Civilised celebrations

Had a very pleasant bank holiday weekend. I spent time lazing around the house and catching up with family (and Tammi's girls, Willow and Ivy). We went to a little pub somewhere not far from Watford (but about two hours out the way we went!) and had lunch before sitting on the green outside and laughing at a man poncing around his Porsche. Initially his wife and daughter got out of the car and sat on the grass, while he posed on the open door and gazed across the common (very Racing Green), then he crouched down next to it and checked the mirrors and played with the windows, before shutting the door, walking a few yards away and then turning back to bask in its glory again. He spent at least 40 minutes repeating and varying this, without his wife or anyone else in the area paying him any attention. It must be quite a ritual. What a prick!

Roisin's leaving do was nice in a calmer way than we'd all expected. We passed the hazy summer afternoon outside the Pembroke without raucous or alcohol-induced ridiculousness. I popped back to Earl's Court with her and Gillian to say hello to Julian. On the way, we ran into Alex and Susie (who had offered me lots of advice on living and working in Japan after spending three years there herself). It may not be a small world, but it's a small city at times. It was all very nice, but on the way home I got on an Upminster train that took me to High St Kensington, which was a bit annoying. I also had to contend with drunks with whistles, but that's carnival for you...

The tight, nauseating feeling I've had recently has eased now my jabs and things are sorted. My sister's loft is creaking under the weight of my personal library, but it's another thing ticked off the list. Now I can started looking forward to leaving. This morning was the first time I'd felt only positive about the whole thing for quite some time. It's nice, it's relaxing - although my chest still feels slightly constricted with old panic.

I'm particularly looking forward to the freshers week/induction in the hotel before we start work. The idea in itself seems a bit undignified and gross, but it'll be good to meet other teachers before being sent off into our different areas of Tokyo. I do hope I don't get landed in the Leonards' Quarter.

I'm going to start revising Japanese and teaching tonight.

If you want something done, start sooner

I've managed to book my jabs, finally. I nearly had to assault the receptionist at my doctor's so she'd understand me, but we got there. I should have thought of all this long ago, but obviously, I just didn't. I only started to closely read the teachers' guide from Saxoncourt once my departure date was confirmed. Careless, yes, but also very me.

Had I foreseen what a chore it would have been, I would have started a earlier. Firstly, I had to register at the surgery, then have blood sent off to get tested to check I hadn't already had the Hepatitis B vaccine (junkies must always be rolling up with £60 for the Drakewood Surgery 3-for-2 travel vaccine special) and couldn't get started until I got the results.

Now I've decided to get things done, I've become impatient and so provisionally booked three appointments for the jabs, but the stupid, stupid receptionist made it a very frustrating procedure... I need one jab the day I get back from Tallinn (I almost wish I wasn't going, but I'm going to need a holiday after all this), but the nurse doesn't work on Friday afternoons and I was told the doctors won't give jabs in any circumstances (I am sure they would, but nothing was explained to them). I was repeatedly offered a morning appointment, the words 'I won't be in the country until 1 o'clock' somehow not registering (I think I have a speech impediment that makes stupid people deaf to what I'm saying). Eventually, I managed to just book something and restrained from hanging up - if it wasn't the NHS, I wouldn't have tempered myself down.

The nurse then called me with my results: I wasn't trying to trick them into giving me a second dose of the Hep B vaccine, so I'm allowed to have it. The doctor can also inject me on the nurse's behalf on her day off, so it's all sorted. I do now have the stress of getting from Stanstead to Streatham on time, but it's better than not having them at all - what if those little blighters in Japan bite and infect me?

Tomorrow I go to the chemist for my Japanese Encephalitis, Monday is Roisin's leaving do (she's heading off to TEFL in Berlin and maybe moonlight at the Kit Kat Klub) and Sunday I'm meeting my family to celebrate Charlie's GCSE results and his finding God and to have one of my final Sunday roasts. I will also be quietly fretting about the four-week countdown. One month to go...

