Where In The World?

Now if you look below you'll see a zoom-in from outerspace right into my house.

I did actually put red rings on these pics but they've not come out very well.

Anyway, if you click to enlarge the last photo, and look inside the red ring, you'll see my house. If you look closely, you'll notice that it looks　like the the bottom left hand corner my building has been chipped away. That's my balcony. And I've since found out, that I am the only one in the building with one. Quality.

Me Love You Long Time

The knocking shop outside Akabane station’s East Exit is hilarious.

Outside it has a big placard sporting the price made from a series of wooden numbers hung on pegs. When the price goes down (¥4000), they take off a number, and when it goes up (¥7000) they hang another on one.

The zeros usually stay the same, while the first number fluctuates. Almost like the NASDAQ. Or maybe, in this case, the SLAGDAQ.


On the way home last night I nipped into Mos Burger next door for a cheeky hotdog, and walked right past the two women they had out on the street as samples.

Noticed that the price had been lowered to ¥5000. I think I understand why. They looked about 45. Proper old slappers.

I think, as in any market, the price is dictated by the quality.

A few floors above there is a rival boudoir. On the window it says “Lover’s Communication Room”. I’m sure there’s no love lost between the participants, and I doubt, apart from haggling over services, there’s not much communication going on. But it definitely is a room, so one out of three ain’t bad.

Red Rum. Red Rum.

Had a lesson dumped into my schedule at short notice today:

Worst.
Child.
Ever.

As me Dad says: “Is he puddled, him?”. Translation from Derbyshire Dialect “I think this young man may have learning-based difficulties”

Can’t remember his name. Maybe I’ve blanked it. Taught him for a one-off lesson and hopefully will never see his face again. Except, maybe, for when I turn out the light tonight.

Generally, he seemed happy to swat objects off the table, and giggle maniacally to himself whilst scribbling angrily on paper. I noticed he was holding the pencil as a killer holds a kitchen knife.

And, for an entire thirty minutes, he refused to acknowledge my existence. He wouldn’t look at me or respond to me, except to assault me with Duplo, crayons and corgi cars.

Waiting out in the hall was his “mother”, although it could well have been his grandmother. She was rather crone-like, had a head shaped like a parallelogram and sported a set of chequerboard teeth. She reminded me of a pissed witch.

She had another offspring in a pushchair that had massive ears, cross eyes and what looked like shit on his chin. He rocked a bit as well.

I think these were genuine Japanese in-breds. Why his parents want him to learn English is beyond me. He’ll probably spend his life on a high rock near Mt Fuji picking off hikers with a crossbow. He will have probably named the crossbow.

The Japanese receptionist trotted out her one-size-fits-all explanation: “he’s just shy”.

Shy? Shy? I am reminded of a scene from one of my favourite films: Manhunter.

After being incarcerated by FBI agent Will Graham, Hannibal Lektor (Brian Cox) is studying forensic evidence on another murder case in an attempt to help track down serial killer “The Tooth Fairy”. After looking through the file, Lektor delivers his final conclusions to the FBI.

“Hmmmm. This killer - he’s a shy boy, Will” says Lektor.

Yes. The boy I taught today was “shy”. And one day he too will be the subject of an investigation, I’m sure.

It’ll be the stench from the attic. That’ll be the giveaway.

When Push Comes To Shove

My latest “thing” is to go to work mega-early and plan my lessons at a leisurely pace.

Except I didn’t realise that getting the Saikyo Line, Japan’s busiest line, at 9am was what I am now calling “A Very Stupid Idea”

My God, it is something else. The doors open, people flood in, and just when you think the carriage is going to tear, another wave of people career headlong into the carriage - all propelled by a Japanese train guard who is folding up limbs just so he can shut the train doors.

And if someone finds themselves hemmed in, and needs to get to the exit as the train approaches the station, they start shoving. Not a polite English shove, either. A full-blown ram.

It’s like a Prodigy gig in a portacabin. Pile on! I don’t know what the standing equivalent is. Pile along?

The upshot of this all was that I found myself perfectly spooning a nice young woman. We were entwined like a big sweaty yin and yang and lest I had an issue with blood flowing in the wrong direction I tried to think about a nude Lisa Riley eating a shepherd’s pie.

Didn’t help. I was hungry.

Some Things What Have Happened

First the bad news. My iPod is knackered. I feel like I’ve lost a friend.

