Move along home

We all want to be somewhere we can’t. A new job, a holiday, your bed. For me it’s Hong Kong.

For those of you just joining us, I lived there for 11 years. Then, due to my gradually increasing dissatisfaction with the political struggles, work visa problems, and money, I returned to England. I adjusted all over again - the cold weather, the stodgy food, the moaning people (fuck me, but the people), the expensive money, the slower pace, the whole Brexit palava. For the first few months I had shoulder and neck problems; I returned in October and it was cold, and try as I might I couldn’t stop myself from unconsciously hunching against the lack of constant bone-warming humidity. I also did the thing where you convert all prices into something that makes sense in your head; a £10 cinema ticket was $110 to me so I could figure if that was good or not. As time went by I unlearnt to do these things and I had pretty much been assimilated to Blighty again.

However - movies; music; city life… All these things were missing and were missed. I kept up with Eason Chan’s new albums, with Donnie Yen’s new films, with news of Andy Lau Tak-Wah and his horse-riding accident. I discovered the TVB box that lets you watch HK TV (kind of like a Sky box for overseas subscribers), the band ToNick and their awesome sound, the growing political unrest and the HKFP’s efforts to keep the news open to all.

The one thing I couldn’t have was the city life back. Where I live now it’s basically a sleepy hollow, made up of people who obsess about the tiny things because they’ve never seen bigger ones. They’re small town people, and while that’s ok and fine for them, I find it very limiting. It’s talking to people who not only fail to realise that not everyone’s right handed, but have literally never heard of countries whose newspapers and popular press write/print right to left, top to bottom, because that’s the formal way to write. It’s chatting with these people who think that going vegan is bad for you, and when I say that Buddhists have been doing it for thousands of years and most of them seemed ok, they’re surprised. It’s recounting the story of the night you and your mate went out and got hammered at the bar, closed it at 4am by dancing on the table, setting fire to the noodles in 7-11 (I am still absolutely sure there was no mention of water in any of those instructions) on the munchies detour home, strolling back to the flat with a couple of coppers who found us fascinating - and they think this is something you’ve made up. No mate, you say patiently, that was par for the course pretty much one random Friday night a month.

So I want to be somewhere I cannot be - Hong Kong of 2013. It’s gone, and nothing will bring it back. My choice now is stay where I am or find a new city, one where I can work by simply flashing a passport. Somewhere fun, and vibrant, and alive - and preferably cheaper to live where I am now.

When it’s all concrete I’ll let you in on it. For now though, I’m checking Zoopla and RightMove, and I’m making lists and checking ‘em twice. Moving is tricky to be sure, but it’s a damn sight better than staying out here in Bumblefuck Nowhereville, waiting for something vaguely exciting to happen.

Soopytwist.