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Thursday 4 December 2008

Diary

David Tang reflects on the storms in China, and on being 'Googled'

At the weekend, before I returned to Hong Kong from my last few days of shooting, I found myself going on the train from Newcastle to London (having shot at Biddick after a comfortable night in Tony Lambton’s bed, sans ghost). On the train, I was woken up twice by joining passengers who claimed that they had reserved my seats. I had to move on both occasions and only managed to find the last spare seat in the jammed carriage. It was hardly comforting to be told by the guard that I could have bought a first-class ticket for £200 and not found a seat for the 300-mile journey. It’s a far cry from the days, I remember, of the wondrous Pullman from Paddington to Oxford during whose short journey high tea was served — with Mother’s Pride sandwiches and toasted tea-cakes and proper builder’s tea in silver pots, and decent white tablecloths to boot!

Sitting opposite to me on the train was a complete stranger on his laptop computer. He suddenly started telling me who I was! I professed amazement as I did not know him from Adam. He confessed that he had, there and then in front of his screen, ‘Googled’ me. I inquired how he knew my name. He elementarily, like Holmes, told me he had noticed my surname on my bag and had heard my friend call me David. I was quite impressed, but shuddered at the thought of how easily I was identified and exposed. The experience was rather unnerving. His name (I asked) was Mark Simpson QC, whoever he is. I hope he is now unnerved.

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