Second, saw my first push bike accident – a granddad and a teenager wildly swerving over the road only to metallically clatter together. Both blamed the other. Given I’ve been here a month, I’m surprised I’ve not seen it happen sooner.

Third, had my formal feedback from the boss man. Was overwhelmingly positive. Few pointers to pick up on, but otherwise OK. Turns out I might be quite a good teacher after all. Who’d have thought it?

Fourth, went out with Eli last night in Shibuya. Quite a surreal night really, but really good to see her.

Started off by going to a British pub called The Hub, only to be accosted by a Japanese barman who had just finished studying in Manchester.

When he found out I studied in Manchester too, he let rip. Do you know this place? Do you know that place? Did you know so-and-so?

Alarmingly he had developed a slight Manchester accent (“I was doing me degree”), and now he was back in Tokyo had bought all of “Shameless” on DVD to stop the withdrawal symptoms. Sorted, like.

Then, oddly, as I looked up at the big TV screen, I saw another Manchester compatriot of mine, Rob Bantin, in a music video. It’s the Arman van Helden one where people get their bottoms spanked by some models.


It’s very strange when co-incidences pile up like that.

Honesty Is Not The Best Policy

Thursday is my day off.

This Thursday I was on sick-cover, which means I have to phone up to see if anyone is ill and, if so, dash out to some unknown far-flung school to teach all their lessons.

And that means bye bye to your day off.

Glancing down the sick cover-schedule, I noticed they had me down as Robert Rowles for 24th Aug. So, when it came to the Thursday, I was so bloody knackered I thought about claiming my name wasn’t on the list. “Who’s Robert Rowles?” I would ask.

But on the 24th I had an attack of conscience, and actually phoned up head office to see if anyone was ill and ask if I was needed. Luckily I wasn’t.


Felt better knowing I had done the right thing. Except I hadn’t. Turns out there really is a guy called Robert Rowles.

Head bloke Duncan spoke to me about it later.

“Good job you didn’t speak to a bloke called Jamie when you phoned in earlier on“ he said

“He would have probably asked you to come in anyway, even if you weren’t Robert Rowles. It would have been close enough for him”

I thought I was doing the right thing by ringing in, but nearly came a cropper there.

There’s also a guy on the list called Stephen Rowley. I am going to have to be careful.


Other minuses: next month I have two six-day weeks.

Some plusses: Next month there is a school holiday on a Friday and a Saturday. My days off are Thursdays and Sundays. Four days off in a row. Woo-hoo.

General Observations About Japan #2

More general observations.....

1. Japanese writing is so difficult that even some Japanese people don’t understand it. A couple of times I’ve asked for translation of a particular character only to be met with “Hmmm. Actually, even I’m not sure what this means”.

Today I was telling two adults in my class that the symbol for Warabi, one of my schools, was very complicated. One of them agreed and admitted he hadn’t got a clue how to draw it, and the other one cheated and looked it up on his phone. I wonder if it is the equivalent of not being able to spell Uttoxeter.


2. On a Friday night, as the train pulls up and the doors open, you are knocked over by the boozy waft of stale beer. On a Friday night the Japanese really go for it. I know the British can drink, but The Tube never smelled like a Burton-On-Trent brewery. A couple of times now, I’ve seen a businessman collapsed in a heap whilst a train guard went through his mobile looking for someone to call.



3.When food arrives, it’s really hot. As in McDonald’s Apple Pie hot. And it all tastes very fresh. Unlike Littlewood’s café, there’s not much hotlamping going on round here.


4. There are no old cars on the road in Japan. This is because parts and warranties are so expensive it’s just as easy to buy a new car. The same cannot be said for pushbikes all of which resemble the original “velocipede”. Or is that a dinosaur?


5. Taxi doors open and close automatically. Also the taxi drivers do not moan about “the ragheads”, refuse to go South of the river, or take you all round the houses. Oh wait, they do do that ; not because they’re dishonest, but because they haven’t got a chuffing clue where anything is.


6. Though Japan has the highest life-expectancy in the world, I’ve never seen so many people bent double with what I presume is osteoperosis. My God, these people really are at right-angles to themselves. It doesn’t stop them, though. They’re out and about trundling across Tokyo with their wheeled zimmer frames. Maybe there’s a home for doubled-up grannies in Akabane somewhere.

