How Aura Dazed

Look what I've done! I've only gone and built a bloody blog, haven't I! Because the world clearly
needs more blogs, and I need a shrine dedicated to myself and how great I am.

Honestly. I've been waiting many years for someone to set one up for this purpose. But as
always, all the really important work is left to me. Outrageous.

"But Alex, why such a gibberish blog title?" I hear you cry. Well, I fancied something nonsensical
and weird that people could wonder about. Who is Aura, I hear you cry? Who did she daze and
why did she do it? Did they lock her up for it?

Aura, the internet tells us, is a feminine name originating from Greek mythology. She was the
Titan goddess of fresh cool air in the early morning and (because even goddesses get
hangovers sometimes and fancy a lie-in) breezes in general.

Dazed is fun, too. It is rarely used in a conventional S-V-O structure. "She dazed him with her
fist" is something you will only encounter on Urban Dictionary and maybe in some very badly
written Fanfiction. It is considered far more correct to be dazed by something. "I was dazed by
the glare of the snow" is one such example offered by Merriam-Webster. Preposterous. Snow
doesn't glare. That would be terribly judgemental.

Well, anyway. Here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

Shin Okubo - "How kind of you to come and see me!"

Haruki sits in his bar, which is located in the tangled mess of alleyways behind Shin Okubo
station on the Yamanote line in central Tokyo. He is waiting to interview someone for a part time
job, and she is 20 minutes late. This does not worry Haruki unduly because the person he is
waiting to see is English, Anyway, despite the fact Haruki is Japanese, he is not overly
obsessed with time keeping.

Outside the bar, Aura is staring at the door, which cheerfully proclaims: "How kind of you to
come and see me! My English is not very good, but I will do my best to explain the menu." The
words have been painted on with much care, though by an inexperienced hand. Aura doesn't
notice this. She just thinks it's a lot of writing to paint onto a door. Chimes tinkle cheerily as she
pushes it open.

"Hello?"
"Aaaah. Konnichiwa! It is nice to meet you desu ne!"
"Des?"
"Eh?"
"I'm Aura."
She points at herself, as if to illustrate the point to a child, and puts on her best Japanese
accent.
"AURA."
Or what she thinks is a Japanese accent, anyway.
"Hai. Soudesune. Ah. English! That's right, desu ne!"
"Who is Des?"
"Eh?"
"Des. Who is he? Is it a group interview?"
Haruki processes this for a second, and then laughs.
"Yes! Is job interview!"
He smiles and gestures grandly. He has been a barman for twenty odd years, and he can do
charm in any language.
"Please. Sit!"
"Thanks."
Ignoring the basket meant for bags, she slings her rucksack onto the floor and settles herself
onto a barstool.
Haruki smiles. He pushes across a bowl of raw beans. God, Haruki, no. They'll be wasted on
her.
Mind you, she's eating them already, with gusto. Barely taking the time to shell each pod. And
she hasn't even said 'thank you'.
"Thank you."
Well, all right. I was wrong, then. Sue me.
"You like edamame?"
"Huh?"
"This? You… you like… this … snack?"
"Hell yeah. "
"You here long time in Japan?"
"Yeah. Six" (oh God, look, she's holding up the fingers and everything) "SIX years!"
"Uh. How old are you?"
She is shocked at the question.
"Haruki. In England, it's very rude to ask a lady her age."
"Oh… I am sorry. I…"
"I'm 30. So, I'm looking for a nice, casual bar job. Just for a while, obvs. Just for now. This place
is nice."
She looks around the dingy one-room space. There's barely enough room to seat eight people.
Look at her, casting her judgemental glances over the old wooden cuckoo clock, the dirty wood
signs on the walls that dictate the menu, and the two chipped bowls on the floor in the corner.
Haruki nods earnestly.
"Very popular bar. At night, always full. And, we in Shin Okubo. Many foreigners. So, need
English native speaker, I think. Wait." Haruki stops for a second. His brow furrows. "The thought
was in the past. Now finished, and not imaginerary. So, past tense." He grins. "This bar need
English native speaker, I thought."
His English is better than his front door pretends, actually, although not by much.
"Haruki mate, I'm your girl. Just gimme a chance and I'll work wonders on this place. They'll be
queuing down the street. You wait and see."
"You can teach me... fluent... English?"
Well, that was quick, wasn't it? Bit premature, really, since we're still struggling over tenses.
"Wait, what? I thought it was a bar job?"
"Un, hai, sure, desu ne. Bar job is. But, also… teach me, please?"
"I don't come cheap. Gonna be frank with you, Haruki, and I know I've not mentioned it before,
but I got a lotta experience teaching English."
"Eh?"
"ME … VERY GOOD… ENGLISH TEACHER! You need my help big-time."
"Ah?"
You know where we can start? That front door of yours. Terrible English."
"Eh? 'How kind of you to come and see me?' Is not correct?" He looks crushed.
"It's awful! Well... " she pauses to work out what she wants to say. "It's not wrong. Just sounds
like something me granny would say."
"But is correct English?"

