But, waaaaay more important than ranting about stuff I can’t change and no-one besides me gives a toss about, my wife said last night, rather flippantly I might add, that if I get first place in the european championships I can buy some new bougu!!!!!!!
SCORE
As you may have guessed from reading this bleeding stump of a blog, I am going back to Europe for 6 days in a little over a fortnight. This is where the trouble begins…
Actually, thats a lie. The trouble began before I even bloody got here with my Visa registration and being told I might be denied if I didn’t have enough money (only wealthy foreigners please! You, yes you, with the hole in your jeans. You might as well not even bother!). But there are other things too. Like the “Alien Registration”, the brand new finger Printing of ALL foreigners coming in to Japan, including the ones with valid visa’s, and the one I am experiencing now, the re-entry permit.
You might have figured this out, but I live in Japan. I have a spouse visa, my wife is Japanese. I work here. This is not enough when temporarily leaving, oh no. You have to have a permit called “Permission of re-entry” even if you have all the above. Because us foreigners, we’re trouble, so they only want the ones who are prepared to go to the trouble of getting this bloody permit.
Which is where the trouble continues. Firstly, I have to pay 3000 yen (about 15 quid) for the privelage of RETURNING HOME. Secondly, and this is the kicker and the reason for the mini rant, the fucking immigration office is CLOSED AT THE WEEKEND. So I have to take a day off to go and pay for permission to re-enter the country where I live and work and already have a visa to stay.
And guess what happens if I don’t have this? I have to re-apply for my visa, because they’ll revoke the one I have. If they are feeling harsh, they can actually make me go back to Britain to do it via the Japanese Embassy. Sweet mother of god.
Anyone who says this country is easy to live in, ever, is a liar. The only way they could make going on holiday more unpleasant is by revoking your visa at check-in. I mean come on! At least open the bloody immigration office on saturdays!
They must think Jonny Foreigner is a filthy dirty work shy lay about. Judging from the looks I still get on the train, I reckon that ain’t too far from the truth…..And what makes me think they really don’t want us here? I had to find out about the re-entry permit ON A FUCKING BLOG.
Cheers then.
That’s how I’d translate it anyway, but calling it a “Working Man’s” Taikai (Shakaijin – ???) sounds a little Village People, don’t you think?
Anyway, this was the second shiai I entered in Japan. I was entering with Matsuoka Kenyukai, named after Scooby Doo impersonater Hiromichi Matsuoka, who practised at UCL for 2 years before returning to Japan.
So, I woke up at 5am (yes thats right, 5am. Even here I have to wake up at stupid bloody hours to go to competitions) to get to Chiba train station for 7am, and then a car journey for a further hour after that. An uneventful trip that was punctuated only with some tasty cheese bread and a gratifying poo-stop.
The competition itself was a modest affair, with 5 shiaijo and 70 odd teams (heh, modest.) of 5 men. I was chuken, and thats the first time I’ve done it, so it was something of a learning experience for me, but it was also a hell of a lot of fun. I’ve discovered I quite enjoy being the “middle man”. Like the insurance broker of kendo. Oh, and I was literally the ONLY foreigner in the sports hall too. No big surprise. And many people were watching me, or if you don’t feel polite, down right staring at times. But hey, I am the obligatory monkey-riding-on-unicycle-in-circus spectacle in most places in Japan, so I’m used to it by now (I would make a fucking GREAT circus monkey, by the way).
Things started badly. The first match was just not me. I still bea the guy, 1-0 but it was a bit shady, and I just had problems. One thing that helped me was the guy’s utter disdain for me. It was like I had a little rogue bit of dog poo on the end of my shinai, he just wanted nothing to do with me. He was so far removed from the shiai that it was just a matter of time before I got ippon, even with the group rounds 3 minute time limit. So I beat him, but it wasn’t good. Hiro helpfully told me that he thought I looked the worst of the whole team (including the guys that lost). So I told him to Fuck Off, and that I would sort it out.
Now, let me take you back to the previous night. I had gone to sleep obssessing about doing my best, and I promised myself that I was going to WIN every fight the following day. I went to sleep thinking that and I woke up thinking that. I thought about it on the stroll to the station, on the train and in the car. I was convinced I was going to beat every single guy I fought. The problem was, if I carried on like that, it wasn’t going to happen. So what was wrong? I settled down, put my jacket on, and watched the other etams fighting.
