Round One to Obama

So, Barack Obama leads the charge to put someone vaguely moral in the White House. Listening to his speeches and looking at him stare meaningfully off into the distance, I think he seems much more Presidential than the headmistress-like Hillary. Is America ready to vote for a black candidate? I don't know, but all I would say is that he out-Clintoned Clinton. Sixteen years ago, Bill could legitimately package himself as something new, exciting and different. This time round, his wife was campaigning as someone old, reliable and familiar, hardly likely to excite voters. But never mind Hillary, you are still leading the Tower Tales poll. By the way, I get all my political views from a balanced news source, The Onion. Click here for their latest updates on the War for the White House, and more on Obama's meaningful gaze. 

A foregone conclusion

Mark it in your diaries folks, October 26th. A day that will live in infamy. Yes, I'm talking about the 2008 Teganuma Lake half-marathon, or as they call it here the Eco Marathon (no idea why). I know I mentioned before that I was in training for it, but, ahem, after two outings I came down with a bad cough and, er, haven't done any running for a month at least.  I have applied for clearance to take part in the race and, this being the world's most organised country, had to fill out the time I expect to complete the race in, before I have actually done any training to speak of. Still, what could go wrong between now and race day?

Battle stations

Katherine had a great time at the undokai - her primary school's annual sports day. Which is just as well, because I was at the school from 7am to 3pm or so. And I got off lightly... As you can see from the pictures, Sports Day, or sports festival as it is usually translated, is a big deal in Japan. It is a cross somewhere between It's a Knockout and Triumph of the Will. I was at the school so early because you have to reserve your space around the field or in the hall with a picnic sheet. The early birds catch the, er, spots with the best views and most shade. I thought I would get a reasonable spot, but no, I ended up having to share a picnic sheet with two neighbouring families... and our view? Couldn't see much from behind the grand piano at the back of the gymnasium. Turns out the folk who got the best real estate queued from 1.30am. I kid you not. No egg and spoon races here.

A day to be reckoned with

I'm sure everyone reading this blog will join me in wishing Azerbaijan a happy National Day today. Yes, this must be an important date in the global calendar because the Japan Times devoted a full broadsheet page to the wonders of the little republic with a big heart complete with gushing and, dare I say it, not undeserved praise of the country that - wait for it - is a blend of East and West/ young and old/ traditional and modern, and, no doubt, little and large/ open and shut/ and over a barrel and under a cloud. But wait, a few pages on I discovered it was also Ethiopia National Day; there was another full page devoted to, er, the wonders of the little republic with a big heart...  and to think that people criticise journalists for always printing negative stories. 

Where's all the butter gone?

Who doesn't like a bit of butter on their pancakes? I had some very tasty pancakes today for lunch, only slightly marred by having to smear margarine over them instead of butter because we had run out. In fact, we haven't been able to buy any butter for three weeks now (despite visiting every supermarket and convenience store in cycling distance). Neither has one of my students. There is something of a butter crisis going on. My student became aware of it when she noticed a handwritten sign in a Tokyo convenience store proclaiming "We have butter!" She ran in only to discover they had run out. Apparently, Japan had a major surplus of butter and milk a couple of years ago, so the dairy herds were given their marching orders. Now, with imported butter suddenly unavailable (anything to do with dwindling oil supplies?) there's none of the off-white gold to put on the shelves, proving you can't have your cake and eat it, not for a long while yet.

Surviving the Big One

It's been another busy week, and I haven't written as much as I would have liked for the blog as life kept intervening. Tomorrow, I have a "free conversation" lesson - this means I have to think up some good topics for discussion. I was struggling to come up with anything very interesting, or failing that, topical at least. But fortunately I have a resourceful wife (did I ever tell you she can make up jokes? - What is the character of a scallop? It's very shellfish - is one of hers that she made up while walking beside the Wirral I think it was back in my Chester days). She came up with three ideas on the spot - the oil crisis, Obama for President, and the earthquake in China. All three have got legs, as they used to say in newspaper parlance, but she plumped for the earthquake as a topic, as after watching the inept Chinese authorities bungle emergency relief, most homes in Japan (and this one too) have been assembling their own survival kits should the fabled Big One strike the Tokyo area. If you could take 10 items with you as you ran out the door, what would they be? Here's my top 10 list:

1. Water
   
2. Chocolate 
3. Sleeping bag
   
4. Rain coat (rainy season is soon)
5. Clarks shoes (one pair of)
6. Tent
7. Toilet paper
8. Swiss Army penknife
9. Torch
10. My copy of Practical English Usage by Michael Swan

(One of the above items is not really that useful.... the penknife doesn't have a corkscrew on it.)

