon Hotel is located in the 'Olympic' area of Tai Kok Tsui, an area full of interesting local culture".

But it gets better. The marketing manager whose unenviable task it is to sell this venue, one Phoebe Chu, asks us to "drop her a line" on her telephone number. Perhaps such scrambling of her brain cells is the price she has to pay for coming up with a "vision" for the Cosmo Kowloon Boutique Hotel which is to "Put Tai Kok Tsui on the map".

The SCMP Will Fight Them on the Beaches ... That'll Be Five Grand, Thank You

Who knows what those pesky electoral colleges would have done, but in the popular vote for the re-run of the 1960 election, John Kennedy edged out Richard Nixon by 12 to 10. Though close, this could not match the popular vote in November 1960, when, after the inevitable recounts and charges of fraud (especially in Texas, where Kennedy's running mate Lyndon Johnson was Senator), Kennedy beat Nixon by just one tenth of one percentage point – the closest call since the nineteenth century, when only a portion of all those men who were created equal with those inalienable rights were permitted to have their say. (Women's inalienable rights didn't kick in in the land of the free until 1920.)

Reflections such as these appear minor when set against the financial tsunami, or, as the SCMP is calling it, "the most significant economic turmoil since World War II". Apparently, the best way to pilot your enterprise through the destructive 30-foot waves is to shell out HK$5,400 (warning – this is the "early bird" rate and expires on 30 March) to attend a workshop with one Tom Peters on "business in a disruptive, recessionary age". Me, I'd prefer to put my enterprise in the hands of Captain James T. Kirk, Sulu and, especially, Uhura.

Which brings us, and not before time, to this week's poll. Is Asia's greatest newspaper underselling itself with a subscription of only 400 bucks per anum? After all, you have to be an asshole to subscribe.

Silly Woman Smashes Through 5 Million Youtube Hit Barrier

You read it here first. Now Simon Parry has taken up the story (subscribers only) in today's SCMP:

'Cathay had established through an internal inquiry that a member of its ground staff shot the video, the spokeswoman said. However, the video was not posted on YouTube by that employee, she added [ahem - shades of GilliangoesdownonEdisongate].

"We have conveyed the findings of our inquiry to the passenger concerned and her family, and have issued an apology for the inconvenience and embarrassment she may have suffered ['may have'?! which planet have you flown in from, love?] as a result.

"The staff member who took the video has been disciplined [ooh! kinky! did it involve uniforms and insignia ... a threesome with a SIA hottie?] and cautioned against repeating such behaviour," she said.'

All in all, tremendous PR for Cathay Pacific Airways. Never before have they succeeded in getting all their stakeholders (board, shareholders, pilots, flight attendants, ground staff, management across three continents, and, last and very much least, passengers) united in the same cause. Even the 49ers will descend from their soapbox momentarily to have a good laugh at this silly woman's expense.

The last word, though, must go to that spokeswoman: "She [the silly woman] was surprisingly quiet and dignified in the [4-hour] meeting [we had with her to discuss whether she could have the fish next time 'cos she doesn't think the pork is fresh]".

Love it.

Pap Smear

Just when you thought he or she couldn't get any funnier, Sham Shui Po Boy has outdone himself in her recent site updates.

This is good:

"It's important for our readers to know we fully expect that that smear against us will happen sometimes. When you encounter it, we hope you would look into the attacker's motive and the reason behind the slander."

but this is even better:

"I take your criticism or aspersion as a positive, it reminds me of the scriptural warning, 'Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you'."

A persecution complex going toe to toe with a superiority complex; projection vying for the moral high ground with a Jesus complex. As the psychiatrist said of Basil Fawlty, there's enough material here for an entire conference.

Hissy Fit Woman Seeks Compensation from Cathay Pacific

The Chinese woman who threw her toys out of the cot and then dived out herself to join them on the floor in a display that, had it come just one week earlier, would have been eligible for Best Foreign Actress Oscar, flew back to Hong Kong from her creche in San Francisco recently to claim compensation from Cathay Pacific Airways.

Apprently, she wasn't demanding redress for the fact that she turned up 20 minutes after she had been told that the boarding gate would be closed, her luggage having already been taken off the plane so that passengers on that flight and succeeding ones could arrive at their destinations on time. No, she was demanding compensation for the alleged fact that Cathay Pacific groundstaff had secretly filmed her antics on a mobile phone.

