Pandemonium

Something very disturbing happened to me yesterday. It's English Week at my school and I have been organising some special activities for the children. We've had competitions, radio shows and cartoon screenings at lunchtime. We had been having our screenings of 'He-Man' and 'SpongeBob SquarePants' in my classroom. Unexpectedly, so many children kept turning up every day that we could never fit everyone in the room and had to put on our best bouncer demeanor and say, "Not today, buddy. Not with those shoes."

Consequently, there were a lot of disappointed youngsters every day. On Thursday, we decided to move the screening to the school's Main Hall. That way, we could squeeze in as many people as possible. About 200 kids turned up and we sat through an episode of 'SpongeBob'. Here's where it gets interesting. Now, I don't know if it's my lack of experience dealing with large groups or if the kids here are just crazier than I imagined, but as soon as the TV show finished I turned off the projector and said, "That's the end of the programme. Please stand up."

I was about to ask them to leave one group at a time, but it was too late. Time stood still and within half a second of me saying, "Stand up", 200 kids had jumped to their feet and bolted for the hallway doors at 100 miles an hour. Of course, the doors aren't wide enough to accommodate everyone, so within four seconds there was a bottleneck effect. The Grade 1 and 2 kids were getting crushed while the older kids, instead of helping them started to clamber over the top of them to try to get out the door. It was an absolute disaster! Kids were screaming, laughing and jumping on top of each other. I've never seen anything like it.

There were only a couple of teachers in the room and we all ran to the door and started barking orders and dragging kids to their feet. I saw one boy crying and feared the worst.... "Oh, no. He's broken an arm and you're going to be on the news." Luckily it turned out he was crying because someone stole his candy.

In the end, we got them all lined up again and asked them to leave one group at a time, but I thank my lucky stars that no one was hurt.

I was wondering about it again today and feeling really bad. I shouldn't have said, "Stand up". I almost killed someone. Aaaarrrrgggghhh. Just as I was contemplating this the fire alarm rang. Evidentally a Grade 3 kid had broken the fire glass and set off the alarm.... again. I looked out into the hallway and saw kids running up and down at 100 miles an hour, clambering past each other, screaming and laughing while teachers barked orders that everyone ignored, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Good, I thought. It's not just me.

The Royale Flush

It's not often that someone enters a casino and leaves disappointed. Well, that may not be true, but it was certainly the case on Saturday night when I went to see the much anticipated new Bond film, 'Casino Royale'.

My disappointment had nothing to do with the quality of the movie, though. To be fair, it's hard to comment on a movie that I haven't seen! Let me explain.

Nomes and I arrived at a very nice cinema in some fancy pants shopping complex on the other side of Hong Kong island. We were there on time and even had time for a pre-movie wee, which is always a plus. With arms full of popcorn and soft drink, we made our way into our seats. H12 and H13. Impressive. Right in the middle of the cinema, stadium seating and a nice big screen. I turned off the phone and got ready for a couple of hours of good old escapism. Things were looking up.

Seconds later, a man and woman approached with the line that all moviegoers dread...

Man: Excuse me, I think you're sitting in my seat?

Nick: Oh, really? Well, mine says H13 and this bad boy is H13.

Man: Yes, but mine says H13 as well. Oh, and look, my ticket is for tonight's show of 'The Curse of the Golden Shower' and yours is for next week's 'Casino Royale'.

Nick: Touche... (looks at Naomi, the genius who booked the tickets.)

Naomi: Whoops


Yesssssss... whoops indeed. Those who know me know how seriously I take the watching of a film. To be there, in the seat and to have it snatched away so cruelly. Well, I haven't been so disappointed in a cinema since 'Batman and Robin'.

What is Cricket?

Trying to explain the game of cricket is difficult enough even under the best circumstances. Throw a language barrier into the mix and you've got yourself an impossible task.

As I continuously refreshed my computer screen at work the other day, hoping for the inevitable English collapse, I tried to explain what cricket was to a co-worker. Impossible. My standard phrase now is that "it's like baseball but different". Not entirely accurate, but it seems to satisfy people.

Anyway, good on the Aussies for their unlikely win. Let's hope the Poms get one back, though. We need a bit of excitement for the rest of the series. Speaking of excitement, it's time to leave work now.

Monk

I love coincidence stories, especially ones to do with travel. I love hearing about how people bump into each other by chance, like when Rod Zlonzak and Glenny Rogers crossed paths in Rome, or when I was chatting to some clown in 'Cheers' at Malaysia airport and he used to babysit my boss at work. That kind of thing.

I also love 'brush with fame' stories. Ever since meeting Kylie Minogue and Jason Donovan at the New York Deli in High St Armadale at the age of 7, I've been fascinated with these stories.

I have a story that mixes coincidence with fame, so I can't believe it has taken me so long to write about my meetings with Tony 'Monk' Shaloub. That's right... meetings. With an 's'. Plural. The big guy just won't leave me alone. The first one was at Mammoth Mountain, California, where I held the prestigious title of 'Ski Rental Guy'. Monk came in and got some skis. He didn't talk to me as such (or even look in my direction) but I knew right then and there that we had connected in a deep and profound way.

Cut to 2 years later and I'm on holidays in Barcelona with Azza, Leah and the garden Nome. We've just met up at the Hard Rock Cafe and were about to head down La Rambla when I was stopped in my tracks by Tony 'Monk' Shaloub, who was pretending to look at a map but really looking at me with his peripheral vision. After I stared for a while, he dropped the charade and stared straight at me with an ambiguous half smile. I took it as, "Hey, you're that guy from the ski shop in Mammoth Mountain. We keep bumping into each other. Weird. You're pretty awesome, you know that?", but it could also have been more of a "Take a picture, big nose, it'll last longer. Stalker."

