Dead but not gone (London)

We were suddenly informed, at lunch on Thursday 23 September, of the sudden death the night before of a kitchen volunteer at the community centre where I was teaching Mandarin and English.  

    Tee (from Malaysia) was in her 80s who’d been a volunteer there for over 25 years and much loved.

    Her fellow kitchen hand colleague, Filipino Anita, told the story of what happened the night before (when she hadn’t found out about Tee’s death).  Anita heard knocking on her window.  Her window had a wide and full view of the outside, and there was no one there.  When Anita came in the next morning to work, she learned that Tee had died.

    A student on the Mandarin course, Sui (also from Malaysia), came in for the pre-lesson lunch.  As she approached the building, she saw Tee in the reception area.  When she got there, however, Tee was gone.  Sui thought Tee must’ve gone back to the kitchen.  When Sui went to the kitchen, however, Tee was nowhere to be found.  

    

    Then, Sui (and the rest of us) learned that Tee had died the night before.

Spooky or what?!

(London, 2021)

Simple folk remedies: 08 (tickly cough) (London)

A tickly cough cannot be suffered in silence, unlike a sore throat, so there’s the added element of feeling bad about invading people’s air space with your noise.  Such was my upbringing: always be considerate of other people, even when you’re not deliberately being selfish creating the noise.

So, the tickly cough remedy was a most fortuitous discovery.  A sub-continental Indian technician at the university where I used to work heard me coughing and complaining to the porters about it, and told me about this South American Indian (Amazonian) remedy.  For someone like me who’s very keen on natural remedies, it’s an extra bonus that it should be a non-chemical solution.

Sip some chilli water whenever the tickly cough threatens to erupt.  Just enough to line the walls of your throat. The chilli water will quell that tickly sensation.

Recipe: soak any form of chilli (powder, flakes, whole, dried, fresh) in some water — strength to suit.  That’s it, as simple as that.

I’d carry this chilli water around in a mineral water bottle (light and convenient), and sip it every time the tickly cough threatened to erupt.  Bus journeys became much less embarrassing after I discovered this remedy.

Chilli is a common cooking ingredient, so even if it doesn’t quite zap that cough, I’m not pumping my system up with chemicals.  Can’t lose.

(London, 2011)

Simple folk remedies: 07 (sore throat) (Singapore, London)

Sarsaparilla was a common commercial drink in Singapore during my childhood.  We called it sarsi for short.  It’s similar in flavour to root beer and coke.

Whenever we were developing a sore throat, we’d chill some sarsi, then add salt, and drink it.  I suspect it’s the salt bit that works for the sore throat, and the sarsi is there to make it more palatable.  (Ditto other Chinese herbal remedies using supporting ingredients to make the main ingredient more drinkable — to be covered in another blog.)

In the UK, I haven’t been able to track down sarsi, so I’d use coke as an alternative.  If I think I might be going down with a sore throat, I’d get the largest bottle of coke I can find, then drink a portion, with salt, every few hours.  

Some might say it’s not healthy to be pumping one’s system up with so much salt, but this formula is only for zapping a sore throat quickly when one is threatening to erupt, which is not that often — in my case, once every few years, if not decade.  You can actually feel the bubbles of the fizzy liquid attacking the inflamed walls of your throat as it goes down your gullet.  It also works even when the sore throat has taken hold.

(Singapore / London, 1960s / 1977 onwards)

Students’ witticism: 03 (London)

 

As mentioned in Students’ witticism: 02, I teach Functional/Survival phrases to students right from the first lesson, so that they can start putting them to use in a real-life situation.

Two of those phrases are:

• 你說什麼 / 你说什么 / nǐ shuō shénme / “you say what” = What do you say?
• 對不起，我來晚了 / 对不起，我来晚了 / duìbùqǐ, wǒ lái-wǎn le / Sorry I’m late.

When I was teaching the evening programme students, I’d put the question to late arrivals, even if they were only late by a minute — just for the practice.  (Not that I minded their being late.  Chinese was just a hobby for them, after all, and most of them had to come from work, so I was always grateful that they bothered to turn up at all.)

To go with the question, I’d do the hands-on-hips gesture for visual effect.

A few months into the course, I was late.  Arrived to find the whole class, hands on hips, asking in gleeful unison: 你說什麼! / 你说什么! / nǐ shuō shénme!

(London, 1985)

Students' witticism: 02 (London)

It’s such fun teaching older mature students, I find.  They have the life experience and assertiveness that comes with age to engage in on-the-spot repartee.

(I say “older mature students”, because a student in her 70s said to me yesterday that anyone over the age of 21 is “mature”.)

One student (in his 70s?) is often late for his lessons.  (No criticism, just an observation.  I’m just pleased and touched that they come to class at all, especially when they’re in their 70s and live a long way away.)  

This gives the whole class the opportunity to ask him one of the Functional/Survival phrases I’ve taught them: “你說什麼 / 你说什么 / nǐ shuō shénme / “you say what” = What do you say?” — something they take great delight in doing.  (Yes, it’s a wicked-humour class, this lot.)  

The answer is another Functional/Survival phrase I’ve taught them: 對不起，我來晚了 / 对不起，我来晚了 / duìbùqǐ, wǒ lái-wǎn le / Sorry I’m late.

On-site students pay at the door.

This student was late again for last Thursday’s lesson.  As he was paying in the reception area (next to my classroom), I went out and said to the person processing his payment: “Don’t let him in until he’s paid!”  (I only dare do this with students who are “safe”, i.e., they know my sense of humour.)

When he came in a minute later, I said, “Have you paid?”

His reply: “No need.  Personality is enough!”

PS:  Yes, it was a lady processing his payment.

(London, 2021)

Unconscious trend-following? (London)

Summer last year, I picked up a pair of ankle boots that were thrown out (left outside a house, on the pavement, which is what people do these days with things they’re happy for people to take — something the Swiss in Zürich were already doing back in 1987).  

I was going to see if Sienna, the girl I’ve been delivering to, and collecting from, school (along with her younger brother), would like them.  However, at age 10, her feet are already a little too big for the size 3 boots, so I thought I’d take them to the charity shop.

Then, it rained one day, so I wore them on the school run, as they’re waterproof.  (I have to wear two pairs of socks to stop my feet from sliding around inside…)

It was raining this morning, so I donned them again for the school run.  On the way to Sienna’s house, I suddenly noticed that her area’s council (= local government) rubbish bins are exactly the same shade of purple as my ankle boots.  For the rest of the journey to school, I started to spot more council rubbish bins with that shade of purple.

I’ve never been one to follow trends, hating to join the crowd.  (I used to sport a topknot, but when it became trendy some 15 years ago, I stopped doing it altogether.  Wouldn’t be seen following everyone.) But now, with these purple boots, it looks like I’m being trendy — joining the ranks of the council’s rubbish bins!

(London, 2021)