It pays to be nice to the Yout.

There is a woman on my street whom I can honestly say I hate. I don’t use the word often but she makes my beast rise inside me when I pass her on the street and I will her to just say something to me, anything. Any excuse too punch her in her horrid head. I have lived here for 15 years and so has she, longer probably. She has a drink and drug problem, hangs out on Gilette square with the regulars (before it was cool to skateboard and hang with the locals… she was there) and she thought it was funny one night to call me a dyke while protected by her junky pals. I walked passed with clenched fists while my girlfriend at the time eyed me nervously waiting for me to do something stupid. I did not because I am not.

We could hear her wailing and screaming during the day; putting her family through shear hell with her darkness. Her mum having to call the police almost every week to have her taken away from the house and her kids. Sometimes ambulances came and people were loaded up, sometimes I wondered if it was her and she died, would they be relieved?

It was summer and the windows were open. She was screaming and shouting ‘fuck you’ slurring hard and thick all her words mashed together in an ugly throaty sound. It’s a sound I know and recognise, when people use drink and drugs their voices deepen and crack. I hate the sound; its often coupled with violence and desperate acts resulting in pain of some degree.

I look out my second floor window and see a white boy of 7 or 8 in off white baggy underwear riffling through my bin. I shout Oi! Get out of my bin!’ He looks up at me and shouts, “But she hit my Nan, pointing at the red face dragon staggering around wildly on the road screaming for her dog “Poppy’ Come ‘ere’! Poppy, an overweight terrier type hates her, but comes to avoid a kicking later. (Poppy and her other dog were taken by the police a few years later and destroyed because they were on the dangerous dogs list. Oh the irony). I look at him and realise that this kid is her son and I feel so sorry for him. I tell him to ‘get back inside and put some clothes on’. He looks at me and goes back to his house.

Over the next 10 years I watch her get arrested, scream outside her house, smash her mums house up, raised a girl child that now seems to be a younger a deadler version of herself. Screaming at the police when they come to take her away also. And the boy? I watch him grow up on the streets, literally on the street because going home (Inside his house ) was not bearable. I made effort say hello and have a little chat if we walked on the same pavement. I would come home and he would be chilling on his doorstep at midnight when he was 12. I have no idea what type of person he has grown up to be. He is in the local gang that can get quite scary at times.

About a year ago I got a dog and have to go out a night to walk him. One morning I found an iphone. I got it back to the owner who was a young black kid. A week or so later I found out the two of them are friends in the same gang. We say hi when I pass them all hunched up plotting badness and pointlessness but when they are with their other friends we just have eye contact and an ever so slightly raised eyebrow. There's because they don't want to seem rude but equally do not want there friends to take the piss and mine, in recogition of the possibly that will happen...

So I expect you are wondering why the hell I am writing this?

Tonight I took my dog out as usual about 10.15pm. I leave my house and notice that some Yout are chasing each other on the road, some on bikes (this lad being one of them). I choose to go the other way in order to avoid them, there are 5 of them. I cut down to the estate and try to encourage my dog to piss. He wont, as usual he just wants to pull me off in the search for white bread crusts and chicken bones. Sol is not really paying attention and I find myself in the position of hearing that they have decided to come the other way; I try to quicken my step. I round the corner, hearing them making noises and saying some things which I cant make out. A moped comes around the corner with a guy I recognise on it (my dog has barked at him before because he wears his helmet on top of his head like some sort of giant egg on wheels); followed by a figure with a hood and the familiar walk of a bad boy; you know, one hand in his pants and the other clutching his phone.

At this stage I am in the middle of the road and swearing that I will kill my dog for stopping and crunching away like nothings happening. So much for feeling safe with him he can be bribed with a carrot. They start barking behind me and then Sol looks back. I pull him towards me and we have a battle of wills, I win. The guy on the scooter is saying to them – ‘Let him off Let him off –do it’. I didn’t notice that they had a dog with them.

I am now dragging Sol away but trying to not appear to care… And this is the moment.

‘Na man wait stop, She’s safe man. She’s Safe’. 

Followed by laughter and taunts that he is 'soft' and they should let the dog off… 

But he repeats it again and I dont wait to hear the rest of the sentence.

I don’t wait to hear the explanation of why I’m safe; I’m just fucking glad I am.

High tea at The Ritz

 Bring your own Tupperware 

I had my reservations about taking part in this display of over indulgent peacockery... but as it was my Nana's 80th birthday I paid my £65 and vowed not to eat breakfast that morning so I could do justice to shoving as much white bread and sugar down me as possible before developing type 2 diabetes.

