Moving to China

Well, well, well. When I was struggling in a second round interview for a Communications Executive post at IDA Ireland last Autumn, little did I know my escape from the Year Six torpor of RTÉ.ie would come from the Far East! (And given the jobs agency's negative performance in 2008, I really dodged a bullet there.)

Myself and my darling Megan are decamping to Guangzhou, China's third largest city with an official population of more than 9m, in a little over a month's time. I'm starting to get really excited about it now.

We will be teaching Oral English to students at Guangdong University of Foreign Studies, thought to be one of the most prestigious in southern China. Our future employers are giving us a rent-free furnished two-bedroom apartment on campus and on the metro, and it looks like we'll be required to teach for a mere 14 hours a week. [Gar's average day in other words]

In the sub-tropical climes of the Pearl River Delta, we'll be treated to everyday temperatures in the 20s and 30s as well as a relative salary fit for a king. Teacher holidays, a day off for St Patrick's Day, two hours by boat from Hong Kong - need I go on?

So I've been taking great pleasure in dismantling the appendages of my young professional life in Dublin - potential buyer for car secured, book and clothing bonanza for charity in Africa, direct debits directly cut off. Everything that won't fit in 30kg of baggage's got to go. As an aside, I would recommend to anyone to get rid of half their clothes - I still have everything I wear and my wardrobe's now a model of organisation and accessibility.

One other thing that takes up no space whatsoever but is also not coming to China is Silly Billy - as far as I can make out, you can't view any Blogspot pages over there.

Fear not dear readers, myself and Megan are starting up a new one on Travellers Point - check back there or get the link under 'Things To See & Read' in the left-hand menu. It's called '2across: Bill & Megan in the Middle Kingdom'.

Furthermore, you can also keep up with this young Dubliner's thoughts and musings on the other side of the blogosphere at Silly Billy's new home. Goodbye recession, hello sunshine.

Jilted at jury duty

First things first, it's definitely a handy number schedule-wise. State-guaranteed time off work, 9.45am start at central location. 15-minute welcoming speech and roll call from the registrar to start - 500 names, all Sweeneys and Murphys, with one Asian-looking teenager that was probably born in the same hospital as me the depressing sum total of any apparent diversity in the proceedings.

Then straight away a 45-minute break before the judge arrives at 11am. Americanos €2.30, unbranded but probably Lavazza, at the 'public restaurant' one floor down from the 'barristers only' café. Day's proceedings slated to finish at about midday.

And so it proved. But they tell you to clear the whole week, when in fact all the juries are decided in one go on a Monday, at least in my recent case. Nonetheless I did get the rest of the day off, which is not part of the official deal.

It was nearly dramatically different, as I was picked to go on the jury for a major three-week trial. From a packed gallery in the court, it was hard to hear and even harder to discern what you were supposed to do. Myself and a lady trooped downstairs and out the door to get back in on the ground floor and rushed through the court to approach the area next to the jury box. The registrar then recaps all the names he's just read and then you approach the box in that order - all of which basically takes place without explanation.

Then on cue you take the steps up to the jury box proper, and swear an oath on the Bible that you will be a faithful juror dot dot dot. Except in my case, I got two steps up to the box with a big red nervous face on before a lawyer across from me says 'Challenge on behalf of xx'. 'You've been challenged, you can go back for the moment,' says the registrar semi-helpfully. And that was the end of that.

At least in theory, for I was on the move back to the gallery and didn't see it, your name card goes back in the box and you can be picked again for any other case they're filling that day or the rest of the week. So you can't even go to the toilet in case you miss your name. As it happened there was only one more jury and I wasn't picked, and we were all free to go at about 12.10pm, more or less bang on time. I'm now clear for at least two years before I can be called again.

As for my challenge, well each party to the trial gets seven of them and they don't have to state a reason. All they've got is your name and occupation (not even the address as I understand it), and about five seconds to get a look at your personal appearance before your hand's on the Bible and it's too late.

One theory is that if you look like the accused or the victim you'll be challenged - after seeing a grainy photo of the victim, a mid-twenties man, it seems like this would be plausible enough in very broad terms. Moreover in the second jury I saw get picked, one man who was rejected could have won a look-a-like competition if the accused had been the target! The lawyers may also have baulked at having an 'online journalist' on the panel, but there's no way of knowing for sure either way.