This page is boring if nobody adds anything, so tell me about your brush with fame and/or coincidence story.

U bastards!

Ok, so this was not a good couple of weeks to be out of Melbourne. I'll admit that much. Sure, if I wanted to I'm sure I could've found some second rate band cover band somewhere in Honkers, but it's hardly the same as U2, Pearl Jam and a Make Poverty History concert in the same week, all within walking distance of my old apartment! It's ok, I've heard those bands are crap at live shows anyway.

.....

I think I'm going to cry.

So to all you bastards who just went to the U2 concert - congratulations. Well done. I am officially jealous and may take some time to get over it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to put the iPod on and dream of what might have been.

Golf in Honkers

After another trip to Shenzhen to purchase some golf clubs (and an ill-fitting jacket. Dammit!) I decided to have a look for an affordable golf course in Hong Kong. Unfortunately, the words 'affordable' and 'golf' rarely make it into the same sentence over here, and it looks like I'm going to have to settle for the good old driving range, of which there are many.

There's a golf course just up the road from me, but it costs a lazy $1500 ($250AUD) for one round. Out of curiosity I asked how much a membership costs. Well, they haven't been for sale since 1997, but if I were to purchase one privately it would set me back 1.5 - 2 million Honky dollars. That's about $300,000 Australian! You'd really have to love golf, wouldn't you?

To make matters worse, last night I took a walk 40 minutes up the hill to the driving range only to be told that non members are only allowed to 'drive' on weekdays, and besides I didn't satisfy the dress code requirements. They honestly looked at me like I was a walking, talking piece of crap who had sludged its way through the door and was bringing the club more and more into disrepute with every breath I took.

Well, excuse me for breathing, Mr. Fancy Golf Course Man. If I had any moral issues with sneaking onto the back of the course and playing a few cheeky holes before, they're completely gone now. I might pop on down there and play the back nine tomorrow morning and save myself 750 big ones! And I won't even wear a collar. Take that!

Inconvenience

After finally seeing the convincing, moving and frightening picture, 'An Inconvenient Truth', I felt compelled to take the time to recommend it to everybody. I know the message is getting out there, with even Rupert Murdoch yesterday announcing his backflip on Global Warming, saying, "it is now our responsibility to take the lead on the issue," and that, "the planet deserves the benefit of the doubt".

Australia is the largest per capita contributor to greenhouse gases and Johnny Howard mocks Al Gore's film and the Stern Report as overreactions, but it seems that it is gradually being accepted by everyone else on the planet.

Johnny H: "Mr. Speaker, so-called global warming is just a load of poppycock made up by a bunch of long haired hippies and foreigners who smoke marijuana and bludge off your hard earned tax dollars. Don't overreact. In fact, don't act at all. As the world's largest per capita contributor to the problem, we don't feel the need to sign any agreements that are binding, because in the spirit of mateship, a handshake should be good enough."

Anyway, I won't go on too long. I don't pretend to know how to fix it, but surely awareness is the first step. All I want to do is recommend that you watch the film, read up on global warming or just take a few minutes to visit the website: www.climatecrisis.org

Asleep in One Hot Minute

Crap! I just wrote a whole post and accidentally deleted it. Flashbacks to uni assignments. Remember to save regularly, Nicky boy. You never listened to Ms McKay in high school, did you?

Now, I just want to quit and not write anything, but I'd better put something down now that I've gone to the trouble of googling an image of the Chili Peppers album. What's it there for, you ask? Well, it seemed more interesting before I had to retype it, but hey, if Gregory David Roberts can write a 900 page book from scratch three times, I guess I can whack down a couple of paragraphs.

Where was I? Oh yeah, I was suffering from a mild bout of insomnia recently and was wondering what might speed up the snoozy process. Beer? No, causes bad sleep and unwelcome middle of the night toilet trip. Less coffee during the day? No, I like coffee too much. Thinking, thinking... aha! The Chili Peppers!

I remembered how in Year 12 I used to come home from school, jump into bed, pull the CD player up next to my head and play the Red Hot Chili Peppers album, 'One Hot Minute' at full volume. I don't know why I did this (and continued to do it again and again) but it sent me straight to sleep every time. There was something very comfortable about it, and ever since, whenever I hear that album at a high volume, it sends me to the land of nods. With this in mind, I borrowed Naomi's iPod and pressed play.

Bliss. I was asleep before the end of 'Aeroplane'. I don't know what it is about that album that makes me snooze. Maybe the music puts my brain into a different, more relaxed state of consciousness, or maybe it brings back memories of my after school naps and nods off in remembrance. I don't know, but it's a handy little trick to know when the old brain won't switch off.

Careful Drivers

Last night, Nomes and I went with a couple of friends to see The Prestige. It was pretty good, but the thing that has motivated me to post is not the movie, but the taxi ride home.

My friends will tell you that since getting together with 'Swerves' Borkoswki, I haven't been the best passenger in the world. Her inability to differentiate left from right, combined with a general indifference to things such as traffic lights and roundabouts have ensured that I'm always on edge in the passenger seat. However, last night was something else altogether.

During a ten minute taxi ride, we managed to do about 120 in a 70 zone, cut off literally dozens of cars, inciting road rage inspired threatening revs and swerves from other taxi drivers, and cause 3 almost accidents. I was half way through a sentence at one point when the taxi attempted to run down a guy on a scooter.

"Hey Nomes, do you ever get the feeling you're about to be in a car cr..... Shit! Watch where you're going!"

It felt like that scene in The Naked Gun where the girl from the Driving School starts to chase the criminals, and we hastily reached for the hitherto ignored seatbelts and found religion.

