The subway construction in Beijing at the moment is absolutely staggering, isn't it? Not even the Egyptians in their heyday with their myriad workers, long whips and lust for rectangular-based architecture would have been able to do what has been done in the capital since we knew the Games were ours. By the time crowds start flocking to the Birds Nest, the rail system will have increased its reach by over 80 kilometers. But not content with merely impressing our Olympic foreign guests, the size of the network will have grown fourfold - plus some - from over 100 kilometers of line to near 500 kilometers by 2015. That makes me tired just thinking about it.
This friend of mine, Dio, is a huge train fanatic. He even gave up a promising career as a stockbroker so he could fulfill a childhood dream and drive trains for a living. The pay isn't a patch on what he could have earned on the stock market but he seems to be happy with his decision. Recently Dio took the plunge and married a gem of a gal named Dairy and in keeping with the groom's obsession with all things rail related, the couple decided to have their reception on a moving train. "Come and help us keep our marriage on track" read the invitation - Dio is always cracking the kind of jokes that only your dad would find amusing.
So I rocked up to the wedding clad in all white Armani (what else) and smelling like a rose orchard. I like weddings primarily for this reason - so I can get all dandified and hopefully find a senorita that fancies a margarita and a manicured man. I stepped aboard the old steam train that had been renamed The Passion Express for the occasion, which was I'm sure another idea of the hopelessly unfunny Dio. I started out by winking at strangers and coolly offering out my palm to friends and acquaintances. I like to work a room, you see, and I'm pretty darn good at it. My method is to open up with a cheeky introductory line, maybe something like "I'm sure the dress code specified 'devilishly handsome' didn't it?" From then I only like to toss in a few more delicious barbs before moving onto the next guest - if there's one thing that I have learned from endless social engagements it's that you have to keep everyone wanting more.
I ordered a single malt - Blue Label - from the barkeep and leaned against a wall studying the wildlife. Girls love a wedding and inside this moving train they had no chance of escaping my roguish charms. In these situations I like to look as fly as Michael Jackson did on the cover of Thriller and adopt the mindset of Mufasa from The Lion King. These ladies were my prey and I could sense that they were just waiting for me to pounce. Somebody call David Attenborough: things are going to get beastly.
That's when I heard a familiar voice. "Hey Mr Lover-man," it said. I turned and saw an old girlfriend that I cheated on. Her name is Lady.
"Hey Lady, long time no "
"No what? Call? Speak? Pay any notice to at all?"
"I meant to but "
"Funny thing is, Lover-man, I ran into a few old friends of mine on the next carriage who also seem to be old friends of yours."
I looked behind me and there stood Sadie, Gaby, Kobe, Loby, Heidi and Tidy - all former flings of mime that at one point or another I had left for, or cheated on with, the next. They looked at me like I was the character Ralph Fiennes played in Schindler's List.
"Come on girls - and you just be a lady, Lady," I said trying to lighten the situation with a stale gag.
Only Tidy refrained from emptying the contents of her champagne glass on my face. She just looked at me and began to cry. The entire carriage hushed and stared at the commotion in the corner. I didn't feel like the guy from Schindler's List anymore but more like the guy from 2046 - stuck on a never-ending train ride that itself was an existential metaphor. At least the new subway will have stops.
Contact the author at kublaimeister@gmail.com
(China Daily 09/27/2007 page15)