"Oh! Where you teach… in the past, not imaginery... taught English?"
This should be good.
"In Spain. They got a big international school over there. I did five years there."
"Oh! Five years. Long time!"
His barman persona is kicking in now. You watch him. He doesn't understand much because
she talks at the speed of light, but he knows when and how to react. And he has enough English
to pretend he can understand.
"Bartending work not good money," he says, making a wobbly hand gesture. "One shift, 8000
yen."
"OK. How long is a shift?"
He makes a face. "Maybe eight, ten hours. English class better. Two hours each day, before
shift. 6000 yen. Both jobs, Wednesday to Sunday. Every week, five days. OK?"
"OK, wait…" she looks around. "Can I use the bathroom?"
"Eh? Oh, toilet! Of course. Douzo... "
He refills the edamame bowl while she's in there, he pours her a glass of water, and waits
somewhat nervously for her to return.
After a while, she is back, her hands wet.
"I'll take it," she says. "Both jobs."
His face splits into an enormous smile.
"Sugoi ureshii desu. Cash OK?"
"Cash preferred, actually."
"Eh?"
"Yes. Cash is fine. Cash is good."

I give you cell phone number."

She hesitates for a second, then gets her smartphone out. The calculator app is still visible on
the screen - 10000x20. Clearly, she's not much cop at maths either. And her hands are covered
with mosquito bites.
She finds her contacts list and taps his number in. Then, she's not entirely sure how to proceed.
"Start now?" he says, hopefully.
"What?"
"Now start? Start now? Which is better?"
It takes her a moment to work out what he means.
"You mean, 'Can we start today?'" she guesses.
"Yes, this!" he says, enthusiastically. "Ah, my speaking is not good…"
"All right. Well, what d'yah wanna focus on in your English?"
"Eh?"
"I mean, how do you want to … make your English better?"
"Ah, I see! I want to speak like native speaker and make fewer mistakes."
"Less mistakes."
"Eh?"
"And don't keep saying 'eh.' Say 'pardon'."
"Ah. 'Pardon'? Is that right?"
"Actually, it sounds weird when you say it. Say 'I'm sorry' or 'wot', OK?"
"Eh? What sorry for?"
"No, I mean, like. "'I'm sorry?'" She demonstrates the rising inflection.
Haruki looks a bit lost now.
"Why sorry?"
"Never mind. It's 'less mistakes.' Not 'fewer mistakes.'"
"Ah. I see. Please explain me, when to use fewer?"
"Just... don't, really."
"But there is rule? I learnt it when I … ah." Haruki's brow furrows for a moment. Aura waits
patiently while he mutters, "It happened in the past, everyday, and not imaginary, so... past
continuous tense, desho. I was learning it when I was attending junior high school."
"What's junior high school?"
"Eh?"
"No, not eh. I'm sorry," she says, raising a finger.
"Oh! Wakatta. I see! I'm sorry," he says. "Wait. I'm sorry?" He gets the inflection right this time.
"Good! Nice one! What's junior high school?"
"I'm sorry? Junior high school is… chu-gakkou. Middle school, yes?"
Aura ponders for a moment. "No. We never say that in English. We say 'primary school' and
'secondary school.' And then there's nurseries. But you prob'ly weren't learning English at
nursery school, right?"
"14 years old school?"
"Secondary school, then. Japanese don't always translate well into English, see? I mean, it
prob'ly translates into 'junior high school' literally. But you mean secondary school."
"I'm sorry? What is 'literally'?
She thinks for a moment. "It means, like, exact. Exact meaning."
"Ah! Original meaning, I understand! Ah. Can you tell me when use 'fewer'?"
Oh, her forehead has creased. She was hoping he'd forgotten, haha! Nope, he's like a dog with
a bone when he has something on his mind. Can't abide dogs myself. Barky, smelly animals.
"Right," she says, finally. "The things is… you use 'fewer' when it's… for…"
"Yes?"
"Drinks. And liquids. Such like. Like, 'I was hungover, so I drank fewer cocktails'."
"Ah, wakatta! This makes sense! Or, 'It was hot, so I drank fewer tea."
"Uh… yeah. That's right. So… what else d'you wanna know?"
"OK. Well, maybe I tell you my self-introduction and you correct my English, OK?"
"Alright, go on, then."
"Well, I was living in Tokyo."
"Live."
"Pardon? I'm sorry. I'm sorry?"
"You live in Tokyo."
"Ah. I see. So, "I"? I live in Tokyo?"
"Very good!"
" - for eleven years."
"Oh. You wanna say 'I have lived in Tokyo for eleven years.'"
"But you just said live!"
"I didn't know you were gonna say 'for eleven years.'"
"I'm sorry? Oh, I see. Well, I have lived in Tokyo for eleven years. Then, when I was twelve, I
moved to Saitama. OK?"
He catches her eye. There is the briefest fragment of a pause.
"Uhm… OK!" she says, brightly.
"Because my father's job."
"Nice sentence, Haruki! You literally blew my brain off with your brilliant English!"
"Wait again, please. 'Literally'? I exact meaning blew your brain off?"
"God, no! It's a figure of speech!"
"Literally is figure of speech?"
"Sometimes."
The edamame bowl is empty again. Haruki refills it.
"You remind me of my son."
"I'm not your son," she says, a little haughtily.
"No, I not mean you are exactly my son. But similar. He is 16."
"Well, I'm 28. Totally different."
"Eh? You not… it is the present tense, happening everyday, so present continuous tense… you
not looking 28."
"26, I said."
"Ah. Sorry. I misheard. But still… you not looking 26."