Now things are finally getting sorted, I can only look forward to the big upheaval. In four weeks on Sunday, I'll be boarding a plane for Japan.

Mura-calm me!

I'm reading Murakami at the moment. Norwegian Wood. It's beautiful written, he's very precise with his words, it's well crafted, has no unnecessary words cluttering his sentences, but I am a little worried about the characterisation. Everyone seems so unpleasant! The women are paradoxically submissive and demanding; turning a blind eye to cheating, as long as they are kept in expensive trinkets and the men sleep around and stumble through disconnected relationships with girls they don't particularly like and who they ruin with misuse, their only regret displayed by a shrug of 'I shouldn't have done that to her, but what else could I do?'. In some parts it's quite outrageous (for a conservative like me).

I'm not sure if this is a microcosm of all Japanese life or just a small minority. I get the impression it's the latter, but there is an element of smugness in the tone of writing that makes me think Murakami thinks these people are above the normal throng. That might just be because he bases them on himself, in both central characters I've read have been only children and have obsessions with jazz. I am assuming that Murakami fits that description too.

I do hope it is just a picture of him and not the natives generally, if that is the best Japan has to offer, I may end up being an awful Brit abroad: regular fry-ups at the Queen Vic; a copy of yesterday's Daily Mail tucked under my arm (which hopefully won't clash with my Brits on the piss t-shirt); ex-pat get-togethers and tutting that you can't get 'real' tea anywhere.

I am looking forward to Japan proving me wrong (it would take a whole country to achieve such a thing.).

For Bek

(Seeing as I know for sure you'll be reading this, I thought I'd specifically dedicate it to you!).

Today I got one of the best compliments I've ever received. I'm not sure it beats the guy with dreads who was standing outside his house in Holloway smoking a spliff and sang Shaggy's Angel at me as I went past (equally amusing and embarrassing), but it did make me laugh. I was walking along listening to music quite obliviously when I noticed a man trying to say something to me. He had become quite frustrated that I wasn't listening to him (unfortunately for him, I won't be picked up by randoms in the street, so I pretended to remain oblivious) and was nearly shouting that I was scrumptious. That quite amused me in itself, but he was a typical Sun-reading white van man (the grade of the compliment and the man that gave it are not proportional!) and didn't seem the sort to have a vocabulary extensive enough to contain such a word and, although he probably picked it up 'reading' about 'scrumptious Scarlett from Scarborough', I prefer to think he got it from watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

I don't think I looked scrumptious though. I feel vile. Last night Bek came around for fish, chips and wine. I actually had meat pie (I'm sure fish will be in abundance in Japan), mushy peas and a gherkin with my chips. The gherkin was superb, something else to add to my list of what I'll miss, although I think the Japanese are big on pickling, so maybe not. It was a really good night; we went through old photo albums, forcing Assaf to feign interest in our many assorted haircuts through the years and stayed up late to plan her trip to see me in Japan (Christmas 2006 - don't book the tickets yet, we can't be sure I won't hate it). It was all very lovely, but late and drunken, so I feel quite vile today. My head feels completely wrong and my mind is blank, it's almost as if I was born this morning (without having to go through that awkward milk teeth phase). Bek, you have my sympathies. I have no idea how you made it to work for 7am! You are a stronger woman than I.

My little brother got his GCSE results today. He did well, getting six Cs and 2 As, so is off to college to get thespier. Congratulations Charlie! (See, no mention of the Government dumbing them down!) Tomorrow he gets christened to become 'Muslim' so he can be Eliza's godfather. It's quite a week for the boy.

Inject a little drama

I registered with a new doctor today so I could get my jabs. The nurse was very nice indeed and pushed her anti-smoking clinic harder than the herb (literally, as in parsley: I don't slang) dealers in Camden sell their fake wares. Sadly, I don't have the time to attend. I want to give up, but am told I'll love particularly love Japan as it's £1.50 a packet there: what sort of a person loves a country for that?

