Sonic Bidet, Daghenam

Unfortunately, Dagenham is home to some of the worst morons on the planet. It would have been more productive if I’d set up my sonic bidet next to an Iraqi IED roadside mine or exploding space shuttle.

A gang of unwashed hoodies wander into the gallery. The gallery owner has gone to the boat show with her hubbie. I am alone and am shocked to find myself actually quite afraid. One hoodie picks up my blue copperhead snakeskin Mulberry Roxanne tote and swings it in a violent arc over his head. Another pair surrounds me and when I ask them to leave start calling me a ‘posh stuck up sket’.

I try to explain to them that the old paradigms of class and stratification have been brought into question by the work of Gilbert and Kahl. I even quote Gilbert’s famous quote to the effect that – “there is really no way to establish that a particular model is ‘true’ and another ‘false.’ “

The tall hoodie with the cauliflower nose and a vulgar piercing through his eyelid seizes my wrist and squeezes it. I cry out. The pain is immense. In his strange hoodie language he informs me quietly if I so much as breathe another word he will snap my wrist and break both my arms. While I am trying to process this new information one of the hoodies takes it upon himself to rip the lid off my sonic bidet.

Then the really ugly one who smells like rancid cheese when he opens his mouth points at my bidet and asks me facetiously, ‘Do it play Grime, fudge? It got speakers.’ I ask for permission to speak and politely explain to them that the local constabulary have been engaged to keep an eye on the installation. An inspection is imminent. They debate whether to squirt a few Frubes over my head but decide to lock me into the broom closet. The gallery owner finally arrives to set me free after three and a half hours. Laconically, she informs me that this sort of thing happens the whole time – which is why the gallery can’t get any insurance. It is then I notice that my priceless bidet is missing, completely vanished.

Sonic Bidet, Manchuoko

Sonic Bidet in Manchuoko. So exciting. PING! For once, the international arts community is starting to appreciate just how incredibly brilliant I am.

I am met at immigration by a chunky liveried chauffeur and deposited in the back of a mammoth black limo. The first thing that catches my eye on the drive from the airport are the gigantic posters advertising my fabulous website – KaffeMatthews.Com. This is no more than ‘how things should be’.

Despite my misgivings I must say the Japanese who rule here have really got their act together. The gallery where my Sonic Bidet is to be housed is awe inspiring, a cockpit the size of an airship hanger. There is hospitality to match – what meek staff! Ever a servant hanging around ready to hand you a coat hanger. Let’s face it. I’ve never been a girl who likes to travel light. Given my sizeable designer wardrobe this can only be a good thing.

However, one can’t help but notice the political situation here. The ethnic Chinese seem to be little more than coolies and prostitutes while their Japanese masters lord and lady it over them with an iron fist. Two streets from the gallery I witness an old Chinese busker beaten to jelly by six burly police officers. Another constable jumps up and down on the old fellow’s saxophone until it is flat as a DVD.

With typical inquisitiveness, I approach a strikingly well built young Captain and ask what the old man’s offence was. He takes my arm politely and leads me off to one side. In a deep husky whisper he takes great pains to explain how the foolish old busker started improvising on an Imperial Japanese Court theme – an act of dangerous rebellion and punishable by 67 years in gaol.

I do understand and sympathise but still think the summary beating is a touch on the wild side. The handsome young officer and I seem to immediately click. We arrange to meet later for drinkies so we can discuss the matter fully. ‘Dear Lady’, he says to me in his excellent English,’ It would be a privilege to be allowed to show you some of the hidden parts of our country’. Hidden parts? Wow. That’s cool by me. PING!

I must be careful not to be too critical while I am here. It would be churlish of me to voice my liberal Western quibblings to my kind hosts. To salve my conscience I will make sure I leave generous Arts Council funded tips for the servants wherever I go.

The grand gallery opening is delayed by a small and quite unpleasant snag. As usual, my useless engineers are to blame. They forget to change the high voltage regulator on my bidet to the ‘Foreign’ setting and, as a result, a Chinese guinea pig person is electrocuted to death as soon as he is deposited on the bidet seat. The fact that he is a condemned criminal does not attenuate the shock. My Sonic Bidets are designed to spread love, peace, obedience through the world – not annihilation at 100,000 volts of raw screaming death!

Fairylight dinner in an exclusive Korean eatery with Ryouko, my yummy police captain. Ryouko selects the hoe dipped in gochujang. I opt for the sannkji. Excellent choice! With the conversation overflowing over our bowls of warming Bokbunja ju (a delicious fruit wine!!) I make a bold request. I gently explain to Ryouko that I am a woman who must be obeyed and order him to order his men not to beat on any more defenceless smelly old tramps – no matter how much they deserve it.

He takes my hand, gazes directly into my amazing eyes and whispers, ’Delightful white-skinned Laptop lady, I give you my word. In future we will first bathe the troublemakers in rose water, then arm them with a small stick before beating them to the consistency of iwahju’.

I do not know what ‘Iwahju’ is but I presume it is a legal term guaranteeing the rights of the accused. I am delighted! Once again, without moving from her chair, Kaffe has struck a blow for the oppressed minions of the world. As for Ryouko, he’s simply the dishiest dish in the house. PING!