"I'm sorry, but your shirt is absolutely hideous..."

What on earth made me utter such a rude and insulting comment to a complete stranger at a drinks party, glass in one hand, canape in the other? Well, that's a good question! My mate Sarah and I were invited to a rather 'odd' drinks party in a converted chandelier factory in Covent Garden on Saturday afternoon. The party was unusually, not what it seemed... we were actually taking part in a piece of 'performance art' called CLUB CLASS, the brainchild of FrenchMotteshead, two artists.

Two groups of people attended the party: participants, who had attended a workshop beforehand (focusing on clothing, surveillance, body language or clothing) which encouraged them to experiement with new ways of behaviour; and guests, who came along for a drink (and a laugh I reckon!) They describe Club Class as, "a performance experience that invites particpants to explore the unwritten rules that govern social conduct." Having attended a "micro-class" with 12 arty-types we were encouraged to subvert our regular body language by tranforming the way we behaved.

The day sought to "challenge each participant to experience the possibilities of what it's like to be different", and we certainly did that! Our workshop on body language saw us practising gestures (think Touretts on a good day), changing the volume of your voice, playing with distance between you and another person... there was also the odd cartwheel and someone pretending to be a dog, (stay with me!)

The drinks party was surreal. Walking in, we didn't know who were guests and who were participants like us. I knew that some people had been at a "bad behaviour" workshop, and this was slightly worrying. I went straight for a drink and got chatting to a lady from the V&A, who at first glance was quite normal. We made small talk, until I plucked up the courage to try out something new... I decided to edge closer to her to see what her reaction would be... she didn't like it!

By this stage, Sarah was talking to a man whose drink had just been spat in! At that moment a girl pushed past a guy, spilling his drink and leaving him, apology-less, with a bewildered look on his face. It was crazy. I can't really explain it any better than that...

I guess the best part of the day was that it gave us permission to act, perform (read misbehave!) in a safe environment. Knowing there was a penchant for bad behaviour, I strangely enjoyed tapping a grown man on the shoulder, and boldly proclaiming "I'm sorry but your shirt is ABSOLUTELY hideous!" To which he replied, "Thank you very much for the advice."

I felt empowered, free to subvert my normal polite behaviour, and perform for a stranger. The day made me understand quite how self-conscious I am in my behaviour. We all bow to social convention, sub-consciously I'm sure, and to step outside of that was as freeing as walking down Oxford Street naked... don't get any ideas, I'm not that crazy!

Club Class is open to the public at the Tate Modern on 7 October, and ICA on 24 February 2007. For more info see www.frenchmottershead.com. If you fancy a change from the old 9-5, why not give it a go...

Spoilt for the ordinary

Loren Cunningham writes in one of his books about how travelling overseas and seeing what God is doing in different places can leave you feeling 'spoilt for the ordinary'. I've been pondering this phrase as I try to find my feet and settle back into my 'old life' in London. The thing is, it's not my old life anymore... things move on and I've changed, my perspective has shifted, ever-so-slightly. My mind is full of people I met when I was away, women mainly who as I type this are living lives so far removed from a soya latte and a pret sandwich for lunch.

Today I had a meeting in a park over lunch. My colleague and I sat under an enormous tree, shading us through dappled leaves from the intense heat. We talked and ate... my friend's lunch was blown away by a gust of wind leaving her to chase after it as I laughed and rescued my own.

How can I reconcile my day with a woman in Chennai whose bed is a pile of sand... A young girl in North Korea who is forced to marry a man twice her age... A woman in a remote area of rural China whose sole possession is a tin pot to cook rice in.

Tough questions, and I don't pretend to have the answers. I just hope I never forget them.

The Good Women of China

Brought up by the red guards during the cultural revolution in China, Xinran was taught to disregard her parents as her 'true family' and pledge alligance first and foremost to the Chinese government. Years later, working as a journalist, she is given the opportunity to present a groundbreaking radio programme for women. For eight years she gave a voice to hundreds of women in China, for whom an outlet for their stories was previously unavailable.

"The Good Women of China" is Xinran's account of these eight years interviewing and speaking openly with Chinese women about their lives, and what it meant to be female in modern China. Speaking honestly about their roles as daughters, wives, mothers, secretaries, escorts, the book gently and heartbreakingly paints a colourful and ocassionally dark grey portrait of what it means to be a women in China.

Xinran opens up a world of stories that are at once painful and fascinating... a girl whose father sexually abuses her sees no release other than making herself ill, until she slowly dies of blood poisoning in hospital. University students from poor backgrounds act as 'escorts' to businessmen, receiving money and attention, but tragically not the love they require.
Early in the book Xinran tells of a conversation with a friend...

--
'Xinran', he said, 'have you ever been inside a sponge cake factory?'
'No' I replied, confused.
'Well, I have, so I never eat sponge cake.' He suggested that I try visitng a bakery to see what he meant.
--

On seeing the less-than-hygenic way the cakes were baked, Xinran could never look at a sponge cake ever again.

If you read this book, you will never think of Chinese women in the same way again.