20th April.

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After work this evening I went back to the tailors for my first fitting. If today is anything to go by, I’ve bought two one-armed jackets and trousers that completely cover my shoes.

The tailor was a completely different animal today; as he slipped deftly around me adding pins and adjusting folds he barely spoke, except briefly to compliment me on my shirt:

It was only £5, from the UK.

Very good cut, sir. Tailored?

Err, no. House of George at Asda.

Excellent quality material sir. Pure cotton.

Well, it is pure cotton, there’s just a lot of polyester in between it.

I can make you six shirts, sir. Excellent quality too, better than this sir, and fit well too. $1200, sir, see, only £16 each.

I must say, £16 isn’t a bad deal for decent shirts, but I think I’ll wait and see how the suits turn out yet. He didn’t seem to follow the Chinese bargaining system, where nobody will directly decline anything and a lack of enthusiasm is enough to slow down bargaining. I had to give a sharp ‘No’ before he finally stopped trying to make me a shirt or two (and make himself a bob or two, no doubt).

After the fitting I head into Kowloon for some food, declining offers of tailors, watches, cameras and more from touts on the street. I settle on an Indian restaurant and I’m shown to my seat. There is a sitar and bongo duo on stage, and they’re joined by a woman part-way through the evening. I realise that I’m getting considerably more attention than some of the other customers, perhaps because I’m wearing a shirt and tie and making notes in a small book (actually about the tailor). It becomes a strange psychological experiment; I make notes just after anyone comes to speak to me, and sometimes when they don’t. If I write anything down, someone immediately checks that everything is ok. I finish my drink and can’t even open my notebook before the replacement lands on the table. I only have to reach for the pen and the old glass is whisked away moments later.

Sadly, the ‘travel writer’ disguise doesn’t bag me a discount and the meal is one of the most expensive I’ve had here at $200, only £14 but nearly ten times what I paid for a chicken and noodle lunch the same day.

Today’s song is anything from Ravi Shankar, because I’m cultureless and it sounds the same as the sitar guy above.

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Photos

The Indian band
By this point, the Sitar player had moved onto a cross-breed between a piano and a floor-mounted accordion.

Smoggy day
Visibility is poor on the Star Ferry crossing the harbour.

Street workmen
It might be one of the most affluent cities in the world, but roadworks still use earth tipped from a ragged Nissan and carted away in bamboo baskets.

Comments

[Heather]

Akward figure, eh?
And there was me thinking you were just a lanky git. Seriously though, I'm jealous. I've been enjoying your blog tremendously (is that spelt right?).