From an extensive vaccination menu, I'm going for Japanese Encephalitis, Hepatitis B and tetanus. The Nippon mosquitoes are bound to love my blood as much as their European cousins so I need to stave off that potentially fatal viral brain infection if I can help it. I may also be bitten by my youthful (and obviously infected) charges, so Hep B and tetanus are a must. Actually, they're not, but if I head to China to see Lizzy or Taiwan to see Karen, I'll definitely need them (I hear they're rabid peoples) and the Japanese health service is far more costly than our dear, yet inexpensive, NHS.

I've discovered, while just providing a thimbleful of blood for a sample, that I am becoming apprehensive about needles. I'm not scared as such, but I do tense up more in anticipation than I used to and so it hurts more because my muscles aren't relaxed. The feeling of the needle being in my vein makes me feel a bit sick too, especially when the nurse knocks it and I can feel it bang against the inside wall: just typing this is nauseating! Hopefully I will overcome this during the seven injections I'm having or not have such a heavy-handed nurse.

It's not the worst feeling in the world, I think I can still volunteer my veins in the name of science and blood donoring. However, this week I was asked to consider what my Room 101 is. It would definitely involve the Bedingfields and Pink Floyd on constant loop. I would have also said Dido, but that just might put me to sleep which really isn't in the spirit of things. You can't sleep through the horror of your Room 101, especially when sleep deprivation is such a reliable form of torture. Food deprivation would be high on my phobic list too. Watching someone smug linger over a superior dinner while I'm left with a plate of celery and mushrooms would just kill me.

Today I also checked out some other blogs to see what's out there. Very little in the way of entertaining reads, it would seem. I did find one vile posting though - a site dedicated to helping married people affair (or, as the poster flippantly calls it, 'fool around'). I wouldn't ordinarily post a comment on someone else's blog, but couldn't restrain myself from pointing out what a horrid concept the whole thing was. I may see about getting the webmaster to shut him down, but have to dash to join my right-wing Christian book group right now...

My amphibious adventure

The duck tour was certainly an experience. Everything was in walking distance of my office, so there were no amazing discoveries, but it was certainly entertaining. Before finding the actual vessel, I was greeted by a text from Lizzy exclaiming 'oh my god'. She'd spied Beatrice, our big, conspicuous yellow beast of a craft. We were the only people booked onto the tour, but fortunately a family of four were roped into joining us and the two children took some of the heat off us (it was an exceptionally intimate vessel with a lot of audience participation involved in the patter). The guide was hilarious, lying about things to set up gags and telling us how moving to container lorries had killed the river (he was particularly bitter about this and made lots of proclamations about the Thames being dead, which didn't quite make sense until he explained how he'd been arrested for illegalling picketing to protect the docks. It was nice though, as well as personalising the tour, I do enjoy people exploiting their position to propagandise about good causes). He rounded off the trip by forcing us to provide the 'hoi's to a round of Lambeth Walk, which provoked some very bemused looks and general mockery from passers-by. He also made me sit up front with his nephew, Jamie, and wear a captain's hat. I am very much looking forward to seeing the pictures of that - and finding out they haven't come out.

Otherwise, it's generally been quite a bad week. News of an earthquake in Japan is sort of exciting - I would like to experience one, but all the reports are accompanied with claims that Japan is due a big one very soon. I wish this sort of scaremongery were illegal. I'll soon be seen on CNN CCTV footage, hurtling around an office while the natives cower in fear that they could be pinned down by a piece of falling masonry or the enormous toppling Western idiot. There's also been a spate of plane crashes lately, which is obviously very tragic, but is also making me dread the 14 cramped, panic-filled hours I'll spend on my flight to Narita. I'm sure we won't crash, but I will have a long, long time to wonder just what it would be like if we did. Finally, the wonderful Mo Mowlam died today. She and Robin Cook were two of the very few decent Labour ministers employed in senior posts under our current amoral Government and both have gone within the space of two weeks. It's all too sad.