"You are not looking 26. I've just got really good skin. Me mam always says so."
"Your man? You have husband?"
"God, no! Haha, that would be funny! I'm, like, only 20!"
She gasps, clasps her hands over her mouth. The pose, in combination with the ridiculous
make-up, makes her look like a cartoon character.
Haruki's eyes widen.
"You are 20?"
"Yes! No! I… it was a joke. I'm 24!"
"I think you are… you have been… yes, it happened in the past, is continuing now, so perfect
continuous tense... you have been lying to me since you came here!"
"No!"
"Then what? First you say 30. Later, 28. Later, 26. Later, 20. Now, 24! How old are you?"
"I'm 24! I swear, I'm not a day over 22! No, that's a lie as well. I'm 20. I'm 20. I lied. I'm sorry."
"I see. Teaching five years at Spanish international school?"
"I lied. I'm sorry. I'm a liar." Her eyes are glistening. Big tears gathering around the lids,
threatening to cascade over her cheeks.
"Why?" he says. He hasn't raised his voice, but there is a new intensity to it. "Why lying so
much? Why waste my time?"
"Because I NEED a job! OUCH!" Finally, she's shouting. She has wanted to for a while. You can
tell by the way she stood up dramatically, smashed her head on one of the low-hanging ceiling
lights, and collapsed back onto the barstool. Bloody hell, that looks a bit nasty...
Haruki takes pity on her, the big softie. He takes a pack of tissues from under the bar - one of
the free packs they're always giving away outside Shinjuku station - and opens it
sympathetically. Gradually, the sobs subside. Haruki has enough experience as a bartender to
know not to interrupt a good cry. He sits there, patiently. It takes time, but eventually she's
sitting up again. The thick make-up is all smeary. It seems she was covering up yet more
mosquito bites with it.
"Start again, ok?"
She hiccups and takes a gulp of water.
"No lies. How long have you been in Japan?"
"Three weeks."
"Why do you need a job?"
"No money. I can't get home."
"England is home?"
She nods, then takes a deep breath - one of those shuddering ones that suggests more tears
aren't far away.
"OK, you came on vacation?"
"Mmhn."
"Who with?"
"With my girlfriend. We were gonna travel Asia. It was gonna be romantic. But we had a fight an'
she left me here in Japan. Think she's in India now. I… I don't know! She took all the money an'
just… left me here! I love her. And she said she loves me. Why would she do that to me if she
loves me? I can't even afford a hostel. I've been sleeping in the park! Living off free samples
they give out at department stores."
"Wait. Your friend left you in Japan? She left you living in a park?"
"My girlfriend. Y'know? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?"
"You have girlfriend?" God, he's building up to something here.
"Had," she corrects him, looking ready to dissolve into tears again.
"You are lesbian?"
Christ, it's so far off his radar.
"Yes! That OK with you?"
"I'm sorry. I not understood is all."
Haruki sucks his teeth - the sound of a man who knows there are many things wrong and is
trying to work out which way round to deal with them. He opts for the obvious one first.
"Aura. Why not tell your parents? They help you get home."
Aura looked scandalized.
"I can't do that!" she said. "I… haven't told my mum I'm still in Japan. I can't tell her I cheated on
April and she found out and broke up with me! Mum still thinks we're in India together."
"She thinks you are in India?"
"Yes!"
"What you are telling her?"
"Stuff about India."
"What kind? What about?"
"Well… stuff about… the heat? An' there's a little girl at the hotel called Pom Pom who keeps
picking flowers fer me an' calling me Little Mother. She's called Pom Pom 'cos I don't even know
any Indian names."
Haruki lets out a deep breath.
"Aura. I also have… wait, it is 'to have a feeling' yes? So the present perfect is 'have had'?"
"I think we've established I don't know what the tenses are," she groans. "I'm so fucking
useless, I can't even teach me own language."
"But I can say 'have had?'"
"Sure. Why not?" She's not even trying now.
"I will never know this language. So, I have had had the feeling of wanting to not face your
parents. But if you 20, you not… wait, imaginary but future but present… You should not work in
bar. No work visa, see? Is difficult."
She gulps.
"But I will take your English lesson." She looks up, hardly daring to believe it.
"You will?"
"Hai. Two hours each day. For this, we find you accommodation and food, because you cannot
continue to be sleeping in the park. Look at you! You are covered in bug bites and your hair is
terrible."
"Oh my God. Haruki. You would do that?"
"Mochiron. I would do it. Now, my friend Shinji. He own hostel in Shin Okubo. Free room is ok.
You teach me English. You clean his hostel. Fair trade?"
"Can I clean up in here, too? How about I paint you a new sign for your door?"
Haruki smiles. For the first time, he looks… old. Less like a twinkly bar-elf and more like a
middle-aged man who is a little bit tired of life.
"The door… no change," he says, simply. "And after one month English lessons and cleaning, I
pay your airplane ticket to England. OK?"
She looks dumbfounded. "Haruki. Why would you do that?"
"This reason, I explain now. Because I tell you I have son. He is 16. Your ages are close. His
English very good. I think when he will be 20, he will be also travelling." He smiles at the
