Coming of age

This weekend two significant events coincided - a visit to Hong Kong by my brother Tom and the legendary Hong Kong Sevens.   As a life-long rugby fan and long-time rugby player, Tom couldn't believe his luck when he discovered his business trip to Hong Kong coincided with the Sevens.  In his words "If Carlsberg did business trips......".  However, the realisation that his travels fell while the tournament was on presented his ill-prepared sister with a major issue.  The challenge of securing two tickets for the Saturday.  Fortunately the Hainan Rendez-Vous Boat Show in China clashed with the Sevens so I was able to relieve one of David's colleagues of a ticket, and a very kind friend decided to go sailing on Saturday instead of visiting the rugby, so I was able to acquire a second ticket.

The next task was to source outfits.  I had been advised that everyone dresses up at the Sevens and you feel slightly out of place if you aren't part of the fancy dress brigade.  After a few beers on his first night in Hong Kong, Tom had requested that he go as a matador.  I duly searched Pottinger Street (a street full of fancy dress stalls in Central) for a matador and a bull outfit, with notable success.

However, Tom forgot he had demanded a matador outfit and instead insisted that he went to find our outfits himself.  Being the trusting soul that I am, I banked on my brother finding us creative and fun costumes we could wear with pride around Hong Kong Stadium.  Imagine my disappointment when he turned up with these inappropriate and offensive masks.

Offensive masks

On Saturday morning we were ready and raring to go and donning (what we deemed to be) the least objectionable masks - we set-off for the stadium as Colonel Gaddafi and Saddam Hussein.

Gaddafi and Saddam do the Hong Kong Sevens

As a Hong Kong Sevens virgin, I was unsure of what to expect but it quickly became clear that the Sevens was a massive, fancy-dress piss-up with an on-going stream of rugby as a minor distraction.  The atmosphere was fantastic, and the range and creativity of the outfits, coming a close second to my favourite music festival - Bestival.   I had been advised that the South Stand was the place to be.  For over-18's only, the South Stand is, without a doubt, where the party is at.  However, I had a depressing 'coming of age' moment, when I realised that at the age of 42, I no longer have the desire, inclination, tolerance or stamina to party with the masses.  Instead, we met up with more 'mature' friends and positioned ourselves under cover in the West Stand.  We were very grateful for the cover when at 11.30am the sky went absolutely pitch black and we were hit with torrential rain.  We watched, feeling slightly smug, as the South Stand revellers dashed for cover under the stand or reached desperately for plastic ponchos and umbrellas.  We were able to stay put and watch the poor Scotland team battle it out against the United States and the elements.

Amber rainstorm

As the day progressed, a different side to the Sevens emerged.  The tournament also appears to double up as the key event in the early-teen international school kids' calendar to experience their first binge drinking session.  Throughout the afternoon, the ladies toilets started to overflow with scantily clad, wobbling, slurring, hair-flicking young girls, alternating between screeching rubbish at each other and vomiting.  Their parents probably too busy necking champagne in the corporate boxes to consider what their precious little darlings were up to.  It brought back memories of 'booze-ups' at Sherborne and made me feel nostalgic and old all in one.

Throughout the day I combined people-watching, with rugby-watching.  The South Stand did look a lot of fun and fleetingly I wanted to be part of it.  I wished I had visited the Sevens with my fellow Wasps Ladies rugby team mates when I was in my early twenties.  I know we would have blended in perfectly and had the time of our lives.  Yesterday made me realise that those days are behind me now.    I am far more comfortable observing from a distance - and any time I felt a pang of remorse, I reminded myself of the insecurity and angst that accompanied those hard partying years.  Despite finally 'coming of age' at the Hong Kong Sevens, I enjoyed every second of the day and fully intend to go next year, when once more I will be positioned with the 'grown-ups' in the West Stand.

Hanging out in the West Stand at the Hong Kong Sevens

One step forward, two steps back

The past week has not entirely gone to plan for me.  Having said that neither has the past year and I am getting used to taking one step forward and two steps back.  On Monday I started a new job in an international pre-school.  During the interview I was seduced by the passion of the owner of the school, a very warm Cantonese woman who had given up a career in the Hong Kong police force to set up her own school.  I was interviewed in the school on a Sunday, so the school owner and I were the only people there.  The school was light and bright and very clean and colourful - a far cry from the dark, drab, grey, airless office I had previously worked in.  It was based in Causeway Bay, a very easy commute from our home and conveniently close to the yacht club.  I could picture myself working happily in such a welcoming environment.  The interview went very well and I was offered the job on the spot.

This week it quickly became clear that in my excitement at being offered my first full-time teaching job, I had naively brushed over some of the details - for example exactly what teaching 'pre-school' would entail!  Day one was an eye-opener and with a sinking heart, I realised what I had signed-up to.  From 8.45am a steady stream of wailing two year olds arrived at the school and I was ordered to greet them with a smile, observe them from a distance, and not hold eye contact for too long in case I scared them! From 9am to 12pm I was imprisoned in a classroom with the toddlers (along with two other teachers).  I was asked to sit on a child-sized chair behind two of the most unruly children and jam my feet behind their chairs so they were pinned in place at their desks and unable to escape.  I witnessed one of the little boys sneeze producing a thick green trail of snot from his nose to his hand, and then retched as I had to wipe up the mess he had made.  One little girl cried for the entire 3 hours, asking for her mum - I felt like joining in.  I felt sad that at the age of two, the children were sitting in a classroom, around desks, learning, rather than learning through play.  It didn't feel right to me, yet this is the Hong Kong way, and this is what I had agreed to facilitate.

I found the afternoons more rewarding as I was tasked with teaching four year olds one-to-one lessons and felt I was able to make a difference, hold the children's interest and teach something.  Each morning though I was back in a classroom with tearaway toddlers, fighting over musical instruments, hitting each other when they thought no one was looking, and struggling to stay focused on the lessons.  On Saturday I hit a new low when I was asked to assist in a class teaching 8 month old babies English!  Being stuck in a room with one baby and one set of cooing parents wears on my nerves.  Times that by seven and I was trapped in purgatory for the longest hour of my life.  Fortunately, I had already assessed that I am not cut-out for teaching such young children and had prepared my letter of resignation which I handed over on Saturday afternoon with an immense feeling of relief.  There was not a shred of doubt that I had made a decision I would regret later.

When I Facetimed my parents later in the day to let them know that I had resigned already, I was greeted by a cry of "Oh, for f**k's sake!" by my father.  A sentiment I reflected on realising, for the second time since arriving in Hong Kong, I had secured the wrong job for me!  I suppose the course of changing career is never going to run smoothly and you are going to make mistakes, and all you can do is learn from those mistakes.  I know now that I do not want to teach children younger than 3/4 years old.    I know to ask more searching questions during the interview process and not rush into taking the first thing that is offered to me.  I am also considering whether I would be better suited to being my own boss and building my own business tutoring.  I have really enjoyed tutoring since I started in February and I have quickly seen the difference I have made through my teaching.  Perhaps this is the route I should follow, particularly as it would offer me more flexibility and the chance to get back to writing my literary masterpiece (!) which has been on hold since December.

While I spend the next week working my notice and clearing up endless trails of thick, green snot, I will be trying to work out how to start going forward... yet again!  Today I feel very disheartened to be back to square one, but sooner or later everything has to slot into place for me here.