The Class Mother at our eldest son’s New School is kind enough to invite me to coffee to meet some of the other mothers. It’s at the Hong Kong Country Club and I grow slightly anxious about what to wear.
The Club plays a significant part in Hong Kong life. As new arrivals we were often asked, which club are you going to join? along with other essentials such as where are you from? What does your husband do? Where are you living? And which school are the children going to? Five questions and they’ve got you sussed.
My husband regards us both as distinctly unclubby people, shades of Groucho Marx here, “I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member.” So from day one we sat on the fence and decided to wait and see how and when, and indeed if, we thought we’d use a Hong Kong club before we attempted to join. Which, with the benefit of hindsight, has turned out to be a Good Thing.
Many of Hong Kong’s clubs date from colonial times and were formed to provide sporting, social and recreational facilities for their members: the Hong Kong Golf Club, the Hong Kong Football Club, the Cricket Club, the Ladies’ Recreation Club, the Hong Kong Jockey Club to name but a few. On the whole they own large (for Hong Kong) grounds which include sport’s pitches, swimming pools, tennis courts, gyms, bars and restaurants as well as air hockey, table tennis, media rooms and playgrounds for the children. Facilities are well-used at weekends and the club restaurants tend to be packed on Sundays when Hong Kong’s maids have their day off and there is no one to do the home cooking. There is also a long waiting list, a hefty joining fee and a monthly membership subscription. You get the picture.
The last time I was invited to a club it was a school social do at the Hong Kong Jockey Club. I read the dress code which instructed guests that neither jeans, sandals, nor shorts were considered appropriate and selected a neat pair of Joseph trousers and a new cashmere top believing myself to be the embodiment of smart casual dressing. I could hardly have been more wrong.
Everyone else was dressed to the nines for a three course dinner in a private member’s room. I thought we were here to gamble and yell at the horses, I muttered to my Friend, noting as I did that she was wearing the same elegant DVF dress I had helped her select for her 40th birthday party. The Chinese women all looked immaculate in their neat black outfits. One looks at them and thinks, it could be M&S, it could be Chanel. I rather suspect the latter, but their chic dressing appears to be second nature. By comparison I looked as though I was in slacks and a sweater. In fact everyone but me seemed to have got the message that early evening finery was the order of the day. When my husband arrived straight from work he was of course in a suit and looked very much the part. My humiliation was complete
This time I am determined not to be wrong footed. I play tennis on Thursday mornings, not at a club but at the public HK Tennis Centre, and after this I dash home for a shower, put on a Burberry shirtwaister dress which I consider smart but conservative, slap on some makeup (rare occurrence) and introduce my hair to a comb (rarer still). At the last minute I put on some jewellery. Just after 10.30am I am to be observed sitting outside the main entrance to the Hong Kong Country Club, a picture of elegant sophistication.
The Class Mother wanders up and greets me. She is in her tennis kit. She leads me to a table by the pool where a group of mothers are all, without exception, in either jeans or sportswear. They have all finished their coffee for it transpires I have muddled the time and am half an hour late.
What a great impression I have made; late, overdressed and clearly trying too hard.
I have yet to decide which is worse, being underdressed or overdressed. Perhaps it’s as well we’re leaving.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Twenty Questions, almost
I’ve been tagged by Nappy Valley Girl to answer some questions. It’s a list and now that my life is once more defined by “To Do” lists this is one I’m going to rattle off. Besides it’s a welcome distraction from the other rather more ominous things on today's list like;
1. Find home
2. Sell car
3. Book removers
So here goes:
1. What are your current obsessions?
Finding a home.
2. Which item from your wardrobe do you wear most often?
Bra and knickers although pyjamas come a close second.
3. What’s for dinner?
Lasagne. NOT cooked by me. (Enjoy the help, it won’t be around much longer.)
4. Last thing you bought?
Kookai linen trousers.
5.What are you listening to?
My boys talking about boys’ stuff in the dark of their room next door.
6. Favourite kid’s film?
Shrek II
7. Favourite holiday spots?
Amrum in the North Fresian isles, Coll in the Hebrides and the Lizard in Cornwall.
8. What are you reading now?
Submarine by Joe Dunthorne. Jaywalker recommended it.
9. Four words to describe yourself?
Tired, tall, talkative, tidy.
10. Guilty pleasure?
Pedicures.
11. Favourite author?
Lisa St Aubin de Terain
12. First spring thing?
Frangipani flowers. (And to think I thought those trees were dead.)
13. Planning to travel to next?
Xi’an to see the terracotta army.
14. Best thing you ate and drank recently?
Zuma sushi in the Landmark Building. Gin and tonic at Sevva’s rooftop bar.
15. When did you last get tipsy?
Dinner party we threw on Saturday night.
