Please, no light bulb jokes...ever again

This should've gone through a few days ago, but my computer was sulking at the time... Saturday in Shanghai is expat day, the day when about 50 foreigners and Shanghainese drag their sorry bums out of bed to meet at Starbucks.* Last Saturday was business as usual, with 40 or 50 of us showing up and taking over the whole upper floor. Of course, the regulars all had a good laugh at me being decked out in a suit and tie. Since I'd just come from an interview. After much coffee had been spurted through noses and the gales of laughter had subsided, I got down to my usual meeting of new faces and the ritual dishing out of business cards, a practice that has been handed down for generations upon generations. Or not. You be the judge of that one.

*Huaihai Rd, near Parksons, if anyone else is interested.

After that I joined some others and ended up at a party at a Xinjiang* restaurant, Yakexi, where we feasted upon lamb kebabs and got tiddly on cheap beer. This was followed by yours truly being dragged up to dance by the dancing queen and a few renditions of Eidelweiss** by a 5-year-old girl and an ancient baritone. Next, we were called to shake our booty to the instructions of a 10-year-old dancing girl, which I think I managed rather well. So, if you ever want a blond-haired blue-eyed Xinjiang female-style dancer, you know who to call. Special rates for birthdays and Bar Mitzvahs!

*The Muslim area of China, in the North-west. Famous for its aversion to sweet, tender pork and its abundance of sexy dancing girls (the latter of which isn't so popular in most of the Muslim world, much to my dismay) **Seemingly the only English song that half the Chinese population know. There are surely populations of Chinese peasants in the middle of nowhere who know this song. I think it's pre-programmed at birth.

But, believe it or not, that wasn't the climax of the show. Soon after the dancing we were approached by a harmless-looking, wrinkly old man. But, as my dear old mother told me, looks can be decieving*. This old man was really a metal-skulled martial arts master who could crush my skull like an egg were I ever to antagonise him. He proceeded to procure a light bulb, which he tested by smacking it repeatedly against my head. Seriously. Not that I underestimated the hardness of light bulbs in the past or anything, but it bloody well ached for a good while afterwards. After that he wrapped it in a hankerchief and swung it at his own head, after which ensued the characteristic bang-crunch-tinkle of glass shattering. His audience were captivated at this point, either by his act or by phoning for the men in white coats to cart him off.

*This is in fact a barefaced lie poetic license. What my mother really says is something more along the lines of "keep your kidneys warm," and "oh dear, it's all turned to jelly."

How could he follow such a stunning spectacle? By opening said napkin and casually EATING some of the glass. Apparently he can do this because he's a Tai Chi master, which made me decide to take up Tai Chi for all of five minutes until I failed to see the practical benefits of glass-eating.*

*Other than saving on the washing-up of course. This also reminds me of the time when I overdosed on Batman and took to the streets to exact bloody vengeance for the brutal slaying of my parents. No, wait, hang on...