More Shots Of Akabane, My Town

View From My Front Door : Ninjas Not In Shot

Sugoy!

Or- in English- great!

Bit of good news - Eli, my utterly lovely Japanese friend has come back to live in Tokyo.


I’m glad about this because she can help decipher my gas bill.

I Don't Need No Education

Wednesday, I was at school for 11 hours. Tuesday, I did a 12-hour day.

The head honcho had come to see me teach. He sat in the corner of the lesson, occasionally raising his eyebrows and scribbling notes on a pad, though for all I know he could have been doing a sudoku.

After he said: “Yep, no problems there”.

“I’m not sacked, then?” I asked.

“I would have to have seen two or three lessons far, far worse than that before I thought about sacking you” he said.

Stick around a bit longer and you just might, I thought

However, felt a whole lot better knowing that, apparently, my teaching is of a required standard.

Meeting tomorrow for full feedback. I was thinking of letting rip with a full-on “Here Are Ten Things Wrong With Your Company” speech but actually, he’s a very nice guy, so I think I will play it “pally” with him to get him on-side before I steam in.

Waaaaaagh!

On Wednesday a 5 year old girl took one look at me, started bawling and refused to come into the classroom.

Why? I’m not that bloody ugly. Although, now I think about it, I was wearing a hockey mask and revving a chainsaw.

Basically, she threw a spaz-tantrum, hid behind her mother’s skirt and physically lashed out when she was man-handled into the class.

My powers of empathy had deserted me. “Oh, grow up!” I thought, conveniently forgetting that she was actually 5 years-old.

And that I was wearing a hockey mask and revving a chainsaw.

Scotland the Brave

Met another teacher last night - David, a Scottish fella.

Top bloke. Decided to go for a beer after work. Was in the arse end of nowhere and was difficult to find anywhere.

Stumbled across a rather authentic Izakaya - Japanese pub n' grub. Did a kind of Japanese Tapas (Japas?). Ordered lots of little dishes.

Once the beer was flowing, David, who had been quite reserved up until that point let rip about SHANE, and gave a twenty minute diatribe about what was wrong with it.

Everything he said was right. This comes on top of another conversation I had with another teacher, Martin, on Friday who was also moaning.

I will stick this out as long as I can because I like Japan, but at this stage I can't see me staying here for too long.

Scotland the Brave

Burger Me

That's what I like about this country.

I've just had a curry with a burger in it and I ate it with a spoon.

And in Japan, I've done nothing wrong

Quality Control Street.

Palaver and kerfuffle.

Went back to the City Hall to collect my Gaijin card; the credit card-esque pass that allows me to stay in Japan.

Two weeks ago, when I applied for the card, City Hall said they would register my official address as flat 304, as 305 didn’t exist.

At the time, jetlagged and not with it, I assumed I had copied down the address wrong and agreed. Actually, it WAS flat 305, I discovered later that night.

So, when I collected the Gaijin card today, they had listed my address as 304. Never mind, I thought, what’s the worst that can happen?

Well, I’ll tell you: the address you give to the bank and the mobile phone companies must match the address on the gaijin card. If they don’t match you don’t get a bank account and you don’t get a phone.

And mine didn’t match.

Phoned Helmut for advice – he’s being living here for twenty years. He said, regrettably, everyone automatically defers to the government and a bank teller is more likely to believe the info on the Gaijin card than a story about a non-existent address.

Even if I could explain it in Japanese. Which I couldn’t.

So having just arrived back in my flat, I turned round and went straight back out again pausing briefly to grab my housing contract and take a photo of my front door number.

Clever, clever.

When I arrived back at City Hall for the second time that day I was gearing up for a ruck.

After explaining the situation, I was asked to sit down. Then there was a lot of frowning and mumbling, before they called me back. Once again, they showed me a map of my street with 305 missing.

Immediately I whipped out my housing contract which carried the address and then my secret weapon - the camera.

“Aaaah” the girl said looking at the screen but then started frowning and pointing. It appeared that the battery logo for the camera was obscuring the 5 in 305.

Amazing. Not only are they not satisfied with a housing contract carrying my address, they assume I went to the trouble of taking a photo of my front door only to cleverly conceal the only number that mattered – the last digit – with a battery power logo.

“Zoom?” she said hopefully. I began punching random buttons, only to accidentally flick through some of the more embarrassing photos already posted on the site – particularly the one of me with the Udon apron.