I arrived to find my party already partaking in a pre-tea tipple and so I joined in and ordered a single Amaretto; mistake No.1 -  Always ask the price, I discovered later this drink cost me £16.

We were taken to our table to the sound of a man playing a large harp and once we were seated there was high class singing and they sang happy birthday to my nan and bought her a lovely cake (which we asked for them to put it in a box so we could take it home...).

We were given egg, cucumber, chicken, ham, salmon, cheese sandwiches on white bread fingers (some of the fingers tried to pretend to be brown, by adding caraway seeds and a bit of dye). To be honest I would expect to find this level of culinary delights at a 5 year old's birthday party, but I'm hungry because I have starved myself and they taste great washed down with a large pot of lapsang souchong. We also received some cream cakes and scones, and a glass of champagne. We were offered more cake on a trolley by a man with white gloves, dandruff and look of contempt that would end in stiff words in any other situation than my nans birthday. 'Lemon drizzle madam'? he said, managing to keep the plum firmly in his mouth; I politely refused his challenge; I was beaten and decided to go to the powder room (or toilet as its known in lesser circles).

Very disappointed in the facilities! Pink and jaded (a bit like me after all that sugar); they did not have one item that was branded so that I could have a little keepsake for my nans scrapbook. At these prices, you would think they could just invest in some toilet paper that has the Ritz stamped into it wouldn't you? Anyway, we had our fun and took photos of ourselves reading Mayfair magazine on the powder room sofa, ignoring the disdainful glares of the lady working there. I think laughing might be legal here; but remember lady, a toilet is a toilet no matter where it is situated...

Back up to the dining room and time to leave... and to the moment that has bought me to bother to write this piece.

We were obviously defeated by the mountain of cake and sandwiches... a tricky situation for them, because too little and we feel cheated, we want to leave there feeling slightly sick and giddy. So they err on the side of satisfying our gluttonous needs (it is Christmas after all and that's what its all about right kids?).

A couple of days ago I had a conversation with someone and mentioned that I was going to bring a tupperware and they said, 'no! they will have boxes for that! There must be loads of people that cant eat everything'. 
'Of course'! I said reassured that a huge hotel, internationally known and catering for people in business and fans of fine wines and consumers of high culture would fully grasp how important it was to show that they had at least an understanding of sustainability and waste management. 

This was mistake no.2:  

We asked for a box to take away the left overs... and were told...

'No.We do not allow that'. 
I then politely asked 'So what do you do with the food'?

'We throw it away'.

'You throw away the food I paid for'?

'Yes, because of health and safety laws'...

'There are laws that say you cannot give people their own food to take away'?

'Yes, Since a customer got sick and sued us'

I asked if the lawsuit was  successful and he could not tell me. No doubt because that was complete nonsense. I informed him that I thought that the practice of throwing away that much food was disgusting and he thanked me and he and his colleagues had a good old laugh about it.I didn't dare ask how come we were allowed to take away my nans birthday cake.

Just for an idea on the amount of wastage we are talking about here... 

There are roughly 30 tables in this dinning area each having 1.5 - 2hour slots throughout the day. Our table alone left at least 9 scones, 5 mice pies, 2 cakes and some sarnies... 
So, times that by 30 and then again for between roughly 6 changes of parties per table every day of the week, almost every day of the year.

So, in a nutshell, it lived up to my expectations; waste, gluttony and a total disregard for anything other than showing off how much they just don't give a shit. All led by pompous farts with far to much money enjoying the feeling of having people stand there all day opening doors for them and calling them sir and madam.
There is so much more to London than this old relic, ripping people off for £60 each for some cheap white sarnies and a couple of cakes. 
I am slowly learning that my principles are there for me to take notice of and every time I ignore them through fear of upsetting someone else I end up feeling terrible that I took part in something that I loath and my taking part, even just once or for my lovely grans birthday means that this sort of greed and snobbery can continue unchallenged and I have just paid into it.  

BTW - I was hungry by the time I got home on the tube and went and got a lovely lentil soup from the Turkish restaurant up the road and paid £3 with flat bread and olives and pickles.

What you are worth

I'm leaving for home tomorrow (back to London). Im not to happy about it as I have a project in mind here in Harbin that I wish to return for. But I have a lot to be getting on with, which includes trying to earn some money in the business of photography.