Out of the red, into the black

The Japanese are pretty superstitious. They don't like the number four, as in Japanese it sounds like the word for death, and I think six is unlucky too, though I have forgotten why. They also don't like their names written in red. I knew this, but I didn't know why until yesterday, when all I had to hand was a red pen to sign a receipt for a student. She told me that red ink was the colour that the wartime government used for conscription papers. If you got a "red letter" in the post it meant you were likely to be sent to your death in some far off jungle. I promptly found a black pen to fill out her receipt.

Rohan Atticus Sisodia

Life has a habit of turning up tremendous highs, and devastating lows. In my own life, some of the highs have been meeting Yoshie, buying our first house, and of course, the birth of my two daughters. Then there have been the lows, the worst of which was the death of my mother after a harrowing battle with lung cancer. But these highs and lows happened over the space of more than a decade. Spare a thought for my old friend from school days, Mrunal. He and his wife, Clare, had been trying for a long time to have children. What should have been the happiest day of their lives, the birth of twin boys on Monday, February 25, 2008, was tempered with worry as they were born 15 weeks premature. But, mum and dad remained hopeful that their little ones, Rohan and Arun, would gain strength and eventually be allowed out of hospital for a triumphant homecoming. It wasn't to be. After 64 days and 12 hours, Rohan died battling a lung infection. In the words of his parents: "We will remember the happiness that he brought us: the way that his little hands held onto our fingers; the way his bewildering and sparkling eyes looked out onto the world; the way he liked his forehead stroked; and the way he recognised our voices as we read to him." He received excellent care at University College London Hospital's baby unit and to thank the doctors and nurses, and to remember Rohan, Mrunal has set up a memorial fund to raise money for the unit. If you would like to make a donation, click here and fill out the online credit/debit card form. It is totally safe and may help others in the same awful situation. Meanwhile, Mrunal says his life is now simple. If Arun has a good day, he has a good day. Arun has many battles ahead of him, but the day he makes it out of hospital will be the happiest in Mrunal's life. Here's wishing for my friend's happiness.

Fruits of our labour

Sunday will be known as the Day of the Strawberry for all the youngsters in our neck of the woods. About 30 kids, a gaggle of mums and two dads (one was me) joined the annual neighbourhood pilgrimage to the local pick-your-own strawberry farm on the other side of the lake. After a 30-minute trek over the bridge, and an equally long time for toilet breaks, we were set loose on the rows of strawberries. Japanese pick-your-own differs from the English equivalent in one vital way - in Japan you have to eat what you pick there and then - they gave everyone a little plastic tray with condensed milk on one side (for dipping) and space on the other for the inedible green tips. You'd be surprised how many strawberries you can consume in 30 minutes. Frankly, if I never see another strawberry for the rest of the summer, I'll be happy.  

A piece of cake...

Constant worry, excruciating noise levels and never enough time for yourself... it's not easy being two. Well, those days are long gone now for little Emma, who isn't so little any more - she was three as of yesterday and we had a little party to celebrate. For more pictures of her skating through the living room/children's classroom see the slideshow at the right. Now, can everyone please BE QUIET, I'VE GOT SOME LESSONS TO PREPARE! 

Near misses with greatness

In a lesson today featuring the present perfect, the question came up "Have you ever met anyone famous?" While I didn't bore my students with old war stories, I thought I might risk boring you, dear readers, as you can escape at the click of a mouse, rather than having to wait politely for the end of the lesson. Actually, I haven't met anyone really famous, but I've had a handful of near misses - the Queen drove past me at high speed when I was a primary school student during her Silver Jubilee year in 1977; while inter-railing  around Europe I saw Yasser Arafat in the distance in Vienna, and while on a sightseeing tour to Philadelphia, I swear I saw the Dalai Lama go in to Independence Hall ahead of me. My greatest near miss, though, was while covering the visit of then President Bill Clinton who was opening a Sherwood, Arkansas, school named after him in 1994. While waiting for the Secret Service to allow us out of the school campus I nipped out for a quick cigarette (an evil habit that I have since renounced). When I retook my seat at the back of the auditorium, my editor said, "Where have you been? The President and Hillary just swung by and shook my hand." Dang. Another near miss. 