16. Favourite ever film?
The English Patient (another thing we have in common NVG)
17. Care to share some wisdom?
If you plan too soon you plan twice.
18. What new blogs are you reading?
None, I’m always the last to hear…..
19. Biggest regret?
Not having made it to Angkor Wat.
Rules of the meme. Respond and rework. Answer questions on your own blog. Replace one question. Add one question. Tag 8 people.
Now I tag
Not Wrong but Different
Millennium Housewife
Grit’s Day
Family Affairs
Almost American
Motherhood: the final frontier
It’s mostly about me
Mrs Trefusis
1. Find home
2. Sell car
3. Book removers
So here goes:
1. What are your current obsessions?
Finding a home.
2. Which item from your wardrobe do you wear most often?
Bra and knickers although pyjamas come a close second.
3. What’s for dinner?
Lasagne. NOT cooked by me. (Enjoy the help, it won’t be around much longer.)
4. Last thing you bought?
Kookai linen trousers.
5.What are you listening to?
My boys talking about boys’ stuff in the dark of their room next door.
6. Favourite kid’s film?
Shrek II
7. Favourite holiday spots?
Amrum in the North Fresian isles, Coll in the Hebrides and the Lizard in Cornwall.
8. What are you reading now?
Submarine by Joe Dunthorne. Jaywalker recommended it.
9. Four words to describe yourself?
Tired, tall, talkative, tidy.
10. Guilty pleasure?
Pedicures.
11. Favourite author?
Lisa St Aubin de Terain
12. First spring thing?
Frangipani flowers. (And to think I thought those trees were dead.)
13. Planning to travel to next?
Xi’an to see the terracotta army.
14. Best thing you ate and drank recently?
Zuma sushi in the Landmark Building. Gin and tonic at Sevva’s rooftop bar.
15. When did you last get tipsy?
Dinner party we threw on Saturday night.
16. Favourite ever film?
The English Patient (another thing we have in common NVG)
17. Care to share some wisdom?
If you plan too soon you plan twice.
18. What new blogs are you reading?
None, I’m always the last to hear…..
19. Biggest regret?
Not having made it to Angkor Wat.
Rules of the meme. Respond and rework. Answer questions on your own blog. Replace one question. Add one question. Tag 8 people.
Now I tag
Not Wrong but Different
Millennium Housewife
Grit’s Day
Family Affairs
Almost American
Motherhood: the final frontier
It’s mostly about me
Mrs Trefusis
Monday, April 27, 2009
Bloggers of the world unite
Grit has been in Hong Kong with her Gritlets Three. This afternoon they came over to swim and play and have tea. We talked about life in Hong Kong, home education, moving back and blogging and it felt as though we sort of knew each other already. It was a bit covert if I’m honest, a bit like a guilty secret and when the Pioneering Accountant asked how I knew Grit I mumbled something about her being a friend of a friend who might be moving to Hong Kong. Mostly true. I may not have owned I’d met her in the blogosphere quite recently and that neither of us had actually known each other’s real name until a few days ago. Had I admitted that much, he might have thought me irresponsible. Yet Grit and I obviously had a good feeling about each other. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked her over and she wouldn’t have come. Neither of us are axe murderers after all. Just blogging mums who share a patch of cyberspace.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Déjà vu
I will admit to feeling quite cross.
Whilst there is a lot to be positive about (a return to good schools, a challenging new role for the Pioneering Accountant, friends and family, Radio 4, Tesco deliveries, bike rides and green open spaces) I feel like a pawn in someone else’s chess game.
We would have liked to have set the agenda and timescale for our return ourselves, to have had the time to consider where we would like to return to. After three years here it is possible to imagine that we would have had enough of urban living. We might have sold up and moved out of London, sent the children to country schools and recreated ourselves as active participants in village life. Who knows? Pressure of time has removed those choices from us. Instead of a year to six months to think about it we have approximately six weeks.
Whilst it is true that planning for any big event tends to expand to fill the time available without improving the quality of the finished product I feel slightly robbed. Not so much of the remaining two years of our three year term, but of our last months here. Instead of enjoying the summer term, new places to visit and discover, time spent at the beach and the pool, my summer will be spent looking for a place to rent, selling a car, a job lot of dehumidifiers, helping Clarabel find a new job, sorting through the children’s clothes and toys and saying goodbye. Again.
Whilst there is a lot to be positive about (a return to good schools, a challenging new role for the Pioneering Accountant, friends and family, Radio 4, Tesco deliveries, bike rides and green open spaces) I feel like a pawn in someone else’s chess game.
We would have liked to have set the agenda and timescale for our return ourselves, to have had the time to consider where we would like to return to. After three years here it is possible to imagine that we would have had enough of urban living. We might have sold up and moved out of London, sent the children to country schools and recreated ourselves as active participants in village life. Who knows? Pressure of time has removed those choices from us. Instead of a year to six months to think about it we have approximately six weeks.