You see, it is not easy valuing yourself when others value their chosen pathway over yours. I am relating this to myself because I experienced a situation where someone used my work without permissions to promote their own business venture. Now they claimed ignorance to the whole copyrights issue which I would normally be willing to give them the benefit of the doubt on if they were not a writer that publishes and protects their own work regularly. However, it was the next move which got me rather angry; they said they felt it was 'petty' to bring the issue up. They are paying my request sum for usage, but only to avoid any bad feeling (i.e. not because they made an error, sorry for this, how much do we owe you for your work?)

It was partly my own fault really, I did a favour for someone who knew someone and did a shoot stupidly cheap (why? because at that time I lacked the confidence to ask for what my time and skills were worth) and then did not type up a contract of usage believing that they would use the images for what they specified they were for. Two mistakes that even if you are just starting out you should not be making. A colleague of mine (in my other life) is just starting out in her photography business and we are working together on a shoot. I was surprised by how organised her business skills are, this is what I should have been doing for the last couple of years! Even if you do the work at a cheap rate as a favour, make sure you still give a contract breaking down what they get (i.e. the work that you actually put in including editing days) and that clearly states usage rights.

This whole episode feeds into a larger subject that is dear to my heart which is valuing the work others do regardless of your own standing in life. Understanding that without those people serving you, cleaning up the shit you throw away, packing and producing your food the system would collapse. The worth should be measured in this way, without one cannot exist the other. Consider it while you sip on your caffe latte, how many people are actually working for you to enjoy the pleasure of sitting down in a  cosy cafe listening to French music in the background while you tap away on your device? Im not trying to make anyone feel guilty, I love a good coffee shop as much as the next person but lets be honest, this is pure luxury. When you look at your whole coffee experience from start to finish, £2.20 seems rather cheap.

Being in Harbin has really highlighted this issue. There so many people here and this is a third tier Chinese city (to me it seems almost the size of London). Wherever you go there are twice as many people as are needed to do a job. I walk into a restaurant and there are five waitresses (mostly women serving) doing the job of two. But people need to work here in order to eat and while industry and technology mean we can get a machine to do the job of 20 people, what are the people going to do for money? Human labour is cheap because they have it in abundance, it needs to be cheaper than running machines because otherwise they will use the machines. An example of this is waste management. To the untrained English eye the first thing you notice is the lack of recycling and bin collections. With the huge amount of plastic being used (China is in the midst of a passionate love affair with the stuff), this was a shocking thought. What the hell are they doing with it? 
Human labour and private enterprise is what. They have no big garbage trucks coming around the houses, they have private system of collection with several parts to it. Beginning with person that goes through your household and street garbage looking for paper, plastic, cardboard to the person that takes a truckload to the recycling plants outside of town. I still have no idea about how they deal with the landfill rubbish though. 

You will hear a bang bang bang on the streets, the sound of a plastic drum being beaten with a stick. They are the recyclers. Each one has there own area and the sign tells you what they are collecting.  

Health and safety? Lets just blow it up.

China is in the midst of an economic boom the scale of which I've never seen in Europe; and just like the West, not everyone is benefiting from this. 

There appears to be the same three classes of lifestyle (top, middle, bottom) but the gap between the top and bottom rungs is unimaginable to an English mind. 

There are the new uber rich that swish around with their lapdogs and Gucci knickers trying their best to run over anyone on foot with their monster 4x4's; think Gangnam style and you are on the right track (I didn't realise the song was a piss take of the new rich and that Gangnam is a district in Seoul, Korea). There is the middle, which like the West has its own sub divisions and its own pretensions. I have the impression that these people are under an immense amount of pressure to live outside of their means and to spend their money on luxury items that will show their status. Sound familiar so far?

The bottom lifestyle class is where the differences are very apparent. There are unemployment benefits… sort of. How much and how difficult it is to get depends on the province in which you live and if you have been working in the last 12 months. What is very clear though, is that the benefits are enough to stop you from starving to death for a very short period of time until you find employment; they will not pay your rent, your Sky TV subscription or have enough left over to pay your mobile phone bills. It is always preferable to undertake any work; in fact it is essential.

The street cleaners are not ashamed of their work; there is an army of them employed by the government to do this job (and another army privately employed for when there is not enough of the government supplied workers). Shovelling winter snow and ice in temperatures down to -30 and then when it thaws cleaning the detritus of the masses would be unthinkable in the UK. Ok it gets warmer here in the summer but will get a whole lot worse in terms of stink. Stopping for a minute to smile and laugh while a ridiculous looking lǎowài (foreigner) wants to take a picture of you going about your daily tasks is also just as unlikely.