Grandma's party

I had nice chat with one of my students tonight about her grandmother. They went off together to spend two nights in a mountain ryokan - a traditional Japanese inn (that means rice husk mats and futons to sleep on; fish, fermented soy beans and a raw egg for breakfast). My student, in her 30s, slept in the same room as her grandmother, in her 80s, and had to adjust her body clock to her older companion's sleep patterns. This was fine for the holiday, but when she got back to working in Tokyo, she found herself getting sleepy before 10pm and wide awake at 5:30am. It got me thinking about my American Grandma. She was a politically astute Arkansan who saw out the defining moments of the 20th Century - America's Century - The First World War, Great Depression, Second World War and Cold War. She brought up three children, one of whom was my mother, and lived through some astounding changes in the US South, including the Civil Rights movement and she joined the march of women from behind the sink to their place in the office. I used to visit her every Wednesday night in the early 1990s. I would bring her copies of my latest opinion columns, and she would feed me dinner (I definitely got the better end of the deal there). Then we would sit down and watch a little of the McNeal/Lehrer Newshour on PBS and she would nod wisely when a Democrat was on and scowl when a Republican spoke. Roosevelt's New Deal policies had kept her family in food and, in return, she was a Democrat for the rest of her life. Her proudest possession in her latter days was a Christmas card signed by President Bill Clinton, thanking her for her contributions to the party. The feeling, I'm sure, was mutual.

Back to base in one piece

Poor little Emma. She may be nearly three, but still the youngest member of the household works hard everyday in the playgroup, distributing felt shapes, collecting cardboard steering wheels from toddlers after "Wheels on the Bus" and gets a full aerobic workout thanks to daily doses of "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" and "Hokey Cokey". So, after lessons this afternoon, I thought it would be nice to take her out with her sister to the big playground by the lake. She loved it, of course, and enjoyed sitting in the back seat of the shopping bike to get there. But on the way back home, her eyelids got heavy and I felt her head slump forward into the small of my back, like a bomber rear-gunner knocked out by enemy bullets. The journey back to base became a perilous one as I had to steer the suddenly unresponsive craft over difficult terrain, conscious that if I hit any turbulence my casualty would plummet to the ground. We limped home, escorted by Katherine, but after a good two hours' R&R, Emma was fine, just a little grumpy because she thought she had missed dinner.

Auspicious, epochal, farcical

This time of year is auspicious for the Sherriff womenfolk. My wife, sister, stepmother and youngest daughter were all born within two weeks of each other (although on different years). Being the gentleman that I am, I wouldn't dream of revealing my wife's age, but let's just say that yesterday, Yoshie celebrated one of those epochal coming-of-age type ages, but managed to keep her excitement in check to pop out for a spot of clothes shopping and tea drinking while I slaved away at the chalkface. Anyway, amid all the excitement of that, the relegation of my hometown football team, and the spicy Italian we had for dinner (a pizza, that is), I somehow missed the other big story from Britain... the Labour Party imploding in the local elections. Now, dear reader, as a general rule I never heed any political observations from a commentator 6,000 miles from his subject, and I wouldn't expect you to from me, but may I just state for the record, ahem, PULL YOUR FINGER OUT GORDON! How bad things must be if Labour polled third behind the twit-led Tories and the rudderless Lib Dems. And Boris Johnson is mayor of London? It's almost enough to make you want to emigrate.

Had my fill

We've had a lovely weekend, I spent Saturday night in downtown Tokyo supping a beer or two and scoffing some not bad tandoori chicken with former Daily Yomiuri colleagues, and then on Sunday we had a great time with our friends from Kamakura chomping through some yaki nikku (cuts of beef and any vegetables left in the fridge, fried on a hot plate on the dinning room table), when I just thought I'd check out the internet and see how Leicester City Football Club were doing, and blow me if they haven't got themselves relegated to the old third division, their worst position in history. It wasn't so long ago that I was supping a beer in Takadanobaba (although it sounds like something James Brown would shout into the microphone, it is actually a suburb of Tokyo) watching LCFC take on Spurs for the League Cup (which the mighty Foxes managed to miss out on then). I suppose it's only justice after the schadenfreude of seeing Nottingham Forest fall through the same trap door a couple of seasons ago. It's all too depressing to dwell on, so here are some pretty pictures to look at instead.

Teganuma lake. The odd-looking Mosque-like building is actually a water museum.

Emma/Snow White in our front garden. 

Two little mermaids on a rock beside the lake. 

Best things in life are free

I've had a few good freebies in my time as a journalist.

