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Something very strange is happening. Something distinctly horror movie-esque.

All week long we've been hearing tales of sinister behaviour - the sinister behaviour of inanimate objects.

First, there was the Mid-Levels escalator. Lai See rides that thing all the time. It carries her up. It carries her down.

We thought that was pretty much it.

But we were wrong. Turns out the contraption has been moonlighting - as a journalist.

Its latest article has just been published by the Hong Kong Tourist Association in a brochure entitled Back Streets of Central.

And there, at the bottom, in small simple script is the author's byline: 'By the Mid-Levels escalator'.

Lai See fears for the future of her profession. How can journo-kind compete? Not only does the escalator write articles, but it shows up sober and on time for work every day.

Does this signal the demise of the human hack? Is the office lift plotting to steal her job?

And what about other forms of transport?

We understand buses have been acting ominously as well. They appear to be at the centre of a conspiracy to destroy the mental well-being of reader J. Charleston. He just sent Citibus and the transport commissioner a letter about it.

'Sirs,' it begins, 'I am your typical passenger. I travel every day from Moreton Terrace to the Tuen Mun terminus. I have been very satisfied with the service - until very recently!'

It seems Mr Charleston has been subjected to an audio programme alerting him to the many wonders of Citybus. He offers this critique of the contents.

'I do not want to listen to any of your usual b(*&?#$*& about passengers' preferences, nor any other of your usual publicists' crap about passenger surveys. I consider that each and every member of the group who made the decision to install and broadcast your audio to be complete f...um, HALF wits.'

Then he gets annoyed.

'I hope that they all suffer all of the misfortune and bad luck of this world . . . and the next.'

Oh dear. Poor bus men. Lai See hates it when people hex her.

Still, it all goes to show the lengths human beings are driven to by overly communicative public transport. The Mid-Levels escalator should consider itself warned.

But we're told the inanimate conspiracy of non-silence doesn't end there.

Reader John Neill warns that vegetables may be in on it.

Cauliflowers, to be precise.

He passes along this ear-witness account from one Kerry Mills in Australia:

'Today I was driving along in my car with the soporific sound of the [radio programme] Country Hour droning in the background when a market reporter's statement alerted me: 'Cauliflowers were quiet this morning'.

'You might expect that such a statement would be reassuring but I thought it distinctly ominous. Why was it necessary to make this observation?

'Personally, I have never found cauliflowers particularly noisy. But perhaps I, like thousands, nay, millions of others, have been deceived cleverly.

'Just what are they up to?'

Lai See agrees that one mustn't be complacent about this sort of thing. Remember those giant walking flowers in Day of the Triffids ? People were complacent about those. The next thing, they'd taken over the planet.

Mr Mills goes on to say that he believes Australian broadcasters are involved in veggie-gate, though he's not sure on which side.

But they're clearly sending cryptic messages through the Country Hour.

Where will it all end? Before you know it, some loud vegetable could run for president of a powerful country. And win.

Mr Neill leaves us with this warning:

'Just be on your guard. For the time being at least, the cauliflowers are quiet.'

Graphic: lai17gbz



Recording streets' up and downs