George Osborne allows rich Chinese to shop here

So George Osborne finally concedes defeat over the extra visa required for visitors to Britain on top of the EU visa covering 26 countries.No longer will rich Chinese have to jump through immigration hoops, but poorer Chinese migrant workers will in a two-tier travel trap that signals another nail hammered into prospects of a fair and equitable world.

I wrote about the way the stupid British visas exclude the world's biggest shoppers in a recent South China Morning Post column:

A few years ago, I was invited by a friend to join him and a few chums for tea at an elegant hotel in poshest Knightsbridge. Over a pot of Earl Grey, he outlined his cunning plan: to take a stack of Louis Vuitton bags back to Hong Kong where women were offering their firstborns in exchange for the poo-coloured accessories with the vulgar logo. Rarity value would, he assured us, make him a fortune.

He pointed out the LV shop across the street, pressed £2K wads in our mitts. and sent us off in pairs to go fetch. The excitement of handing over a huge amount of cash for such fripperies made me forget to ask for a cut (he judged me well) but I enjoyed picking out the ugliest duffel bag I've ever seen, plus a keycase with the change.

When he asked us to repeat the same in the Bond Street LV store, we were abruptly ejected. Apparently, the manager knew we'd already brought one each in Sloane Street. What planet was I on where shops turned away business? However, such is the topsy-turvey world of the rich, and the mystery of The Brand, that mere tax-paying mortals will never fully understand it.

Today, London may be rammed with Chinese tourists buying their own expensive tat, but Britain attracts fewer mainland Chinese than other European countries. They want to spend their cash in France, Italy and Germany.

The reason is the cost and inconvenience of UK visas required on top of the one allowing access to the 26 other EU countries.

We may consider 20% VAT on goods to be punishingly high, but it's low compared to Chinese tariffs on luxury goods. And tourists also enjoy greater protection against counterfeit rip-offs, our police state being the most draconian when it comes to shopping. Those street vendors in Barcelona selling knock-off Louis Vuitton bags would have their collars felt if they tried that in London's West End.

An estimated £1.2 bn is lost every year in sales because only one in ten Chinese visitors to Europe apply for UK visas. We sniff at that sum and then moan about the deficit.

Chinese are now the biggest shopaholics in the world, and yet we've put up a Closed for Business sign just as we find ourselves immersed in the most horrendous recession ever. Is Brand Great Britain now being managed by Louis Vuitton?

Funny how hitting Tories in their pockets helps them overcome their squeamishness over funny foreigners.

How much does China own in Britain?

Days out in London for free: South Bank larks

A free day in London can mean varied entertainment and practically no dosh required. This is how I spent yesterday.

We take the bus into town, intending to head straight for the Tate Modern a little way up from the stop at Waterloo Bridge. But London transport being the roulette game it is, we're all turfed off early in Trafalgar Square.

No great problem, though, as it allows us to have a look at the Fourth Plinth activity (artist Anthony Gormley's idea that more than 2,000 people will spend an hour each on the vacant plinth until October). This consists of a bored looking guy reading a newspaper. The safety net ruins the exciting possibilities of the unexpected so we move on past the National Gallery (free entry), down Villiers Street past Charing Cross Station, and over the beautiful pedestrian Hungerford Bridge with some of the most spectacular views of London, to the South Bank.

Here are London plane trees wrapped in red fabric with white polka-dots, giving the impression that they've caught lurgy — a precursor to the Swine Flu pandemic expected this year.

We'd normally pause at the National Film Theatre where you could once relax with a pint or a coffee on one of the democratic benches overlooking the bookstalls and river, and maybe chat to your neighbours, mostly film buffs. But some bureaucrat bean-counter had them all dug up earlier this year and replaced with chi-chi tables and chairs, surrounded by a barrier of topiary and clear messages that the hoi-polloi can frakk off! This is now for the haute bourgeoisie with spending power, not skint movie fans.

So on to the National Theatre where I bump into a friend, actor Stephen Hoo looking very fit, exercising with playwright Rikki Beadle-Blair and a bunch of mates. We exchange air-kisses and leave them to their exertions while we settle at a table on the almost deserted first floor of the NT. When the weather's nice, I sometimes pick up a box of sushi from the Embankment station Wasabi for a few quid and picnic outside on the balcony. Today it's grey and showery so we eat our Tesco's sandwiches in the warm.

We walk to the Tate Modern, running past the boarded up length of pathway where they're building a new entrance for Blackfriars station and which stinks of chemicals. It's like sniffing glue and I feel quite light-headed by the time we reach the gallery. We head straight for the Members Room (membership allows you and a guest free access to the exhibitions meaning you can save hundreds in a year if you're a regular visitor to the Tates) with its great views across the river to St Pauls and beyond. The Dunkertons perry cider is the best — a scrumpy-like earthyness, lovely flavour, and it's 7.5%! It costs £4 per 500ml bottle but definitely worth it as a treat. [Note: in the Members Room it's £4.05, in the other restaurants it's £4.50.]