After endangering a dozen or so lives and breaking possibly hundreds of road rules, we finally arrived at the ferry pier - shaken, pale and ready to make the next leg of the journey. Naomi felt ok, though. A certain lightness came over her, as the crown of 'Worst Driver In The World' was lifted from her head and passed on to a worthy recipient.

London and Spain

Time for an addition to my little belated travelogue.

After a great time in Sweden, Nomes and I headed to Spain via London. We were only in London for one night, but we managed to spend about $500 Aussie on crappy accommodation, tube tickets and a brilliant show on the West End. It was a first to a professional production for both of us and I couldn't have enjoyed it more. We saw 'The Producers' and it brought the house down. If I was a theatre critic, my review would be one of the ones quoted on the poster: "I laughed so hard I almost cried!", "A fast paced thrill ride from start to finish!", "The theatre was really cold!".

After the briefest of brief stays in London, we boarded a RyanAir flight to Barcelona. Or, I should say, Girona, about an hour out of Barcelona. I'm sure BrianAir and Sleazyjet are good if you have someone to drop you off and pick you up, but next time I think I'll just pay ten pounds extra and with a 'proper' airline. By the time you add up the cost of the ticket, plus extra transportation, I think we spent more time and money on a budget airline than if we'd flown British Airways. And then there was the terrorism crisis, which we were caught in the middle of. I won't go into that, but the highlight was that Ali saw me lining up at Heathrow Airport on Hong Kong TV. Nice! I'm famous!

It was then on to Spain, where we had the brilliant idea of hiring a car instead of catching trains. Unfortunately, we failed to take into account that when you have a car, you need to find a place to park it everywhere you go. You also need to pay for that parking on top of your hostel costs. We drove from Barcelona to San Sebastian, arrived late at night and couldn't find a place to stay, so we drove to the outskirts and spent an uncomfortable night in the car. Just when we thought we'd made a credit card busting, debt inducing, stupid mistake, we stumbled across a free parking area that hardly anyone new about right next to the beach and just a few minutes from the old town. Perfect positioning. We also bought a couple of little matresses/seat covers for the car, parked on an incline and we had beds for the rest of the trip. Two birds, one stone. Sure, sleeping in the car might not sound like the best way to spend a vacation, but it had three unexpected benefits:

1. No early checkouts
2. No accommodation costs
3. Roxette's hit, 'Sleeping In My Car' was in my head for the whole holiday. Great!

So, San Sebastian was great. I saw a lot of showered in public toilets, drank the best coffee ever and saw lots of nudie rudie sunbathers. Oh, and the town was pretty cool, too, and the tapas was second to none.

From San Sebanners, it was off to a little town called Castro Urdiales, which only gets a mention because it is the site of my most expensive coffee ever, at 5 Euros, I think it was. And it wasn't even hot! Bastards.

After recovering from the expensive coffee, we headed to Salamanca. It is a brilliant town, rich with history of war and education. It was an absolutely beautiful place, and we treated ourselves to hostels and spent a few days reading books and lazily ambling around the town.

Next it was back to Barcelona to meet up with the energetic, the engaged, Aaron and Leah. We spent a few fantastic days exploring the sights of Barcelona. It was great to see all of Gaudi's architecture around the city but the real highlight was having someone to talk movies with again! It was just after Mel the Smell's arrest so we had plenty to discuss. It was great to see the two of them again after so long and went a long way towards easing any feelings of homesickness.

In a touching moment, Azza asked me to be best man at his wedding in front of the Olympic Stadium and I said yes. He had me at hello.

I would go on longer but my fingers just won't let me. I'll save Naomi's 'getting mugged' story for another time and leave you with a preview...

One woman... Three gypsies... One handsome Spanish cop... One jealous boyfriend
This holiday season... get ready... to be taken for a ride.
'DONDE ESTA EL POLICE STATION?'
copyright 2006

Goodbye, Ronald

It's a tough pattern to get out of, you know. Alarm goes off, hit snooze button. Alarm goes off again, hit snooze button again. Look at the clock, say a curse word and rush to the shower. Leave the house without so much as a thought towards breakfast, get on the bus, get hungry and realise that the only option between the bus stop and work is... good old Maccas. At 12 Hong Kong dollars ($2 Aussie) for a cheeky Sausage McMuffin and a coffee, you can't go wrong. Polish off your meal, get a nice little sugar rush and get on with the day.

Unfortunately, what started as an occasional indulgence quickly turned into a routine and before I knew it, I'd turned into Morgan Spurlock. I think he was onto something, too, because the old energy started to go around 11am and I was struggling through the rest of the day. Something had to be done. So I made a bet with myself that I wouldn't go to Maccas, KFC or any fast food place for the whole month of October. Quitting KFC was particularly hard because they've just come out with a delicious chicken muffin thingy, which is second to none. I know it shouldn't be hard, and most people rarely eat fast food anyway, but for me this was a bit of a challenge.

It's all Naomi's fault. Every time we walk past some junk food place, she asks me if I feel like any.

"Yeah, now that you mention it, Nomes, I could go a Double Cheesy. What are you getting?"

"Oh, I'll just have some of yours."

Yeah, I bet you will.

I'm proud to say that 24 days in, I haven't succumbed, and I don't even feel like the greasy filth. Amazingly, I have a lot more energy now. Who would've thought that McDonald's wasn't nutritious?

I've got a computer!

Finally, finally, finally! For the first time since living with my parents back in Berwick, I have my own computer and am connected to that Internet thing. I must say, as I sit here chuckling at a Roy and HG podcast, I'm as happy as Larry Emdur.

The crowd have been screaming for photos, so photos you shall have. I'll start with some snaps from our summer holiday to Europe. First stop - Sweden. Nomes and I stayed with the beautiful and talented twosome - Anita and Olle. We stayed in Södermalm, went canoeing just out of Stockholm, went on a ferry trip to Mariefred, went camping on Gotland and ate Swedish meatballs! Although, in Sweden, they just call them 'meatballs'. Imagine that!

