At the moment I live in constant fear of the third period of every school day, as this is when we are taught be a teacher who insists on speaking to us all at a ‘normal’ pace. For the rest of the class this is no doubt excellent practice for their Japanese, but unless I am spoken to at a pace slightly slower than the movement of the continents, I become utterly lost. Today I thought that I had come up with a winning tactic to cope with the pain, which basically involved me answering everything for the first ten minutes, assuming that I would then be left alone for the rest of the lesson. Unfortunately for me the rest of the class had obviously decided that they didn’t much fancy answering any questions today, and so I spent the next 35 minutes in a cold sweat, as the teacher directed everything towards me. To say that I was able to make a reasonable fist of it would be like saying that a brick wall makes a reasonable fist of responding to you screaming at it.
This evening I went round for dinner at Linden and Ben’s, where we had a magnificent Mabodofu (Tofu, meat, rice and seasoning) cooked by Ben’s own, if not fair then very talented, hand. Linden and I also pitched in by making the Gyoza (a type of Chinese dumpling), although mine looked about as appealing as an anemic shrew. Still, they were delicious, and in some small way they gave me hope for my Japanese language ability: something which may look slightly weak and sickly on the outside, but on the inside is packed fully of meaty grammar and vocab. A rather labored analogy I’ll admit, but it’s the only way that I cope.