thought. "Where he will go, I not know. Maybe New York or Michigan in the US."
"Michigan? Why Michigan?"
"He is fond of lighthouses. In Michigan, there are some excellent ones. But still, if he need help
when travelling, I should like if he can find it."
"Gosh."
"There is one final condition," Haruki says.
"I'm not going to date your son, if that's what you're asking."
"Par-sorry? What? Date my son? Ahaha, I think you would kill him!" he smiles. "He is very
organized person. No - you must tell your parents you in Japan. OK? Very important."
She looks taken aback.
"Tell them? What? Why?!"
"They your parents. They need to know!"
"They don't need to know anything about me! I'm an adult."
Yeah? With that pout? Dream on.
"Adults not needed to go sneaking around and not telling people! Adults happy to explain
decisions and choices to their own parents. They can… jus… justi…"
"Justify?"
"Justify, yes, thank you, they can justify their own decisions! You ought tell them yourself, before
they find you out that you not in India. The reason for this, I explain! When you tell lie, and
person finds out, they lose much respect of you. You tell lie, and then say 'I'm sorry, I told lie,'
they only lose bit of respect for you. Right?"
She is silent for a moment. Then… "Yes."
"It's right? The English?"
"Yes. No! The English was horrible. But you are right."
Looks like the old blighter finally got through to her.
"My girlfriend broke up with me 'cos I lied to her," she says, heavily. "It was… so stupid. I knew
that she knew that I was lying, an' I still kept doing it. Urgh."
She gets up. Sits down. Like some sort of weird jack-in-the-box, complete with clown make-up.
"Why do I do it?"
Haruki's brow wrinkles… he wonders what kind of sentence has two instances of 'do' in it.
"Haruki… why do you wanna learn English so bad?"
"My son speak good English," he says, simply. "Shall we restart lesson?"
He has placed some white A4 pages on the bar.
"Uhm, yes!" Aura says, a watery smile breaking through. "I like correcting your English!"
"Ah, thank you, but this not my English. Sometimes I have online conversation with experience
English learner."
"Native speaker?"
"Not native… Japanese."
"Oh. These don't look like conversations though."
"Conversations, no. They… online stories."
"Fanfiction?"
"Eh? I'm sorry?"
"These online stories are fanfiction! Did you write them?"
"No. From my friend."
He snatches them back up again, looking bashful and awkward.
"Maybe is not good idea to read…"
"Haruki." Check her out, she's regaining some of that old confidence. She's going to demand to
read them. Mark my words.
"Let me read them."
Told you.
Reluctantly, he stops trying to stuff them under the bar counter.
"They quite…" He fumbles for the word, but he doesn't need it. He's gone brick red, hah,
hilarious.
"Rude? Explicit?"
He doesn't understand. Aura leans in closer to whisper.
"Lots of sex?"
Poor Haruki. It's all way too much for him now. Look at the way he is standing, hunched over
that bar, gripping the edges as if hanging on in a fierce storm.
It's Aura who takes pity this time.
"Why don't you read me some of the phrases you don't understand, then?"
"Ah. Yes. This is good idea."
His eyes scan the page.
"What is scooched?"
"What?"
"Yes, scooched. He scooched up next to him on the mossy floor."
"Sounds saucy."
"Sorry?"
"Scooched. It's like… 'get closer to'."
"Ah! I understand. And the next one… what is 'smoochies'?"
"Uh… a smooch is like… a passionate kiss."
"Oh. What is passionate?"
"Like a super long kiss."
"Huh."
Haruki flicks onto the next page. Then the next.
"Ah, can you tell me please. What is 'deep throating'?"
"Erm... maybe that's one for Google."
"Soudesuka… how about, if not too rude… hornsplay?"
"Hornsplay?"
"It not in any dictionary."
"I'm not sure… mebbe… maybe, well, a horn is something you get on a rhino?"
"What is - "
"- or a unicorn?"
"Ah!" Haruki nods vigorously, his glasses bouncing down on his moonlike face. "This…
everything explain."
"Does it? Are you sure?"
"Yes. Character in this story is unicorn."
"What?"
"Is based on popular Japanese anime."
"You don't wanna... let me hear it in context?"
But Haruki is quite excited now.
"Thank you! Big help."
"Cheers. Haruki, why do you read all this stuff? Are you gay?"
His eyes widen at the very sound of the word.
"No!"
"It's fine, y'know. I told you about me girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend, I suppose. I dunno, it's
complicated. But, you know, if ya wanna talk about it… I know it's not easy coming out of the
closet."
"I'm not gay!"
"It's fine! You'll feel better when you've done it! Come on, Haruki! Come on out of that closet!
Tell me you're as gay as a Christmas tree with all it's lights on! I know it's hard 'cos you're
Japanese and you don't even have Christmas. But you can tell me 'cos I'm a Westerner and we
have Christmas and reindeers and sexuality and Rudolf wouldn't have been able to guide all
them reindeer if he'd stayed in the closet!"
"This not written by me. This written by my son."
At last, he's said it. About bloody time too. She would've gone on all day, the ignorant cow.
"Your son?"
"Yes. His name is Tomoki." He shows her the name on the top page of the printed fanfiction.
"Real life name, Tomoki. But online, he 'UnicornLoveChild'. His English, much better than mine.