Here are some photos of the happy holiday-makers.











Coming soon... photos and stories from London and Spain, including 'Nomes Gets Mugged', 'Blowing Your Budget in London' and 'Adventures on the Wrong Side of the Road'.

Krispy Kreme

I have issues with Krispy Kreme. Don't get me wrong, the doughnuts are great. They are not the source of my Krispy complaint. My Krispy complaint was caused by a coffee cup catastrophe followed by incredibly crappy customer service.

I bought some doughnuts and coffee from the new Krispy Kreme shop in Central and I discovered two things: a) if you like clean shirts, you should never bite into the centre of a jam doughnut, and b) their coffee cups are crap. I was carrying a bag in one hand and the coffee in another and by the time I got to my destination, which was only five minute away, my hand felt like it'd been carrying red hot metal. I had to put that bad boy down every 30 seconds to stop the pain.

Needless to say, I wrote a complaint letter to Krispy Kreme.

I first wrote to the address in Hong Kong - no reply.

I then wrote to the customer service department in the US. They replied as follows:

"Thank you for your email regarding your recent Krispy Kreme experience. We
appreciate you bringing this matter to our attention.

We have forwarded your feedback and contact information along to the
appropriate individuals for their immediate review. A representative from
Krispy Kreme will be in touch with you shortly.

Thank you for allowing us the opportunity to resolve your concerns."

Not bad, but 6 days later no one had replied. I wrote to them, quoting my reference case number and I got an almost carbon copy reply, saying they had forwarded it to the appropriate people and would get back to me soon.

Well, dear friends, I will not be fobbed off by so called 'customer service' people so easily. I have a valid point and demand to be heard. For this reason, I call upon you, my friends, to say that you've heard about their bad coffee cups and customer service from me, and frankly, you're disgusted. You can quote my case number if you want - 685865.

Something like this would be great.

"I heard from my friend that the Hong Kong stores have coffee cups that get too hot. What's more, I heard that Krispy Kreme's customer service department doesn't address complaints directly and tries to get rid of customers without helping anything. I think this is disgraceful and will never shop at Krispy Kreme again."

Click here to fill in a complaint.

Call it a sociological experiment. Call it a push for free doughnuts. Call it what you will. But I am always interested in testing the power of the pen... or in this case, keyboard.

It's time to stand up and fight, people. "Hell, no, we won't go, give me doughnuts, don't say no."

If this experiment works, I'm turning my attention to British Airways... but that's another story.

Back to Work

As you may have guessed from the quantity of blogs over the last week, I've finally got some work to do at work! Shocking as it may sound, I find myself actually busy for once. The first six weeks of the school year were a bludge the likes of which have never been seen, which is why I started doing the blog in the first place. Now I'm teaching classes again and it's heaps better. I've finally got a projector and screen in my room, which means I'll be able to do screenings of 'He-Man' at recess. I say it's for the kids, but I'll be more than happy to kick back and reminisce about my childhood with Orco, Prince Adam, Skeletor and the other Masters of the Universe.

Can anyone think of any other classic cartoons that I could show? I've got some Mickey Mouse and stuff, but I'm looking for some better ones. Not Scooby Doo.

So anyway, I'm back in the teacher chair and loving it. I want to take some video footage of my apartment, school and some spots in Hong Kong, edit it together and post it on the web. I guess step one will be to 'borrow' a video camera from school and step two will be to finally get my computer at home. Can you believe I'm still waiting for it? So.. I guess I'll do it one day.

Until then, take care of your good selves.

What's in a Name?

At Rob Zlondak's suggestion, I'm doing a post on names that people call you (or write) incorrectly.

Some of mine are: Mick, Micky, Nicole, Lick, Dick, Mr. Olifaa, Mr. Olifant and Mr. Elephant.

What are yours?

Memories

I just stumbled upon a great little site about 80s nostalgia. It took me back to the glory days of board games, bad fashion and after-school cartoons (remember James Valentine? Michael Tunn?). If you feel like a trip down memory lane, click here.

Speaking of the 80s, Mick Molloy has a new film coming out called BoyTown. All I can say is, I'll watch anything that involves Glenn Robbins dancing.

Limerick Town

After the deluge of creativity that came with my first limerick post, I thought I'd encourage all you budding wordsmiths out there to have another crack. This time I will provide the first line and you have to finish it. Your time starts.... now.

There once was a man young man from China

OR

There once was a woman from China

What are you waiting for?

Bruce Lee's Brother

One of the great things about teaching English as a Foreign Language is the ripper comments that students come up with. Here are a few gems I've heard over the years:

"Do you know the names of all the Beatles?"
"Yes, of course. John, Paul, George and Tony."

"Mr. Oliver, you smell. You should take a bath." - from a 4 year old Hong Kong girl. At least her grammar was perfect!

"Poo poo is very dirty" - from a 2 year old while sitting on the toilet

"How old do you think this baby is?"
"100"

"My Grandma is very fat"
"Now, King Lok, it's not nice to call people fat"
"Oh... my Grandma is very, very big!"

"Do you know Bruce Lee? Do you know his brother? Ug Lee?"
(half the class gets the joke and laughs and one smart girl puts up her hand)
"Yes?"
"Mr. Oliver. You are Bruce Lee's brother!"

Cheeky.

Classic Catches

Ask any guy and I bet they can remember some of the best catches they've ever taken. We can't remember birthdays, phone numbers or what we had for dinner last night, but ask us about a diving left hander we took in 1991 and our face lights up with immediate recognition. Without any effort, I can call to mind the best catches I took in Primary School. (Falling over the fence one hander at Callum's house and a reflex fluke at short leg on the road outside my house). This is why when you give a group of guys a tennis ball and something to jump off, you can keep them entertained for hours.

