Good afternoon

It’s been four weeks since I last wrote to you, and it’s been five years since I was last in Beijing.

The Meiguoren, the Americans, have mostly gone. Meiguoren means Beautiful Country People. The Chinese I’ve met like Americans and other Westerners. When I was there previously, there were many hybrid Western-Chinese cafes, bars and restaurants. There was a buzz about Beijing. Those businesses and that buzz are disappearing. 

However, a couple of those cafes are still open, and I was able to sit down and work on the plot for the third book (Now Is The Time Of Monsters). Once I’ve planned the middle section, I’ll be able to complete the second book (The Half-Life Girl) and publish it.

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My stay in China was without incident until the final day. 

On the flight back to London from Shanghai, I had an ‘adventure’. 

At check-in at Capital Airport Beijing, I requested aisle seats to Shanghai and then onto London because my legs are quite long. Instead, I had to cram myself into a window seat. 

I was okay until we got within an hour of London Gatwick Airport when my left knee became painful. 

“No matter,’ I thought, ‘I’ll soon be able to stretch my legs.’

But I was about to become the reluctant protagonist in my own ‘adventure story.’

I was unable to straighten my left leg. I was in pain. The China Eastern Airways stewardesses got me into a wheelchair and took me to the exit. 

“It will take 40 minutes to fetch an Airport wheelchair.”

“That long?”

One of the stewardesses took out her phone.

Two minutes later, a man in his mid-twenties appeared. He had long, straggling blond hair. He wore a bright yellow hi-vis jacket. 

Never judge people by appearances. The man spoke fluent Mandarin. A moment later, a woman arrived with a wheelchair. 

“I can take you as far as Immigration,” she said. “Someone is waiting for you there.”

That someone was a forklift driver. At this point, I began to suspect this was an unofficial passage through the airport set up by the blond-haired fixer. 

I sailed past the queues at immigration and customs. We stopped for me to buy my ticket to Cambridge. Then he passed me over to ThamesLink train staff. 

We waited on the platform. The doors to the busy commuter train opened, and he wheeled me up the ramp. 

“Right,” he said. “Who’s giving up his seat for the gentleman?”

He helped me out of the wheelchair, and the train departed. 

The rain was shelving down at Cambridge Station. Two women were waiting for me with a ramp. Another wheelchair appeared. 

My wife was waiting in the ticketing area. With her was a tall young man. 

“Do you have a car?” He asked. 

“We live just around the corner.” 

“I work here, but I’m off duty today. I’m waiting for my granny on the next train.”

He rolled me up to our front door.

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It’s called ‘The Kindness of Strangers’. I’ve done it. You’ve done it. The vast majority of people are good and will help out if they see someone in trouble.

Maybe I’ll tell you the second part of the tale next Sunday. My visit to the hospital.