今年一月底，我回英国参加为期一周的“亚洲商务”研讨会。我去了利物浦和曼彻斯特。上一任英国驻广州总领事戴伟绅(Brian Davidson)先生（现任英国驻上海总领事）去了伯明翰，格拉斯哥和贝尔法斯特。我们俩都去了伦敦，与英国驻重庆总领事李赛(Simon Lever)会合。我们在各个地区市见了数十家公司，伦敦则有上百家。每到一个地方，我们都向代表团和企业介绍中国市场的机遇与挑战，一些经验丰富的商界发言人也加入了我们的队伍。我本人则特别强调了广东和珠三角的商机。在伦敦，英国驻香港总领事奚安竹 (Andrew Seaton)与我一道向英国商人推介这个市场。

我一直都很喜欢与商人们会面。某种程度上来说我喜欢的是其中的多样性。在众多公司中，有为铁轨生产润滑油的，有为滚装货轮舷梯提供防滑条的，有生产房屋铺设地板的，有生产鞋子密封胶的，有生产布料纤维的，有生产电脑配件的，有生产模拟飞行器的，有生产飞行器零部件的，有生产皮靴蜡的，有生产制鞋设备的，有生产香薰加热灯的。我还见了不少建筑师，教育机构人员，认证服务机构人员，会计师和银行家。他们其中很多已经在中国做生意了，有的正准备进入军中国市场。我要尝试着为他们提供有用的建议，但毕竟不能佯装专业人士，对于我来说这是很好的思维训练。

能回到英格兰西北部，是另一件让我高兴的事。距我上次在曼城和利物浦工作到现在大概有10多年的时间了。曼城和利物浦是两个竞争对手，无论在绿茵场上还是场下，也且不说它们的相距甚远（虽然他们鲜有承认，可有些共同点是显而易见的，好比它们都拥有一流的大学。从地理位置上说，两者的差异有着浓厚的地方特色。）两座城市的外表风格迥异。曼城市中心的历史建筑是砖砌结构，而利物浦的则是由灰白色石头建成的，像19世纪伦敦公共建筑一样。在阴暗的天色中，曼城会显得非常昏暗。但当我去到的时候，阳光明媚，这两座城市在新式建筑的玻璃反射下闪耀着光芒。我曾以为我会在这里陷入工作时的沉稳淡定或宠辱不惊的心情，其实不然。在会见了几家公司后，我感到精力充沛而积极乐观。

回到利物浦还有一件让我开心的事——我回想起了我的研究生时代（在另外一个城市）。当年我研读了19世纪美国散文小说家纳撒尼尔·霍桑(Nathaniel Hawthorne)的作品。霍桑的个性是差异、自信、严肃和幽默的混合体，我在其中找到了共鸣。看着窗外，眼前是利物大厦，远处是默西河，我想起霍桑曾经在1853至1857年间担任美国驻利物浦领事。当年拜读他的作品时，我没预料到有一天自己也会到另一个伟大而历史悠久的港口城市担任总领事。如果当年我更加勤恳地钻研霍桑的和其他同时代作家的作品，并按照原计划去当一名大学老师，我便不会成为总领事了。虽然（这次行程中利物浦市长告诉我）上海外滩是以利物浦的河岸为原形建设的，两座城市是姐妹城市，但我觉得默西河两岸的风景其实与珠江两岸十分相似。

作为领事，霍桑的工作和我的有所不同。他的职责很大一部分是领事服务，也就是为经停利物浦的美国公民提供服务，尤其是为了那些航海中生病的船员们提供帮助。他会去走访监狱，法庭，医院和太平间。我们领馆也有领事处，然而除非出现紧急情况或险情（我们希望尽量避免，但也会防患于未然），我个人很少参与这方面的工作。我的时间基本上用在支持贸易投资，推动教育和科技创新，鼓励应对气候变化的合作，以及其他例行事务。除此之外，我和霍桑的工作还是有几分相似的。

