While the rest of the world is on alert against the spread of the deadly Sars virus, a Winchester man and his family are in Beijing, living with the threat of infection on a day-to-day basis. Michael O'Sullivan, a director of the British Council in China, writes about how they are coping

The O'Sullivans: from the left, James, Michael, Kira, Moira and Lara with Moira's mother, Mrs Emily Grant, who also lives in Winchester, and often visits the family. Kira is at school in Winchester and had to return to Hampshire from Beijing 10 days early in the Easter holidays to undertake a quarantine period

THESE days, in Beijing, we all know too much and too little.

We know that at least 3,000 people in the city have it and that you can catch it from "close personal contact".

We are not sure how else you can get it, how much use a mask is, or when it will go away. At first, we were not sure what to call it.

"SARS" sounds depressingly like the Chinese for "kill" and, after all, most who catch it do recover.

"Atypical pneumonia" is no less of a mouthful in Chinese and so we have settled for "fei-dian" - "atypical".

A hundred of us work in the British Council in Beijing. In a normal month, we run 10,000 English tests, advise thousands of students about studying in Britain, and see streams of visitors flowing between the two countries engaged in everything from bringing our performing arts to a Chinese audience to linking our schools and encouraging students to learn each other's languages.

Now the enquiries are mostly coming in by e-mail as people limit their movements - and a lot of our activities are on hold for a few weeks.

As local schools are closed, we are helping the Beijing education authorities to improve on-line English courses for schoolchildren.

My colleagues are mostly Beijingers living all over this vast city of 14 million people. For those with cars - and more and more people drive them these days - the absence of traffic jams for the first time in many years is a relief.

Taking the bus or underground is considered dodgy at present, but staff can take taxis bearing signs saying "already disinfected" and claim back the fare. Bicycles are becoming fashionable again, with some rusty neglected models making their first appearance in years. The landlord of our office tower checks everyone's temperature as we come into work in the morning, and we are offered a squirt of alcohol to sterilise our hands.

Considering that medical experts in China and elsewhere are at an early stage in studying SARS, it is surprising that so many preventive therapies are already on offer.

We had a good laugh about the rumour that smokers are immune but assessing claims for vinegar and assorted Chinese medicines is tougher.

Profiteering from SARS has now been banned in Beijing, so perhaps we will have fewer products to choose from.

There is not much nightlife at present, with theatres, cinemas and karaoke bars all closed to reduce the risk of infection.

While some preferred to stay indoors all day at first, more and more of us are now heading for the parks to "strengthen our immunity" as the public health campaign puts it - by flying kites, playing badminton or just walking around.

I strengthened mine this morning. As usual, one yuan - about 8p - for admission to the park.

Everyone has the exact change because other people's money is seen as a possible source of infection.

No-one will accept an admission ticket - a semi-postcard-sized colour picture of the park - from the hand of the gatekeeper, who bins them one by one as visitors hurry through into the open spaces.

I suggest to her that they might as well stop giving out tickets for now.

"Excellent idea", she laughs. "And we can save on paper."

Beijing people are quick to adapt and they like to see the funny side of things.