Our imaginations are set free and just for a moment, we are the heroes of our youth taking the catches we all remember - Steve Waugh behind the sightscreen, Dean Jones diving in the outfield, former rugby player Fatty Vaughtin's freakish one hander in the Allan Border tribute match. Fatty's catch, in particular, has enormous staying power. This is from wikipedia:

"In the 1994 cricket exhibition match celebrating the playing career of Allan Border, Vautin took one of the flukiest catches ever seen in any form of cricket, and it was replayed ad nauseum on the Nine Network. It has also been parodied by The Twelfth Man, and partially due to this parody it is sometimes referred to as "That F*cking catch".

To see Fatty's F*cking Catch, click here.

Anyway, when we all went on a junk trip last weekend we had a ball trying to take some classic catches. I was quite proud of myself, as I started the day too scared to do anything but a pin drop but by the end I was diving off the top of the boat and dropping catches like all the other madmen. Although I fear I will never be ballsy enough to attempt the backflip that Matty has perfected.

As with all days that involve boats, food, water and tennis balls, a great time was had by all. I'll leave you now with a couple of pictures. They are a) Matty's backflip, b) the boat we travelled on, c) a fully recovered Daisy Daniel and d) Hong Kong's famous erection, the IFC Tower - the sixth biggest penis, I mean building in the world.









Photos by Duncan Woodland

Borat

One thing I miss about Australia is the variety of movies that are available to me at any time. There are small, arty farty cinemas all over Melbourne for when you're feeling a bit highbrow. Even big chains like Village have Cinema Europa, and a chance to see something other than a remake of some American TV show that we never got in Australia but we're going to go and see anyway because it's got that girl with the big hooters.

We are not so lucky in Honkers. We get the big films and that is all. There are a lot of overhyped, formulaic loads of garbage so it's nice to finally see that a 'big' film I can enjoy is on the way.

Borat has been in Washington, inviting the likes of 'Premier George Walter Bush' and 'Mel Gibsons' to see his film.

It promises to be a ripper.

Click here for the trailer and here for the article.

Things That Make You Go Brrrrr

The person next to me just tried to write with a blunt pencil. I'm not talking about a pencil that isn't sharp, I'm talking about one that which is severely, totally and in all other ways lacking a lead and cannot and should not be used as a writing utensil. To some, this is no big deal - go and sharpen that sucker and get on with it, but it gives me goosebumps (or chicken skin, as they say in Honkers) like you wouldn't believe. Through clenched teeth, I spit out the words, "Stop, please", slowly and inaudibly at first and as my panic becomes greater it gets louder and more desperate, "Stop, stop, stop!" My face becomes screwed up and contorted like I'm sucking on a lemon and it takes me several moments of wriggling and lip smacking to fully recover. Brrr.... shake it out, Nicky boy.

Fingernails down a blackboard don't bother me, but a couple of other things do. Other goosebump inducers include a blunt cricket bat being dragged across a fluffy carpet (same, but different) and tin foil coming into contact with my mouth.

I can't think of any more at the moment, but I'd like to know... what bumps your goose?


By the way...

Click here to see who was responsible for this morning's goosebumps.

If you like today's image, click here to see more from the same photographer.

Hold Tight! Stand Firm!

I received some fantastic advice today. This advice was not given to me by a friend, colleague, parent or mentor - it was given by a big old sign, which read, 'Husband and wife should talk to each other and be understanding'. No argument here, but why is this kind of advice plastered on signs all over Honkers? The government (or whoever commissioned these pearls of wisdom) obviously don't give the people here much credit, do they? I wonder how many alcoholic wife beaters have been on their way home, ready to down a bottle of JD and give the missus a knuckle sandwich, only to be stopped in their tracks by that particular sign.

"My God! What was I thinking? I'm going to go home now, make Bobo a cup of tea and ask her about her day."

There are many other examples, which usually take the form of street signs and public service announcements.

- 'To prevent Avian Flu, always wash your hands after eating meat' (that'll work)
- 'Please take care of your personal belongings'
- 'Never swim directly after eating'

and the Grand Daddy of them all....

'Always hold the handrail while travelling on the escalator'.

Not sometimes... always! You have no idea about how seriously they take escalator safety in Hong Kong. There is a team of people called the 'Escalator Safety Crew' or something like that, who travel from station to station, dressed in yellow and armed with a megaphone, and yell in commuters' ears about holding onto the handrail. As I see it, there are two major flaws with this (and a few minor ones too).

Flaw the first:
The picture they use to emphasise their point is of a person holding BOTH handrails. While this may be safe, it's also slightly annoying for the dozens of people trying to get past.

Flaw II:
Come on. We're clearly not 3 years old, and those of us who are shouldn't be travelling on those bad boys without Mummy and Daddy. Plus, they can't reach the handrail so through no fault of their own they're flying in the face of public safety.

"We understand that some passengers may be in a hurry and choose to walk on escalators rather than standing still on one step. However, our advice to all passengers is to stand firm and hold the handrails to avoid hurting themselves in the event that they lose balance while walking on the escalators," said Mr Wilfred Lau, Head of Operations of MTR Corporation.

Every time I see the Escalator Safety Crew (picture them in walking together in slow motion with rock music blaring in the background, credit sequence style) I am overwhelmed with the temptation to let go of the handrail, arms flailing and say, "Look at me, no hands!" Although if I tried that, chances are I'd take a tumble, knock 10 people over and get my fingers sucked under, causing one of the biggest escalator catastrophes Hong Kong has ever seen.

Copping an "I told you so" from the Escalator Safety Crew would be one of the most degrading and humiliating things that could ever happen, so for now I'm a good citizen who holds the handrail, looks straight ahead and waits to be told what to do next.