Of course, the groundstaff are all denying it, and there is no hard evidence, only Poirot-like deduction along the lines "Who else could it be, given that Cathay Pacific staff would immediately ask a member of the public to stop filming such an incident"?

My mole at the airport informs me that the woman and her husband were locked in talks with Cathay's Customer Relations Manager for four hours, trying to get a free round-trip out of the company. Whether she got that isn't known (not yet - it'll no doubt be on Youtube soon enough), but she did manage to get an upgrade to Business Class for the trip back across the Pacific.

So, maybe Wu Fung-style complaining does work, after all.

Musical Chairs

What is with the Hong Kong compulsion for sitting down somewhere and then getting up and changing seats? Trains, buses, restaurants – even if you're half way through the meal.

Slumdog Millionaire

The best I can say about Slumdog Millionaire is that people who liked Love Actually or Mamma Mia will enjoy this bit of mumbai-jumbo, which unaccountably swept the board at the Oscars.

Of course, it's not unaccountable if you consider what the morons who choose these films are looking for. Wanting to salve their consciences – what is left of them – they are easy prey for anything that romanticises all the things they secretly despise, like poverty, powerlessness, prostitution and any kind of handicap.

Like Mamma Mia and Love Actually, Slumdog Millionaire is a shameless feel-good film that is likely to make the thinking person feel anything but good. The protagonist Jamal belongs to Bombay's minority Muslim community (of course – rich Sindhis being good only for lavish weddings and jokes like the one that goes if you come to a fork in the road and there's a snake on one road and a Sindhi on the other take the one with the snake). Jamal's first introduced to us as a fellow of about 20 who looks like David Schwimmer and is a contestant on the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire?

Two things stand out about this first appearance. First, the quizmaster is no Chris Tarrant, or even Anne Robinson. In fact, he's a total sleezeball. Second, our Dravid Schwimmer is as dopey as the Friends star. Why else would a guy look so stupid every time he's asked a question he knows the answer to?

Right from the word go you know the television station's going to be coughing up serious money and the quizmaster won't be coughing out the correct answers. You also realise that you're going to be in for the long haul given a torpidity on the contestant's part that makes a tortoise look like a meerkat on benzedrine and a line of chat from the sleezeball that's about as funny as Hugh Grant saying "Fuck, bollocks".

By this time, ten minutes into the film, only one thing is more certain than Dravid winning the dough and thwarting the Michael Douglas lookalike quiz show host, whose beard trebles in length during the first of Dopey's replies alone. This is that we are going to be subjected to a series of flashbacks.

The stereotypes come thick and fast: we have fat cop/thin cop, a choreographed dramatisation of Hindi-Muslim violence, cheeky chappy slum dwellers, toilet humour, plus destitution that is incongruously marked by healthy looking kids and improbably beautiful slum women with incredible teeth, including Jamal's mum, whose early demise was the major disappointment of the movie.

Unable to compete with the older woman in the looks stakes is the girl who falls for Dravid. This slum-babe does so well as a pre-pubescent belly dancer (the Mumbai government is happy for the film to act as a tourism promo so long as traditional Indian values such as no kissing and no prostitution are conveyed along with the glistening skyscrapers) that she's able to undergo the most remarkable transformation between the ages of eight and 20. As a nipper she's as brown as as a berry, but by the time she's out of her teens she's been on the Neutrogena and the SKII and would beat off Hilary Duff in an audition for Snow White.

The house of disrepute is run by the second of the quartet of baddies in the film, an effete pimp called Madam (or was it Madman?), the other two members of the Flab Four being Jamal's older brother Salim (complete with Pam Shriver perm) and his mentor Jawaid, a cricket fan given to throwing his whisky and soda at his flat-screen TV when India lose a wicket to South Africa and teaching his pupil how to get away with wearing open-necked pink shirts with chunky gold chains.

Those waiting for a shot of Eastern mysticism needn't worry, it's imminent (immanent?):

"Money and vimmin are the reasons for most mistakes in life," one of the characters reads from the autocue. "Looks like you're mixed up in boat."

"I answer questions I'm asked," Jamal intones trance-like on the telly, as he leads the audience ever closer to the blissful state of unconsciousness, and himself to union with the perfect being on the whitening treatment.

"If you want something done ..."

... ask a busy person", as the old saying goes, with its inference that the busiest people are also the most efficient and reliable.

I wonder if they have this saying in Hong Kong, where everyone is "busy"?