I’m off to China next week, on a fact-finding trade mission.

This is the sort of opening sentence that would make me reach for my in-flight sick-bag if I read it about an MP.

But now that my name is on the airline ticket I’m beginning to realise there’s more to this fact-finding stuff than I’d thought.

After all, there are, the organisers of the trip explain to us, some things we need to know about China before we go.

Never take someone’s business card with one hand, for a start.

Always accept it with two, and then study it carefully, trying not to let on that the Chinese characters are all Greek to you.

Pocket it with the solemnity that suggests you will treasure it for many years to come.

Make notes in biro on it at your peril.

When your host proposes a toast at business dinners, never raise your glass above his. Or even as high as his.

His hand must always be the highest at the table.

And there will, apparently, be many, many toasts.

Nobody adds that you should try to remain above the table, rather than end up under it, amid all these traditional toasts.

But I think it’s probably a good rule of thumb.

Never leave your hotel without a piece of paper with the hotel’s phone number on it, for the taxi drivers not only don’t speak or read English (which seems fair enough) but often can’t read at all, which means instead of relying on their Knowledge you normally need to ring up the hotel and then pass your mobile to your driver so the concierge can talk him in.

But those points of order pale into insignificance when I take a British Chinese friend to help me buy some gifts for my hosts.

In China, it seems that nothing seals a business acquaintance more nicely than the exchange of token presents at the end of a meeting.

And the most appreciated items are those made in the visitor’s local area.

I drag Mei-Lien off to a garden centre, which seems to have given up on compost and slug-killer to concentrate on local crafts and produce, and grab a basket.

I pick up a pair of gardening scissors in a pretty hand-sewn felt bag. Mei-Lien shakes her head.

Scissors mean you are on the point of severing the business relationship, she says.

Not a great start. No.

My hand hovers over a small ceramic clock. Mei-Lien’s eyes widen.

Clocks and watches mean you expect your host to die soon, she says.

I don’t think you want to give that impression, do you?

I sigh. This choosing of gifts malarkey is trickier than all the two-handed business cards and mid-air toasting disasters put together.

What about this set of four coasters?

Never give four of anything, she sighs, as if it’s obvious.

How about a compact umbrella with ... I don’t even get to pick it up.

That predicts a separation, she almost whispers. No.

This typically English green hat? She laughs out loud.

Sure, she says, between gulps.

That means you believe someone is having an affair your host’s wife or husband. She’s clutching her sides by now.

In that case, I’m just going to play it safe.

I pick up some boxed sets of paper napkins which have a line-drawing of an anonymous white horse on the front. She nods her approval.

I think those will be fine, I say to my husband when I get them home.

He picks up a box and looks at the white horse. Then turns it over.

Hmm. Made in China, he reads out loud.