The snoozing dead

Now I've handed my notice in, I've nothing more to do than sit and wait. Not quite literally, but there is a very small amount for me to do and the near-defunct email server is helping bring that down to even fewer tasks. Being at work is very much how I imagine being dead to be. Working at the TTA has become like serving an eternity in purgatory, except in purgatory there are better people.

At least I have my ducktour to look forward to. This evening I will be ferried around London town in a bright yellow road- and river-worthy vessel. If there are too many Americans aboard and I am unable to hold my tongue, Streatham may find itself added to the Axis of Evil...

Thursday is bomb day

You can't avoid it leaving Victoria station. The place is awash with filth, but in a nice way - you get to pat the ponies and play fetch with the sniffer dogs. It's naive how they imagine the bombers will only strike on Thursdays. You could walk a tank out of the station on a Wednesday.

It's still not worrying me. What is worrying me is that I now know I'm leaving on 25th September, but where I'm landing is anybody's guess (I'll have £1,000 on Narita airport, my good man). I won't be told which school I'm in or where my apartment is until two weeks before take-off. At least I have been able to get on with cancelling my phone and gym membership and told HR my intentions.

All this is fine, but I wasted my evening and upset myself by watching a stupid American drama called Lost last night. A plane-load of beautiful people wind up on an island after a crash. I got to witness the plane crash from several angles and character perspectives, which was not a soothing way to celebrate getting my flight date.

Also worrying was the representation of the only Japanese couple on the flight who were embroiled in some awful domestic abuse, where the woman isn't even allowed to speak and the husband had a fit when when the top button of her exceedingly conservative cardigan came undone. I hope this was a hollibry lacist leplesentation of the Japanese and most of the men I meet out there won't want to punch me into subservience.

(As an aside, Lost was a hideous and far-fetched programme with the central character a pure-bred hero of unbelievable proportions - a doctor who can fly - and the other characters slap-dashly painted caricatures: the Englishman is a weak, scared junkie, but he does have clean teeth. They have also been attacked by an unseen monster and a polar bear - I really should get out more, but not until I've cleaned out the fridge tonight...).

Nagasaki remembered

Today is the 60th anniversary of the dropping of the second atomic bomb on Japan, in Nagasaki. Almost 74,000 people died in the blast, with a further 75,000 injured from the explosion and ensuing radiation, blast wind and heat rays. The city became a target because, at the time of World War II, its main industry was ship-building and it produced many of Japan's war fleet. However, it was nearby Kokura that was initially sentenced as the doomed target. Kokura was saved by cloud cover, as the pilot flew on to target the more visible Nagasaki.

Some theorists are now saying that at the time the bomb was dropped, Japan was already on the verge of surrender and therefore destruction on this scale was unnecessary. Others say that the Japanese were training their troops to act as unstoppable suicide bombers and there was no other option.

On such a day, it's worth pausing to reflect how America, France and Germany are threatening Iran with UN sanctions (synonymous with a US invasion) because of its developments of uranium into yellowcake, a gas that can either fuel nuclear reactors or, at a more enriched level, nuclear bombs.

Should we allow America to potentially undermine the UN again (one of the few positive outcomes of the last world conflict) and to wade into another poorly justified war or should we allow Iran to produce fuel that could allow them to develop the most destructive weapons currently available?

Who can we trust?

Robin Cook RIP

Hearing Robin Cook had died on Saturday marred the day. It was odd being in Kensington Gardens and people not pausing to pay tribute. He was a good man who made a dignified stand against Blair's war for oil by resigning his Cabinet post. The anti-war coalition has lost one of its most reasonable faces. No one listens to the wonderful Tony Benn any more (except for the 2 million people who listened on February 15th 2003, but he was preaching to the converted and no one with any power to effect change paid attention) and George Galloway doesn't seem to understand that you should choose carefully which battles to fight. Poor Robin. His silent condemnation spoke volumes.

Labour politicians are like the Beatles, they always die in the wrong order.

Neil Diamond and I have many things in common

Particularly a love of red, red wine.