A bit squiffy, we catch a bit of the art including animee films (Anna Lee) and some arty nude footage which look like parody but turn out to be the genuine item from the 1960s. Sorry we guffawed like the drunken philistines we were, but they made us do it!! I did haul at Delightful Chum's arm when he pointed at the Free Willy and chortled. Thus distracted, we're too late for the Futurism exhibition which we'll have to see next time.

Outside, the RSPB have set up telescopes trained on the top of the Tate Mod tower where a female peregrine and her mate have taken to hanging out for the past five years, feasting on the feral pigeons who don't seem the least bit bothered. She's sitting peacefully with nuthin' but the breeze ruffling her feathers — a good state to be in.

We intended to take the boat to the Tate Britain (a fiver) but it's nearly six and everything's closing so we note that you can get a day roaming pass for £12 which gets you to all stops between Westminster Pier and the O2 Centre downriver, and resolve to do this next time.

We cross the Millennium Bridge, now disappointingly stable since its opening week as the Wobbly Bridge. Halfway across, we meet a guy with a juvenile Asian python. For £2 he'll let you take pictures with it which we did. As you can see above.

St Pauls Cathedral is closed — tough if you're in a crisis and in need of something numinous. Thankfully, we're not, so we take the bus home having spent under a tenner each.

Days out in London for free: South Bank larks

A free day in London can mean varied entertainment and practically no dosh required. This is how I spent yesterday.

We take the bus into town, intending to head straight for the Tate Modern a little way up from the stop at Waterloo Bridge. But London transport being the roulette game it is, we're all turfed off early in Trafalgar Square.

No great problem, though, as it allows us to have a look at the Fourth Plinth activity (artist Anthony Gormley's idea that more than 2,000 people will spend an hour each on the vacant plinth until October). This consists of a bored looking guy reading a newspaper. The safety net ruins the exciting possibilities of the unexpected so we move on past the National Gallery (free entry), down Villiers Street past Charing Cross Station, and over the beautiful pedestrian Hungerford Bridge with some of the most spectacular views of London, to the South Bank.

Here are London plane trees wrapped in red fabric with white polka-dots, giving the impression that they've caught lurgy — a precursor to the Swine Flu pandemic expected this year.

We'd normally pause at the National Film Theatre where you could once relax with a pint or a coffee on one of the democratic benches overlooking the bookstalls and river, and maybe chat to your neighbours, mostly film buffs. But some bureaucrat bean-counter had them all dug up earlier this year and replaced with chi-chi tables and chairs, surrounded by a barrier of topiary and clear messages that the hoi-polloi can frakk off! This is now for the haute bourgeoisie with spending power, not skint movie fans.

So on to the National Theatre where I bump into a friend, actor Stephen Hoo looking very fit, exercising with playwright Rikki Beadle-Blair and a bunch of mates. We exchange air-kisses and leave them to their exertions while we settle at a table on the almost deserted first floor of the NT. When the weather's nice, I sometimes pick up a box of sushi from the Embankment station Wasabi for a few quid and picnic outside on the balcony. Today it's grey and showery so we eat our Tesco's sandwiches in the warm.

We walk to the Tate Modern, running past the boarded up length of pathway where they're building a new entrance for Blackfriars station and which stinks of chemicals. It's like sniffing glue and I feel quite light-headed by the time we reach the gallery. We head straight for the Members Room (membership allows you and a guest free access to the exhibitions meaning you can save hundreds in a year if you're a regular visitor to the Tates) with its great views across the river to St Pauls and beyond. The Dunkertons perry cider is the best — a scrumpy-like earthyness, lovely flavour, and it's 7.5%! It costs £4 per 500ml bottle but definitely worth it as a treat. [Note: in the Members Room it's £4.05, in the other restaurants it's £4.50.]

A bit squiffy, we catch a bit of the art including animee films (Anna Lee) and some arty nude footage which look like parody but turn out to be the genuine item from the 1960s. Sorry we guffawed like the drunken philistines we were, but they made us do it!! I did haul at Delightful Chum's arm when he pointed at the Free Willy and chortled. Thus distracted, we're too late for the Futurism exhibition which we'll have to see next time.

Outside, the RSPB have set up telescopes trained on the top of the Tate Mod tower where a female peregrine and her mate have taken to hanging out for the past five years, feasting on the feral pigeons who don't seem the least bit bothered. She's sitting peacefully with nuthin' but the breeze ruffling her feathers — a good state to be in.

We intended to take the boat to the Tate Britain (a fiver) but it's nearly six and everything's closing so we note that you can get a day roaming pass for £12 which gets you to all stops between Westminster Pier and the O2 Centre downriver, and resolve to do this next time.

We cross the Millennium Bridge, now disappointingly stable since its opening week as the Wobbly Bridge. Halfway across, we meet a guy with a juvenile Asian python. For £2 he'll let you take pictures with it which we did. As you can see above.

St Pauls Cathedral is closed — tough if you're in a crisis and in need of something numinous. Thankfully, we're not, so we take the bus home having spent under a tenner each.