I’m currently at one of those awkward transition periods in
my life. Having handed in my notice at work a while ago and coming to the
decision to make my departure from the ever-fruitful profession of being paid
to be white whilst jumping around shouting at bemused kids, I’m looking forward
to coming back to Beijing after a (hopefully) happy Christmas back in England
and trying something new. I’ve also agreed recently to only work on a part time
basis which frees up the whole week for me to find some writing jobs and work
on my hotly-anticipated first major novel, which if all goes to plan will be
finished Spring and will be released directly into paperback format if my
printer can handle it.
Unfortunately, the result
has been an ongoing battle with my inner psyche to fight the temptations of procrastination,
thumb twiddling,, nagging my long-suffering girlfriend when she doesn’t put a
book back on the shelf at a perfect 180 degree angle, and continuing with my
newfound quest to transform Tottenham Hotspur into an all-conquering ruthless football
machine on my newly acquired game Pro Evolution Soccer 2013. I’ve been snapping
up all the talented German youngsters that have recently emerged on the world
football scene in a move that I’m sure would please the Yid army, regardless of
the irony.
Regarding the book, 3 months and 50,000 words down the line I
must say my procrastination is justified. It gets harder as it goes on,
particularly if you haven’t planned it. Not remembering your character names, what
the settings are or why they are having Yellow Submarine-inspired
hallucinations about previous lovers can prove to be a challenging task. I must
say I have great respect for authors who manage to plan out exactly what they
want to do and just get it on with it, perhaps making minor alterations along
the way. As my writing tends to be affected by my mood or what I experienced on
the day, I’m scared to re-read what is surely a messy collage of varying
emotions and plot changes that would give George R R Martin a run for his
money. I have toyed with the possibility of writing a novel about writing a
novel and getting rich and famous that way, though I’m sure it’s been done.
On the new job front, I’ve been told several times by
friends and colleagues that I should be getting my name out there by joining
writer’s groups and attending networking events. I’ll get round to doing that
soon, though the idea of showing up in beige khakis and pink shirt looking like
Alan Partridge and attempting to hand out as many name cards as possible amid a
large backdrop of rah rah rahing and penis measuring doesn’t sound too up my
street, though the possibility of my name card being the lucky one that instead
of being instantly tossed aside ends up as some journalist’s bookmark is
perhaps reason enough to go. All in due time.
Anyway, I’m a firm believer that, and this belief wasn’t taken
at all from Haruki Murakami’s biographical work What I Think About When I Talk About Running, that exercise clears
the head. Having recently moved into a new flat, I took it upon myself to
finally get off my arse and do some proper exercise by joining the local gym. I’d
do it outside, though Beijing’s 1 in 10 likelihood
of having a smog-free day makes that a potentially hazardous escapade. Having
just returned from a gym session whereby one guy spent half an hour attempting
to flip himself up from a lying position a-la WWE, only landing flat on his
back and looking around embarrassed to see if anyone was laughing at him (I
was), I feel completely refreshed and thus am writing this post. It seems that
expressions of male vanity, muscles and micro-penises serve as brilliant
creative inspiration for me. I’d like to thank Mr. Murakami and would love to
have him over for tea if he can get past all those passionate anti-Japan
bandwagon protestors with Nikon cameras and Honda cars. I’m sure if he gave out
free copies of Doreamon and One Piece manga he’d appease them adequately. So
here it is, for those that are interested, my current life in China. Not so
much the teacher anymore but more the wannabe writer who can’t wait for
Christmas to come and then get back and have a proper slog at it.
On another note, I’d like to satisfy the appetites of those
who are maybe wondering why I’m still here, given that fact that this post is
lightly peppered with mini pops at China. I can safely say that after four
years I’m comfortable with my surroundings and enjoy a little moan every now
and again. Of course I do, I’m human. No, scratch that. Of course I do, I’m
British. In truth though, all these things that can so easily frustrate people
are, on a good day, purely trivial to me, and if China has taught me one things
it’s certainly not to take myself and the actions of other silly people too
seriously. I’ve found that a fair few expats in China are depressingly bitter and
negative people who end up staying here because the beer is cheap, and some
types of girls come easy, though will never stop complaining nonetheless. It’s
a sad path where 10 years down the line you end up 20 stone and sitting on a
beach in a Hawaiian shirt in Cambodia wondering where it all went wrong. Maybe
that’s what happened to Gary Glitter. I’m hoping to get something more out my
experience here.
I’ll happily tell you that China in all its lasagne-layered
complications, contradictions and fascinations keep me constantly stimulated,
inspired and on my toes (literally, I dance with death on a daily basis whilst
crossing the road outside my flat). In simple terms, those are some of the reasons
why I’m still here, and maybe one day I’ll write a more detailed piece on what
keeps me in China. But anyway, I don’t have the right to question anyone on why
they’re where they are in life or nor should anyone else, and I certainly wouldn’t
go up to someone in Haywards Heath and ask them “why are living in a place like
this?” As I’ll probably get a smack in the face (if I haven’t already for being
ginger or reading books). Oh and if any of my friends from other countries are
reading are wondering what Haywards Heath is, stop wondering now. Actually,
start wondering again and go on this brilliant website – www.thisishaywardsheath.com. But
only if you’re curious about the place I grew up in and have better things to
do than create the Fourth Reich in a north London football team. In the
meantime, I’ll keep writing down my observations during my gym trips and
anything else that amuses or interests me.
