Fish and bicycles

Life, unfortunately, seems quite directionless without a man to stalk. I never imagined I would say I needed a man, but it seems I do. At least as a target. I`ve got used to Japanese life now, I can do most of my classes with my eyes closed (though my phonemes look more and more like hiragana) and I finally know some decent people (though not many and, selfishly, they aren`t at my constant beck and call) so I need something to concentrate on. Studying Japanese is all well and good, but it is frustrating with no one to practise on. A man would solve all of these problems, and pay for me to go to the cinema.

Although I have decided I don`t actually fancy him, Suzuki-san is my current target. Today I staked out the hairdressers, popping into a convenience store across the road so I could see if he was there (as a sign of my boredom and the ridiculousness of my current pursuit, I already knew he was in London training at Vidal Sassoon). In the convenience store, I found two `customers` grubbying up the magazines in a way that would prompt `this is not a library` from a British proprietor. Here it is a fine way to while away time. The teenage girl was looking at hairstyles, the man porn. This, too, does not cause outrage. Men openly browse through titty mags without a crease of embarrassment on their `polite` faces.

From what I have seen of it, Japanese porn is incredibly soft. Some shots are not even topless and the girls all feign youthful innocence in an unsettlingly paedophilic way. I imagine there is some more depraved stuff out there - there just has to be - but your common garden (well, convenience store) porn barely lives up to the name, which is fortunate given how pervasive it is. Men sit on trains flicking through magazines, which sit next to manga comics in shops. It`s even advertised on billboards. Weirdly, I have only seen one Japanese breast on TV - somehow, telly is clean, but everywhere else there`s sex.

Well, except Sean`s apartment (sorry Sean!!). Last night I went round to watch DVDs and enjoy my first Pizza Hut. I watched Shaun of the Dead for the first time and longed for north London. Shaun`s girlfriend lives on the same estate I used to on Hornsey Lane. I have had a lock-in at the Winchester (though don`t remember either of the names it has had in my north London lifetime). I am fairly sure I have bought orange juice from Sean`s local shop. Japanese urban landscapes just do not compare with Tufnell Park. Central Tokyo is all well and good, but the suburbs are ugly. Houses are built to last an earthquake, not to look good.

We also watched two Batman films: Begins with the luscious Christian Bale (although I prefer him in American Psycho and, though early Genesis might be considered torture enough, I would happily go back to his flat and let him do what he liked with me) and the first Burton film with Jack Nicholson. Sean asked me to rate my Top 5 celebrities, but I got stuck after Mr Bale. Eventually, the other Christian, Slater, came to mind, although with the obvious and adulterous Pitt. I have, however, gone off him since this whole philandering thing and am firmly in the Aniston camp.

I woke up this morning to find I had passed out, mid-Family Guy, on Sean`s sofa. He had kindly laid out the spare futon set, which I climbed into for a couple more hours, although a student from my Japanese class called unsociably early to discuss a possible private student for me. As it was cash, I could forgive her and next Friday I`m off to Ageo at 10am to teach Miguel, a Brazilian who claims to have no English, but had enough to discuss times and places, which is way more than I can do in Japanese. Hopefully I can convince him to change his lesson to later in the day as I am already dreading getting up so early on my day off, but we will see. He is the customer, though in this instance I am always right.