He write this all in English. Stays secret. He not know I found it on internet."
Aura's face has sort of fallen open, and her jaw is flapping about like a big fish in a net.
"You stalked your own son online? Haruki, that's… that's totally bonkers, man! I'd go mad if my
parents did that to me. What about his privacy?"
"He have nothing but privacy! All day long in room! He never come out when I there! But, I tell
you, two monthes ago, I come home and find him in kitchen, he is making cookies! And singing!
I did not know he know where the oven is! But he not talk to me! He go straight to room! You not
have child. You not have child who is teenager. You never understand. I only want to know my
Tomoki again." He sighs. "Let's see… started in past, but already finished, so past perfect… we
had spent family time together. Tomoko, I, and his mother. We had had family time. We had had
love. Now, he never speak me."
Ooooh, that's been a long time coming. If only you'd seen him the day after the cookie incident.
Stomping around this little bar like he owns the place, just because he happens to own the
place. And it hasn't faded, neither. All those emotions, boiling and broiling away. Oh, he's good
at his little bar-elf act when other people are around, sure. But when he's alone, it all goes to
pieces. Literally, if he starts chucking glasses at the walls.
Aura doesn't seem as shocked by this outburst as one might expect. She leans forward.
"You mean 'used to', she says, slowly. Finally she's actually grading her language.
"What?"
"We used to have family time. We used to eat dinner together. I think that's what you meant."
"Thank you."
"What does his mum say? Your wife? Does he talk to her?"
Haruki shakes his head and laughs sadly. "She say nothing. She dead."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
She's not sure where to go from here. But she knows all the cliches. Watches all the rom coms,
this one, I bet.
"Was it sudden?"
Told you.
"Eh?"
"Was it… quick?"
"It take long time. This why Haruki can not talk to Tomokun. But, Teru can talk to him."
"Who is Teru?"
"Not real. Fake person. Teru lives Sapporo - north Japan. He likes fanfiction of Tomoki.
Encourage him to enter writing competitions. Talks about his mother. Make Tomoki feel better."
He blinks.
"What is wrong with doing that for my own son?"
Isn't it funny how most people are capable of sorting out other people's problems while
simultaneously being unable to fix their own stupid behaviour?
"Haruki, you know this ain't right. It's not right. Like you said to me. 'If you were an adult, you
wouldn't need to be sneaking around.' Remember that five minutes ago?
"Yes. This I know. But this different! I help him by lying."
"When I lied to my girlfriend," she says, speaking slowly and clearly, "I thought I was doing the
right thing. I thought I was protecting her from something that didn't matter. Just because it
didn't matter to me, I assumed it wouldn't matter to her. But guess what? It did matter. That's
why she did her best to find out about it. Tomoki will do the same to Teru, trust me. And he is
gonna lose a LOT of respect for you, Haruki."
But I… happened in the past, still happening, not imaginary… I am caring for him."
"We say, "I care for him."
"No, I think it must be past perfect continuous tense. It not always have been… perfect."
"But it does sound like it has always been continuous." She finishes the sentence for him.
"That's exactly why you need to tell him, Haruki. This ain't… isn't going to last forever, is it? One
day, he's gonna want to fly up to Sapporo and meet Teru, and what will you do then? You need
to tell him the truth, and apologise."
"Well… yes. But I don't know he will ever trust me again."
"You won't. You don't. But you only have each other. If you explain to him and apologise and
maybe buy him all the ice cream in the world, he might just forgive you. Does he like ice
cream?"
"No. It hurts his teeth."
"Then what does he like?"
"I not know anymore!"
"Well. Something, anyway. It's a risk you gotta take."
Haruki leans back against the edge of the bar. He looks exhausted. All this English has probably
fried his brain. It was less stressful watching him throwing glasses at the wall.
"OK. Fine. I will tell him."
"Good."
"But you must tell parents where you are, OK? And you stay at friend's hostel. He check up on
you everyday. And I take your English lesson and buy you ticket. No more sneaking."
"Gotcha. And no more Teru."
"No more Teru. Agreed."
She looks up at the clock on the wall.
"Oh God! It's almost four o'clock! Your time is almost up! You got any questions about today's
lesson?"
"Yes. Where you learn speak English? You are impossible hard to understand sometime."
She throws her head back and laughs.
"Liverpool. Everyone says the accent is a bit tough to catch. Even native English speakers."
"This is not so reassuring, I think."
"Same time tomorrow?"
"Yes. I show you hostel now. You call your parents from there."
"All right. That sounds good."
"Wait. I get my keys. Must lock bar."
She opens the door. She sees the sign that, two hours ago, she thought was ridiculous. It
seems… more agreeable now.
"Aura," he says, as he locks the door.
"Hmm?"
"'How kind kind of you to come and see me'."
She smiles, and they finish the story together.
"My English is not very good, but I'll will do my best to explain the menu."