回到广州以后，我又从书架上取下了霍桑的《我们的老房子》——这是一本关于他在英格兰的生活的书——重新阅读他的开篇语“当领事的经历”。一个半世纪过去了，霍桑对人的描写仍然足以令我放声大笑。他对领事这一角色的描写颇有讽刺意味：“从一开始我就不喜欢我的工作，也从来没有很好的融入它。但凡是个体面的头衔都是个累赘。我真是‘惹祸上身’——我经常收到各类请柬，例如市长的宴请或庆典之类，同时我惊恐的发现我还需要站起来发言。这样的关注实在无趣——希望我这样说并不会显得冷漠无礼，毕竟这样的待遇本身也只是对事不对人。”我也深有同感——在酒店、机场或其它场所，我不喜欢那些因工作而带来的所谓VIP礼遇，我觉得那是我不想要的且没必要的关照。我认为这些特殊待遇深藏隐患。除非自觉防备，否则你将慢慢在公私场合都期望得到这种礼遇，甚至逐渐以为自己真的与众不同，而实际上，与众不同的只是你的职位，而不是你本人。我也和霍桑一样不喜欢空洞而铺张的宴席，不过，或许我们都一样，未能够充分利用地这些场合和机会。

当然，话虽如此，从书中内容可以看出，霍桑当时很投入工作，也是一位称职的领事。有段文字描绘了他心目中理想的领事形象，我十分赞同：“作为领事，一个很重要的职责就是在他所处的社会中建立起一个被认可的形象，以此来使得他能代表自己国家在当地产生影响力。而且这形象和影响（在最大程度上）是符合两国利益的。”我相信我们所做的科技创新，气候变化，教育合作，贸易投资等工作，包括推动市场开拓，解决公司争端以及帮助签证审批等等，都是以中英两国的利益为出发点的。否则，我想我们不可能请来领馆里这些有能力又有活力的中国员工（主要是广东人）——他们是领馆的脊梁。

后来我翻阅了更多霍桑的书。昨晚我重新拜读了他的童话《雪景》，故事讲的是两个孩子堆了个雪人，或者说是个雪女孩更合适，这个雪人活了。霍桑的童话包含着对比矛盾，一边是想象和思维，一边是物质和现世。当然，奇怪的是想象和思维的世界更加冷酷（正如几个世纪前苏轼著名的词作那样）。在英国那些天，在工作的间隙，我与儿子和大女儿，在我父母家共度了一个周末。在我们的老家——我从8岁时就住在那儿——下了我和孩子们记忆中最大的一场雪。我们一起堆了个雪人。那雪人虽然不如霍桑笔下的雪人那么有灵气，但却牢固而实在。霍桑的雪人一天内就融化了，而我们堆的这个直到我们离开的时候还站得稳稳的。现在它可能已经融化了，但我拍了照片——我用手机拍的可能显得斑斑驳驳，模模糊糊——仅仅为了我的满足感而立此存照。

英国驻广州总领事 摩根(Alastair Morgan)

英文版:

At the end of January I returned to the UK for a week of “Doing Business in Asia” seminars.  I went to Liverpool and Manchester.  Brian Davidson, my predecessor as Consul General in Guangzhou and now the British Consul General in Shanghai, went to Birmingham, Glasgow and Belfast.  We both went to London, where we were joined by Simon Lever, British Consul General in Chongqing.  In the regional cities we met scores of companies.  In London, hundreds.  In each place we briefed groups and individual companies on the opportunities and risks in the market in China.  We were joined by experienced business speakers.  In my case, I focussed particularly on the opportunities in Guangdong and the Pearl River Delta.  In London I did this together with Andrew Seaton, British Consul General in Hong Kong.

It is, for me, always interesting to meet business people.  In part what I like is the variety.  Among the companies I met were firms specialising in lubrication for railway track;  anti-slip surfacing for the ramps of Ro-Ro ferries; flooring for buildings; sealant for shoes; fine fabrics for tailoring; ancillary equipment for computers; aircraft simulators; aircraft components; boot wax; equipment for shoe manufacturing; heating lamps for aromatherapy – as well as architects, education providers, providers of certification services, accountants and bankers.  Many of these companies are already doing  business in China.  Others are looking to enter the market.  Trying to provide useful advice, without pretending to an expertise I do not have, is good mental exercise.

Another pleasure for me was to return to the North West of England.  It is probably ten years or more since I was last in Manchester or Liverpool for work.  The two cities are great rivals – on and off the football field - and despite their proximity are very different (though they have in common much more than they sometimes acknowledge, including strong universities, and from a distance their rivalry appears parochial).  Their appearance is different.  The historical buildings in the centre of Manchester are brick built, whereas the historical centre of Liverpool is a pale stone resembling nineteenth century public buildings in London.  On a dull day, Manchester can appear very dark, but when I was in both cities the sun was shining brightly and they sparkled, particularly off the glass of new and renovated buildings.  I had expected to find the business mood in these cities depressed or at best stoical.  It is unsound to generalise from meeting a few companies, but instead I found it vibrant and optimistic.

