Vibrate and stretch

You know how it feels when you think you're onto something, and then you find out you're not? Well that's how I'm feeling now. I tried Pilates reformer and PowerPlate classes last week and both were wonderfully effortless. Both seemed to involve lounging around on a mat or vibrating pedestal, wearing socks instead of sports shoes and having a small massage afterwards.

Everyone talks about how fantastic these exercises are and how they are famed for turning hippos into giraffes. So I was thrilled to find how easy they were, and so pleased to have discovered an exercise which doesn't actually involve any..well..exercise.

Now I know why they call the first classes "introductory".

This week was a killer.

I went back to PowerPlate class today, imagining I would again be concentrating most of my efforts on lying on my back while my bum gets massaged. But instead I found myself being ordered to squat, jump and clap (yes, clap) and then land back on the vibrating plate. Not only did I feel like I was dying of exhaustion, I was also worried I might fall off the machine entirely - so, a lethal combination of pain and fear. This was followed by a rather humiliating move which involved me clinging onto the "plate" for dear life as I suspended my legs up to the side while balancing a ball between them. Not good.

Pilates has so far been going a bit better, as the movements are slower and I get to take breaks. Yes, on the PowerPlate, you don't get to break for the entire 30 minutes session. My one small victory against instant death this afternoon was discretely sitting on the large ball I was supposed to be squeezing between my knees (while standing on my tip toes and feeling the teeth-rattling vibrations through my head). Never has a stolen moment of reprieve felt so good.

So, tomorrow it's session three of Pilates. Fingers crossed that introductory period isn't over there too.

Wholesaler paradise

Don't ask me how I've managed to not write for a month. Wedding planning, seeing my parents in Singapore, a holiday in Boracay and the Royal Wedding all got in the way.

Anyway, today I went to the Hong Kong Premium and Gifts fair. My dear friend Frn told me about it last year when he came to sniff it out for one of his many entrepreneurial endeavors. I didn't go with him at the time, and have had to wait a year for it to come back in order to go. Well, it was worth the wait.

Every possible item that you could dream of using as a gift or merchandising mechanism was there. Everything. Now if you happen to be like me, and haven't been exposed to random-objects-you-can-really-live-without for a while, then this is quite an experience.

Things which you could only find in the "kiosko" near my house in Barcelona in 1984 were lined up in brightly lit stalls: Hello Kitty sharpeners, pencil boxes and satchels with Japanese cartoon characters on them (think Dragon Ball Z). I suppose if you don't have kids, you forget that these things exist!

Caps. Another forgotten and under-appreciated item

Badges, medals and key rings. I wasn't exaggerating ....

Oven gloves. In every colour. With or without your logo.

Oddly enough (or not), the most popular items were religious statues. Nativity scenes, epiphanies. saints.. you name it, they were there on sale. I imagine they would appeal to the Italians.

So next time you're thinking of acquiring 1000 ashtrays, thermos flasks, penknives, bottle openers, paper bags, shiny paper, jewelry boxes, umbrellas, shrines and a very very long etc (advent calendars, anyone?) - you know where to come to. Oh, and the price? Think less than 1 USD per item.

Next event: housewares and toys. Sounds promising.

For all Hong Kong trade fairs, go to http://www.hktdc.com/. It's highly unlikely you won't find whatever it is you're looking for.

If you're looking for an older, well manicured and nip tucked wife, you might find her here too. Where else do you think Mrs Middleton would source her balloons from?

The Hilfigers

It's one thing to look at Tommy Hilfiger's ads and another to actually be a Hilfiger ad. We have had the misfortune of having a group of guys, who look, act and sound like a Hilfiger ad, move into the flat across the road from us.

Up until a month ago, T and I enjoyed a perfectly peaceful view overlooking the sea. The flat in front and below us has always been occupied, but like most of our neighbours (except the rather large family behind us who specially enjoy having dinner with the windows open), they have pretty much kept to themselves. Until now.