Whilst it is true that planning for any big event tends to expand to fill the time available without improving the quality of the finished product I feel slightly robbed. Not so much of the remaining two years of our three year term, but of our last months here. Instead of enjoying the summer term, new places to visit and discover, time spent at the beach and the pool, my summer will be spent looking for a place to rent, selling a car, a job lot of dehumidifiers, helping Clarabel find a new job, sorting through the children’s clothes and toys and saying goodbye. Again.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Plans Awry
My triumphant return to the Common has taken a severe blow.
Our tenants don’t want to buy the house (you can hardly blame them, in this market) and have gently pointed out that the tenancy agreement is for two years, not one. That means we can neither sell nor move back in until August 2010.
But what about the break clause? I ask in dismay. There is one, yes, but it’s a standard clause which works unilaterally in favour of the tenant in case they need to exit early.
Why on earth did we agree to that? Because we thought we were going to Hong Kong for three years, maybe four. Thrilled at the prospect of having let the house for a full two years it didn’t dawn on us we’d be the ones clamouring to get back in. Damn!
I spent last night scanning FindaProperty and PrimeLocation for a house to rent. All the nice ones are already let and there is very little of a size similar to the one we left.
So, I face the prospect of squashing my family into a tiny terrace with not enough room to swing a cat or else paying a fortune for a palace. Assuming we move back to a rental property and then into our house in a year's time we will have moved house 7 times in 14 years. Sigh.
Our tenants don’t want to buy the house (you can hardly blame them, in this market) and have gently pointed out that the tenancy agreement is for two years, not one. That means we can neither sell nor move back in until August 2010.
But what about the break clause? I ask in dismay. There is one, yes, but it’s a standard clause which works unilaterally in favour of the tenant in case they need to exit early.
Why on earth did we agree to that? Because we thought we were going to Hong Kong for three years, maybe four. Thrilled at the prospect of having let the house for a full two years it didn’t dawn on us we’d be the ones clamouring to get back in. Damn!
I spent last night scanning FindaProperty and PrimeLocation for a house to rent. All the nice ones are already let and there is very little of a size similar to the one we left.
So, I face the prospect of squashing my family into a tiny terrace with not enough room to swing a cat or else paying a fortune for a palace. Assuming we move back to a rental property and then into our house in a year's time we will have moved house 7 times in 14 years. Sigh.
The Prodigal Daughter
I’m in London at short notice. It is early, cold and wet. I forget how to top up my Oyster card and stand in front of a ticket machine looking like a foreigner. Some one asks if I need help.
On the Tube, a yoof with iPod-stuffed ears sniffs loudly and repeatedly. Those sitting around him exchange irritated glances and roll their eyes. He doesn’t care, he can’t hear himself.
I arrive at Putney Bridge at 7am and need to buy a pen and an umbrella. The man in the newsagent is so friendly. Next door is a retro greasy spoon café. I order a cup of builders’ tea and the man serving asks where I’ve just flown in from. I am glad to talk. I want to hug him and shout, I’m back! I sit at a Formica topped table with ketchup, brown sauce and vinegar for company. There are others breakfasting and reading the papers: the PAPERS! They shout greetings across the café, discuss the weather and laugh. It’s London and I LOVE it.
I stay with my Lovely Neighbour. Awaking jetlaggedly early on Saturday morning I hear the dawn chorus. I pull up the blind and look across the street at my own house. Its curtains are drawn and it is strange to be on the outside. Putney Common does its best to persuade me we should return: the candles on the horse chestnuts are in bloom, magnolia, cherry blossom, hawthorn all in their Sunday best. And the sun shines and shines all weekend bringing people out to play ball games, sit on picnic rugs. I bump into friends, drop in for tea, am greeted like the prodigal daughter. We’re coming home, I say. They gasp in disbelief.
I am looking at houses. Our tenants have hinted they would like to buy our place. I am here to grovel at the door of my children’s former schools. I take the bus to Oxford and see my mum. She is delighted at the news but tries hard to stop the corners of her mouth from twitching as I tell her in earnest tones that we are victims of the Credit Crunch.
On Sunday evening I get an email from the Head of the big boys’ school saying they will be able to take up their former places in September. I weep for joy. My dream of returning to my former life is about to come true. Back in Hong Kong, in just three hours my eldest son is due to start a new school. His third school in a year. I can hardly wait to give him the good news.
On the Tube, a yoof with iPod-stuffed ears sniffs loudly and repeatedly. Those sitting around him exchange irritated glances and roll their eyes. He doesn’t care, he can’t hear himself.