And as the trains rattle past, a mangy-looking cat pushes itself through the broken airvent in the
side of Haruki's bar. It stretches and scratches its raggedy ear - the one that looks as if it has
been attacked with a pair of pruning sheers. It yawns contentedly, having enjoyed its
entertainment. Then it sets off in the direction of Shinjuku.

Ideas

"How kind of you to come and see me" is the first in a series of short stories based around the
29 stations on the Yamanote Line in Tokyo.

I started with Shin Okubo for the simple reason that I live there. It's the best place I've ever
lived, and there are so many reasons why. Away from the blaring lights and pounding music on
the main strip, there is a tangled mess of backstreets stuffed with foreign supermarkets, Thai
massage parlours, and unexpected restaurants. Street food is a thing (it isn't in most of Tokyo
unless there's a festival) and it's easy to find fresh fish and meat. Shin Okubo edges out into
Hongyington, - unorganised chaos sits comfortably side by side with neat little two or three-
storey houses designed for families. The contrast is wonderful.

The door that inspired the story does exist, though it's closer to Okubo station than Shin-Okubo
station. It's actually the entrance of a small and very reasonably priced izakaya, so the interior is
quite different to how it's described in my story.
English teachers among my readers might well be wondering about Haruki's level of English. I
imagine he was taught some English at junior high school, but speaking would not have been a
tested skill in those days, so he lacks confidence when talking to new people. Beyond that, he
has picked up bits and pieces from the foreigners who go to his bar, so I imagine he has a lot of
"fossilised" mistakes. This doesn't explain how they are talking pretty fluently together by the
end, though. Firstly, he has grown accustomed to Aura's voice, while she has sensibly worked
out she needs to slow down and grade her own language. And secondly, I am going to say I
used the writer's trick: I cheated. Haruki's English is as good as the story needs it to be at any
given point. If I think humour can be derived from a misunderstanding, I will do it. If I think
something helps to construct the characters, I'll do it. But I couldn't have it happening towards
the end. The pacing would have dragged too much.

A confrontation in Ikebukuro
Ah. Look who finally grew some testicals.
Well, you'd know all about those, wouldn't you? Especially other people's.
And a spine, too. That must have taken a considerable amount of effort.
Look, if all you want is an argument…
I don't want an argument. I'm bored of arguing. Anyway, arguments are for people who think
they're right. And nobody thinks they're righter than you. Right?

Robert of Robertsbridge

This here is Robert of Robertsbridge. Robertsbridge is a diddy village in rural Sussex famous for
being close to Battle, and a rather extravagant Bonfire Night.

Robert himself is a former MI6 spy. He lost his wife three years ago just before he retired, which
means he has a lot of free time to do all the things he wants to do in life. Unfortunately, all the
things he wants to do in life, he rather wants to do with her.

So, Robert is left on his own with the skillset of an experienced spy, a relatively healthy body, a
grey moral compass, and a heavy loneliness weighing on his heart. This peculiar combination
has led to him taking up a variety of unsavoury activities to keep himself occupied in his
retirement. ("Mary was unbelievably kind to everyone; she certainly wouldn't have approved of
my little hobby now - tailing people, breaking into their apartments, blackmailing them with my
illicit findings just to see if I can...")

Sometimes, grief crashes through you like a curry from that dodgy Indian restaurant you swore
you'd never go to, no matter how drunk you found yourself on a Saturday night. Sure, it isn't
pretty. And it's not what I would describe as 'fun'. But once it's over, it's over, and everyone can
get on with our lives.
Other times, though, grief burrows into ourselves like a misery maggot that has been on a
hunger strike. We end up apologising for things we haven't done wrong and begging for things
we don't want. It's quite self-destructive. This is exactly the case with Robert of Robertsbridge.

Stuff that contributed to this post...

Fiona Shaw plays a spy in Killing Eve called Carolyn, whose moral ambiguity partly inspired
Robert of Robertsbridge. Carolyn doesn't have a spouse, but Constantine asks her what she
would do if she could never see her son again, which got me thinking about spies and grief.

In a BBC interview, Shaw describes grief both as being "hard" to portray onstage, as well as "a
pretty valuable emotion". These quotes were on my mind while I was drawing Robert.

The umbrella is obviously a reference to the infamous case of Georgi Markov, who was killed by
a lethal container of ricin fired from the tip of - you guessed it - an umbrella. Markov was a vocal
critic of the Bulgarian government. The ricin incident happened on Waterloo Bridge in London
while he was on his way to work.

Robertsbridge is a real place. It's very pretty and I recommend the Bonfire Night, but there isn't
much else to do there. On that subject, I love the idea of a man called Robert choosing to live in
a place called Robertsbridge. Why did he choose to live there? Is it ego?

Edward Huazo

Well, here we are. The journey is at an end. Last week saw the publication of "A Confrontation
in Ikebukuro", which marks the 29th and final story in this series. I mean it. There are no more
stations to write about. Not yet, at any rate…

So, how did this all come about? Last year, the man I was deeply, madly in love with broke up
with me and returned to the United States, never to be seen again. He was quite a unique man -
creative, kinder than anyone I have ever met, incredibly handsome, and killer hair. Then he left.

As he predicted, I was devastated. He broke my heart, and I could not find closure. Of course, I
tried everything - talking to friends, therapy, drinking myself to death. I hated myself for losing
him. But he was definitely gone, and he was not coming back.

Now, don't feel sorry for me - the one thing I really do draw the line at is ingratiating oneself with
a sob story. As my mother says, "It happened. Build a bridge and get over it." This is the mildest
of what she said. Other things sadly can't be printed here. Or anywhere, actually.
Hmm, why am I talking about Edward? Oh yes. Edward is gone. If that particular God-awful
bastard of a cloud has a silver lining (and believe me, it doesn't) it's that I now have the focus,
time, and drive to do whatever I want.

