Alice Through The Looking Glass / Wardrobe

Alice laughed, "There's no use trying," she said, "one can't believe impossible things."

"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

That's the sort of day I had today. It started rather ordinarily. Two weetabix and some skimmed milk. Bootcamp. Which I improved on some fronts and remedialised on others. Muffins and orange ginger juice at The Tattooists. Coffee and eggs with Little Miss Ultramarathon (whose names turns out to be Elissa, and would be more accurately monikered 'The Professor' - as she is the holder of all wisdoms to health and bendiness). Then off to Central to meet one of The Sisters. The Elder. She had been invited to 'Piano and Drinks' in Tai Tam, which sounded suitably incongruous to my experiences of Hong Kong. I was dutifully collected from the ferry terminal in the delicious open topped beamer. We collected flowers, as any good guest ought, then continued to our location.

The route should have given clues as to the rabbit hole we were about to plunge ourselves into. The tropical rains fell. We converted the car to have its roof. The sun shone. We converted the car to be topless. The rains fell. The sun shone. Top on. Top off. Eventually, we arrived at the Station House for the Tai Tam reservoir. The rabbit hole opened. The wardrobe full of coats was entered. And as we entered the house. We were in another world.

Couples and children were sat around the outdoor table, surrounded by Frangipani and rose wine. French men were seated around a solid wood table indoors, surrounded by still life paintings and arch ways to other rooms and inviting gardens. A second room offered leather sofas, carafes of wine and a piano. The house overlooked the sea, with mountains across the water, muffled in clouds. The air was infused with classical music, ranging from Swan Lake to other delightful sounds my education lacks description of. In short. Heaven. This was not Hong Kong. I was in my own personal Narnia.

I was mute. Which is quite rare for me. I clung to The Elder Sister's dress and shuffled behind her, as we kissed French men, women and babies, and found our place to be seated. And so we found our place, around a strong oak table, with artwork about, discussing Zeus, the latest agent provocateur of the art world. We were served salmon and mussels and steak and the finest dessert a woman can dream to believe of - hazelnut mousse, chocolate effects, macaroons and berry juices liberally displayed across the plate. That was just the tip of the iceberg.

The guests were fit for the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. The Club Promoter yet to sleep. The 67 year old artist with his new born son. The Professional Piano Player from Suzie Wongs in Beijing. The dapper eruditely thin older gentleman. The owner of the finest absinthe bar in Hong Kong. Yet it was daytime and curly haired children ran through the rooms, eager to play with their elegant parents.

We moved from dining room, to piano room, to terrace overlooking the sea, to vegetable patch, to outhouses, to badminton courts. Wherever you were, archways and windows showed tell of other activities happening elsewhere. It was a Narnian vision. An Enid Blyton holiday. A rare excursion from my imagination into something with form.

Mr Piano Player was invited to play, and play he did. So very, very beautifully. A professional player, on the host's one day old piano. The little foot pedal velvet pumps were still in place. Michelle My Belle. Night & Day. Girl from Ipanaema. Someday my Prince Will Come. All Jazz style. With percussion accompaniment from a Chinese maestro wearing a pink shirt and leather cap.

The sun began to set.

The elegant became more expressive. The Piano Man had an exotic dance piece played over his head by a woman with very supple joints and strong core, not to mention pelvic floor muscles. She clambored over his body, extending limbs above, below and behind. He barely missed a beat. Another fellow picked up a cow bell, and gave it a rather good seeing too, while singing along. The bathrooms became busy. We left.

I caught my ferry on time.

I walked through the streets of Lamma.

And headed home.

To write this.

And hope I fall through another looking glass soon. The unexpected is so very satisfying.

I retire now, somewhat like the Opiated Caterpillar.

To dream of A Frenchman With A View

xxx