The Germans

You have to live in a country quite a few years before you begin to really understand the people.

In China, I would have to say that was a negative experience at first, we all experience culture shock, as foreigners. And China was a big culture shock.

I had no inclination to learn Mandarin at the beginning, like many foreigners. Or when I did try, it was too hard, or frustrating, because, even though you learn how to say the words, when you go outside, into the public arena, most of the local Chinese will simply shake their heads, not understanding you.

Now there are two trains of thoughts on why this occurs. Most Chinese and those expats, whose self-esteem mainly comes from the fact they have studied Chinese (so they continually want to indirectly tell you that they are superior to you, based on the fact that their Chinese is better than yours) will tell you that you are simply not saying the four tones right.

As an aside, when I was acting in Beijing, I was told, on set, about a previous expat who refused to ever speak English, though he was an American. Even the Chinese I talked to found that weird.

He went on to write and self-publish a book, which I flicked through one day, while waiting for classes at the same school he taught at, and I eventually got busted at, for having a faulty visa (supposedly).

The book was a piece of shit, which is what the top Chinese cop who busted me said, about my book, The Fake Celebrity in China, though he admitted to have only read one sentence online, when I quizzed him about where he got a copy of my masterpiece.

His female Chinese cop colleague, had to help him with the word, “sentence” on the journey to the cop station.

Anyway, I digressed. And I don’t think I need to name the title of that book, as, like I said it was a piece of shit, in my humble opinion, and many people will know who that guy was anyway.

The problem with that first train of thought, is when you actually do learn to speak Chinese, to the point where the locals can understand you, you realise actually the tones are not that important. Pronounciation is important, a slightly different animal.

So, after a few years in China, I was in a very nice Shabu-Shabu in Beijing, fairly comfortable with my Chinese, and this young Chinese waitress, looking like she was from the countryside, just couldn’t get the word tu dou (which means potato). Slightly embarrassing for me, as I was trying to impress someone who spoke no Chinese.

After many attempts, she just shook her head dumbly.

Now this is where the second train of thought comes in. As another expat friend of mine used to say after he had a few, they just don’t even try! They simply turn their ears off to foreigners, until, you can convince them, to their satisfaction, that you can in fact speak Chinese.

Sitting next to me, that time at Shabu-Shabu, was an attractive looking Chinese woman, who seemed to be middle to upper class, and she stopped eating for a few seconds and then shouted at the young waitress, almost in disgust, TU DOU!!

The waitress, then went, something like, oh tu dou…

The exact same thing I had been telling her deaf ears, a minute before.

As far as the two trains of thoughts go, I think, like most things, it is somewhere between the two.

But this brings me back to Germany.

One of the great advantages, of living in a foreign country, is in fact that if you do not know their language, and you are not really a people person, or you get easily pissed off by people, is that in fact you really have no need to interact with them. If you do listen to them, you may become angry, or insulted. Like I do in New Zealand, for example.

In China, I did see this happen to people. I mean people who madly learned the language, and then were literally driven mad, when they could understand people talking about them.

But at some point, usually around five years, in my experience, you need to decide, whether these people are for you, this country, this environment, and this culture.

And for me, somewhere inside, I decided I liked the Chinese people. Not the corrupt cops, not the politics, but the people.

Now, back to Germany. I have lived there a few years. And I genuinely have made the decision, that I don’t like the people, or the culture. I mean I don’t hate them, I just don’t warm to them, or their culture.

The geography is OK. The weather is great. Hot in summer, months of snow in winter.

Here is my summary of the people.

The Germans, are overly friendly on the outside. Especially to foreigners.

But on the inside, they are as cold as winter steel. Which of course, is their real selves.

But due to the past, their past, they do not want to be seen that way.

They rarely say thank you.

And when you get into any dispute with them, you realise they have this inability to see outside the square. Their lives are determined by strict regimented rules. And they will NEVER bend them.

Be it work, or a lease.

It is what defines them.

I have heard Germans describe themselves, as horses with blinkers.

I have no care about this.

Like I said, I like the geography and the climate.

I have never had the inclination to learn any German, unlike Chinese.

So it all works very well.

You can define a place by how you feel when you arrive and leave. If arriving feels good, like I feel when I arrive in China, or Paris, all is good. Sad to say that leaving Germany always feels better than arriving there.

When in Germany, I can survive, move around them. I really do not want to know what they are saying. And, being an Anglo-Saxon, they never talk about me, as I look the same as them. Though, after living in Paris, I do have to say they always watch you. They stare, rudely. Who knows why? You would need to ask them that, and like I say I do not like to interact with them.

And also, if you ever need help, as a foreigner, they will be overly friendly, they usually can speak English, and they will do their utmost to help you.

So, being a foreigner in Germany, is a good thing.

A tourist.

That is what I am.

Just don’t be an employee, or a lease holder.

Getting Hot in Europe

London has, as predicted, suffered.

Due to decades of short-sighted and naive immigration policies, we are now seeing the results.

Human beings are tribal.

No, we all love each other!

Politics is short-sighted in the West, just compare it to China.

You can never really be Chinese or have a Chinese passport (and a foreign one).

Throw in the hate of religion, and hey presto. Religion is all about the judging and hating and killing of others, who do not have the same faith as you, or any faith at all.

It was the Christians before, now it is the secular Muslims who are restless and rising. The only thing that slows them down is that they are all so secular. Perhaps one Muslim will hate another type of Muslim more than they hate a non-Muslim.

I guess Englsnd will become a police state. Sad, but totally predictable.

On the good side I am finally teaching online to top-up my book sales.

It is easy work, teaching adults. Short classes. Good pay, relatively.

