Street Fashion

We are in typhoon season. It seems as though there is one every week. You know it is on the way when the sky clears from grey to blue. This is followed by a couple of days of torrential rain and wind, and then a brief cool before the humidity and temperature begin to rise again. Last week's typhoon killed more than 300 people in Southern China - enough to make the papers but not the international press.

The rain brings with it some interesing street fashion. While there are plenty of cars in Shanghai, many people still cycle. When it rains, they wear diaphanous capes in an array of colours. These look rather like maternity rain capes as they are significantly longer at the front than at the back but the design is a good one as the fronts drape over the cyclists hands and handle bars. The hoods have a large peak which keeps off a lot of the rain and they are just the right length to cover legs but not get tangled in the wheel spokes. Not everyone has such appropriate rain wear. Yesterday, I saw a woman wearing a shower cap and another with a plastic bag perched precariously on part of her head. It wasn't big enough to cover her completely. The rain collected in a puddle on top of the bag and so served no discernable purpose other than to make her look like an escaped lunatic.

Speaking of escaped lunatics, at the end of our road is one of the largest hospitals in Shanghai. This very modern building exudes an air of western efficiency which is somewhat undermined by the fact that many of the patients seem to hang out outside it in their shabby striped pyjamas having a fag break or worse, wandering dazed and confused into the road, spitting within striking distance of me and my precious children or hacking into our faces.

The sun also brings some interesting street fashions. Lady cyclists wear white cotton capes which cover their arms and hang in a diamond down their backs as they weave their way bat like between the cars. I assume the purpose of these garments is to protect the skin from the sun and possibly to keep their clothes clean. Some of the capes are covered in multi coloured embroidery so that you think these women belong to some ethnic minority group which has updated its national costume to fit into urban Shanghai. Another favourite is the 'super visor'. These look like baseball hats with extended rims but for the fact that the rims do not point out but hang down covering the face and are made not of material but of tinted plastic. You can't help but admire their practicality if not their beauty as they act as sunglasses and pollution filters at the same time.

The Terminator

This sounds like it's going to be about a scary Chinese law enforcement agent. Sorry, but the Terminator is none other than Toby. Having been the sweetest most laid back baby in the world, he has developed into a clingy, tetchy little being. I say little but for his age, he is pretty solid - broad backed, fat legged and now, completely mobile. Every time I put him down with some toys and sneak off to the kitchen to get a glass of water or something, I hear the relentless pad, pad, pad, tetch, tetch, tetch of Toby seeking me out. No matter how far I run, he doesn't give up. There is no stopping him. He is the Termiator. This persistence is also applied to any other of his seemingly nonsensical wishes. While Eliot was easily distracted, Toby is remarkably single minded for a nine month old. When he finally tracks me down, he climbs up my leg until he is standing, precariously clinging to my legs. In exasperation I pick him up and then he puts his head on my shoulder and smiles triumphantly and I am forced to forgive him.

Last weekend, we had brunch with some friends and put Toby down to sleep in their spare room. When he woke up, we found we couldn't open the door. There was Toby in a strange, dark room, screaming to be picked up and the door was not budging. Happily, manpower is not at a shortage in China. Skill, however, can be a different issue. Withing five minutes, a locksmith had been located. He knelt at the door for a few minutes with some impressive looking tools but seemed a bit stumped when Jamie explained that the door wasn't actually locked. A few more minutes and some prodding. "It's broken" he said helpfully. "Yes, we know, that's why we called you - can you open the door?" "I don't know" he said sitting back on his heels. "Well, could you try?" said Jamie through gritted teeth as Toby screamed hysterically in the background. "OK" said the locksmith finally and a few minutes later, the door was opened and Toby was liberated. Two minutes later, he was fine. I was still hyper ventilating when we left.