(Of course, the only things I really want to do, I want to do with him. But, it is what it is. Build a
bridge).

I decided to write a story for each station on the Yamanote Line, which is the place where our
relationship ended (Shin Okubo station, to be specific). Between each story, you can find
various pictures, jokes, drawings, articles, and ideas; They are invariably nonsense I would
have sent to Edward over LINE or Facebook, had we still been in touch. It has been very easy
to finish the project. Grief is a powerful motivator, and guilt, even more so. During the writing
process, I imagined that by the end, I would have A) become a better writer and B) found
something that resembled closure.

Well, I don't know if I have achieved the latter. I still hope he will get back in touch with me, one
of these days. But I have 29 stories of the Yamanote Line, and that's good enough for me right
now.

One of the other reasons for this post is that it's time for this blog to end. It was never really
meant to be read by anyone else, only serve as a sort of online notebook for passing fancies,
ideas, and emotions to be looked back on and built on. It has served me well. But now, it's time
to start a blog with a title that isn't an anagram of my ex-boyfriend's name. Fresh start and all!

So get over to Forget What Went to keep up with all of my bollocks.

This is Babinda, the frisky kitty who loves to party. Attending social events is his greatest
passion in life. He adores the whole process - dressing up, buying presents, choosing outfits -
but especially the cooking. Friends beg him for the recipe to his famous Moroccan tagine.

One thing you might notice about Babinda is that his ears are rather large. Some speculate that
he might be part-caracal on his mother's side, but the real reason is rather different. Babinda
isn't very good at catching prey to use in his stews. So, he decided to have ear elongation
surgery so that he could look more like a harmless rabbit. The idea was that small mammals
would be tricked into thinking he was just like them.

Unfortunately, the surgery didn't work for a very simple reason: rabbits are herbivores, and so
they have eyes on the sides of their heads. This helps them spot predators. Predators, on the
other hand, have eyes on the front of their heads. This helps them focus on prey. Poor Babinda
didn't realize it was obvious he was still a cat through-and-through.

However, the ear extensions did have one positive effect. Babinda's ears look simply fabulous
at parties, and his social standing has increased enormously. He now runs a popular soup
kitchen for younger cats who have fallen on hard times.

Stuff behind this drawing

Babinda was drawn a couple of days before I had the caracal conversation with a child on the
telephone. I initially drew him with tufts on his ears, and then I removed them because I wanted
more of a domesticated cat look. Following the caracal conversation, I re-added the tufts to fuel
suspicion about his ancestry. Because, well, caracals are awesome.

The name Babinda means nothing - I thought it sounded suitably dandy-esque for the character.
A Google search tells me it's actually a place in Australia.
Shinjuku

Shinjuku Park Tower. The second largest building in Shinjuku. Home to offices, shops,
restaurants, and, most notably, the Park Hyatt Hotel. By day, the lobby is packed with
salarymen on their way to work. Not at 6am in the morning, though. There's only a sleepy
security guard, snoozing merrily up against the wall, enjoying the -
"Hey, you!"
Enjoying the quiet of the -
"YOU! Wake the fuck up, this is a disgrace."
QUIET of the morning before a day's hard wor -
"EXCUSE ME!"
Kenichi the security guard opens his eyes and blinks blearily, trying to take in the unfortunate
vision before him. Usually, he likes the easy start to the morning shift. Unfortunately, he is
currently being accosted by Fiona Atkya, who has just arrived in Tokyo on a 12-hour flight from
the UK. Her blonde beehive is sagging, her make-up is melting in the August heat, and her
features are arranged in a squint because she hasn't been able to put her contact lenses in.
"I'm looking for the Park Hyatt hotel."
Now, Kenichi doesn't understand English, but he hears the word 'hotel' and ushers the crazy
shouty lady to the stairs up to the second floor.
"Elevator…" he says, vaguely, as if this explains everything.
"It's not exactly easy to find, is it?" she snaps. "Some sort of signage might be a good idea, for
future reference."
Fiona's next unsuspecting victims are on the 29th floor (where she lets out a tremendous fart
that almost stifles the life of the woman who boarded the lift on floor three) and the 39th floor
(where she gets out of the lift, strides across the floor of the check-in lobby, and snarls at a
random receptionist).
"The room is booked under Fiona Atkya."
"OK. Thank you for booking - "
"It's a suite room."
"OK. Thank you for - "
"It's the Governor's Suite. It's for my client."
The receptionist, who has given up trying to interrupt her, merely bats eyelashes heavy with
mascara at her before looking up the booking on the computer. Her fingers fly across the
keyboard. This is Japan, and it doesn't matter how rude or polite you are to the hotel staff - they
will still act with the height of efficiency.
"I see you booked our early check-in option, madam."
"That's right, I need to go in now and inspect it."
"Understood. May I just confirm Madam's name?"
"Atkya. You can spell that, can't you? A - T - K - Y - A."
"Yes, madam, but if you - "
"I mean if you need a mnemonic, you could use 'About To Kick Your Arse,' if you like."
"I'm sorry, I need to see your passport."
"Oh, for God's sake."
Fiona slams it onto the counter and rolls her eyes. Her suit, tailored and lovely though it is, is
itching in very uncomfortable places due to the sweat. Her own hotel, where she has sent her
luggage, is located two streets away. And in Japan, two streets can be an extremely long way.
She desperately needs a bath.
"It seems like it is all in order, madam." The receptionist smiles, stands, bows, and hands back
the passport.
"Thank you," she says, despite herself. "Take me up to the room, please. My client is on his
way."
"As madam wishes. And, your client, what time is he - "