The Wrong Shoes

Why am I so bad at buying shoes? I don't get it. I always enter the shoe shop with the confidence of a man who has learned his lesson. I leave the premises about 75% sure that I've made the right decision, then a few days later I realise that I've fallen into the same trap again. They're too big, too small, uncomfortable, bad quality or just plain ugly.

I am now the owner of quite a few pairs of shoes and I can honestly say that I'm not completely happy with any of them. Let's go through them:

Black semi-casual ones – I'm wearing them now. They have a red spot on the back, the black faded within a week, I can't wear them with jeans and they're ugly.

Mizuno tennis shoes – Brilliant shoes for squash. Great quality and they look fine. Oh yeah, but they were a size too small, made my toenail die and then take six months to drop off completely, giving me the added complication that I shouldn't wear thongs for fear of grossing people out.

Rod's hand-me-downs – They were too small for the big fella so I scooped them up. A bit grubby and needed a wash. I put them in the washing machine and now they just sit there looking a bit mangled.

Black Julius Marlows (go on, say it in Tony Greig's voice) – not too bad, but they're clearly about 5 years old now and need a bit of stitching here and there.

Squash shoes from Mong Kok market – I know you can't expect too much for 8 Aussie bucks, but the 'Blister Maker 2000' can be a little rough on the old soles.

Asics Gel – My only great shoe purchase over the years. Unfortunately unless you're Jerry Seinfeld you can't really wear runners with jeans.

Thongs – They're ok, but it took four other dud pairs to find the right one. Oh, and they're quickly falling apart.

High heels – Stunning, but honestly, I just can't walk in those things.

Can anybody help me? I need an all purpose shoe that's dressy enough to wear to work (smart casual is ok) and casual enough to wear out. I want answers! I want to be as satisfied with my next pair of shoes as I am with my brilliant 'France' boxer shorts.

The Devil Makes Crap Movies

I consider myself an open-minded and tolerant moviegoer. I'll give just about anything a go and I'll always try to like it, no matter what I my preconceptions about the film are. It was with this attitude that I sat down to watch a little film called 'The Devil Wears Prada'.

I hadn't heard much about the film, Meryl Streep was in it and it had a clever title. I thought to myself, “What could go wrong? It should be a nice little fluffy piece of entertainment to pass a couple of hours. I'm always up for taking the mickey out of fashion people. Hell, this could be a classic in the making.”

Not since 'Batman and Robin' have I been so shocked by a movie's lack of quality. It seems like the filmmakers weren't even trying to make it interesting. There was not one surprise during the whole thing; the dialogue was crappy; the characters were unlikable; it was boring; it was full of “you go girl!” Oprah-style makeover moments that make me want to puke and the worse thing is... other people liked it!

It is generally considered a good movie! I am gobsmacked. Usually my opinions on movies don't stray too far from the norm, but how could anyone (apart from teenage girls) honestly like this movie?

At least film reviewer extraordinaire Roger Ebert didn't like it. He said,

"'The Devil Wears Prada' is being positioned as a movie for grown-ups and others who know what, or who, or when, or where, Prada is. But while watching it I had the uncanny notion that... one of those books from my childhood had been filmed."

Exactly, Rog. It's not exactly a pasting, but close enough. Some of my other favourite reviewers, however, were full of praise. What's wrong with them? It's a kid's movie and not in a 'Toy Story' good way.

My advice to anyone who hasn't seen it yet – stay well away from this well marketed mound of dung. It'll leave a bitter taste in your mouth for days to come. (The movie, not the dung. Although, I guess that wouldn't taste too good either.)

Baby Basher

There isn't a nice way to say this: I gave the cutest baby in Hong Kong a fat lip (pictured).

Click here to see how cute she used to be.

Perhaps I'm being a little hard on myself. I didn't actually give her a fat lip, but I was responsible for it.

You see, Daisy and I were sitting on the couch. I was enjoying my Pringles and she was enjoying trying to steal the Pringles. It's a little game we play. In my relaxed state I failed to take into account that among her recently acquired skills is the "sudden lunge", which is assisted by her stronger than expected baby legs. Put that lethal combination next to a dimwitted, Pringle-munching moron with the reflexes of a dead snail, and you've got a recipe for disaster.

See Daisy. See Daisy lunge. See Daisy topple. See Daisy cry. See Daisy bleed. See Daisy cry some more.

Look up sheepish in the dictionary. See Nick.

Needless to say, this was not my finest moment. Have you ever had a 'drop the baby' moment? Care to share it with us? Another one of mine that comes to mind is when I went skiing with the Mannfolks and I knocked everyone's skis over, Dumb and Dumber style. Whoops.

Let Me McHelp

I'm going to tell you about one major cultural difference between Australia and Hong Kong – tray etiquette at McDonald's.

I was always, always told to clean up after myself back home. Unless my memory fails me, it is considered pretty rude in Australia to leave all of your mess on the table after finishing your meal (although throwing pickles onto the roof is perfectly acceptable). In Honkers, on the other hand, if you clean it up by yourself you are considered a freak. Perhaps even, “very diiiirty la”. There are people employed specifically to do that job and if you take that away from them, perhaps that is the height of rudeness. I don't know. All I know is that this morning after finishing devouring my Sausage McMuffin and hot coffee, I cleared the table and the staff stared, looked confused and eventually laughed at me!

I just hope I don't get too used to it. I don't want to get back to Australia, go to Maccas and spurt out things like, “It's not gonna clean itself, darling. Now come over here over and wipe my mouth.”

If I tried that, chances are I'd cop a pounding from a toothless sales assistant called Shazza. “Wipe this!” Smack.

