"You are living the good life right now!"

Rum and Raisin. A small, innocuous-looking white tub with a plastic spoon. It's the colour of rum and raisin ice-cream. It's as cold as ice-cream. I can see little things that look like raisins, and when I scoop a spoonful, the texture feels like ice-cream. I know it should simply be rum and raisin ice-cream.

But you always think you know. You think you are in safe waters, that you know what a biscuit tastes like from the look of it and the fact it is offered on a small plate with a doily and comes with your coffee. You think you have found blessed bread, with its bready colour and shape and name. But the bread is brioche or made of corn or has sugar in the middle and your biscuit tastes of soup. A chocolate filling is red bean paste and, if in doubt, most things are probably tofu. Looks can be deceiving.

Air Pollution: The Upsides!

You are probably not surprised to hear that the air in Beijing is totally not very. While it's not yet reached the record-breaking levels of early last year, it's one of the longest stretches of particularly bad pollution I've experienced since I've been here. I have a near-constant headache. My skin has had a teenage tantrum, no doubt to spite my earlier joy at how it had cleared up. My chest is tight. I regularly fight an urge to run outside and punch the air in its stupid, soupy face.

I went out to celebrate my birthday the other night, and the official plan to drink and do a pub quiz and drink some more then slur songs into a microphone fell by the wayside a short time after a triumphant bronze finish in said quiz. I am sure this was partly because the air gave everyone a headache, a cough and a bleak outlook, quite aside from the fact that one or more of us may have collapsed a lung had we attempted to belt out Dog Days Are Over.

It was then, dear reader, that I realised this smog had gone beyond being merely unhealthy - it had bloody well stopped me from doing karaoke. I will not let this happen on my watch. With at least another week of this blank, grey canvas ahead, I need a bright side.* So without further ado, may I present six reasons to be cheerful. About smog.

Smog Resistance: Activate

I've never had brilliant skin. By the word 'skin' I mean my complexion in terms of blemishes and grease content - my skin as a means of generally holding my blood and stuff inside my body is doing a sterling job of course. I don't want to overstate it as it's not the bane of my life and I know people for whom it’s a way more serious issue, I just seem to get a fair few spots compared to other 30-year-olds (from my non-scientific study of looking at people's faces), I scar easily and have some pigmentation issues. I wear a lot of makeup, which you might think is a chicken and egg scenario, except the spots definitely came first during adolescence and only then did I become trapped in a vicious cycle. Also, I really enjoy putting makeup on so I don't mind that part of the cycle I guess. Erm, anyway, I've become pretty good at concealing and these days, it's rarely so bad I don't want to leave the house. However, when I got to China, my skin (I can only presume in some kind of fit of solidarity) reacted precisely the way the rest of me did: with panic.

Knowing who to kick in the balls

Consider this advice, should you fancy moving to China: say what you actually mean. It sounds simple enough, I think. We’re not liars, are we? We don’t mutter ‘Not!’ under our breath when we compliment someone, or reply ‘NASA’s biscuit-testing laboratory’ when people ask us where we work. We don’t go around telling big fibs about anything and everything, our noses growing longer by the second, do we? I was born with this nose by the way, smart arse.

However, I’ve realised I say things like, ‘Let’s go for a drink sometime’ or ‘We should go out for dinner soon,’ which, while not exactly lies, aren’t always straightforward. Sometimes I really mean it, sometimes it’s a vague notion that spending more time with that person isn’t the worst idea in the world, sometimes it’s kneejerk politeness. Say one of those things in China and, in our experience, people reply, ‘When? Now? Tomorrow?’

Please stand firm, hold the handrail

A friend, who remains a good friend despite his apparent insistence on delivering painful observations, once told me over a pint that I was someone who always seemed to have loads in the pipeline, but nothing ever came to fruition. A breezy way of telling me I was full of it. It came at a time when I was trying to get out of retail and into journalism, and I assume I was telling him about a couple of opportunities that had frustratingly fizzled into nothing. Shortly after our exchange, I got my foot in the door and never looked back. I came good, I guess.

Now, sitting on a news desk in Beijing while unfamiliar characters scroll on the screens around me and contemplating the potentially staggering thought that perhaps I've been using the squat toilets the wrong way round for three months, I'm wondering if his appraisal of me was right.

I thought that by now I would have learnt enough Chinese to get by. I thought I'd be painting and sketching more, possibly doing some exercise, writing regularly. Well fine, none of us ever thought I'd do any exercise, but in general, I might not be the kind of person I thought I was - or the person I told everyone I would be. You know the one, the person who does constructive things in her spare time. The person who learns a new language. The person who dumps everything to switch countries and has a total blast, man. Oh lord, I best just say it: I THINK I'VE FAILED AT MOVING TO CHINA.

In Defence of Blogging Awk

I came across something on Twitter recently that appeared to be having the usual pop at anyone who - shock horror - may have become comfortable with social networking, rather than constantly looking around terrified that what they've just posted has suddenly fallen out of favour with the cool meedja brigade. It was along the lines of, ‘In real life, socially awkward people pretend they're normal. On Twitter, normal people pretend they're socially awkward.’

Hur hur hur. Yes. So now, all those who only ever post about the stupid shit they do every day (because they realise serious online debate is 92% twat) should check themselves for clearly ramping up their shortcomings in the hope of a few more follows. Twitter loves to identify a trend, a topic, or a group, then beat the shit out of it. Identify and condemn is a Twitter sport. Bonus points for being the first to comment or share something, more bonus points for being the first to turn it around and take the piss out of those jumping on the bandwagon, more still for being the first to hashtag 'yawnboredmoveon.' Or find something about it to spawn OUTRAGE so you can tell other people to stop spreading it, of course.

Recently, I missed the initial fuss of the BBC newsreader who had accidentally picked up a block of printer paper instead of his iPad and had to read the news while holding it, a strange and wonderful image of a seriousface journalist determined to see this random stationary situation through to the bitter end. By the time I logged on to Twitter, it was all, ‘STFU about the newsreader already *eyeroll*' Yeah, stupid, boring you for not checking your newsfeed 24/7 and commenting on a story within the minuscule time-frame of acceptability immediately thereafter.

Quarter Life Crisis?

Here is a piece wot I did wrote a few years ago. It was meant to try and demonstrate the frustrations of your average recent graduate, so while I definitely had conversations like this, we all know I'm not really a white dress kind of gal. I did have a tiered thingummy though. It just happened to be made of cheese, not cake.