Aside from these various knock-backs, loads of people made excuses to get off the panels. Some were good - 'I'm from XX [site of the crime], judge' was the best one - but many were terrible - 'I'm meant to be on annual leave next week', 'I'm really busy at work', and 'I'm meant to be graduating on Monday'. Brutal! Do these people have no sense of civic duty?

Ultimately it was an interesting day off, but I have to say my initial enthusiasm for a few weeks off in the run-up to Christmas dissipated in the actual court scenario, which was very stuffy with all the potential jurors, and both cases that went forward for trial were horrible.

If you're pondering your luck, consider that they told us we were there 'in very large numbers', with not too many numbers skipped out of the 500 total. So logistically even if it's in the hundreds each week I'm surprised I don't know of more people who've done it, and wouldn't be at all surprised to find myself being called again another time. Perhaps then I'll have the misfortune to get a more complete experience of this particular public service!

A Home at the End of the Randomers

It's been a long time coming, but is no less sweeter for it. In about a month, myself and Megan plan to get a place together. It's going to be so special, I just cannot wait.

The list of reasons how this will improve my life is endless. No more living with strangers, no more dead phones, no more sour milk. And it will come together so easily for something so great - in jest, I've decided we will need just a blanket and two wine glasses to make our teeny place home!

But trully it will be fantastic - we already enjoy all of our free time together, and now we will have all our stuff in one place. I've had a few funny instances already of showing up to work wearing whatever's lying around where I rise and hoping no one will notice. My nice new runners with orange shoelaces don't help in this regard!

Of course me being the broody type, I'm already reminiscing about my eight years and one month of single man rentdom. Feeling distinctly upbeat about it all - it's the end of one era and the beginning of quite another that looks very rosy indeed. The move makes me feel better about being 27, proud in fact of what I've experienced and achieved since I packed my bags and left the family home in Scholarstown in September 2000.

So to mark the occasion, I've prepared a little run-down of the happy shacks, drinking dens, boltholes and shitholes that I've called my own over the years.

1. 364 Charlemont, Griffith Ave, Marino
Timeline: Sep '00 - June '01, Sep '01 - June '02
Lineup: me, Ian, Ollie, James (year one), Tim D (year two)

Soundtrack: U2's All That You Can't Leave Behind

John still says he's 'Charlemont 'till I die'! We had some legendary parties here, including the notorious 'fish face' incident (sorry AO'C if you ever see this) in which Gar shagged a classmate of mine on the windowsill of my tiny single room - in the middle of the party. I was left half a bottle of Jameson by way of compensation!

I also remember listening to David Kitt's debut 'Small Moments', consuming large cups of tea/coffee/soup/cereal in Gar's giant Homer Simpson mug and a having lots of conversations that we thought were highly intellectual but which I realise now were more about the delight of self-actualisation in the making.

2. C 29 Batiment B1 RC, Ponsan Bellevue, Cité Universitaire Paul Sabatier, 115 Route de Narbonne, 31400 Toulouse
Timeline: August '02 - December '02
Lineup: me, with Julie-Anne in the next building. And Rachid the happy-go-lucky chocolatier sleeping on the floor for an extended period

Soundtrack: Coldplay's 'A Rush of Blood To The Head'

Yes, the address is a bit of an eyesore, but so was the accomodation. I remember being tickled by what I could now call my first intercultural joke in another language - I nicknamed the residence Ponsan Mauvaisevue and got a hearty laugh from French, Irish, Polish and German people present.

Great fun though, and perfect for getting out to class and out of the house to experience southern France. My room was so tiny, with a bidet I filled with cold water to act as a fridge and a mini-kettle that proved so popular it became known as 'Le Salon du thé de Bill'. The wine from a then-alien Lidl was comically cheap with a surprisingly high hit-rate.

