1st Sept, Guangzhou: Because endless tales of gorging and girls would make me a cheap imitation of The Swill, I shall pass over a few days in Shenzhen and move to Guangzhou.
Guangzhou, how I've loved you! How good it is now to leave the sterile charade of hotels and stay in a working class suburb with my old flatmate, BG. This is the real China: a mass of workers and peasants crowded together in raucous chaos. Here the small business-person predominates: the old farmer selling her apples on the roadside; the young slicker with his gleaming barber's shop. Filth, stinks, noise, crowds, life!
BG himself, alas, is even more deranged than when I last saw him; China can do this to a man. He was always Australian and robustly right-wing, in an old-fashioned, white-supremacist sense, but now he has two portraits of the Führer on his living room wall. I pick up a copy of Gobineau, with a Hitler bookmark inside.
"Good book, an antidote to all your Socialist bullshit. I was reading it on the train a few weeks ago and this foreign woman sat next to me. She sees the bookmark and goes "Ugh!""
"What did you say?"
"Told her to fuck off. Said we were in China and no-one here gives a toss. She moved seat. You gonna roll the next one or what?"