I spend my first flight in years adding tabs into my new bible. Somewhere over China, I manage to stick Zachariah to Matthew which results in very unbiblical language. I recall the Browning quotation in Stalky about a text in the Galatians offering 29 distinct damnations. I count my sins as we fly through the night.
Last year, I bought a house in a surreal Hong Kong New Territories enclave which rejoices in the name of “Beverly Hills” and features architecture closely modelled on the London of Mary Poppins combined with the excess of Louis XV. Nearby is the massive, 76m-high statue of Guan Yin, the goddess of mercy, who looms over the Tsz Shan monastery. Built by billionaire Li Ka-shing, the goddess, according to local gossip, shelters a bomb-proof mausoleum where the great man will eventually reside. My driver has visited five times, less in a spirit of piety and more to take advantage of the free café which, I am told, offers an unrestricted choice of drinks and cakes. As I walk my dogs every morning, I reflect that public religious statues are an invitation to prayer. We were told never to pass a grotto without saying a Hail Mary and I apply the same logic to Guan Yin as she smiles serenely down on me.
