On the other hand, the Star Ferry concourse itself offered its usual range of Hong Kong fixtures. There was the Falun Gong stall with its depressing pamphlets (sample headline: Cremated While Still Alive) and cheerful practitioners. The beaming woman unpacking her wares hadn't yet made her wish but planned to do so later in the afternoon and knew, of course, what she was going to write: 'I wish Falun Gong people can practise Falun Gong in China as well as we do in Hong Kong.' The rickshaw man lolling on the ground opposite, however, cried, 'What wishes? I'm not going to write anything! I'm not happy and that's that!' He should have had a word with the Hare Krishna woman nearby who was attempting to sell tomes on karmic consciousness from a little stall and was exhaustedly propping herself up with a pole.

Many hours later, in the chilly evening, she admitted that she had sold only one book. Had she made a wish? 'No time!' Yet many people had made the time to come to Jingle Bells Boulevard to write down their thoughts and hang them on the rows of silver jingle bells, and if you walked up and down the underpass, you could peek into people's desires at the end of a difficult year. 'I wish the employers are being good and fair to me and treat me as a human being,' said one card. 'I wish Sars won't come back!' said another, a smiley face sketched alongside. 'I wish I would have a job' - that was a common one and so was this: 'I wish I can be rich. I wish I can win Mark Six. I wish I can be good in the Chinese business to become an outstanding rich person.'

'World Peace and Best Wishes and A Lot of Money'; 'That we have a child and health'; 'I wish my husband could become a policeman'; 'Hello Merry Christmas - Give me my apartment'. People stood in the underpass, leaning on the railings writing such wishes with absorption. An older couple clambered up the railings, trying to place their desires on a higher plane because that was luckier. A group of mentally handicapped children from a school near Yuen Long, clustered together to hang up their wishes and their teacher, when asked the usual question, simply said: 'Health - just health.'

At nightfall, the tree lit up and so did the electronic display board with selected names and some elevated desires: the geographically related England Wong, for example, hoped that China and Taiwan would be united. (No sign of the Falun Gong wishlist, however.)

On the other side of Statue Square, Sir Thomas Jackson, former chief manager of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation (HSBC) from 1870 to 1902, stood on his pedestal and clutched his bronze frock-coat. He was not the statue for which the square was named (that's Queen Victoria, now in Victoria Park) but locals who had previously never given him a second glance, now gathered round, fascinated, as if he had somehow been beamed down as part of the WinterFest. An old Chinese man made a thumbs-up gesture and announced, 'Good guy, he used to work there' - pointing to the HSBC building, glowing green and red like a spaceship - 'he was really good. We used to be ruled by the British!' In Sir Thomas' Victorian shadow, among the knicker- sellers and CD-hawkers, sat Wen Shin-lin, apologetically touting his sketching skills: $50 for a portrait. He had a briefcase on his knee; inside it was a Chinese-English dictionary and a likeness of Li Ka-shing to demonstrate Wen's ability to prospective customers. 'He's a trademark,' said Wen, looking at Li. 'He's patriotic.'

The 7pm synchronised lighting show had started. While the tree rippled and flashed 'Hong Kong. Live It. Love It.' Wen answered questions about his life. He is 45, Indonesian-Chinese, a former drawing-teacher who used to work in the garment industry but has been unemployed for four years. As of August, he has lived on the streets of Tsim Sha Tsui. He had $40 in his wallet (two Filipinas had agreed to have their portraits done earlier in the day, and he had eaten at Maxim's).

When he was asked if he had children, you could see tears in his eyes (if you were watching that in a film, you'd think it was too much) - the tears reflecting the hectic dazzle of colour from the Christmas tree - but that is how it was last Saturday for one individual, met in a crowd by chance. He said no, and that he was divorced. He didn't want to make a wish. 'There's no point to write one of those cards,' he said, smiling the optimistic smile you see in times of desperation. 'I'm concentrating on my drawing so I don't have to think too much.' But, after a while, sitting in the square, gazing at the lights, watching the noisy families taking photographs of each other, he said, 'I want a place to live. That's more than enough. A home - that's my wish.'

Additional reporting by Chandra Wong

Drawing: Kwok Man-ho