2. 71 Shanliss Way, Santry
Timeline: January '03 - July '03
Lineup: me, Ian, Ollie, Julie-Anne
Soundtrack: Damien Rice's 'O'

The one with all the wine! Came back from France a permanent oenophile. My room greatly improved to a back-garden facing double, but I had a hot water tank next to my pillow which gave me serious sweats. Around the time I gave up smoking for two months it was like the scene from Trainspotting, I was crawling on the ceiling! Also home to 'the poetry corner', a cosy reading spot with armchair and lamp where Ollie would read stories from the hearth!

3. 59 The Maples, Clonskeagh
Timeline: August '03 - August '04
Lineup: me, Tim, Liam
Soundtrack: Muse's 'Absolution'. And the theme tunes to 'Gladiator' and 'Lord of the Rings'

The home of drinking, DVDs and Dominos. Anybody who says students drink the most never came to this place and saw 'Moosehead Mountain'! Some great parties as well as plenty of late nights after the pub. Gin and tonic was so prevalent it may as well have been invented here!

I had a spacious double with an ensuite bathroom, happy out. Also home to the craziest hooch collection yet seen, a box of party hats and the occasional ferret. As well as the largest collection of DVDs a 'coffee table' has ever held and a host of computer game consoles and other gadgets. Just don't mention 'Top Gun'.

4. 123 Morehampton Road, Donnybrook
Timeline: August '04 - December '04
Lineup: me, Maria and some seven others
Soundtrack: Keane's 'Hopes and Fears' and The Killers' 'Hot Fuss'

Like Bono's 'The Million Dollar Hotel', but without the money. Four floors of down and outs, miscreants, Finnish booze junkies, a middle-aged alcoholic with a non-stop cough, and even the occasional homeless person in the sometimes unpadlocked laundry shed. Watched lots of Channel 4 News and left-wing movies. And lost my shirt on gourmet ready-to-go meals from Donnybrook Fair. But never let it be said that 13 people (including couples) cannot share one kitchen. It happened.

5. 45 Lr Churchtown Road, Churchtown
Timeline: December '04 - April '05
Lineup: me, Micheal the waiter, Becks the waitress, Don the sap. And an alsatian.
Soundtrack: The Arcade Fire's 'Funeral' and U2's 'How to Dismantle An Atomic Bomb'

Still probably my best ever bedroom - I got the master, complete with writing desk and fireplace. The family owners had just moved out so the greenery was impressive, even if the narrow back garden was dominated by my housemate's huge dog and terminated with the Green Luas Line.

Very comfortable place and location - 14 mins to St Stephen's Green - but we had to leave after the landlord flipped over the mess the dog made and kicked us out so she could redecorate. Prior to that she issued us a four-page handwritten cleaning list under the headings 'Immediate', 'Urgent' and 'General'. Monica eat your heart out.

6. 14 Cumberland Row, Britain Place, Dublin 1
Timeline: April '05 - April '06
Lineup: me, Guillaume, Kavo, Leona

Soundtrack: Sigur Ros' 'Takk...' and my burgeoning stock of music DVDs

The one with all the Chinese students. Only six apartments in my block-within-a-block, but there must have been more than 20 different faces going in and out. This two-bed was the best-looking modern apartment I've lived in, and I benefitted from another ensuite. Great to be so central as well - I'm surprised my Cineworld Unlimited card didn't warp from overuse. Although the hobos and junkies were never too far away.

The rolling stock of flatmates was good and bad. 'Word of the Day' conversations around a dictionary and wine and cheese with Guillaume tops the list, along with music and beers with Kavo, the provider of bootlegs. On the downside, there was the first girl I can't remember the name of with her individually washed & dried petticoats that ultimately resulted in an upaid ESB bill for a whopping €450, and Leona the loud and fussy country lass who thought she was charming but definitely wasn't.

7. Apt 4, Seabury, Sydney Parade Avenue, Sandymount
Timeline: April '06 - April '07
Lineup: me and Agnes
Soundtrack: Radiohead bootlegs from '97 and '03, as well as Muse's 'Black Holes and Revelations' for jogging

My 'spoil yourself' period! €675 a month for plush Dublin 4 two-bed with house cleaner, call-to-your-door driving lessons, the King of Belgium's coffee from Sandymount village, the cheeses of Tesco Merrion and regular-ish jogs on adjacent Sandymount Strand. The DART was super-handy for getting in to town, and of course the 15 min walk to work was hard to beat.