I arrive at Putney Bridge at 7am and need to buy a pen and an umbrella. The man in the newsagent is so friendly. Next door is a retro greasy spoon café. I order a cup of builders’ tea and the man serving asks where I’ve just flown in from. I am glad to talk. I want to hug him and shout, I’m back! I sit at a Formica topped table with ketchup, brown sauce and vinegar for company. There are others breakfasting and reading the papers: the PAPERS! They shout greetings across the café, discuss the weather and laugh. It’s London and I LOVE it.
I stay with my Lovely Neighbour. Awaking jetlaggedly early on Saturday morning I hear the dawn chorus. I pull up the blind and look across the street at my own house. Its curtains are drawn and it is strange to be on the outside. Putney Common does its best to persuade me we should return: the candles on the horse chestnuts are in bloom, magnolia, cherry blossom, hawthorn all in their Sunday best. And the sun shines and shines all weekend bringing people out to play ball games, sit on picnic rugs. I bump into friends, drop in for tea, am greeted like the prodigal daughter. We’re coming home, I say. They gasp in disbelief.
I am looking at houses. Our tenants have hinted they would like to buy our place. I am here to grovel at the door of my children’s former schools. I take the bus to Oxford and see my mum. She is delighted at the news but tries hard to stop the corners of her mouth from twitching as I tell her in earnest tones that we are victims of the Credit Crunch.
On Sunday evening I get an email from the Head of the big boys’ school saying they will be able to take up their former places in September. I weep for joy. My dream of returning to my former life is about to come true. Back in Hong Kong, in just three hours my eldest son is due to start a new school. His third school in a year. I can hardly wait to give him the good news.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
About Turn, Quick March!
Imagine you had spent six months preparing to move your family half way around the globe. You had found schools, a place to live, let your house, packed your life into boxes, tied up all lose ends back in the UK and said goodbye as you headed off for a New Adventure.
Imagine you had spent six months making a new life, a home. You settled your children into new schools and helped them find their way. You gradually overcame your loneliness and made friends, learnt your way around and began to feel you could do this. You got through your body’s dislike of the heat and humidity, ceased to miss home quite so much and threw yourself into it all that the new place had to offer.
And just as you are beginning to enjoy it, to appreciate the climate, the outdoors, the quality of life, just as your hitherto unhappy son is about to start a new school, they pull the rug out from under your feet and tell you you’re being recalled to London.
The words I wrote to friends last Christmas have turned out to be prophetic.
'Hong Kong is definitely feeling the global financial crisis. The first waves of job cuts have seen people leaving at short notice and everywhere you hear the same question, “Is your job safe?” The fact of the matter is that none of us know. However, we rather hope it will be a while longer before someone says, “The Dxxxx Family? Now there’s a cost we could cut!” '
Not that much longer, as it turned out.
I have been through the full range of emotions ever since the news plopped into the Pioneering Accountant’s Inbox. He glanced at his Blackberry and his body language said it all. It was Good Friday and we were in Beijing. Yes, I kept that out of my Beijing post. We were still too gob smacked to know quite how to react.
I’ve not been sleeping. It gets late and I am nodding over a book but I don’t want to turn out the light. If I hang on to today it means that the uncertainty of tomorrow is delayed for a little bit longer. I can’t talk to anyone, the information is still sensitive. I feel sick. I want to laugh. I’ve had a little weep. I’ve put my head in my hands. I’ve looked on the bright side and I’ve yelled expletives in my head.
Imagine you had spent six months making a new life, a home. You settled your children into new schools and helped them find their way. You gradually overcame your loneliness and made friends, learnt your way around and began to feel you could do this. You got through your body’s dislike of the heat and humidity, ceased to miss home quite so much and threw yourself into it all that the new place had to offer.
And just as you are beginning to enjoy it, to appreciate the climate, the outdoors, the quality of life, just as your hitherto unhappy son is about to start a new school, they pull the rug out from under your feet and tell you you’re being recalled to London.
The words I wrote to friends last Christmas have turned out to be prophetic.
'Hong Kong is definitely feeling the global financial crisis. The first waves of job cuts have seen people leaving at short notice and everywhere you hear the same question, “Is your job safe?” The fact of the matter is that none of us know. However, we rather hope it will be a while longer before someone says, “The Dxxxx Family? Now there’s a cost we could cut!” '
Not that much longer, as it turned out.
I have been through the full range of emotions ever since the news plopped into the Pioneering Accountant’s Inbox. He glanced at his Blackberry and his body language said it all. It was Good Friday and we were in Beijing. Yes, I kept that out of my Beijing post. We were still too gob smacked to know quite how to react.
I’ve not been sleeping. It gets late and I am nodding over a book but I don’t want to turn out the light. If I hang on to today it means that the uncertainty of tomorrow is delayed for a little bit longer. I can’t talk to anyone, the information is still sensitive. I feel sick. I want to laugh. I’ve had a little weep. I’ve put my head in my hands. I’ve looked on the bright side and I’ve yelled expletives in my head.
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