See the picture gallery here.
Monthly Archives: November 2012
My lesson in Chinese wisdom appears on photography website
Someone once told me ‘What you see is what you are’, taken in London’s Chinatown by Mario Cacciottolo
In the summer I had the privilege of meeting a student from Taiwan studying Shakespeare in London called Juan Hung Yu.
We spent a lot of time discussing the experiences we had had as foreigners in each other’s countries. Her impressions of England were of a place where everybody is very polite. Like me in China, she had been shown terrific kindness by strangers.
She loved the variety of historical and cultural pursuits on offer and spent her time dashing between debates, recitals, museums and performances.
In short, as I had been in China, she was hooked on England. It was under her skin. But I pointed out that few in England appreciate how lucky they are, and most, in fact, moan about their lot.
“Xiang you xin shen,” she said.(It should be ‘xin’, not ‘xing’ as I wrote it down in pinyin). She explained it means ‘image from heart born’, that what you see is what you are. If you see the world and think it is fabulous, with many opportunities, it’s because you are.
When I was asked if I had something that someone once told me that I would like to add to Mario Cacciatollo’s beautiful photography website, it came to me straight away.
See the Someone Once Told Me page here.
Latest BBC Feature: Squatters take over one of London’s oldest pubs
“Is there any beer left?,” I asked. “Wishful thinking” came the reply.
One of the oldest pubs in London said to have been visited over the last 300 years by everyone from Sir Christopher Wren to Dylan Thomas, Bob Marley and Catherine Middleton, has been taken over by a group of 17 squatters.
The Cross Keys in Lawrence Street, Chelsea, west London, was until a few months ago a popular pub with a roaring trade in Sunday lunches.
Now a bag of dog food and loo rolls sit incongruously on the counter where the restaurant crockery still rests.
‘Hobo Hilton’
The Chesterfield sofas next to open fires in the bar, once coveted by eager groups of paying punters, form part of the squatters’ personal club room.
The mezzanine gallery area which was once hired out for private parties is their dormitory, sheets hanging down from the ceiling suggest a flimsy sense of privacy.
“Do you mind? This is our bedroom,” says a tall lanky young man.
But that is a point of contention. One man’s bedroom is another man’s valuable real estate.
Continue reading here.