A Fool's Cap

If I told you that the biggest problem at my office is paper size, you'd probably laugh, leave or tell me to get a life. However, I would argue that consistency in paper size is essential to good human relations at work. Allow me to illustrate my point.

I work at a Primary School. This school has a ridiculous policy of printing all of their staff handouts on A4 paper and all the their student worksheets on F4. We all share the same printers, so you can imagine how many times a day people get to the printer to find that some inconsiderate staff member has stuffed the thing with F4. ("Whoops! Looks like I've just ruined pages 3-6 and 11-12 of your twenty-page document. No worries, just print them again. Or better yet, get your scissors out and try to cut it back to size. It'll be fun!") I'm no paperist (well, no, maybe I am), but I think we would all get along better in a mono…err papery society. A4, A5, A3. I think they've got the bases covered. I might even be willing to switch to F4 as long as we only used the F family and all its kin. I'm just looking for a little consistency.

After printing a six-page document at work (two of which were F4) I had an argument with a fellow staff member. She was convinced that the school could not survive without F4 paper because, "sometimes you need extra room on a worksheet". I tried to tell her that I went all of my schooling without a piece of F4 in sight, but she just laughed at my ignorance and reassured me, "But F4 is better. A4 will be too small la". (Many Hong Kong people add "la" to the end of just about any sentence they utter in order, I think, to emphasise their point.) I wanted to push the argument further, but I had a feeling she was one of those pesky F4 sympathisers and I didn't want to push my luck.

Enough is enough. I don't want to sound like Hitler or Pauline Hanson, but it's time to implement a One School, One Paper policy.

Switching to Miso

My name is Nick and I'm a coffee-a-holic. When I was young, I shied away from anything to do with coffee. Not even coffee flavoured ice cream could tempt me. I was a Vanilla ice cream and Milo man, all the way. But look at me now. It's got me good. One morning without a cup of coffee and I don't feel right. One whole day and the headaches start to kick in. Well I've had enough, coffee (note the position of the comma - I haven't had enough coffee, I've had enough in general and I'm talking to the coffee. Maybe I should use a capital letter. I'll try again).

“I've had enough, Coffee. I think it's time we went on a break. No, not a coffee break – not this time. It'll just be for a little while, to see how things work out. It's not you; it's me. Maybe we could explore other possibilities, you know? What? Tea? No, I would never. I know I used to drink tea, but that was a long time ago! Miso? No... sure, I'm curious, but I'm just not that kind of guy. Would you just...? Could you please...? Be reasonable, please! The truth? The truth is... I've just found that lately you've been a little bitter... No, I need something more... I've tried sugar, look, it's... I've tried everything! White with one; white with two, black, no sugar, mocha, for God's sake, I even went Frappuccino! I've done everything for you, but... as the umpire said to the man who had bowled his designated six deliveries, it's over.”

Ok, back to reality. So rather than do the usual teacher trick of downing two and a half litres of the stuff before recess, I'm putting my Starbucks thermos to better use by throwing in a bit of the old Instant Miso into that bad boy. Oh, the irony. Take that, Starbucks thermos. You might keep my drink warm but your coffee's crap! It's crap! Do you hear me? Answer me. ANSWER ME!

Sorry about that. I just get a little jittery at the moment. Not to worry, I'm sure it'll pass. I'll be fine.

So... did you know I pass a Pacific Coffee on the way home? It's big and inviting and has comfy chairs and free Internet. Perhaps I'll just pop in and take in the ambience. Yeah, that's what I'll do. It's gonna take more than the sweet, sweet aroma of freshly ground coffee to tempt me out of my coffee sabbatical. Yep. Iron Will – that's what they'd call me if my name was William. Iron will. Good will. Cannot be shaken. Strength. Character...

Stuff it. I'll go cold turkey starting tomorrow.

Balding? Maybe.

There comes a time in every man's life that he asks himself the dreaded question, "Am I going bald?" It's a tough question, because even if you're not sure, the best you can come up with is "maybe". I might be going bald. Perhaps I just have thin hair. Was it always this thin? Isn't it hereditary on your mother's side? Was my grandfather always bald? How old was he when he started to lose his hair? Am I eating the right foods? Is it just my imagination? My chest is getting hairier - aren't bald guys hairy? How old am I? What age is a respectable age to lose your hair? Will it hold out until I'm thirty? Surely thirty's acceptable. Who cares if I go bald, anyway? Not me. Oh, God, please don't let me lose my hair, I'm too pretty! Breathe.

Your mirror routine is altered. There are different thought patterns when doing your hair. You give a lot more thought to which type of hair gel makes your hair look thicker. You try to go for the messy look that tactically covers any receding areas. You linger a little longer in the hats section of clothing stores. You consider the shape of your head and whether it would be a good 'bald head', and all the while you're still sitting on a 'maybe'.

As you may have guessed, I'm clinging onto 'maybe' with all my might. I'm waiting for that definitive moment when I can say, "Yep, this is it, baldy. Deal with it." I haven't reached that stage yet, but I'm close. I've asked a few people to inspect my potentially balding noggen and have had mixed reactions. Nomes has already kissed it goodbye. Dad reckons I'm fine because his dad had thin hair but never went bald. I think everyone else is just being nice.

For argument's sake, let's say that I am going bald. There's a big question of how to deal with it. My first thought would be to cut it short and never worry about it again. Sure, it might take a while to get used to, but there are plenty of baldies out there who've made it work for them. In fact, bald is cool. I'm awesome. But wait, just when I've accepted this truth and can't wait for it to start falling out properly, I think about my eyesight - it's getting worse - aarrgh - bald guy with glasses, bald guy with glasses... don't think it, Nick, don't think it.... oh, no you thought it - you're George Costanza.

