The Comfort Zone

I am a bit addicted to this whole blogging thing, so I'm always thinking about topics and how I'm going to write about certain things. I really wanted to write a lot about my recent trip to the UK, and the whole time I was there I was on the lookout for interesting things. I had a great time, and I could write pages and pages on what I did, what I saw, my impressions of the place, and my friends, but I'm not sure how many of you would be interested in reading about it. So, what did I take away from the whole experience that I'd be willing to share...? Apart from the vast differences between this trip and the last time I was in London, eleven years ago, there was only one thing that really stood out. There's this little song and dance I do before I go away, especially far away. I do love travel, but I am rather set in my ways, so there are always moments before I go anywhere when I think I would much prefer to stay home. Especially when I'm particularly happy with my home life. Sometimes it's the fear of the unknown, or the sense of upheaval that comes with packing your bags and leaving the familiar behind. Other times it's just sheer laziness, but either way it's a battle to get myself out the door.

Being the first time that I was leaving my son behind this recent trip was no exception, and dragging myself out of that comfort zone caused me a whole lot of angst. I was due to fly out at midnight on Wednesday night but the flights were looking pretty full. Rather than risk not getting on I made a last minute decision to leave on the afternoon flight. I hated the thought of my little guy waking up from his afternoon nap to discover that while he was sleeping his mummy had left the country. I almost pulled out a couple of times but once I was on that plane there was no turning back. The crazy part was that I had wanted this trip. I needed a break, and I've been moaning for months about how hard it is being stuck here while my husband gallivants around Europe and North America (yes, I know it's his job, but it seems so unfair that he has so much fun doing it!). Eleven years ago I travelled because I desperately wanted to be somewhere, anywhere other than where I was. Today I'm living somewhere that feels pretty damn far away from where I started out, but I still feel that same urge to get away. Maybe not as strongly or as often, but the fact that travel is more available to us now, makes me feel like I'm missing out if I'm not taking advantage of it. And yet, at the last minute I really wanted to stay put.

While I was away I read an article where a mum talked about the way motherhood is a series of compromises. She said that there is always a part of you that misses the life you had before children - the freedom and fun and sleep. Then there's the part of you that wants to spend every waking moment with your child, the part that feels like something is missing when your little one isn't with you. You're always torn between the two. I could really relate to that internal battle. In indulging the part of me that needed time out, I was missing out on a week with the little person who is my reason for getting up in the morning. A big part of me was worried that I would miss J so much that I wouldn't enjoy myself, and I wondered whether or not he would forgive me for abandoning him temporarily. But there was also a tiny part of me that worried that I would enjoy being away too much, that I might just decide to hop on a train to Paris and leave the daily grind behind. It was becoming clear to me that maybe it wasn't just the comfort zone holding me back, but the way I was over-thinking everything.

Despite my reluctance to leave I had an amazing trip, and I left to come home feeling like I could've stayed longer.  I didn't have a terrible time but I didn't have such a great time that I couldn't bear to come home again. I think that having a child has made that comfort zone just a little bit more comfortable, but I needed to get out of it to realise just how much I like being exactly where I am. I got a lot out of this trip, but I'll have to fill you in later on how things went down at home while I was away....

London Calling

I’ve written several posts lately about getting away on my own, sans bebe, and I’ve finally committed to doing it. I’m off to London this afternoon and I’ll spend the weekend near Edinburgh with good friends, G and S and their twin girls. This is my second trip to the UK, but given that the first was 11 years ago, I’m expecting things to be a little different.

When I was young, growing up in a small town, all I wanted to do was see the world. I knew it was out there waiting for me, and I couldn’t wait to be a part of it. Three years at uni, learning more about the world, and life, than I had in my previous 18 years of existence, only increased that desire to be somewhere other than where I was. I didn’t have the financial backing to follow through with any of my plans so I worked, and I waited, and at the tender age of 21 I had enough in my pocket to buy a return ticket to London and a 2-week tour of Europe. I did plan to live and work in Ireland for a few months, but the announcement that my 18 year old brother and his younger girlfriend were “in the family way” made me think that perhaps it wasn’t the right time to be worrying my parents with an extended stay abroad…

I left home one very cold September morning, feeling slightly ill at the prospect of finally achieving one of my greatest ambitions. It seemed I had spent so much time convincing everyone around me that I was going to do it, that I forgot to think it through. My mum said I was positively green as we waited at the airport. I said my goodbyes and arrived 12 hours later in Tokyo, where I spent a night before flying for another 12 hours to London. Thanks to a very helpful travel agent my airport transfer and hotel had already been booked and there really wasn’t too much I had to think about. I spent two days seeing the sights of London on my own, and the most adventurous thing I did was buy a ticket on one of those red double-decker buses that travels all day in a loop, and you can hop on and off when and where you like. I was blown away by London, but somewhat disappointed too. I found the people quite rude, and when I was charged 5 pounds (back then the equivalent of $15 AUD) for soggy cereal and burnt toast I wondered why on Earth I had wanted to come all that way.

