I can’t help but think that whoever wrote our Japanese textbook is something of an emotional sadist; either that or they are desperately crying out for help. How else to explain the fact that pretty much every chapter deals with loss and the death of loved ones. Having just worked our way through an episode about the memories of childhood, the closing paragraph nicely rounded things off with a double death, as both the metaphorical killing of the author’s childhood, as well as the very real demise of his father were discussed; seemingly shoehorned in for no other reason than to ruin an otherwise perfectly enjoyable romp about fireworks. Even T.S. Elliot would have had difficulty writing with such a consistent level of desolation.
Owing to the heat of the summer, I spent most of the evening with my window open, trying to make the most of the cool evening breeze, so that I don’t use my air conditioner more than is absolutely necessary (so just the 22 hours a day then). This has the unfortunate side effect of meaning that I am privy to the conversations of my neigbours, specifically those of a couple which live opposite my back ‘balcony’. I am yet to work out the exact logistics of their living arrangements, but they are either: 1) a middle-aged son and his elderly mother; or 2) a mature lady and her boy toy husband. At any rate they don’t bloody shut up; I would go round and have a word with them, but sadly this would require a basic command of Japanese. It would also mean that we would probably have to address the time when I forgot that I wasn’t wearing any clothes and wandered into full view of their living room, something which none of us want reminding of.