Still no wiser

So far, I`m quite enjoying 29. I feel a bit like a real grown up, although this might be because I am living out of context and spending day after day with eight-year-olds who find it hilarious that foreigners could ever be the same age as their mothers and repeatedly check their understanding of newly-taught adjectives on me ("old teacher" and "ugly teacher" are favourites, the smarter kids go for the double-blow of "handsome teacher", smartarses). Somehow it really is a big joke that I might be the same age as their parents. Maybe because their mothers are cloaked in ageless skin, while I sport wrinkles that put the old obaasans to shame.

After suffering hideously all day Friday, Saturday night I found it surprisingly easy to get back on the horse. I met an assortment of teachers, students, receptionists and randoms in Omiya station before heading off for a plush and perhaps over-priced izakaya for the party. David and Kenji brought me ten bottles of five kinds of Nihonshu and I committed myself to drinking it for the rest of the evening, though not from their stash. It was a very thoughtful, if slightly weighty gift, as was Rob`s bottle of Bailey`s; `because all ladies love Bailey`s, don`t they?`. Not entirely accurate, but nicely thought out.

Sadly karaoke was off the menu, so we missed Takeshi`s Queen medley. Next time perhaps. He and Raku hit it off very well comparing tattoos. It was like a yakuza initiation. Because the group was split across three tables, I had to flit between the three for the majority of the night, stealing the best food from each before moving on for my next helping. It kept me relatively sober for the majority of the night, but once everyone was nicely settled and the latecomers had been seen to I hit the sake with Sachiko and my memory fades there. I have vague recollections of haranging Shozu in broken Japanese for smoking, but sober I can`t even remember the verb for that, so I suspect he had no idea what I was going on about. As I`ve re-caught my cold for a third time, I have found I have accidentally stopped smoking. It has been over a month now, Thursday and Saturday being my biggest tests, and I have turned into one of those overtly puritantical quitters. Just what I always wanted to be.

On Sunday morning, I managed to get to Cafe Lamp almost on time (it was before the start time, but the organiser was already calling to check where I was). I almost regretted not letting on to everyone that it was my birthday when another teacher was handed an envelop of cash, but then he had to stand and endure `Happy Birthday`, which no amount of money could make fun for a second time in a week.

After the session, I ran off to meet Yuka, but decided to take her to lunch with everyone for some English practise, but I got caught up in a conversation with a demanding Japanese boy who accused all gaijin males preying on Japanese girls of being paedophiles. I couldn`t possibly comment. Yuka and I then went for her lesson, which she hadn`t been expecting - the poor girl needs to learn to question things more assertively if she`s ever going to survive in New York. She had thought I had, without any warning or checking if it was OK, had bumped her lesson for a get-together with some of my mates. Afterwards, I met Darrell for a few drinks, which stretched way past the last trains and I put him on the spare futon. Perhaps a little too cosy for non-blood relatives.

Monday was a struggle, but on Tuesday I got to meet the long-lost and long-missed Takumasa, who came into my lesson for a make-up class. He still gabbles away in Japanese, but this time I understood slightly more of it. His new teacher is OK, but makes him sing karaoke if he misses two lots of homework. Sadly, he had done his this week as I was hoping to get a chance to be a bit sterner and make him sing. He enjoyed the alpha-twister and almost wet himself when he found out that dodgeball was still in the lesson plan.

Last night, Yoshiko (with me) and Miyoko (with Mike) took us out for another birthday meal and my favourite, quietest student, Fumitake came along. He was a bit drunk when he arrived, and 15 minutes late, which had the ladies in a flap, but still as quiet as ever. He has told me before he doesn`t like his job as it involves communicating, so I was flattered that he came and am still confused that he ever chose to study.

To make my toils with hiragana worthwhile, I`ve decided to take the Japanese profficiency test in December, so have been trying to increase my levels of study (which had reached nil). As well as buying a kanji book for 7-yeaar-olds, I have applied for a tonne of language exchanges, but I very quickly realised this was just a euphimism for dating. Many long-established mixed race couples now blush at their naivety at coming together in such a way. I had previously considered and ruled this out as the magazine I used also had a dating personal ads column, so assumed the weirdoes would use that. I am going ahead anyway, but with caution and an open mind. Who knows. Apparently most mixed couples in Japan owe their inception to these exchanges, but most involve girls who want a foreigner and little else. I am overly, and probably unjustifiably, fussy and know exactly what is good-looking, a quality Japanese girls cannot discern.

I`m enjoying being connected to the internet at home for the first time but can`t use my computer very well. I know it has somewhere a facility for voice recordings as it has an internal microphone, but I have no idea how to access it. None of the help pages seem to offer any insight, but I am persisting. I have offered to record a speech for one of my students to learn intonation so I must. I also don`t know what my password is for my email account, so can`t use the iChat facility, which is hindering me. The shop set up my laptop with no password to access it, but the mail account is demanding one and I can`t find anything anywhere - it could be there, but be signposted in Jap.

I`ve had another unwelcome guest. Shortly after finishing my last blog entry, this casual intruder strode into my room, swanking like a championship boxer. Cockroaches know they will fuck over the meek and steal their inherited Earth. This one wasn`t so awkward or quick as his predecessor and almost felt like a pet. He casually checked out a pile of clean underwear as a possible den, before meandering within range of my plastic tub. While telling a friend about his capture, the friend let slip that Japanese cockroaches (and maybe others, I am no mushi expert) can fly. If I`d been countering his flight into my face, like the other one`s dash for my feet, I would have invested in a less environmental way to deal with him and his friends. Japan is much like Britain in one respect. I have had to stop talking about these unpleasant experiences as people here can`t help bu add unsettling information to that I already have. Apparently, for each cockroach you see, there are another 50 hidden close by, which means my flat is host to around 100. In an apartment already overcrowded by my solitary presence, this is bad news indeed.

The other ailing fellow is a Cicada, a huge flyer incompetent. They never live long enough to learn how to steer their own bodies so you often feel them bouncing off your head before hitting the dirt and waiting to die. This one was two steps from Heaven and an inch from my cash card (note Saitama`s local cartoon character adorning the card). Everything is vastly bigger to what we`re used to in England, but Yoshiko put my paltry fear of spiders into perspective when she explained that she isn`t scared of insects as, when a child working in her parent`s rice paddies, snakes would often swim past and her brother would pull them out of the water and whip her with them!