I have an aunt who is a 90-year-old Chinese Catholic nun. Until last year she was confined to a wheelchair, badly arthritic, and totally blind, but then a miraculous operation gave her back sight in one eye. Last week, to celebrate the Chinese New Year, she bravely travelled from her home in Wicklow to Hong Kong — which she left 20 years ago and thought she would never see again. Her visit was a surprise for her sister, my 83-year-old mother, and so our traditional family dinner on New Year’s eve was an emotional affair. Together we had four generations’ worth of memories of Hong Kong — a city that has changed a great deal. My aunt talked about the Japanese occupation, and her 60 years with the St Columban Sisters. We all weaved our own stories in and out of her simple but extraordinary life. And we all cried, for different and distant reasons. Isn’t it odd that we cry with both sadness and joy?
I cried with sadness when Hot, one of our two Westies, died after nearly 15 years of unconditional love. On her last day, I could hardly look her in the eye. She seemed to be saying: ‘Don’t worry, master, I have had a good life.’ When she finally went, I held her little white body in my hands, astonished that a creature so small could have made such a difference. The urn in which her white ashes are preserved will always make me cry a little.
On the third day of our New Year, my wife and I climbed Lion Rock, which looms over the whole of Hong Kong, like Sugarloaf over Rio. At sunset, the sky was full of amber and the water in Victoria Harbour reflected the gleaming towers of mercantile excess. But we stayed too long, enjoying the magic, and ended up descending the hill, treacherously, in near total darkness. Lucy has run ultra-marathons in the desert and Antarctica, and she is usually prepared for anything, but for once she forgot to pack a torch, and so for more than two hours we were pot-holing without headlamps.
The last day of the shooting season was a sad day but also a joyful one. Sad because it came to an end; joyful because I hit some of the highest birds ever. It was all made possible by Mr Richard Caring, whose shoot, for the cognoscenti, is as challenging as Garrowby, Linhope and Mulgrave. We had two days of clear skies and a decent breeze under a hazy sun as we went from one drive to another, full of exhilaration. Diana must have been watching over us. Gamekeepers, beaters, picker-uppers and their dogs came out in force and all the villagers were invited by Caring to a bonfire party after the last shot. The entertainment was U2 (no less). As a Chinese, I am so glad and proud that our once-indigenous pheasant should have found its way to England, and that it should have helped create a way of life that has become so important to the countryside.
When I told my friend Simon Murray that I had lost 50 pounds, he asked if it was sterling! Luckily, it was fat. I have shed it over the last nine months by eating half as much and exercising every day. I used to brag that I regularly do three types of exercise: jumping to conclusions, running for cover, and stretching my imagination. But the joke began to fall flat as the needle swung ever further around my scales. I had of course tried to lose weight before: going off to spas and trying Atkins this or half-Atkins that. None of this ever had much effect, so I set myself the simple target of losing just one pound a week, i.e. cutting down on 3,500 kcal, or 500 kcal a day. This gradual approach worked, thankfully. But now I must shed another 10-15 pounds to appear normal, for crying out loud.
The most colourful tycoon in Hong Kong is the 89-year-old Dr Stanley Ho, who has been in the process of dividing his estate (which covers most of Macau) between his 17 children and their four mothers. Last week, he declared that two of his ‘wives’ were trying to take more than their fair share. Enraged, he sued 11 family members — but dropped the suit soon afterwards. The fiasco has generated considerable debate on the perils of dividing one’s fortune while still alive. It was King Lear, played out before a much amused Chinese audience.