Times of the signs

Another radio programme I would enjoy making is a quest through China to find the worst sign, for the competition is fierce. If anything gives the impression that the rest of the world is only an afterthought here it is the signs written in Chinglish. True Chinglish should not just be wrong; it should be completely incomprehensible to anyone. Occasionally some lateral thinking may allow you to divine the meaning, with the possibility for humour or a sense of satisfaction. However, for a true connoisseur the most sought after works seem like a random jumble of words, or even letters. In a small village in the North West this might be forgiven, but in fact official government signs in the major cities are some of the worst offenders. In many cases it seems churlish to point out the mistakes, not to mention the fact that the signs are, if not set in stone, already quite permanent and on top of that, a brief stroll is enough to convince you that the task of correction would be something of a Sisyphean labour. However, I have always wondered about the design process of these signs. If there was some helpful language input at the crucial planning stage would it be possible that a sign might go up error free? Having walked past so many stunning examples I was lucky enough one day to stumble upon a shop that was being fitted out for a grand opening the next day. And wonder of wonders they were in the process of putting up their sign. Less surprisingly, there was indeed a mistake. This clothes shop was catering for more expensive tastes, located as it was near Beijing’s Russian district. The Cashmere was all present and correct but unfortunately the second half of their range was currently scheduled to consist of Sheard Sheep Skin, making it sound more like a restaurant than a clothes store. In the absence of a phonebooth in which I could turn my underwear inside out, changing from a mere man to EnglishMan, I content myself with pulling out my phrasebook and attempting a daring rescue. The mistake with Sheard was easily explained but when I searched among the wooden letters that were to define this establishment, there was not a spare ‘e’ to be found. I try anagrams but the best I can come up with is SkinheadS herpeS. I tell them about wool, and how really this is an altogether more palatable description of sheep’s clothing, one that the more squeamish wolf will have less trouble in donning. However, I think I have arrived too late, I am talking to the sign writers, who would prefer that the errors were not pointed out. The owner seems grateful, perhaps only because whenever a Westerner engages in any activity other than walking on a Chinese street they will almost always draw a crowd in a matter of minutes. The heels of his attention are constantly nipped by his two mobile phones however, so I leave written copies of the two correct possibilities and head on my way.

One evening, Pekka the Finn and I head to a small back alley restaurant. For some reason we take a the mouldy torso of a clothes dummy with us which then so terrifies one of the waitresses that she screams loudly, runs out and doesn’t return until we have nearly finished our Lemon Chicken. Seemingly without reason, a man in his pajamas shuffles in, from the door through which the poor waitress swiftly exited, grabs some chopsticks and shuffles on. For another reason, possibly because I politely pointed out/guffawed at a mistake on the current menu, the manager decides we should work for our meal and brings out the secret new menu. I point out a few mistakes on the first page. He proffers a pen. I make the corrections. He proffers some paper and indicates page two. I get to work. Shamefully, I probably did more writing in an hour to correct this menu than I have done in any single hour while working on this blog. It isn’t because I don’t care; I guess it just helps to have food incentive. Some of the entries are pure Chinglish so I have to look at the original Chinese which is helpfully placed beside it. Unfortunately, my phrasebook tells me that the menu is now going to have several sorts of “Rape” on it. I search for another solution but to no avail. Amazingly there is also a prototype Finnish menu for Pekka to peruse. This also yields some classics, at least I deduce they are from Pekka’s uproarious laughter. The best example of “FinnChin” (You saw it here first language fans) was the name of the menu itself, "mokalista" which Pekka reliably informs me is "the list of things that are screwed up". There is a pleasing irony there for Finnish speakers, along with disbelief for English speakers that the Finns even have a word for this.

A few days later I am walking past the clothes shop and I see that they have gone with “Cashmere & Sheard Sheep Skin”. I am a little disappointed but not entirely surprised. Perhaps they will get more custom with this slightly quirkier moniker. Perhaps most of their customers will be looking at the Chinese characters anyway. Perhaps I should have tried an anagram of the whole sign. In the face of Chinglish might I now feel a sense of futility and “a Sharp & CheriShed meeknesS”.