• I've sat in the back of a C-130 Hercules as it lowered its back door and a squad of paratroopers jumped out
• I've flown in the rear gunner seat of a World War II Japanese Val dive-bomber in a re-enactment of the Battle of Pearl Harbor (this was for the Tora Tora Tora air show in Little Rock, so there were a few historical inaccuracies, such  as the US Air Force winning the battle, but I digress...)
• I've had a press trip to the French Pyrenees mountains
• and my shelves have always been groaning under the weight of hot-off-the-press review copies of books.

So it has come as a pleasant surprise to discover that even in my new life as a teacher there are quite a few freebies, and these are all the better because they are gifts given freely, without strings attached. Recently, students have given me Blue Mountain coffee, Harrod's tea, apple cookies, Korean seaweed, sweeties from Tokyo Disneyland and a tin of biscuits from Hong Kong Disneyland. But today's haul has been among the best. I got two bags of delicious mange tout picked by the fair hand of one of my students from her allotment at 6.30am today, and then two half-litre bottles of home brew reminiscent of the great beers you could get at that real ale joint between The Dolphin and The Bless in Derby city centre (the name escapes me) from the mother of one of my five-year-old students. We fried the mange tout and supped the beer for dinner. Cheers!

Who's your horse?

Hey, there're only 185 days left to vote in the US Presidential elections, so who's your horse? Billy's Filly at 5-1, Barack Beauty at 4-1 or Vets' Dear John at 15-1? You can vote in the poll on the right, and no one will check your citizenship papers or your dimples after you've pulled the lever. Oh, and you are free to change your vote as the days draw in to polling day. Not sure what the margin of error for this poll is, probably astronomical. Now, I've got to get on with planning some lessons for tomorrow... 

View from the floor

The trouble with blogging is I get tired of my views all the time, so here is a selection of views from my almost-three-year-old, Emma, which she snapped before I could wrestle the digital camera away from her sticky hands.

Dad and big sister

Big sister and big window

My big leg

Big sister's little nap

Big Buddha and a big thumb

Double take

I just finished reading The Double by Jose Saramago (rhymes with Mr Magoo) about a hapless history teacher whose life is turned upside down when he spots his doppelganger, a bit part actor in the Portuguese film industry. Our everyman hero becomes obsessed with meeting him to discover who is the duplicate, and who the original. It's quite a funny book and the author frequently breaks naturalistic literary conventions by popping his head round the door to remind readers about an important point or plot development that we might have missed in the previous chapter. Did I mention that it was excellently translated into English from the Portuguese by Margaret of Dad and Margaret fame (see glossary)? My only quibble with the book is the author's irrational hatred of quote marks and his incredibly long sentences and endless paragraphs. Think I write long paragraphs? Try reading a whole chapter without a line break or full stop for company. Still,old Jose won the Nobel Prize for Literature, so I guess he can do what he likes with the language.

Who was that masked man?

I've had a bit of a cough since Tuesday, but today Yoshie had finally had enough of it and ordered me to the doctors. So, after lessons finished we trundled over to the local hospital (marginally bigger than a UK GP's clinic) which specialises in stomach ailments, but has a drop-in service even for folk with perfectly fine stomachs. Upon entering and telling the receptionist of my condition, I was issued with a thermometer and a surgeon's mask. Fortunately, she didn't expect me to remove any ulcers, just didn't want me infecting anyone else in the waiting room as I stuck the thermometer under my arm. Five minutes later I was in the surgery and was preparing for the fifth degree (it's not unknown to have to give blood, urine and stool samples). The poster on the wall with a variety of pictures of female genital warts didn't exactly settle my stomach. So, I was quite relieved when the doc addressed me in good English (he had lived in Milwaukee for two years) to tell me, very GP-like, I was suffering from a cough and if I insisted I could have an x-ray and blood test as the doctors were going on holiday from tomorrow, but really I had nothing to worry about as I had no temperature. He recommended some pills to deal with the symptoms and to come back in a week, after their holiday, if I still had a cough. Wow, not even a stethoscope in sight. After being given the prerequisite bits of paper, I popped over the road to a building smaller than some garages I've seen, in which seven pharmacists were toiling away. They toiled away some more and provided me with three sets of pills. The cost to me of seeing the doctor? ¥1,170 - about five pounds, and the medicine was ¥600. And I got to keep the mask too, which I wore all the way home, until Yoshie told me to take it off, I wasn't that poorly. Picture by Emma-chan.