The Hilfigers, in their pink shorts, v-neck t-shirts and 1930s hairdos, spend much of their time on their rooftop (under our noses) posing, sunning themselves and staring up at our living room. In the evenings, they do push ups, eat pasta, drink wine and then invite all their friends over (think ray bans, white hats and chino trousers) for drinks..on the roof again.

Meanwhile, I've taken to ducking and diving as I go from shower to bedroom and T huffs and puffs more than usual, exclaiming "oh I just can't bare it!" at a moment's notice. Even the sheep is looking a little strained.

It could, however, be a lot worse. I Googled "intrusive neighbours" and found that our problem is so completely insignificant next to what other poor souls are dealing with. One woman wrote about constantly finding her uninvited neighbour in her kitchen, munching on biscuits. While another one has the neighbour's open loo window at eye level with their garden.

So, until they move back to wherever they came from, we're just going to have to pretend we're the privileged audience of a private viewing of a Tommy Hilfiger fashion film - which is, after all, all the rage now, darling.

Here's to the Rising Sun

My friend A sent me this videoclip of a Japanese pop group (do people still say "videoclip"?).

She reminded me how stoic the Japanese have been throughout the earthquake and all that it has brought with it, and she couldn't be more right.

After the earthquake hit, my colleagues in Japan approached the situation with utter resilience. They continued to work as usual, and only once mentioned that "perhaps they might need some support from Hong Kong, as their creative team wasn't in the office." There was a conference call on something not particularly important on the Monday after the weekend that it hit, and the entire team called in, insisting that "Tokyo was ok". Only after much pressing, did one of them mention that he had evacuated his family to the south. Every foreigner I know who was there said they couldn't believe how amazingly calm everybody was, how thoughtful and how brave they were.

Here's to Japan.

The dating game

Over a rather delicious plate of foie gras creme brulee with friends the other night at La Marmite, the conversation turned to dating in New York.

Now, anyone who lives or has lived in New York will know that being single and female there is hell. To say competition is rife would be an understatement and, what's worse, is that the prize isn't even that exciting. I haven't done the research, but go to any party and you will see a sea of beautifully dressed women, all looking hopefully across at you as you enter the front door, glazing past you and focusing on your right shoulder in hopes that you might be coming with a man... and that maybe that man might be single.

Upon moving to New York solo, finding a man quickly becomes a full time job - just secondary to building your high powered career which keeps you intellectually superior, more affluent than you were wherever you came from and, inevitably, much more intimidating to a man than you've ever been before. And the fact that there are thousands of women just like you (maybe a little taller, shorter, rounder, thinner) doesn't help matters much either.

In comes the dating game. A game of hide and seek which becomes the only way to stay ahead of the game, keep men calling, keep you on dates and prevent you from getting your heart broken. No, I never said this would help anyone find love, it just helps you keep your head above water, because it inevitably results in your heart freezing over a little (T had to conduct some serious de-frosting - which I'll leave for another day).

So, here are some thoughts on how I think the game works, and how to play it:

How things go when the girl doesn't play the game:

1*. Boy meets girl at party/bar/club. They get on well blah blah

2. They kiss goodnight and end up going to his apartment

3. Girl says goodbye to boy in the morning as she's already made brunch plans to gossip about exactly that night with her friends. Boy says he's so happy to meet her and promises to call

4. Girl goes to brunch

5. Girl waits for boy to call. Boy doesn't call. Ever.

How things go when the girl plays the game:

1*. Boy meets girl at party/bar/club. They get on well blah blah

2. Girl leaves the party earlier as she has another party to go to. Sorry, mate, bye! Boy sniffs a chase and asks her for her number

3. Three days later (two is ok, one hits the ego - if they met on a Friday, he won't text until Wednesday), boy texts girl (no call) to ask her out for dinner in three days time (same as above re ego and risk management)

