The streets are lined with flowers. Big gaudy bouquets wrapped in shiny foil and brightly coloured crepe paper, with the occassional sparkly twig florish. Today is International Women's Day, and while it may only get a mention in a girl's school assembly at home, here it is big business.

I say big business because, perhaps not surprisingly, it is not used for the Vietnamese "communists" to talk about equality of women, but for the Vietnamese capitalists to make money out of selling flowers, cards and even underwear. It is like a second Valentine's day, and mother's day rolled into one, and I am surprised Clinton cards hasn't thought of this in Britain.

However I am doing quite well out of it. I have had flowers from my classes, big lilies and pink roses, vibrant gerberas and purple carnations, heather and dainty daisies. I have also had a present from the university - a small bag in a (ahem) "Gucci" box.

Across the hallway from where I sit in the university, the office staff have downed work and are putting make up on each other for Women's Day. Its like those twelve year olds' sleepovers all over again.

The Women's Day party that I have just got back from (where I was the special guest of class B02) was not unlike a children's party either. Except the only thing that looked like jelly was the bowls, and the food was a decidedly grown up hot pot of beef and tofu, vegetables, and for some unknown reason liquorice. Mm. We all sat on the floor of my student Hien's living room, looked down upon by a Buddha wrapped in cellophane to stop it getting dirty, and listening to dodgy English pop music. And, somehow, I couldn't stop smiling.