Eliot has not been short of a few adventures of his own, mostly involving attempts to knock himself out. In the space of a week, Eliot has had a door opened into his head; has opened a cupboard door on the same spot; has slipped and cut himself right next to his eye and fallen over and cut his head open against a table. I have tried to explain to him that if he falls over, he should put his hands out to break his fall but instinct seems to be failing him. I am slightly concerned that his nursery is going to call social services. At least I would be if we were in the UK. Yesterday, I went to collect him from school and was told that he'd fallen over and hurt his knee and had been very upset and then had a nosebleed. "I cried at school today" announced Eliot in the car. "Was that when you fell over?" "No, Jasmine pushed me". "Jasmine - are you sure?" Jasmine, the girl who wouldn't get into the swimming pool. Jasmine who is approximately half Eliot's height. I would be surprised if she were able to push a feather let alone Eliot. "Yeah" said Eliot in injured tones.

Eliot has a new friend from school called Flora or at least I have a new friend, Flora's mother so Eliot is now playing with Flora. We all went out for lunch last Saturday and Eliot wanted Flora to come home and play. "Another day" we said. Eliot got home and sat on the sofa. "I don't have any friends" he sniffed. "Of course you do". "Yes but I don't have any friends in my house" he continued, sticking out his lower lip. Slightly nonplussed, we were wondering how to respond when Eliot looked up and caught my eye and couldn't help a little giggle escaping. Cheeky person.

Swimming

We have joined a sports club called the 'Ambassy Club'. Apparently, it was intended that it be called the 'Embassy Club' but something got lost in translation. Truth be told, it's not the best sports club in the world. Jamie was pleased that there was a squash court but it was only on trying to play on it that he realised it was the wrong size. There aren't many squash players in Shanghai needless to say. The club does, however, have a nice outdoor pool and a pretty decent indoor one which is about 10 degrees colder than the outdoor one.

To date, Eliot has not exactly been a water baby and was shamed by his younger cousin last summer when he refused to sit down in the paddling pool that she was happily splashing about in. Perhaps it is the stifling heat or the warm water or perhaps it is simply being a year older but Eliot is now a keen swimmer, or so he likes to think. In the space of two weekend visits, he has gone from crying when the water got in his face to jumping into the deep end and shooting down the water slide. Another contributing factor to his enjoyment is the purchase of some water wings which keep him afloat and lend him a very false sense of security in the water.

Last week, I took him swimming after school and told him he could go in the shallow bit (which is divided by a small wall from the deep end) while I took off my outer clothing by the side of the pool. I had turned my back for two seconds when I heard Eliot shout 'look at me Mummy'. I turned around to find he had jumped into the deep end and was afloat but with no ability to remain so and no way to direct himself to the edge of the pool. Clearly, the sooner he learns to swim, the better.

In my first week here, I had met a mother at Eliot's school who asked if Eliot would like to do swimming lessons. I said definitely and she said she would organise it. Two months later, she finally emailed to say that she had set up lessons with 'Johnson'. She told me she had spent some time finding out who the best teacher for little children was and then added that I would recognise him as he was the best looking of them. She wasn't wrong although I am not sure which of the two characteristics was the one which persuaded her to go ahead.

Anyway, last Friday, Eliot lined up with his classmates Killian (German, nearly 4) and Jasmine (Chinese, indeterminate age but miniscule). Oliver the child of the organising parent will join next week. It took some time for the children to realise that they were supposed to be having a lesson and then there was some crying when the strange man talked to them but Eliot was keen and duly put his face in the water to blow bubbles as instructed. Killian continued to cry and Jasmine refused to go in the pool. Eliot came out because he needed the toilet. Killian continued to cry, Jasmine refused to get in the pool. I attempted to find Eliot a toilet. In a brilliant piece of planning, the only toilet is three hundred yards and two flights of slippery stairs away. I assume most children take this as a licence to wee in the pool. Not Eliot. Clearly desperate, the life guard (who, incidentally, sits miles away from the pool facing the other direction) shouted at him not to wee in the foot washing pool. I appealed to Johnson 'he won't make it to the toilet, do you want him to go in the pool?' Eliot was then hurried towards the outdoor showers which to my knowledge are never used - at least not for showering.

At the end of the lesson, Eliot went under the water to pick up Johnson's watch from the bottom of the pool. Killian continued to cry. Jasmine had still not got in the pool. I call the lesson a success.