I found this sign yesterday, or about 15 of them, all over the three lower floors of The Center. Two thoughts sprung to mind: Can a warning be hoisted? and: Wasn’t it 14 degrees yesterday? That’s more than a lot of people have in their offices all year round! (My personal record for summer office temperature: 11 degrees.)
Everything is relative, and although for me there must be at least minus fifteen degrees, icicles falling on my head and people sitting down to rest in snowdrifts never to wake up before you can even start calling it cool, I do realise that 14 degrees can seem daunting to some. But cold weather warning? Really!
One place where it wasn’t cold no matter how you look at it, though, was the delightful Makumba bar in the steepest part of Peel street. The owner had put on an African fashion show with her own designs, and used the street, or should I say sheer cliff-face, as a runway.
One by one her fabulous creations glided down the hill - it was just as well the models could be barefoot because believe me, it’s steep - to the gentle rhythm of African music performed by beautiful geezers.
The models were the designer’s girlfriends; what’s in fashion known as “real” women, of all ages. When she realised she had a bunch of men’s shirts she also wanted to show, she just roped in four guys from the audience.
To the accompaniment of a rather … different? commentator dressed in a green checked suit and looking not a little like Peter Stringfellow who would say things like: “And now I present to you the beautiful Lulu. She’s a lady of the night. And she loves bankers” this wonderful, slightly surreal fashion show went on, and I nudged my friend: “I bet you the police will turn up within the next ten minutes.” For I am a cynic, you see. And I’ve lived in Hong Kong a long time.
And yes, three minutes later, at 22.21, there came the boys in blue. There had been a complaint about music being played outside, live, without a licence.
To their credit, the constables were very embarrassed at having to shut the thing down, in fact they disappeared into the bar and let the show go on for a good ten minutes until all the dresses and shirts had been well and truly seen.
But oh, who? Who can’t stand to hear a little bit of live music, not loud and very soft without drums or electric guitars, in the street of an evening? Who, when they see people having a great time watching a truly original and spectacular show, has only one thought: Call the police?
I pity that tiny little person.
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