Agnes the fortysomething French waitress was good at sharing vegetables and smoking indoors, but bad at the sight of crumbs on the table - she thought they were the end of the world, zut alors! We took delight in the size of this 1970s pad, which was built before Ireland knew what an apartment was and consequently about twice the size of the ground floor of an average house. It even had a separate sun room we used for drying clothes and a full size dining table. And where was the last place you saw that had 'visitors' parking'?!

8. 177 Moyville, Rathfarnham
Timeline: April '07 - Present
Lineup: me and Mick, and two screaming children one night a week
Soundtrack: Radiohead's 'In Rainbows' and Caedmon's Call

The bargain after the splurge! To make room in my discretionary spending for Lenny the green Ford Ka, I downsized to no-less-leafy D16, where I ended up with half a three-bed house for €450, all bills included.

Sure, my housemate's quite loud, but he also keeps to himself and generally never complains about anything. Plenty of Friday night dashes to the cinema or pub to avoid the marauding small people, but few problems otherwise. Great access to all the old spots of my childhood and adolescence, and many fun trips up the mountains for a Guinness or two with Gar and Gargan.

Most notable also for all the fun times with Megan in the last seven months and 25 days, which brings us back more or less to where we came in. Four years of friends, four years of randomers, and now a home at the end of it all. A toast to the good times of the early and mid-twenties, and roll on the late twenties!

Tasty feast with a few nice wines

It's great value when you think about it, although it would be expensive to do it that often. For €75 a pop, myself and Megan attended Meet the Winemaker with Jerome Poisson at Rhodes D7 last week. The price included a champagne reception and five-course meal, with a different glass of wine to try with each dish.

Firstly, three cheers to Gar for getting us a perfect table alongside the wall, in good reach of the waiters but with some distance from the larger groups of tasters. A mixed table would certainly have been less fun, and we got great service.

The star of the evening was definitely the food. I was once told that I would eat tomato and basil off a sock, and the very light dish we opened our feast with did not contradict this theory about my taste for the combination.

Sea bass is my new favourite fish, after trying it out recently and then greatly enjoying the crispy starter at this event. I was less enamoured with the main course, a slow-cooked beef that broke into strings as you ate it and seemed to have had most of its juices systematically removed. Like a poorly-chosen Chinese takeaway dish, you were sick of the sauce before you were full. Nice mashed potato and veg though.

The Franco-Irish cheese plate was reliably tasty, but it came way too late in the day for me to give proper justice to it. I think wine and cheese, or better wine and meat and cheese, works best as a stand alone light meal rather than something tacked on as an extra course. Finally the chunk-filled brulee-type sweet dish was neither good or bad, as I often find with dessert.

The wine itself was a mixed bag. Champagne is a great way to start anything, so no complaints there. Both the white wines were gorgeous in different ways - the Sauvignon Blanc was bright and sweet, while the Chardonnay had a delicious oak-edged and tang-free taste that probably made it the best glass of white I've ever had. (Not that I've had many, such is my taste for red.)

As for the reds, there was a big clanger - the merlot was disgusting. It made my forehead come out in a sweat and was essentially undrinkable for anyone with a brain. The second red, which cost a fortune our sources told us, was absolutely delicious, but fell short of eclipsing the memory of its mucky predecessor. Finally, the dessert wine was, well, dessert wine. They're all the same I think.

Mercifully the speeches were not overdone, and I could certainly forgive the Chile-based French-speaking winemaker for his schoolboyish English. Indeed it's kind of fun to spot an error in English that can be traced back to the way it is said in French, e.g. 'my proper vineyard' surely came from 'mon propre vignoble', meaning 'my own vineyard'.

Mr Poisson also came over and spoke to us, and seemed happy enough with Megan's two-line assessment and my polite smile. Although he did get in his excuse about the expense of the nicer wines a bit early, i.e. almost before we had finished telling him which ones we liked.

After disappearing into the night, I found no need for breakfast and had no urge to drink more wine for some days afterwards. As an experiment in attending wine tastings, I really enjoyed it, though doing the same again in another setting such as a stand-up tasting in a shop somewhere - with an actual requirement for informed opinions - would be another story altogether...