最期ですね。

When I first arrived at Kyomachi Junior High, I had only been in Japan for ten days. Needless to say, with it also being my first day in a teaching job, I was utterly terrified.

Since then, I`ve been to several schools, worked with many teachers and met literally thousands of students, but I`ve always had a soft spot for those at Kyomachi, my first base school.

Being, from the point of view of the school, essentially a part time teacher, I`m more susceptible to this risk than those who don`t change location every week. The Japanese education system likes to move people around. After a certain tenure at one school, teachers may be given orders to transfer to another. Yesterday saw a shake-up in the schedules of the Kawasaki ALTs. I`ve lost Kyomachi, and my other favorite, Kawaski Junior High.

...and I`m aware that this post has tremendous whinge potential. As you can probably tell, I`m not happy. I`m going to miss this place. Thanks to this school, I`ve been drunk at ten in the morning, carting a bloody great portable shrine around the area in which I live. But that`s not saying anything really. Maybe all teachers feel like this once they`re separated from their charges, but these kids are amazing - charismatic, capable, friendly, hilarious...I could go on...

The good news is that Kyomachi is but a (powerful) gnats fart away from my humble abode, and running into the students whilst doing laundry or shopping is not at all uncommon.

So, from September, I`ll be getting two new schools - Miyuki, by all accounts, a wonderful place, and Minami Daishi, by all accounts, hell on earth. We`ll see what those bring later...

Apologies for the bleak tone this week. Even the title, "saigo desu ne?" means "it`s the end, isn`t it?" Fatalistic, but that`s Japan.

More English than the English?

The list of those sports invented by the English but now dominated by other nations is a lengthy one...

...so writes Jack Crossley in an imitation English newspaper that lined the basket of fish & chips consumed by Hayley & myself in the English themed Hub Pub of Kawasaki & sundry other neighbourhoods in Japan. Extending this idea towards food, even though the Japanese take on fish & chips is way off the mark, it is healthier by far than what one receives in Blighty. Does this make it better in the long run? In terms of coronary crises, one could venture a hearty "certainly", but I think they`re missing the point somewhat...

...short entry this week for a couple of reasons...

1) We`re off to see England play...some other country...Ecuador?

2) I`ve spilled beer on my laptop rendering it immobile for the forseeable future. Hopefully, normal service will be resumed shortly...

Things are different...

WARNING; contains high levels of Petulance, Fury and Arsey-ness.
Reading material of this nature harms your unborn baby.

Culture shock can be a misleading term, conjuring up images of the lone traveller, seeing a country for the first time & being whisked away on a magical rollercoaster of new sights, sounds and smells. Whilst this is certainly true on some days, the reality of the experience lingers more. The leering face of differing notions of perceived common sense takes the time every now and then to pop up and say "boo".

Though I`m scarcely a lifer, after a year and a bit over here (language aside) I thought I`d done a fairly good job of adapting, but there are still things that ruffle me spectacularly. Case in point, the Japanese Post Office, home of my yen account.

Even in English, I have a hard time with the nature of bureaucrats. None however are quite so particular as the Japanese.

In order to keep my bank happy, I need to send some money back to the UK every month. Due to my nature as an immigrant (I`m tolerated because of my usefulness), this transaction needs to be done in person with all the requisite forms, ID, et al. Sounds OK - even though I work at several locations in a month, there are Post Office branches everywhere...

...but no...

...only specific branches deal with International Money Transfers. Sounds OK - some of my schools are reasonably close to Kawasaki Centre. I can pop in after work...

...but no...

...even though the Central PO closes at five, the actual desk I need shuts up shop at four...half an hour before I do.

So today I did the unthinkable. Faced with an afternoon of no classes, wherein I am free to do as I please, as long as I stay in school, I asked if I could take some time just to nip into town and sort out this very important bit of paperwork. This is a truly cavalier defiance of my illustrious employers` "don`t-ask" policy and Japans` national pathology. I was reluctantly given permission.

Off I trundled to the Central PO, already in a Great British huff, as there`s a branch not two minutes away from this particular school, that couldn`t help me for reasons of procedure. I should have known better than to assume that all I had to do was hand over the already completed form & let the assistant carry out whatever jiggery-pokery she needed.

The first problem she encountered was that the name of the payee was the same as that of the payor. This always foxes them, so I was prepared, informing her that it was my account in England. The second problem was a bit more infuriating.

In Japan, ones` surname comes before ones' given name, hence my ID card having me as Kearton Christopher. I made the colossal mistake of writing my name in the Western order. She didn`t like that, and proceeded to draw a series of arrows on the form.

Then there`s the frankly absurd amount of names I have. I deliberately left out "Louis" on all my applications to get into the country. I didn`t leave out "Patrick".
On the money transfer form, I left out "Patrick".
My ID card says "Patrick".
She asked me to write "Patrick".
I wrote "Patrick".

I wish I knew the Japanese word for "flexible".

The last problem was partially my fault, as my language ability is still very basic. When the time came for the closing stages of the application, it transpired that I had to give her the money in cash, even though I`ve done this procedure several times now & this is the first time I`ve had to do that. When I think about it, she might have asked me if I had the money now. Understanding only part of that question, I answered yes...so off I go to the corner of the room to draw out the money, walk all of a yard back and hand it to her...but this is the sting...

...it turns out that there are two kinds of form for this process - one that requires cash, and one that allows you to transfer money directly from one account to another...the latter is the form that I handed to her in the first place.

Why did she ask me about cash? Why? Why? Why?

There aren`t enough curses in the lexicon of profanity to adequately express my bile.


Lighter news - a couple of third year girls, fresh from a school trip to Kyoto, brought me back a fan depicting Kinkakuji...oh Japan, I can`t stay angry with you...

