The green green grass of home

Firstly, I'd really like to get stuck into my ex-employer for being an utter cunt. Having kept a £300 deposit from my last pay cheque, they finally returned the remaining £10 this week, having shaved off £100 for cleaning (although I naively missed sleep because I couldn't afford to lose any cash) and a further £110 for my replacement's hotel, as well as a little extra for the hotel I stayed in when I first arrived, which I have foolishly imagined was part of the extortionate sum deducted from my first five pay packets. If you intend to save money in Japan, don't work for Shane. While I was very pleased to not have to teach American English, I am exceedingly bitter at being robbed in the festive season. My ex-boss being a spineless fantasist didn't help. Thank you for listening to my rage.

Otherwise, I went up the prison and loved it. I went up the prison to observe my class this week. The other teacher is extremely lazy, so it was quite an involved obversation. It was fine though. I managed to show the prisoners I wouldn't be a pushover, despite being a young woman and they showed me that they hadn't had a sniff of a woman for an age and it would be fine whatever. My class were quite laid back, but other inmates were pushing their noses up to the glass of the classroom door to check me out, some trying to make me shake their hands or give them some contact and others asking if they could switch to my class. I feel it was a very modern take on Daniel in the lion's den: my explaining to use a colon was much like removing the prisoners' metaphorical thorns.

It's nice to know I'm still holding my own, even though I'm back to British portions. I've caused quite a stir at the factory I'm temping at and am getting sexually harassed by the local scout leader at least once a day and the warehouse supervisor put a card through the door with his phone number and an invitation to keep me company. Fortunately, I already had plans. I wouldn't want to get in the way of him seeing either of his kids.

I'm practically destitute as I'm being paid in village pounds, but spending as many weekends as possible in London. Last week I visited my beloved Vidal Sassoon and had my haircut by a yuong Osakan who nearly wet herself when I spoke in garbled Japanese. Each of the hairdressers had gifts for their 'models', but as I tried to return the Japanese hospitality I have so often dined out on and invited them to the pub, they were fighting to find me extra gifts. One girl eventually gave me a vacuum packed pack of teabags her mother had obviously stuffed into her luggage. Fortunately, they didn't have time to meet so I treated myself to some dry sushi from Wasabi and watched TV all night.

I did make it out to a houseparty the following night, but after having a small nap among the coats, I lost the rest of the night searching for my friend's handbag, which was under the sofa, but my dress was too short for my to check myself so it stayed there until around 6am when I finally planted the idea it was there in someone else's head.

Next week, my mum, sister and I are off to New York where I'm going to have to make my mum pay for her own Christmas presents. A helicoptor tour around the city will be also involved and sitting through the Producers. Fortunately, Guys and Dolls wasn't showing.

I will soon start charting the culinary conversations I have to sit through at work ("Do you like rice?" "I like rice, but Brian doesn't like rice," "Yeah, I like rice, but Dave doesn't, Anne, do you like rice?"). Have you ever heard of an office with a constant running buffet?! This might be why I'm thickening up around the middle, but it will all drop off when I'm at the prison, where I can only eat at five hour intervals, so I will soon be sporting the jutting hips of a catwalk anorexic, minus the purging vommy smell.

Love and Mr Kipling mince pies.