What I found about teaching for a school was, or even tutoring, you still had to put up with the fucking mindless stupidity and politics related to the staff.

Colleagues, bosses, and support staff.

In Paris, I mostly loved my students. But it was the expats that got me. The French were OK to deal with.

Pretty similar in China.

Now, I don’t have to worry about any of them, and I still like my students.

On the watching front, I am loving The Handmaid’s Tale. Can’t beleieve it was written in 1985.

Also some really great Al Jazeera documentary’s. The Israel wars, must watch stuff. And the Cronulla riots.

Taking a break from the writing for a while.

The gambling is going well.

A Collection of My Paris Poetry (all written while living there).


Drunk most days
But happied up
By this magical city
I breathe and smell
And I will stop
And see
That is the test
To see her beauty
Like most females
She needs to be really seen
Written about
Treated gently
Yes, I have been seduced


Too much dog shit
On the pavement
No one seems to care
The Metro smells like a urinal
Disease carrying mosquitoes
On the trains in November
Homeless guys litter the streets
Criminals roam and rape
Keep your metal shutters down
When you sleep
Don’t you peep
At my Paris
My drunken
Fucked up
Don’t worry baby
My lights are on
My shutters are open
Injecting scotch through my mouth
If that’s what it takes
To keep you
My love
My precious
Piss smelling


Too early
Always too early
A symptom of having no life
No code for the door
Wander down the street
Meet a busy street
Is that THAT street?
Oh yeah, Champs-Élysées!
And there’s the old Arc de Triomphe with the sun just above it
Sit down on a bench
As the Citroens speed by
Hangover lifted
I think Bukowski was right
It’s a hell of a Paris!


It’s not easy
To write
About women
The female species
Without getting
A hardened
The perfect opposite
Like south on a magnet
When we are the north
Stuck together
On the streets
In a heavenly
Fleshy smash
I walk down
The Paris streets
Envious of dogs
Just a quick sniff
Just bite me
If you don’t like me


I’m nearly out of scotch
And the shutters
Behind my eyes
Are starting to come down
The ice
And the mixers
Not far behind
My teeth
Almost too sensitive
To eat
But I figure
That was a pretty cool way
To waste four days


I walk down my street
To get more scotch
Sure, they’re all out there
It’s Friday night
Nine PM
I wanna see
I wanna smell
The fucked up French
I walk past a café
They’re all drinking
Some hot chicks
And I try to feel them
Try to smell the fucked up a niss
Of the French
But it’s not there
I return with scotch
I study them
What’s wrong with them?
I sniff the air
Hoping to smell the fucked up a niss
They should be drunk
They should be dark
But it’s not there


A drunk girl squats
On my overgrown grave
Of my life longer despair
Her lip service
Gives me hope
And she even lets
A ripper fart go
Into the air
All power and pride
As she considers
The beauty of the moon
My cold white bones
Rattle in expectation
Of a slow golden shower
Arriving maybe
In a few more cold winters
As she wipes
She notices something
On my headstone
Something I wrote
And she thinks
That was pretty cool
For a dead
Old guy


Imbibing between the slavery
A slight reprieve
From the shameless thief
Truth drowning reality
My vision returns
Searching for proof
Sunset gone
Sunrise set
Please don’t wake me
Before I forget


I was born
A Scorpio snake
Longing for
The white hot desert
As pure as a needle tip
Under a naked flame
As I slither
And scratch around
The dirty streets
Of humanity
Trying my best
Not to bite
Or sting
Down Rue de Bellevue
To deposit the glass
From the previous nights
Of drinking
And writing
In a circle of fire
As the bottles shatter
I see a handsome man
Outside the fleuriste
Giving a fresh bouquet of flowers
To a young smiling beauty
Of the silent sobs
From the plants
Decapitated for colour
Euthanized for endeavour
In the city of love
And romance
As I go back
The Parisian sun
Appears from behind
The grey clouds
Warming my skin
Before it is shed
And gifted
To the night
Once again


From the beginning
Of time
Killing has been
A sickness
Born out of dust
And disgust
In the human race
They say
There must
Be more
Than the pathetic
Paris weeps
Blood on her streets
Once again
When will we ever learn
What we are?
And that
It starts
And ends
With us?
Young bearded cowards
Hiding behind
Murderous guns
Celebrating death
More than life
Becoming unholy
In the name of holy
No warriors
Fear the beautiful
Free minds
And bodies
Of women
Throw down
Your guns
And then
Can you even
Face a woman?
A beautiful woman?
Let alone a real man
How do you plan
To take those 72 virgins?
No talk?
No foreplay?
No grooming?
In YOUR so called Heaven


The Celtic jewel
A nice snapshot in history
Almost earned her respect
And I used to think
All Parisian girls
Would be like Betty Blue
The Arc de Triomphe
And the Eiffel Tower
Still stand
Just as sure
As when
Hitler rolled in
Since then
The cup of political correctness
Hath runneth over
Spilling poison
All over the map of Europe
And cities such as Paris
Have suffered the affliction of dilution
Homogenized people
Slowly being milked of their humanity
The enemy is not from within
But without
Paris is one of those places
Like Stonehenge
The energy is good
The air is smooth
And the place itself
Is at peace
With itself
I finally found a good Beaujolais
It’s a 2014 Brouilly
I owe Paris this poem
She has been good to me
Kept me safe
During dangerous times of occupation
It’s a nice place to wake up in
And always will be
Eventually the French resistance
Will rise up
Just as before
It took time
It always takes time
You got under my skin
Six months in Paris
Will draw a tear in my eyes
When I leave
It already has