The bakegasa speaks

I'm really quite embarrassed that my umbrella has achieved a command of English in considerably less time than it's taken me to learn pidgin Japanese. My attempts to speak in its native tongue are met with scorn to say the least. Accusations of crimes against the Japanese language are the most diplomatic of responses I've received. Having a kancho performed upon my posterior by a hopping umbrella is the least.

It's chosen a name for itself; Wasureki, or lost/forgotten tree. The name implies a sense of regret or melancholy, not evident in conversation, except for the odd moment of dewy-eyed patriotism. Wasureki san is well assured of its pedigree, insisting that part of the tree it came from was made into the hilt of the katana that Mishima Yukio used to commit seppuku. Like most Japanese, it has a very clear awareness of its roots.

As I said last week, objects become tsukumogami after they've existed for one hundred years. The interesting thing about Wasureki san is that it appears to have been self-aware for quite some time, even before it "came to life". When I think of the wealth of experience this umbrella has, I realise that I'm on to something amazing. It's seen four Emperors, two world wars, economic depression, boom and bust, the industrialisation of Japan, Hiroshima & Nagasaki, the Great Kanto Earthquake...20th century Japan on a stick you might say...but not directly to Wasureki san.

The precedence of seniority being what it is over here, I have to show the utmost respect to this former umbrella. This, coupled with my sketchy knowledge of Japanese history has resulted in several informal lectures on it's part. I can do little but sit and listen, which galls me sometimes, as I can detect a certain bias in its ululating.

Cultural, linguistic and generational factors aside (and disregarding the odd rectal intrusion), we get along fine. My interest in Japanese culture stands in my favour, but debating issues could be problematic.

Incidentally, I've received a few private emails that call the authenticity of last weeks photograph into question. With reference to other crypto-zoological images, I'd like to point out that an inferior photograph doesn't necessarily disprove the existence of these entities. Patrick Harpur, for example, postulates that the ambiguous nature of such creatures is reflected in their physical attributes; that they are neither corporeal nor ethereal, hence, are buggers to photograph. I've sent the picture to Fortean Times...time will tell...

How my umbrella made me late.

Punctuality is extremely important over here, and in all my years of dodging PE or oversleeping, I`ve never had such an improbable excuse as this.

Until recently, Japan has resembled a generous English summer. Now an early rainy season is gradually making its presence known. Last Friday, my semi-regular trudge to the school furthest from home was announced with a clap of thunder, and clouds that in a cartoon would have grumpy expressions, so I armed myself with one of the umbrellas we`ve inherited (this one being a gift from Kitsune sensei, a social studies teacher who`s now gone to another school).

As I picked it up, I noticed that the handle now looked like a foot, complete with toes that wiggled mischievously. The umbrella curved upwards, there was a rustle and a huge eye opened in the fabric, followed by a smile shaped orifice directly below, from which lolled a thick pink tongue.
“BLEARGH!!!” said my umbrella. Naturally, I screamed like a girl and fell over backwards, letting go of the thing. It hopped up and down on my chest, babbling in Japanese that I couldn`t keep up with.

I`ve often thought that the true test of ones language skills is against small children and drunk old men. I now count umbrellas amongst these challenges.

It got off me and bounced around the room, clearly excited, but I didn`t have time to indulge it (cloudy skies usually make me oversleep) and Hayley had already gone to work. I attribute my quick thinking to the phenomenon that makes grannies wrestle crocodiles. In my pre-stove existence, I lived on take-out bento, the net result being the acquisition of a small fortune in elastic bands. Grabbing the umbrella in one hand, I bound it securely with the other and hurriedly stuffed it into the shoe cupboard. I left home in a rush, thanking River Island for selling me a coat with a hood.

I made particularly grovelling apologies to the Vice Principal when I got to work. Hopefully she won`t tell my illustrious employers.
As you can imagine, thinking of grammar activities throughout the day was difficult because my head was full of umbrellas. I was sure I`d seen something like that before. Then I remembered a stall in Kyoto selling representations of what I`d seen.

I also remembered, from the reading I did for the Halloween entry, that the Japanese word for ghost (obake) means “changing thing”. Since a ghost is something that has changed from a living into a dead thing, and considering that the animistic spirit of Shinto sees life in all things, it started to make a bit of sense.

I googled (funny how that`s become a verb) bakegasa (ghost umbrella) and discovered that it`s a “species” of tsukumogami (artifact spirit). When objects reach their one-hundredth birthday, they come to life. It`s said that such creatures are repelled by electricity, so modern objects don`t become tsukumogami. All reasonably clear so far, but it doesn`t explain why Kitsune sensei randomly gave me an antique umbrella.

I was a little nervous on the way back home. When I arrived, I was greeted with an open shoe cupboard and the remnants of my rubber band collection. The bakegasa was sitting on the sofa, next to a Japanese/English dictionary and reading one of my grammar books, turning the pages with its tongue.
In broken Japanese, I apologized for my conduct that morning and bowed lower than I`ve done to any Koucho sensei. The umbrella responded with
“Nidoto surunai!” (roughly, "Don`t ever do that again.")

And yes, of course I`m the only person who can see it. When Hayley got home, it decided to turn back into a normal umbrella, leaving me to explain why it was on the sofa surrounded by textbooks. I don`t think she believes me. Rest assured, updates on this situation will be posted as they occur.

It sounded good on paper...

Kawasaki's 'Dog Cafe, Jerky Junky' (where one can "eat and drink with dog"). Perhaps I'd have a better impression of the place if the first thing I saw after looking through the window wasn't the proprietor cleaning up a recently deposited curl of fecal matter. The poodle was cute though.