Please don't speak English

My friend C makes short films. Yes, she's a film maker amongst other intellectual and creative pursuits. And thereby, something of a local celebrity.

C writes, directs, and stars in her quirky vignettes of life as a vivacious blonde in Hong Kong who upsets the lychee cart by doing something that few Caucasians have bothered to do - learn the local language.

C will soon be featuring in a local current affairs show - The Pearl Report. It's not the first time she's been on telly and she is quite the seasoned interviewee. This I came to truly appreciate when hard hitting journo Harold turned up to film a story ostensibly about C's well documented penchant for Chinese geezers; at least that's the way she sold it to me.

Despite his best efforts, world weary Harold couldn't suppress his giggles when C donned her man boobs and moustache to play the part of ah Mok, the sleazy geezer with a heart of gold. I play his naive and somewhat put-upon best friend ah Wai - complete with baldy wig and coke bottle specs. Together they get up to all sorts of adventures; visiting whorehouses, hunting down long lost relatives in deepest Guangdong, slurping tea on the pavement and generally attracting a lot more attention than I'm entirely comfortable with. C laps it up, and posts it on You Tube.

"Ah. You're so cool. Can I take your photo"

"Mh sai gong yingman" (Please don't/no need to speak English)

"Oh, you speak the Cantonese! Cannot be! Wo...so smart."

"Mh sai gong yingman"

This exchange, and limited variations of it, have been repeated over and over, day after day, for the twenty years or so that C has been speaking Cantonese. It's so patronising I want to scream. C takes it in her stride.

Harold looked on in awe as his camera man (not bad looking) filmed us filming the latest episode. A startled guy at the next table blinking his rabbit eyes in our direction.

"Do you meet many guys dressed like that?" Harold finally asked. This was an interview after all.

"Sure. Watch this"

"Wei!"

C and I called out to some unsuspecting patrons. They did a splendid job of ignoring us. So the answer to that one is "No. None actually".

Blinky kept up the blinking. As he stood up to leave he handed C his name card. 'Boudoir Films'. She showed it to me before tucking it into her bra.