Tales of college reunions often make good film scripts. Hollywood has produced The Big Chill, the Brits have Peter's Friends while Hong Kong has July 14th, which, incidentally, is a hair-raising horror movie. Though each storyline may differ, the same theme prevails: a group of naive and idealistic students meet at college, they become bosom buddies, they graduate and then meet a decade later to find everyone has changed. In other words, half of them are now divorced and totally disillusioned with life, and there is always one who has resorted to drugs or the bottle. Luckily, real life (well, my life anyway) is less dramatic. The only major change my circle of university friends have undergone in the last 10 years is their hairstyle (this does not apply to friends who have receding hairlines). Some of us, of course, have managed to find a fantastic job, got married and produced several adorable children along the way. And this is the scary part about college reunions. Though they are not occasions for us to compare and contrast ourselves with each other, we do it anyway. For instance, our dinner conversation inevitably turns to something like this: A: 'So-and-so is earning mega-bucks as a financial controller in London.' The rest: 'Wow!' B: 'Remember the nerdy guy who used to sit at the back of the lecture room? He is now working for a multi-billion dollar oil empire in America!' The rest: 'Wow, wow!' C: 'So what? The Anna Nicole Smith look-alike in the history class is married to one!' The rest: 'That's disgusting.' And so on. Then at some point, my friends turn to me and ask whether I still work for a newspaper. Knowing my answer would not warrant the same kind of incredible response from the group, I reply: 'Sure. Just interviewed Madonna, Alexander McQueen and Prime Minister Ryutaro Hashimoto in Tokyo last week . . . darlings.' My friends may be dazzled by the 'mythical glamour' that surrounds my job, but they are not stupid. However, most think I am a walking news desk. They presume I know everything about Asia and expect me to tell them the social, political and economic implications of Deng Xiaoping's death on China. Frankly, I would rather they ask me questions like: 'What do you think about Dolly the lamb.' Then I could know exactly the answer. Dolly is, indeed, a strange name for an animal (for anything really) and the lamb will grow into a beautiful woolly sheep. It is, in fact, a marketing product (Dolly dolls) that will soon rival Barbie and hair-eating Cabbage Patch Snack Time Kids' Dolls. Then my friends would realise, after 10 years of the rat race, I have finally lost it. Anyway, back to my recent reunion with my friends. My best friend Mary (not her real name) is happily pregnant and is expecting 'a baby and not a hamster' later this year. Hard to imagine really. This is the same girl who used to hint she would never marry, or have children. This is also the same girl who once went down to the local liquor store with me after our four o'clock sociology lecture so we could get completely wasted on cheap wine (around HK$25 a bottle) by five. It is difficult to see her as a mother. But we did have a long meaningful discussion on whether she should give away her dog before the baby arrives. After all, her dog Bobbie B (B stands for bites) is neurotic and vicious. And before the get-together was over, Mary showed me a letter from John (also not his real name) who now works in South Africa. He is a chemical engineer and (therefore) used to come up with all sorts of sick jokes. We wrote back to him anyway and left our e-mail addresses in the letter so he could reply. A week later, I was delighted to receive a message from John through the Internet. He said he was doing well and sounded all grown-up. The next day, I received approximately five more messages from him. 'It's a funny ol' world,' they read. 'The world's worst jokes.' Here we go again. I guess some of us will never change.