My first Grand Tour took place in the year 2000. It was a new millennium and it seemed like everyone, everywhere was ready to party. I was 21 and everyone kept telling me the world was my oyster. I had the time of my life on that trip, despite being completely clueless, and I can’t believe that I made it as far as I did back then. I always give myself a pretty hard time about the sheltered life I lead, but looking back I have really come a long way. I was so naïve then that I didn’t know that the airlines offered transfer services from the international to the domestic terminal, instead I rushed out looking for a taxi to get me there for an exorbitant fee. I remember getting off the flight at Heathrow and seeing people heading for the Tube station with their backpacks. They seemed so intrepid and I was envious of their ability to so seamlessly blend in with the locals. I’d never been on a commuter train before, so even something as simple as that was beyond me. I’ve since mastered the Hong Kong MTR and the New York Subway, and it might seem crazy, but I’m incredibly proud of myself for it.

I might know more of the world these days, I’ve certainly seen more of it now, but if anything that makes me more apprehensive about getting on that plane. There’s an ignorant sort of bliss that comes with the naivete I possessed 11 years ago, and it cushioned me while I travelled alone, filled with wide-eyed wonderment. It was a world before 9/11 and the attacks that came after, a world I had very little understanding of but one that seemed benevolent enough. Now the world is a little darker, people are less trusting, and I have a whole lot more to lose. It took a lot of courage (and a pinch of stupidity) to do what I did all those years ago, but I’m feeling pretty damn brave for leaving my boys behind and heading abroad on my own again, even if it is just to the Scottish countryside for the weekend. I can’t begin to tell you how high my levels of separation anxiety are right now!

The first time I travelled there was no such thing as Facebook, no iPhones, no constant link to the rest of the world (which may not have been such a bad thing). I was so thrilled to be on a plane that I didn’t care that I was squeezed between two rather smelly, hungover strangers. I doubt I even realized there were other ways to travel. But today I’m travelling in business class no less. I have the Tube app on my iPhone, pounds in my pocket, and I’ve booked a nice hotel in South Kensington (no more backpacker's hostels or bed bugs for me). And there’s not a travel agent or safety net in sight. I have lunch and dinner plans with friends on Thursday and just the fact that I now know people who live in London feels like an achievement. Turns out the world was my oyster after all. 

A Love Affair

I have to share a guilty secret with you all... I have a new man in my life. We've only been seeing each other for a few months but it already feels like we'll be together for a very long time. A friend introduced us, she insisted I meet him, and I'm glad she did because it was love at first sight. He's sophisticated and stylish, romantic and timeless, and he's Spanish! He makes me feel like a grown-up. It's a pure and uncomplicated relationship; he gives me pretty things and I hand over my husband's hard-earned money, everybody wins (except maybe my husband...). I don't feel like I'm cheating; my husband knows exactly what's going on, but I do spare him the full details at times.

I wanted to take things slowly at first but I very quickly became addicted. We see each other almost weekly, and even when I come away empty handed I still feel like he's made my day a little brighter. I pop in whenever I'm in Central, just to see what he's been up to. Sometimes we only see each other briefly, just a passing glance, but I always go out of my way to see him. Last week he revealed his plans for the summer and I went weak at the knees - I hope I can share just a little bit of that with him. A few of my friends are also having affairs with him, but I don't mind, there's more than enough of him to go around.

I spent a lot of time with him when we were in Manila, it was almost a daily ritual for us there while my husband was out of town; a bit of a reprieve from the madness of looking after two kids. My son has met him a few times, although J isn't so easily won over by his displays of pretty, shiny things. We actually ran into him when we were in Macau recently. It was the first time my husband had met him face-to-face, but it seemed so right that he was there on our special weekend. It was a little awkward at first, and then my husband realised that there were some nice things in it for him too, and we all walked away quite happy with the arrangement. Who is this man who has so captured my heart, I hear you ask? His name is Massimo Dutti, perhaps you've heard of him?