Nate Indigo, former one-quarter of the boy band Voice of Love, is sat in a taxi from Haneda
airport. It's a black one - posh, certainly, but it doesn't have wifi. His fingers caress the
smartphone in his pocket, but he already knows it's useless. He'd tried to access the wifi at the
airport, but it had been too risky. Fiona had left him in the company of a bodyguard before
rushing off to check the hotel. He just has to wait.
There's a small pile of press she gave him to peruse - coverage on the upcoming release of his
first solo album. He picks up a magazine. Flicks through. Throws it back without reading
anything. The pictures look good.
The driver says something in Japanese. They've reached the entrance of the hotel.
Toki Plays Tomb Raider II

Uh, hello… remember me? So, I used to post here a wee bit. Nothing much, a diary of my
experience playing Tomb Raider 2013, really. I tried to do the same thing for Rise, too, but I
found Rise to be EXTREMELY boring, and I couldn't finish it (much less WRITE about it). As for
Shadow, well I did buy it. I did. Honest. I made the effort.
…
Played it? Urm… well, I didn't quite get that far, admittedly. You know how things are.

Anyway, what with having a week off with little to do, I thought I'd revisit my favourite Tomb
Raider game ever: Tomb Raider II. There are no words for the affection I feel for this game. I
just think it's the absolute bee's knees.
"Meet you at the hour of the cow?"

I'm reading Anna Sherman's utterly undefinable The Bells of Old Tokyo at the moment. It's a
spectacular wealth of information, transcending the culture, history, and character of the city,
and I'm a bit in love with it.

In the early chapters, she describes how animals were used to tell the time in ancient Japan -
specifically, the animals of the Chinese Zodiac.

A bit of background is needed to explain the thing properly, so strap yourselves in. The story
goes that the Buddha summoned all the animals in the world to meet with him before he went
off to Nirvana. Only the 12 animals of the Zodiac bothered to turn up, which must have been a
bit of a blow. Poor Buddha. Don't worry, I've had similar problems with birthday parties.

So, the Buddha was so chuffed with the animals that bothered to show up that he divided time
into twelve equal parts and gifted them with two hours each. What I really love about this story is
that there is an abundance of folklore here. Boy, is there folklore! Read this, go on, it's
awesome:

"The Zodiac clock answers questions like, why isn't the cat there? (The mouse didn't wake the
cat [when the Buddha called], so the cat missed out on seeing the Buddha. That's why the cat
and the mouse are enemies.) Why is the mouse first? (It sneaked onto the ox's hoof and
jumped off before the ox could greet the Buddha). Each animal has its own identity and reality to
go with it." (pg. 10, The Bells of Old Tokyo).

"The ox, or cow, has been given the two-hour period from 1 a.m. to 3 a.m… Oxen are
traditionally work animals, so [are] too busy working in the fields during the day to be given extra
duties then. So, they take care of their two hours on the night shift instead." (Japan Times,
Telling the Time with Animals).

This is such a cool idea that I'd like to petition the government to bring it back into force. Just
imagine:

"Dragon Men do an excellent all-you-can-drink offer during the Hour of the Dog."
"All the love hotels are fully booked by the Hour of the Tiger."
"Do not go out at the Hour of the Cow, little Timothy, for that is when the ghosts roam the
streets."
"The train originally due to arrive at the Hour of the Dragon is now due to arrive at the Hour of
the Snake. This is because the train is currently on fire. Passengers are advised not to board
this train."

I imagine the last one would be more useful in the UK though, where trains tend not to be on
time. Imagine. Companies like South Eastern Rail could use the two-hour period to improve
their punctuality records. "It was 90 minutes late, but it's still in the Hour of the Snake,
sooooo…"

But it's not quite that simple. Each two-hour increment of the ancient system was further divided
into four increments of 30 minutes each. "Meet you in Shinjuku station at the third division of the
Hour of the Rabbit" is slightly wordier than, "Meet you in Shinjuku station at 6am."

I believe there would also be concerns over the animals watching over their respective hours as
well. Two hours is a long time to go without a break.

The fox is not a member of the Chinese zodiac, but it is a member of the Celtic zodiac. So,
maybe it could be brought in to do some extra work if it's not too busy with its Celtic stuff? You
know, zodiac moonlighting, that sort of thing?

There's an easy way to counter both of these problems - why don't we add 12 new animals to
the Zodiac to pick up the slack? We'd have to choose carefully, of course, but I'd be perfectly
happy to invent some folklore to explain the Hour of the Duck Billed Platypus (it takes care of
the hour between 6pm until 7pm because that's when people feel at their most… platypussy?)
or the Hour of the Blobfish (2pm until 3pm because I genuinely look and feel like a blobfish after
eating lunch).

Anyhoo, it's approaching the Hour of the Mouse here, so it's time to sleep. See you at the Hour
of the Dragon