I just don't want to be a combover guy. I heard someone describe it once as "seaweed on a rock" and the very thought of it sends shivers down my spine. Toupee? No. Advanced Hair? No, no. Settle for being less attractive than before?.... Hmmm, Advanced Hair? I find it hard to type those words, letalone say them. I just can't see it happening.

I want to hear from the boys who've gone made the journey from 'no' to 'maybe' to 'Kojak'. Do you like it? Does it effect the way you see yourself? Can you recommend any good hat stores? Does your head ever get sunburnt? How long did it take you to accept that your forehead was getting bigger?

I realise that there probably aren't any baldies who will read this blog, so feel free to forward it to a bald friend in the noble quest for answers to these deep, deep questions.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get off the computer now. I've malted on the couch and can't find my glasses to clean it up. I might as well start looking for a job at Vandalay Industries.

Fat fat fatty

Those of you who've never been to Hong Kong may not be familiar with the general attitude towards overweight, or even slightly pudgy, children. The general consensus is that if the opportunity presents itself, everyone should remark upon the child's size in a loud and bold voice, have a hearty chuckle (finger pointing and knee slapping are optional extras) and he or she must laugh along heartily and pretend that they're very lucky to be the centre of such undivided attention. If you think it's a teacher's job to stick up for the little porker, then think again! In most cases, it is the teacher who is the ringleader. I have seen many examples of this, but Naomi's story of an incident today left me speechless.

Nomes (that's Naomi, for those not up with the lingo) has just started at a new school - a hoity toity one with a great reputation - and today was her first day of teacher observation. This is when she just sits at the back of the class and watches the masters at work. The lesson today was on opposites, so after a few minutes of "black...white", "tall... short" and such things, the teacher had a little giggle and asked thin girl and a slightly overweight individual to stand up. Barely containing her laughter, she asked, "Can you guess what this one is?" The children were in hysterics, yelling out "Fat! Fat! FAT! Ahahahaha" while the poor kid stood there with a half smile on his face. The teacher responded proudly, "Yes, fat! He is fat!" Not content with humiliating the young fella, she then asked him to stand on his side, presumably so people could see that "He really fat", and put a sticker on him that said, "fat", while the whole class continued laughing their heads off. I'm not joking. She labelled him fat, and she didn't even have the courtesy to do it metaphorically.

I'm no expert on political correctness, or even teaching, manners, courtesy, respect or common sense, but you do not laugh in a fat kid's face. I don't care if he weighs a hundred kilos. I don't care if he looks as if he'd swallowed an inflatable ball that gets foot-pumped a little more each time he takes a step. I don't even care if his name is Fat (which is sometimes the case in Hong Kong), don't call him fat! Don't tease him, don't laugh at him and certainly don't encourage a class full of kids with a predisposition to laughing at anything remotely different to do the same.

My advice for the offending teacher: If you want to be funny, take a whoopee cushion to class instead. Farts are always funny. Sure, it's just as juvenile as laughing at the fat kid, but at least no one's feelings are getting hurt.

Allow me to introduce myself

Those of you who are bored or narcissistic enough will have already done it. If you haven't, I recommend you try it, for you never know what it will bring. What am I talking about, you ask? I'm talking about the age-old tradition of googling your own name.

This can be done either because you want to know if you've done anything great enough to make it onto a website, or to see what other people with your name are up to. I recommend the second option, because... well, let's face it; most of us probably haven't done enough to warrant a google search in our own honour. I haven't, anyway, but I know a little chap called Nicholas Oliver who has.

Nicholas Oliver is a train enthusiast. He's also a doctor, a pianist, a lawyer and, most impressively, a puppet cigarette called Nicholas Oliver Teen (Nic–O–Teen). If you don't believe me, click here. There's also a heart association lobbyist, a promising young American footballer and a possibly less promising dead guy from Michigan. My point is, there are a lot of people going around with my name (with the exception of the guy from Michigan) and doing a bunch of different things with it. Some great, some not so great and some totally random. It got me thinking about how much all of our little decisions effect everything.

If I kept playing piano, could I have made that my career? Or if I knuckled down, could I have been a doctor? Could I have painted myself white, set my head on fire and convinced kids to stop smoking? I don't know. But it's a bit of a laugh, anyway.

So who else are you?

Rhyme time ain't no crime... dime

Ok, I'm sitting here planning some creative writing lessons for the youngsters at my school. It occurred to me how much I used to enjoy reading and writing limericks. So I'd like to ask people to compose a limerick to describe their current state of mind. I'll go first:

I've found that my place of employment
Can be lacking a sense of enjoyment
It's like watching paint dry
Got to make the time fly
Only two words that rhyme with enjoyment

Ok, so that was pretty crap… how about this one? Born out of frustration after being unable to get off the train due to pusherinerers (yes, it's a real word).

There once was a place called Hong Kong
To which millions of people belong
I had thought that a few
Would have learned how to queue
But now, so it seems, I was wrong

Your turn....

Blog me up!

One man. One blog. One hour left until the Internet room closes.

That's right, folks. I've gone and started my own blog. I haven't let the pesky fact that I don't own a computer get in the way. Oh, no. Because life throws up a lot of challenges, you see, and you have to rise to them. If I just gave up and said, "I don't have a computer. Life is crap. I can't even have a blog. What's the point of living anyway?", that would be a pretty bad attitude, wouldn't it? Well, I'm here to tell you that it doesn't have to be that way. With a bit of elbow grease and just a touch of luck, you too could have your very own blog. I'm not just saying this to make you feel better - it's true. You see, there's this thing called the "Internet" and you can use it to "surf web-pages", "find information" and "look at porn".

So keep an eye on this puppy for the latest developments. I'm not really sure how to use the site yet, but when I finally do get my own computer (I'm hoping next week) there should be a bit more going on, blog-wise.

Until then, then.

P.S. I have new glasses.