It's hard to find someone who's genuine here in Hong Kong, someone who really understands what I want and offers me longevity and quality; most of them are all glitz and glamour on the outside but once you get them home they turn out to be fake, or worse, they fall apart on you; who needs that? At my age I don't have time to muck around. While I'm still loyal to my good friends Hennes and Mauritz (aka H&M), and will remain so, I've lately been disappointed by that temptress known as Zara, and I fear that our relationship has soured beyond repair (at least until the autumn collection is in). H&M are playful and light, and offer me a little bit of fun, for trips to the playground or impromptu wrestling matches on the carpet. But Massimo is what I want when I'm out on my own, or on a date with my husband, when there's no chance I'm going to end up wearing peach yoghurt or mushy peas. I have no idea how you'd get blueberry stains out of silk, and I never want to know.

Every mum goes through a bit of an image crisis at some point, whether they put on 2 kilos or 20 when they have babies, and we all need to feel beautiful sometimes. Massimo does that for me, and so much more. When I see him he always whispers seductively to me, "darling, you look beautiful today! But how about something in a nautical stripe with a bit of tszuj around the shoulder? Or perhaps a cherry red mini with a belted waist to show off those killer calves of yours? Go on, you know you want to!" Don't even get me started on what he can do with floral chiffon! There's no other word to describe what we share - it's love, plain and simple.

Admittedly all this passion comes at a price, and there are days when I really just want to sit on the sofa in a soft cotton t-shirt and my lulu lemon's, but it's nice to know that Massimo will be there waiting, in the wardrobe and at the mall whenever I need a treat. Don't we all deserve a bit of glamour every now and then?

April Antics

Belated Happy Easter everyone! Easter isn't a big holiday in our household but there's something about celebrating it in the spring that just feels right. There's not a whole lot of chocolate to be had here in Hong Kong, certainly not in comparison to the overwhelming quantities of eggs and bunnies available in Aus at this time of year, but there's enough to make you feel like a bit of glutton. We've also managed to track down hot cross buns, and this year marked the start of a new tradition: Easter Saturday pikelets, something we all embraced wholeheartedly. We decided to forego the roast lamb that we would have had for Sunday lunch if we were down under this Easter, but instead we had quiche with a salad made almost entirely of ingredients fresh from our garden! The lettuce, spinach and herbs are going nuts, and this week I planted tomatoes, eggplant, zucchini, beans and sunflowers. I haven't been this excited about food in a long time and with the weather being absolutely gorgeous I think it's fair to say things are looking up!

We kicked off the Easter weekend on Friday with a 'safari' at Harbour City organised by Little Steps. It was Easter on adrenaline, and J had an absolute ball. There were games and giveaways and a whole lot of giant fluffy rabbit ears, plus the kid's first trip to Toys R' Us. It was a lot of fun and our boy was brilliant. He was just so thrilled to be out somewhere different that he wasn't at all demanding, and he's been like that the whole weekend. I'm sure it won't last so I'm making the most of it! Apart from that (and the Eastery food) there hasn't been too much going on this weekend. We've just been enjoying the sunshine, each other's company and four days without any construction/demolition/endless pole-driving and drilling - it's been bliss!

Working backwards, I want to write about our little sojourn to Macau last week. As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, here, it was our first trip away without J. Leaving him was tough, and he got very upset which didn't help to alleviate the feelings of immense guilt, but the further away we got, the easier it became. We caught the ferry over (a bit hair-raising to be honest) and shuffled through immigration with the rest of the hordes. We were collected by a courtesy bus and driven to our digs for the night The Venetian Macao and the fun began. Firstly, this place is huge, and the whole vibe is composed to make you feel like you're in Venice. From the "gondoliers" at the door to the fake canals, it's all so over-the-top and surreal, but the attention to detail is quite simply superb. We strolled along the canals, shopped a little, and ate a pretty spectacular dinner at Brazilian restauraunt Fogosamba in the heart of the faux St Mark's Square. Apart from eating a meal at a table and having an uninterrupted adult conversation and a glass of wine, the highlight of the trip was Cirque Du Soleil's performance of Zaia. It was breathtaking and awesome and totally spellbinding - I can't say enough good things about it. There were a few downsides to the hotel, like it's not a place for kids, and it's so massive that we spent a lot of time walking to and from places (or getting lost). I also hated the fact that people were allowed to smoke everywhere, even in the elevators, so we were desperate for fresh air after a few hours indoors. I also got asked to leave the pool area while I was sitting at the edge dangling my feet in. Apparently you need to be wearing a swimsuit and take a shower before putting any part of yourself in the water... After spending the night in a suite that was bigger than our house we bypassed the casinos and the perpetual twilight of the canals and caught a cab to Macau city. It was beautiful, not something I ever expected to say about a city on the edge of China, but they obviously take great pride in their heritage, and if you can ignore the Starbucks and McDonald's outlets tucked into the old Portugese terraces, you will feel like you've been transported to another place. We followed the well-trodden tourist path, with a few detours and we weren't disappointed. 