Apologies for the randomness of today's entry, I may still be drunk. I ought to be.

I've just realised I won't have to buy a winter coat before I go to Japan as I already have one (I'd forgotten I had it...). I didn't think I'd be able to get one in Japan as the Japanese are so small and I have shoulders like a swimmer. What a relief. Things are finally coming together, I just need to be told when and where I'm going now. Having to tell people Tokyo some time in September is just so boring now.

My birthday weekend passed without serious event. Friday night was lovely, a good turnout with a nice mix of faces old and new. Positively 4th Street was lovely - its art deco interior would serve well as a set for Poirot, although if it had really been the 1930s, I would have appeared as the buxom serving wench, rather than a demanding customer draped with frills and frippery. The food and cocktails were delectable, although the very beautiful waitress defied the limits of incapability with her thorough incompetence. When you look that good, perhaps it just doesn't matter that you don't know how to pour a lime and soda or not sneer at customers... After cocktails, we got turned away from AKA for being too drunk and went to Bar 101 to sober up before returning to the End. This time I was allowed in, although they were no longer serving alcohol, which made the ragga quite hard to deal with. I had a small nap on the sofas, before leaping up for Mary J Blige and the Game - if Danny hadn't got me such a brilliant gift, I think that would have been the highlight of my birthday. On the way home I made friends with a creepy architect who tried to make me drink his milk (not a euphemism, thankfully) on the nightbus. Saturday Bek and I watched Donnie Darko in Princess Diana's favourite gardens (I wonder if she'd also have liked the film...) and I got had to queue for an unfathomable amount of time for an over-priced burger (50p for one Kraft cheese slice?!?) and got incredibly cold - I hadn't thought to take a sweater or a picnic. Yesterday Mike and I went to see the magnificent Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, drinking wine in the cinema, and then had pizza with wine, before watching Poirot and having a few more glasses of red and then stuck on Election and opened another bottle. I am surprised I don't have a ribena smile, considering how much I drank.

Ugh

Happy birthday to me. Yesterday I hit the most boring age on the most boring day - 28 on a Wednesday - can it get any more dull? It was, though, a lovely day. I went to the all you can eat Chinese for lunch with Sabrina, Scott and Jennie, was guest of honour at a weird special meeting (to welcome Emma into the role of Mike's PA - which was skirted over quite briefly, to thank me for being PA, to wish me well for whenever I leave for Japan and to say happy birthday - I also got Rachel's bon voyage by proxy) and got mildly drunk on two glasses of fizz in the 12th floor meeting room before going to meet Jo, who was flown in for a job interview that the interviewer didn't bother to attend.

We got nicely drunk in the Endurance and even managed to leave at a reasonably sensible time (1.30am, I think) and then, after having a bit of a dance to Mary J Blige at the 159 bus stop, I fell asleep on the bus, safe in the knowledge that Streatham was the last stop. Unfortunately, I had been mistaken and woke up in a place called New Addington - a Surrey housing estate somewhere beyond Croydon - with a Japanese man draped down one side of my body and his hand on my leg and so had to walk to Croydon to get a bus with a young drum 'n' bass fan called Richard, who peppered the conversation with tales of his run-ins with the law. It was either that or stay at the bus stop with the weird Japanese. I was almost going to stay at Richard's house as his parents were away and he was tempting me with talk of late night snacks and cups of tea - he mentioned a fabled 24-hour shop that could provide the goods (he already had the milk) - but after walking for over 40 minutes and still being no nearer I started to panic at not knowing where I was and a bus turned up just as I was about to lose control of my paranoia! I finally made it home to bed at 4am, but did manage to squeeze in another tribute to the soul hip hop queen between the bus stop and home.

I must not fall asleep on the bullet train.

I now feel positively vile. It was only the need to scrape the thick, foul-tasting paste from my mouth and the draw of a ham and brie poppy-seed roll (the ingredients for which were stored in the work fridge) that got me out of bed and into the office this morning. Greed can be such a great motivator.