Finally, I sorted it and a big fat 305 appeared on the screen. “Aaah” she said before writing 305 in biro on the back of the card.

Brilliant.

Thank goodness for modern technology, though. Here is the photo that saved my bacon.

Roppongi: Not Like Essex or Sheffield

Roppongi is another brightly-lit suburb of Tokyo, recently famous for its shopping mall and entertainment complex at Roppongi Hills.

There is some great architecture around here: clean concrete lines, fountains, odd modern art sculptures and polygonal buildings shaped like the Jawa’s giant droid-carrying truck from Star Wars.

In fact, it’s very much a place that could be used for some futuristic movie sequence – think Total Recall, Demolition Man or Back To The Future 2.

However, have to say was a bit disappointed with the actual shopping centre itself. From the guidebook, I had been led to believe that this was a Meadow Hall, Bluewater or Lakeside and it’s not.

It’s one of the strangest shopping malls I’ve ever visited. Whilst it is beautifully designed with its rich oaky panelling, ornate water features and hanging gardens I couldn’t really find many shops – a key requirement in any shopping centre, I think.

Put simply, it’s almost as if the makers only had applications for 30 or so stores, so decided to spread them out over as a wide an area as possible whilst filling the space in between with snazzy stone cladding and polished chrome escalators.

It’s not a horrible place, just a bit confusing. You find yourself on another faux-wooden panelled walkway, crossing another marble floor or wandering through another atrium only to be met by maybe a mobile phone shop in one corner and a tiny cake shop in the other. The shop is tiny, by the way, not the cakes.

“Where are the shops?” you shout. In your head, obviously.
In a city where space is at a premium, I am surprised that the Japanese haven’t been tempted to really pack ‘em in.

Udon’t Have To Be Mad To Eat Here But It Helps

Udon – it’s noodles in curry soup, basically.

It comes in a big round bowl and is accompanied on a tray by an oversized china spoon and chopsticks neatly rowed up like a surgeon’s instruments.

Upon sitting at the Udon counter down I noticed that instead of a napkin, I had something a bit larger. As I picked it up for examination, it origamied out into a knee-length apron, complete with the halterneck ties. A brilliant idea but clearly this was to be a messy operation.

For a Westerner, eating Udon is not so much tricky as unlikely. I would liken it to searching for the end of the cling film whilst wearing boxing gloves.

When it arrived with the customary bow, I stared at it for a brief moment before glancing out of the corner of my eye to see how the locals were tackling the problem.

It seemed as if the best way to handle it was to use the chopsticks to lift the noodles high out of the broth, at arms length in some cases, before lowering them in a neat little nest onto the big spoon.

That’s the theory, anyway. Except my noodles chose to slink away wetly when in contact with the spoon and fall back into the curry soup flicking hot broth in my eye. At one point I was convinced that the entire bowl was one very long noodle.

This was proving difficult. I’d been sat there five minutes and I hadn’t eaten anything yet. As The Righteous Brothers’ Unchained Melody played in the background and the singer crooned “...and time goes by...so slowly”, I found myself saying “too right, mate”. Obviously written over a bowl of Udon.



20 minutes later and I’d finished. Udon is actually very nice and of course, as always in Japan, the service was impeccable.

I would order them again although next time I might take a pair of scissors to make the whole thing more manageable.

I kept the apron for posterity and later modelled it for the enclosed photos. If you click to enlarge you can actually see the battlescars down the front.

Diamond Ginza

Love this place. It’s the posh bit. Some of it is hidden away in a kind of underground city. This is where you find your Guccis and your Pradas.

Prior to this photo being taken we had been seeking refuge underground from an almighty Biblical storm.

There’s a bloody big typhoon over this way at the moment and it’s already caused a fair bit of grief for the Chinese, the Taiwanese and the Japanese in the Eastern peninsula of Chiba.

About 2.15 Helmut and I were making our way over to Ginza from Tokyo when the sky went an Apocalyptic purple, the wind picked up ominously and the trees began violently depositing their leaves on the sidewalk.

You could feel it in the air, the anticipatory lull ; something big was going to happen.

We picked up speed and moved toward our destination. Minutes later the rain was violently hammering down, like someone had up-ended a billion buckets.

It was great.

Imperial Palace

Some photos of the Imperial Palace. It’s out-of-bounds to the public. Caption competition now open........