We arrived back home late that afternoon and were greeted with an excited chorus of "mamadadamamadada!" Our helper looked exhausted but our little guy was fine without us. He bit me a few times just to show me that he hadn't been all that impressed about being left behind, but we have definitely been converted to the child-free mini-break. It was nice to be somewhere different and to be reminded of the kind of people we were before we had a baby, and we found we actually had other things to talk about. All in all a great experience. Here are some photos of the old city:

 The old post office

 St Dominic's Cathedral

 The old Macau Fort

 The ruins of St Paul's

And here are a few from The Venetian:

 The Vegas of Asia

 The outdoor canal

 And the indoor one

PS: if you haven't done so already, please head over to the button on the right and vote for me in the Sydney Writer's Centre blog awards (please!). Email subscribers to the blog will need to go to the actual blog to do this (please!).

The Pilot's Wife (the last of the Lost Posts)

A recent lost post, and the most acceptable of those that remain unpublished - they're still in the draft box for a reason...

Before I married a pilot I had this vision of what life as a pilot must be like. I had grand ideas of high salaries and layovers in all sorts of glamorous locations. This may have been true once but it's far from reality now, or at least far from ours. When I met my husband he had just been informed that his airline had gone into liquidation, and he was unemployed. He'd also recently broken up with his girlfriend, and he was homeless and sleeping on a mate's couch. He was undeniably "a catch" and I was instantly smitten. I guess, despite the setbacks, I still had a vision (a cross between Tom Cruise in Top Gun and Rob Lowe in View From the Top) of what a pilot was, and I saw the potential. D was gainfully employed again by the time we hooked up officially, but glamorous it was not. A regional airline based in Sydney, which shall remain nameless, paid him a pittance to fly around NSW in very small planes. For his 30th birthday he was rostered to fly to Dubbo and I went along, not wanting him to be alone. It was one of the bleakest, coldest nights of my life, and will go down in history as one of the crappiest birthdays ever.

When a certain Hong Kong based airline came calling a few years later, it was still a tough call. We had a good life in Sydney, we were happy, we were settled, we had a garden and a dog. But my husband had the "sky in his eye" as his Aunty N would say, and his dream of flying a big plane (aka a jet) was within reach. We were also being offered the chance to actually make some money and live overseas; not something to sniff at. We took a chance and packed our bags (and the dog came too). And four years later, here we are, still searching for that high-flying lifestyle. Don't get me wrong, life here is awesome, and we wouldn't be here if it weren't for my husband's job. I want to state for the record that I know how INCREDIBLY lucky we are, and this (despite appearances) isn't intended to be a "poor me" post. It's more of a "let's get a few things straight" post, because I'm constantly amazed by the number of people who have that same vision of piloting that I did all those years ago. We've met some really interesting and worldly people in our travels but as soon as my husband mentions that he's a pilot, that's all they want to talk about. So for my readers who aren't married to pilots (or related to one), I want to dispel a few myths, hopefully without shattering any illusions for those of you who aren't aware that the guys in charge of the plane are just regular husbands/dads/brothers etc (a fact which still freaks me out sometimes).

Firstly, while destinations like New York and Milan are a really long way from Dubbo and Bathurst (on so many levels), a lot of the time the guys are only there for 24 hours and then they have to turn around and come home. My hubby tries to get out and see as much as he can when he's away, but it's usually on the wrong side of his body clock, so he comes home shattered and takes 2-3 days to recover from the jetlag. Secondly, while it sounds really cool to say "we're off to Paris for the weekend," the reality is that a 12 hour flight for 30 hours in Europe followed by another 12 hour flight is more exhausting than the first few weeks with a newborn. And you can forget about it when you have kids.