Another pleasure in returning to Liverpool was recalling my time as a post graduate (elsewhere).  I studied, in too dilatory a way, the work of the nineteenth century American writer of prose fiction, Nathaniel Hawthorne.  I found something sympathetic and resonant in Hawthorne’s character, with his mixture of diffidence, confidence, seriousness and humour.  Looking out past the Liver Building over the Mersey sound I was reminded that Hawthorne served as American Consul in Liverpool from 1853 to 1857.  At that time Liverpool was the great seaport linking Great Britain and the United States of America.  I did not imagine when I studied Hawthorne that I would later myself become a Consul-General in another great, historical port city.  Had I studied Hawthorne and his contemporaries more diligently, and instead become a university teacher as I once planned, I wouId have lost this chance.  The view across the Mersey resembles some views across the Pearl River, though (as the Lord Mayor reminded me on this visit) the Liverpool waterfront was the model for the Bund in Shanghai, and those two cities are twinned.

Hawthorne’s job as Consul differed from mine.  For the most part it was consular, providing services to the many American citizens passing through the city, in particular sailors who had been ill-treated at sea.  He found himself visiting prisons, law courts, hospitals, morgues. I have a consular section, but unless there is  an emergency or a crisis – for  which we try to prepare, but always hope to avoid – this work does not need my personal involvement.  My own time is spent on supporting trade and investment, promoting links in education, science and innovation, encouraging cooperation to tackle climate change, and also on a certain amount of civic flummery.  Despite the differences, there are nevertheless points of similarity between Hawthorne’s job and my own.

When I returned to Guangzhou after my trip, I took down again from the shelves Hawthorne’s book about his time in England, Our Old Home and reread his opening essay, “Consular Experiences”.  A century and a half after he composed them, Hawthorne’s descriptions of people still contain the power to make me laugh out loud.  Some of what he wrote about the role of Consul was disparaging:  “I never desired to be burdened with public influence.  I disliked my office from the first, and never came into any good accordance with it.  It’s dignity, so far as it had any, was an encumbrance; the attentions it drew upon me (such as invitations to Mayor’s banquets and public celebrations of all kinds, where, to my horror, I found myself expected to stand up and speak) were – as I may say without incivility or ingratitude, because there is nothing personal in that sort of hospitality – a bore.”  Again I found myself in sympathy, disliking for example “VIP”  treatment in hotels, airports and elsewhere that is accorded to me because of my office, and which for me is unwanted and unwarranted attention.  I think, though, that this sort of treatment can have an insidious effect.  Unless you guard against it, you come to expect special treatment and cosseting on all occasions – private as well as public -  and even come to believe that you as an individual are special and different from other people, whereas it is really your office, not you, that is being recognised. I also share Hawthorne’s dislike of civic banquets, with on occasions their empty formality and waste, though I think that there is a skill which perhaps he lacked and I also lack in making good use of them.

In fact, from other things he wrote, I am sure that Hawthorne was more attuned to the work and was a better Consul than that last passage would suggest.  He  wrote another setting out his image of an ideal Consul, and I think the points he makes here are right: “One great part of a Consul’s duty, for example, should consist in building up for himself a recognised position in the society where he resides, so that his local influence might be felt in behalf of his own country, and, so far as they are compatible (as they generally are to the utmost extent) for the interests of both nations.”  I believe that all the work we do on science and innovation, on climate change, on education links, trade and investment, and even on improving market access, supporting companies with disputes and issuing visas is entirely in the interests of China as well as of the UK.  Were it not so, I do not believe that we would be able to recruit our capable and motivated Chinese staff – mainly Cantonese – who are the backbone of this Consulate.

I have opened more Hawthorne books since I returned.  Last night I re-read his tale “The Snow-Image”, about two children who build a snowman, or rather a snow girl, who comes alive – or seems too.  Hawthorne’s tale contrasts imagination and thought on the one hand, with materialism and the mundane on the other – though, strangely, the former world is the colder of the two (as it is, too, in Su Shi’s most famous ci written centuries before).  Between my public duties, I travelled down with my son and elder daughter for a private week-end with my parents. At their and my old home, where I grew up from the age of eight, the snow fell thicker than I ever remembered it and my children and I built a snowman together.  It was not an ethereal snowman like Hawthorne’s, but solid and corporeal.  Where his vanished within a day, ours was still standing when we left.  He may have gone now, but I still have photographs – grainy and rather indistinct, because I took them using my mobile phone – to confirm to my own satisfaction that he was really there.

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