4. Girl replies 6 hours after receiving text (she's busy, thank you) that yes, she can meet

5. Girl text boy on the day of the date that she will be a little late

6. Girl arrives 10 minutes late. Dinner proceeds. Girl is warm, friendly etc but distant

7. Girl says she's going home after dinner. Boy walks girl home. Girl makes it quite clear she won't be up for any kissing

8. Boy texts that night that "it was a wonderful evening". Girl replies she enjoyed it to (throw a bone).

9. Next day (or two), boy texts again to meet again later that week. Girl agrees.

10. Repeat points 7-9 ad infinitum, adding day dates, afternoon walks and candle-lit dinners where appropriate

*Same applies to online dating

Just a little prick

Picture from Elle France on the wonders of surgery

Like any product life cycle, mainstream beauty care is in the process of taking one large step to the right.

Face cleansers, scrubs and creams, once for-girls-only, have been asked to step aside for the much sexier, cooler, more effective men's 'grooming' products. Much like cars, men need to be "turboed", "boosted" and "pummeled." Of course, this isn't new news. Seeing male models with their shirts open to reveal glistening six packs while handing out "ab sculpting" cream round the streets of Hong Kong on a Saturday night is no longer a surprise, and nor is the fact that all the Clarins for Men creams "ejaculate" rather than pour. But what has resulted from this obvious shift to the right, with women's products stepping out of the limelight and men's products stepping in, is a new participant to the left - surgery.

Once reserved for the rich and famous (and mad), surgery is now the new fountain of youth for women. Away with your oxygenating face cream! Flush your placenta masks down the toilet! We now have botox, eye lifting, face peeling, collagen implants all for under 100 GBP a pop! Magazines' beauty pages are now full of enthusiastic testimonials and undercover journalist's recounts of how yoga once a week and little prick of a needle here and there once a month has changed lives.

So, where does that leave the rest of us? Those of us 'old fashioned' types who would rather not schedule an eye lift with our pedicures. Next to the hopes and dreams of botox, Estee Lauder's Hydrationist Revival Plant Extract cream's promise to "leave skin youthful and healthier" seems rather feeble.

As I roam the aisles of Watson's pharmacy and Harvey Nichols' beauty floor in search of something that can meet the new competition, I find myself staring longingly at the men's aisle. Their creams aren't being overshadowed by a greater enemy, there's still hope with them. T's Men Expert Pure & Matt Bright Charcoal Black Coal suddenly has a whole new appeal.

Chewing

I read in a (bridal) magazine that you could lose 6lb in 6 days by going to the Viva Mayr Clinic to learn to chew slowly. You would be taught the "philosophy of chewing" and spend a week turning your food into pulp in your mouth before swallowing. All for a mere 2500GBP.

Honestly, what other money-sucking ploy are they going to invent? Squeezing your bum every time you take a mouthful (with a bum squeezing session and philosophy course included)?

That said, this chewing thing has been on my mind. So, yesterday, as I sat next to two slim Chinese ladies on the plane, I decided I would eat at their pace and see if their skinniness had anything to do with chewing -as opposed to their genes, which I can obviously do nothing about.

So I watched them out of the corner of my eye, and only took a mouthful when they did... It's never taken me so long to eat a -sorry, half- a tiny plastic bowl of noodles in my life.

They took the smallest bites on earth, and sometimes to my deepest annoyance, they would start to chew a bit of noodle off their fork, and then put it down with the noodles still on it, and take a sip of tea. Then came the fruit. Instead of wolfing it down and letting the juices drip down their chins, they carefully and slowly opened the little saucer, sniffed the fruit, prodded it, put it down and then had about a third of a slice of watermelon. At which point they must have been full or bored, as they put the fruit aside, sipped their tea, leant back and proceeded to sleep/touch up her makeup.

That's 6lb in 6 minutes, baby!

Please send 2500GBP directly to my Swiss bank account.