   

Yesterday was the end of the spring holiday (Chinese new year) and they finished it in true Chinese style; loud, spectacular and very messy. The more money you have, the bigger your box of explosives. Many street corners had firework stands (complete with large handy fire extinguishers) which were maned by cheery looking fellas doing brisk business for the whole of the two week holiday period. 

It began at sundown and went on for around 5 hours over the whole city and was what I imagine a war breaking out sounds like, pure anarchy. People were wondering into the middle of a main street, placing a box of explosives on the floor, lighting it and then walking casually away. In the area where we are staying, they have a large public square. Public areas are very important here as people do not have gardens (it is an area full of tower blocks). Everyone contributes their bombs to the display. Children with bangers exploding them in mounds of snow next to 30 women dancing in snowsuits, no one bats an eyelid. 

People carefully lay out strips of bangers 5 meters long with a box of rockets at the end next to a watching group of men who are busy chatting, smoking and spitting.

The nice thing about it is that none of this relied on government (= taxpayers) funded organized displays. Everyone contributed their box into the display, everyone cooperated with each other in the organization and no one was injured. This particular display went on for about 1 hour and a half.

This morning at around 7am the street cleaners were out in force, by 10am it was as if nothing had happened. The only clue is the haze left in the windless air from the smoke, everyone is back to work, the holiday is over and the evil spirits have been frightened away for sure. 

A thousand tears of one hundred geese

Arriving at Harbin, Northern China in February to temperatures between -10 and -25 my main concern was whether or not my camera could cope with it. I need not have worried, the camera is doing fine. I on the other hand am having a few issues... 
In general my clothing is more than adequate, my new boots are doing the job of keeping my tootsies warm (to quote my mum who bought them for me) and my black ski mask which makes me look like I am about to eat the locals with a nice Chianti is saving my face from permanent frost bite. Its my fingers that are suffering. In order to operate my camera I need fingers that are free from gloves (well at least some of them). 20 seconds is the exposure limit before they begin to slowly die. But the real problem is when you put them back into the gloves and the feeling returns, I am instantly taken back to childhood and the pain of post snowball fights. 
When out and about I have had to operate the camera on program mode as I need to be able to keep it warm in the bag, quickly take it out take a few shots (while not breathing as it ices up the view finder and LCD screen) and cover it again. That said, I have witnessed many people wondering around nothing on their hands at all, smoking a fag with a giant Nikon SLR hanging off their necks, maybe I am just a wimp. Also, you may be surprised that I am sitting writing this my underwear, no not my long johns, my actual underwear. At a rough guess, inside the temperature is around 25-27 degrees. We have to open the window in order to cool down (currently -23 outside). My skin is drying out it looks like paper and I'm drinking so much water but not peeing...

I thought that by wrapping myself up outside with only my eyes exposed would do two jobs, keep me warm and stop the staring; it hasn't worked for the staring bit. 
For a place that is so cold, I expected a frostier reception; I am pleasantly surprised by the willingness of people to interact with me. Once they stop laughing, they are quite helpful and we can sort of communicate by waving our arms around wildly and pointing. Luckily I am with someone that is learning Chinese and so ordering food has not been as boring as it would have been because I know the sign for beef noodles...

Anyway, this is supposed to be a photo blog, so here goes.

Frozen fruit lolly lady

The most popular treat on the street is by far the frozen fruit lolly. At first I was convinced that the clear shards hanging off them were icicles (due to the fact that it is rather cold outside). But it isn't. We bought one and discovered that it is in fact syrup. Its like a toffee apple but really cold. 

Taking Grandad shopping

The next time you consider whether to take out the bike because its looking like it might rain... Just go for it. The owner of this tricycle left it parked on a busy main road and popped into Walmart for some spring festival shopping. My attention was drawn by the flowers in the basket and the bright colour against the snow. It was not until I got closer with my camera that I spotted the old man peering out at me smiling away. 

Fishing, Harbin style

 The frozen Songhua river. As we were wondering around the river bank daring each other to walk across to frozen expanse (apparently it is safe to do so until the beginning of February) we could see a few figures out on the ice digging holes. We decided that if they were there then it was safe for us and went to have a look. I made the international sign for fishing (you know what it is) and got a nod and a growl back. 

They were digging little holes and pacing back and forth as if listening for the fish under the ice. We were there for a while and concluded that this was going to be a long wait and left. 

Not before realizing that the ice was now only about 50 cm deep...