Dear Diary - once more I grace your pages with tales of life as it can only happen to a chubby little Limey.

Hookers
They are called San-Pei. They are ladies who make in one night what a factory worker makes in a month and a half, and these days they swarm like flies around a jam pot. I used to like the hookers in the hotel before it got too busy - (Let me explain that statement before the good Mrs. Wrighty is sporting a pair of new spherical earrings) - there was a quaintness about them that meant all was well with the world and operating normally.

My first and only full on encounter with one of these wonderful specimens was a few days into our first trip here. One had all the curves and figure of a whittled chopstick, while the other was several thousand clicks past due for a visit to the garage for an overhaul - (Mr Muffler presumably). I was the last of our troop in the Lounge Bar and sleepily wandering toward the corridor and elevator to my room when there was a grab at my elbow and I was spun round to look into the eyes of this lady of good fortune with enough 'feet in the air-miles' to fly to the moon.

"You want massage?" she asked using almost half of her English vocabulary in one whole sentence.

Now - we little Limey people are not shocked by the notion of such things generally. I am well known for my adventurous outlook on the world and quite willing to be daring - sometimes lights on, sometimes socks off, and on occasion the good Mrs. Wrighty will even put down her book - but my scruples, virtues and morals at this point in time were trying to hide in a metaphysical closet, and I was left panic stricken like the deer in the lights of an oncoming SUV.

Eager to find a release from the vice like grip of the vice-minded woman I looked around and in desperation used the only reasonable excuse that I could bring to mind at the time - namely we were in a lobby of a 5 star hotel and there was nowhere she could possibly make me go.

Language being something of a barrier this translated into Chinese by me shrugging my shoulders, shaking my head and saying "Where?"

At which she swept her eyes left and then right, leant towards me extending her finger and pointed it into my meat and two veg saying "There!".

Sensing the SUV shifting to high gear I stood dumbfounded and at a loss for a response other than "Arrrghhhhh', until salvation arrived in the shape of the large burly night manager who descended upon her with his arms crossed and a "Step away from the little Limey" look upon his face. I was so thankful I could have kissed him, but then realized that she would get more ideas from that and probably double her rate so I ran for the elevator.

So as I said - the hotel is busy now, and they have been replaced by predatory troops who are not respectful of personal space. They are not particularly clean, and will wear the same outfits for days, and they stalk you everywhere, in the elevators and even on to the streets, also they do not give receipts so they are of little use to a business traveler.

So I am nostalgic for the simpler times when we could stagger in late at night weary from our working day and fall into the Lounge Bar for a grab to eat and a slosh of a drink, and these two women would always be there, sitting in a corner or near the entrance waiting eager to spring into action. Knowing that we were off limits they never bothered us, but I would often be greeted with an exchange of glances and the raising of eyebrows in the "how’s business" type way of one professional to another - or one Pro' to one Ho' at least.

Hootch
Not only do they cook anything in China - they also drink anything. I pride myself on my multi-cultural dexterity and I am able to get proficiently drunk in several languages, so this advice I pass on to you freely. Drink the beer. The beer is okay - beer being basically beer wherever you go - it is the small strong stuff that catches you out.

Chinese white wine:-
This is to ordinary white wine what Godzilla is to kittens, and is something of an acquired taste. If your taste buds are in the need of the sensory equivalent of having the crap kicked out of them for three days by smelly hairy bikers then this is the stuff for you. It is served in small thimble sized glasses and I can only imagine that this is because too much of the stuff in contact with any surface would probably melt through it. Drinking it down in one go is not so bad. But having it claw its way back up your throat and start throwing it's weight around is another matter. After a glass of it you can drink absolutely any substance you like from Tabasco sauce to drain cleaner and you will still get a vaporous belching eruption of the stuff which you can feel curling the hairs in your nostrils as it escapes. It is not a beverage to get drunk on. It is something to consume only if you are trying to save money on mummification and need to embalm yourself cheaply. The average recovery time from such a thing is 3 days.

Snake wine:-
By comparison this is not as nice to drink as Chinese white wine. That sentence on it's own should be enough to send any sane person running for the exits, but not I. The bottle, a large 5 gallon demijohn, is half filled with little red beans and also contains for your pleasure a large dead snake. I am not certain if he was dead or not when he was put in the wine, but judging by the look on his face he wasn't happy to be there. Served in a single shot glass and drunk while staring at the nasty little bugger, there is not much more needs to be said about it other than the fact that it tastes exactly like a dead marinated snake and will instinctively induce a bar slapping gagging reflex action in any partakers. Recovery in not a physical thing as much as a mental anguish - there are nightmares of live drunken snakes swimming in jars and for days afterwards just picturing the beast is enough to send a judder up and down your spine. Be warned.

Flaming Red Dragons:-
One flaming dragon is notoriously bad for your health and your senses. It is red, served in a large martini glass, it is on fire, and drunk quickly through a straw. Two flaming dragons seem like a good idea at the time. Three dreaming flagons are too much, and four of "them red things on fire" is beyond the point of safe return. This does bring up another toilet incident, for which I seem to be getting a reputation. Anyway..........

There is a bar called Win-Win. It is the only bar that I know where the toilets are bigger than the actual bar area. The men’s urinal is in fact a large glass wall of cascading flowing water which basically you pee into. Men do not grow up - their toys just get bigger - so it is quite common to see drunken pissing contests to prove how high you can get up the waterfall. A fun was to pass the time while you pass the beer, and funnier still when viewed from the roadside looking like a salmon run up a mountain stream. The last albeit fuzzy memory was of fire drink of death # 4, followed by waking up in my room soaking wet and smelling like a skunks arse. In a nutshell - we were getting taxis home - I needed to go - I went - I was watching the flowing water - I fell in.

My leather watch strap and my wallet actually disintegrated over the next two days. The clothes went to the laundry service daily but still smelled bad, and my sneakers carried an odour so retchingly pungent that I had to stuff them into a couple of plastic bags to hide the smell and when I threw them in a garbage can in the hotel people were sure I was disposing of the remains of a dead cat. For days I had the worrying feeling that I had tried to swim home before the memories finally managed to catch up and hit me. In truth I would rather go another round of crouching toilet - hidden danger than experience this ever again.

And finally.....
A note of warning:-
If ever in China be sure to go for a massage - not the goolie grabbing hooker type - I mean the real feet and body relaxing experience thing. But mind yourself. Accustomed as I am to nobody understanding a word I say - I have a tendency in China to state things aloud that one wouldn't generally do. So if you find yourself having your shoulders massaged and your feet soaked in the waters of 1000 flower petals, do not say aloud "I love you, I am staying at the Shangri-La and my room number is 1768 - please move in and bring your massage tools with you!" Because there is a 1 in a few million chance that you will find the only English speaking local for 5 square miles is rubbing you down at that very moment.

Until next time........................................