Contrary to popular belief pilots and their families don't fly for free. It's ridiculously cheap I'll admit, but you're always on standby. Yes, I'm that crazy lady hurtling through the airport trying to make it to the plane at the last minute. But only because the dear people at check-in wouldn't give me my boarding pass until after the flight closed, and not because I couldn't be bothered to check in on time (chances are I was there several hours before you). My sister-in-law had travel benefits with us one year and she went to the airport 6 days in a row trying to get home to Brisbane. Not fun. We do, correction did, have business class privileges when D first joined the company, but that only meant we could fly business class IF there was a seat available. Imagine turning up, dressed the part, ready for a 16 hour flight to New York, and being told the only seat left on the plane was the one right down the back between the toilet and the overweight snoring man. Children of staff are not allowed in business class either, so once J arrived we were sent back to economy with the rest of the punters. A sad day indeed. I wouldn't mind so much if I didn't know what I was missing. As one friend puts it; "business class isn't just a better seat, it's a better life." The idea that pilots make truckloads of money is also ludicrous. We're not destitute by any means but you've all seen my kitchen, right? And my husband may get a lot of time off in between trips, but when he's away, he's a long long way away, for days at a time. He's so tired and incoherent when he does get back that sometimes I feel like I have two kids. His job might be a hot topic of conversation at get togethers, but to me he's still the guy that forgets to take the garbage out.

At the end of the day being a pilot is just like any other job. You work your butt off for someone else (although watching movies and eating first-class meals enroute to London isn't my idea of hard work), you get paid and you look forward to the weekend, when you may or may not be flying to Paris. Just a regular day at the office really.

Love and Marriage (Lost Post #3)

This post comes from way back in September. Before you read it I have to say I adore my husband. I'm very lucky that he is such an involved dad. We were never at each other's throats, even though this post might give you that impression. This post was written at a time when our nerves were frayed and we were seriously sleep deprived, and had maybe temporarily forgotten how much we adored each other. The post is incomplete, but our story won't be...


This week I have had lots of time to indulge in my favourite pastimes, one of which is blogging. That's because my husband is in London and, at night after J goes to bed, I have the evening stretched out before me with nothing to do but whatever takes my fancy. I always achieve an awful lot (and eat more than my fair share of chocolate) when D is away, and I have to be honest, after two weeks of having him at home, I was quite looking forward to this trip. I know I sound like a terrible wife, and if you have a husband who works a regular 9-5 job and is never at home, you're probably hating me right now. But trust me when I say, you really can have too much of a good thing (the good thing in this case being my husband).

It wasn't always this way. Back when I was young and single, all I wanted was a boyfriend; someone to watch movies, hold hands, and dream of a future with. When I finally got a boyfriend and I decided he was "the One" I spent an awful lot of time wishing we lived together. When that happened it was a natural progression to wishing we were married. Naturally, a year or two after we were married, I started talking about babies. I was always looking for the next step, wanting a little more. I believe that you have to have something to look forward to, something to work towards. Since we became parents the one thing I've been wishing for is for my husband to be at home more. Last year when I was pregnant, D took on a second job. Mostly for the extra money but also because he is the kind of guy who needs to be busy, and he felt that he had too much time on his hands. His second job ended up being more work than his actual career. He worked 9-6 on his days off and still took calls once he was home. He worked every day of the week and, with a newborn baby at home, I found it really hard. The final straw came when he went to work for a day and was on call at his "proper" job. He called me at 4pm that afternoon to tell me he'd been called to fly to Vancouver that night and would be home as soon as possible. I was furious! He'd been gone all day and would only be home to have dinner and pack his bags before going away for 4 days. We both agreed that it simply wasn't worth it. We were both exhausted and cranky, and D was missing out on too much of J's growing up.

It took a couple of weeks but eventually he worked his way out of the 2nd job and now it's more of a hobby. I got my wish, and I have my husband at home, sharing the parenting, when he's not away on a trip. He's home a lot... To those of you out there going it alone most of the time, this probably sounds like a luxury, and it is at times. But it definitely creates a new set of challenges. A good friend warned me when I was pregnant that a little one can really test your relationship. She said that we should be prepared to fight more often. I like a good heated debate but my husband is such a pacifist he could work for the UN, so I had my doubts about that. After a couple of sleep deprived weeks we realised it was true, and it continues today. We do fight more and most of the major disagreements we've had over the last year have occurred at times when we've spent a lot of time together. I'm not sure if that's because we've had time to realise that we disagree or if we're both worked up because we're getting on each other's nerves. I think it has more to do with our levels of fatigue than fundamental differences of opinion, but we've both realised the importance of being on the same page when a little person is involved.

