In today's' competitive business arena, every self-respecting multinational firm with a brand name to protect, has a well-staffed Public Relations office.

In the past, a typical PR department consisted of a battery of telephones with matching supremely tactful and well-spoken ladies who could, if required, even pacify the Devil.

I remember chewing on a piece of rubber that had been embedded in a bonbon chocolate, some 20 years ago and calling the PR department via the phone number that was helpfully printed on the "Guaranteed Quality" chit to recount my ordeal.

Before my telephone earpiece had had a chance to cool down, the doorbell rang and an apologetic PR lady offered her companies' regrets and would I please accept three Jumbo boxes of gift-wrapped chocolates to help me get over my shocking experience and did I need to see a doctor?

A calamity of this extent had never occurred in the entire 150 years of the firm's existence and could she please have the offending rubber so that the matter could be fully investigated.

A few days later I received a letter saying that my rubber morsel had been part of an aging conveyor belt that was now replaced and, sorry, again, and here was a voucher for two more boxes of chocolates and could they please be forgiven and count on my future custom.

Well done! Until this day, my family and I still continue to buy their chocolates, albeit sans rubber additives, that is.

In this day and age, we have the Internet, web sites, the Google search engine and email.

And, by definition, firms' PR departments should now be even more efficient, with less staff.

It came to pass of late, that my jacket lapels were showing some spots of dandruff, a minor ailment that even the Pharaohs had to cope with. As we all know, this simple problem can be solved with run-of-the-mill anti-dandruff shampoo, available in every self respecting supermarket.

Like many expatriates residing in the PRC, I happen to be a rather brand-faithful buyer and so I trotted off to my neigbourhood mega-store and scanned the shelves for my favourite luxury brand. I shall refrain from mentioning the company's name for fear of getting involved in an unsolicited product promotion, but the firm is a giant multinational with its head office in the Netherlands.

Yes, there were the multinationals' luxury toilet soaps and bottles of, one had to assume, shampoos, because the entire description was in Chinese.

I can only surmise that the Dutch multinational had been so intoxicated with marketing in China that they had gone totally overboard, ditching their English as fast as they could, forgetting their faithful international clients in China - who are now to be counted in the millions and who could constitute a sizable percentage of their sales because these products are not cheap.

In short: there was not one English syllable on the stylish and virgin white bottle except the brand name and some meaningless phrase and so I was reduced to opting for the Chinese-made fortified shampoo which, helpfully, actually not only stated in English that the contents were an anti-dandruff shampoo but also featured, on the reverse side, the directions for use in both Chinese and English.

Well done, Chinese company!

Being a veteran marketeer myself, and a forever helpful mug to boot, I bought the Dutch shampoo anyway as well as the oppositions' product, photocopied the labels of both competing shampoos, "Googled" the web site and called the listed telephone number of the Netherlands' soap firm .

"Sorry, this telephone number does not exist", a grave and automated voice confided.

Undaunted I called 114, which can be an experience itself: 114 nymph: "Sorry, sir, no such company"; me: "but they are the largest soap company in the world". Thanks to my persistence, I eventually got my number.

The soap-giants' PR lady understood my problem well and would I please fax the labels and the accompanying letter I had wrought and she would take it up with the management.

Would you believe it: even the fax number I was given was out of commission but, eventually, I managed to get the right one and fired off my fax.

No thanks were received at all from the PR lady for my assisting to further their business, neither a reply to my fax and subsequent e-mail.

Yesterday was the half year anniversary of my lodging my unsolicited helpful hints and I made it a point to perform a pilgrimage to the department store to check for those desperately needed labeling changes.

No ****** change (excuse my French)

The message is clear: "Beggar the International customer in China". "We are in Rome and we must do as the Romans do".

Sure, their marketing is their business but the thoughtful and clever Chinese shampoo firm got my and doubtlessly most other expatriates business.

The upshot: international brands should remember that their premium products are usually bought by the top percentage of megabucks earning locals and by the majority of the expatriate community and the tourists (now something like 30 million per year) most of whom cannot (yet) read Chinese and this constitutes a sizable market, like: six times the entire population of New Zealand.

Bearing this in mind, a product description, however small, in English would definitely be helpful.

One does not have to be an MBA to appreciate this.

And if a PR department gets a complaint and/or a helpful hint from a mug who even goes as far as buying theirs and the opposition's product and photocopying the label to assist with their marketing, the least that can be expected is a polite thank you.

I received nothing.

Full marks, though, for the Chinese brand. They got my custom.

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