Today’s rehearsal for Picasso went well, and I am no down to less than 5 notes per scene (taking an average which also includes those scenes that I am not in). It has taken me almost two months but I now know how to correctly pronounce the title of the play; which of course takes place in a bar named after an agile rabbit (phonetically: Lapan Ageele) and not a frisky pines tree (Lapeene Ageele).
This evening a group of us went for a Nepalese feast in Ikeboue to celebrate a Jo’s birthday. My Japanese reached new heights this evening when I ordered a hot coconut milk, but insisted on no ice. I was grammatically perfect, but the logic of my argument was as flawed as the pedal of an F1 car. On my way home (which was long past twelve, so the trains had stopped running) I popped into one of the Police Boxes for directions, where my requests for the nearest route home were met with blank stares and a request to see my ID. Perhaps it was the red jeans, velvet waistcoat and village people moustache, or maybe it was the fact that I had just asked for directions to an abstract thought concept rather than an actual place name, either way they didn’t seem all that impressed. Still I made it home in one piece, with only my pride and language confidence in absolute tatters, so it didn’t end too badly.