We generally agree on how we want to raise our son, which is a great start (apart from the whole christening debate, which remains unresolved!). But what we've realised through our attempts at co-parenting is that we could work on our communication skills. Shouting commands at each other over the baby's screams or grunting apathetically with exhaustion aren't cutting it apparently. One particular incident that highlighted this concerned J's routine. From the day we brought J home from the hospital I was completely focused on how our days were going to run. I let him call the shots for a couple of months and then decided that we needed a routine of sorts. Feeding, playing and sleeping were all mapped out in a very flexible, but consistent plan, based on the little man's changing needs. The trouble was, it was all in my head. I explained to our helper what I was doing each day and she knew what was going on because she paid attention, but my husband would come home and have no idea that we'd just spent 4 days teaching J to self-soothe. It wasn't until I overheard my husband comment one day on how lucky we were that J napped and ate at roughly the same time every day, and that it was purely by accident, that I realised I had never explained to him that I had been working my butt off while he was away. Initially he had no idea that J and I were like a well-oiled machine, following a carefully orchestrated routine, and I was terribly upset that he couldn't see how hard I had worked to achieve that. I now have J's routine written down on the fridge and I make sure everyone in the house knows when I make changes, but it's taken a huge effort on my part to remember to talk about it (I'm a bit more relaxed 6 months on!).

We had an argument recently over something fairly inconsequential, but because we hadn't communicated how we each felt about it, it escalated to the point where I ended up sending D an email to let him know exactly what was on my mind. I was so sleep deprived and emotional that any time I tried to talk to him I just got upset. It's not an approach I recommend, in fact, it seems crazy now, but our whole world has been turned upside down this year, so it makes sense that the way we would normally do other things has changed too.

P.S. Marriage, like parenting, is a work in progress. And something we've learned since I wrote this post is that dates and mini-breaks are essential!

Lost Post #2

Ok, so this isn't technically a lost post from this blog, but it is a post from another blog that's been neglected for some time. I started a blog when we first moved here to keep family in the loop and fill them in on what life in Hong Kong was like. I spent a lot of time on the old blog and this is one of my favourite posts from the days when I didn't have a kid to write about...


Random Observations

I've started keeping a notebook with me and recording some of the beautiful, bizarre and amusing things I'm noticing about everyday life in Hong Kong. One thing in particular that astounds me is the determination shown by the government when it comes to land reclamation. Most of the local islands, including Hong Kong island itself, are mountains emerging from the sea. They're rocky, covered in thick jungle, and in places seem to be inhospitable. Chinese engineers have achieved amazing feats with their construction of a major city on the edges of this wilderness, but there are times when it seems so ridiculously futile. With the city teetering on the edge of several peaks, subsidence is clearly a problem. The solution for this is slope management, which basically involves covering slopes with concrete or a mesh type material to prevent landslides and rockfalls.

Each slope is registered and has a little plaque with an emergency hotline number on it, should you find the slope not performing its duties. Here on Lantau there is a slope that has been cemented to a height of at least 500metres. Call me crazy but the thought of that volume of concrete falling on me at great speed, frightens me more than a few trees and some dirt. To deal with runoff in the rainy season all of the slopes come fitted with drainage holes and these are a favourite place for snakes to hide out. They're also great for growing bamboo.

Mother Nature seems determined to have the last word here and there are teams of people all over the city whose job it is to maintain the slopes and trim the parks and gardens to within an inch of their lives. I've been told that such severe pruning prevents "vermin" but I get such a kick out of seeing a bright, fire engine-red hibiscus flower bursting out the top of a hedge, or a street littered with purple bauhinia flowers fallen in silent rebellion against the man with the clippers. Here on Lantau they're attempting to build a new road over the hill. The old road is apparently one of the steepest in the region and much of it is single lane. The new road has been under construction for a couple of years now and it will be a few more before it's done. I look at the construction trucks in the shadow of Lantau Peak and they look like Tonka trucks, desperately trying to tame an untameable wilderness.

I secretly hope that one day they'll realise it's all been in vain and go home, but for now I just imagine that the workers are like early explorers, hacking their way through vines and creepers, and I cheer for nature every time I see her getting her own back. On the ferry the other morning there was a cockroach, the epitome of vermin, and as disgusted as I was to see one, I smiled a little and wished him well...it's a jungle out there.