There was quite a mix, but generally the level was pretty good. There were company teams and also municipal guard teams (thats the best description I could come up with, they are called Sougou Keibi ????). They are, with the exception of students, the next step down from the police (though its quite a big step) and then you’ve got the dojo teams, us. Watching these guys, it was pretty obvious what I was lacking, peace and seme. So for half an hour before my next match all I thought about was being calm off the break, and making sure that my seme was in there and used.
And dear god did that do the trick.
The concentraing on being calm cleared my mind to the extent that I actually forgot about the winning, and found focussing on seme a doddle, a “piece of cake” if you will (I love cake. I had a vanilla and chocolate chip sponge roll for pudding at the shiai!) and everything slotted nicely into place. But it wasn’t like a Lego brick on Lego brick slotting in to place, it was more of a laser guided smart bomb fired through the targets letter box and blowing up at his dinner table slotting in to place.
The next guy I fought, I thrashed. I remember suddenly feeling so ready, and wanting to get in and do some damage, that I actually smiled to myself while the teams jiho was fighting. 2-0, thank you very much. To say I was quite pleased with not only the result but also my kendo in general in that match could be described as a vast sweeping understatement. I got a quality kote kaeshi kote to start with (I didn’t actually realise I had scored and when I saw flags it took me a second to realise that I was red and not the other guy!) and then I got a hiki men where I somehow ended up behind him and as he turned around took step back and walloped him on the face. Get in.
After that we had last years runners up. We were up for a ruck now and no mistake, but the team was a little trepiditious (if thats not a word I’m copyrighting it!). But things started off well. I still felt great when it came to my go, and scored potentially the best debanakote I think I’m ever likely to do in my whole kendo career until I die. And then a cheeky debana men that left matey with a “I can’t believe you got me with that” look on his face that proved he’d been suckered like a prick! Yeah baby. Another 2-0, and the quarter finals for the mighty Matsuoko Kenyukai after despatching on eof the favourite teams. I’m going to say it again: Yeah baby.
We lost the next match though. It was pretty close, but their back end (fnar!) was strong. We lost 3-2. I still had a good one though, and I really got something from it too. 4 minutes, sanbon shoubu, that was the format out of the group. In this match, I lost the only ippon I lost all day, first, a men kaeshi dou. I was a little surprised because it wasn’t a great dou, but I suppose it was still just about in, so fine. The thing I was pleased with though, was my reaction. I so believed 100% that I was going to beat this guy, that there was no way I was not going to win every match I was in, that I remained totally calm, and just carried on as normal, as if it was the first hajime of the match and I wasn’t a point down. 30 seconds and a cheeky gibbo-special osae men later, 1-1, give me another minute and an oikomi men, and it’s 2-1. Because I stayed calm, because I believed in myself, and because I knew I could just carry on what I was doing and get more points.
Best 8. Not too bad at all, especially considering we beat last years runner up and lost to this years (the final was pretty dam close as well). And I learned something immensely valuable about my own “mental” kendo too. I’ve just got to believe, and in that belief do what I know is the right thing, and is my kendo, and the belief oils the thing up to speed and I can beat anybody. It’s all about belief. And I’m not going to let it go. Today taught me that if I really do trust in myself and the fact that I can beat anyone if I put my mind to it then why the hell would I not?
You may read that last bit and think its all touchy feely hippy nonsense, believe in yourself, trust yourself, keep your calm! Mumbo Jumbo says you, For straight wins for zero losses says I.
I’m gonna kick Europe’s ass.
This episode marked a simultaneous low and high in my culinary exploits to date.
Those of you that know me well enough will know that I will quite happily eat my way through pretty much anything, provided that:
A) it comes in large quantities
and
2) it contains meat*
*I know that technically this might also mean a well endowed porn stars bratwurst o love, but let’s just stick with the meat being “processed animal by products”, shall we?
So yeah, I like my meat, and I like yakiniku restaurants more, because they contain lots of the stuff. Thats where it all went so so wrong…
Thursday last week I arranged to finally meet one of my kendo friends who moved back to Japan a few months before I came here, Sumii (some of you from UCL might remember him. He had a big head). We decided to go for a bite to eat and he picked a yakiniku (lit: Fried Meat……..dear god you can tell already, can’t you?) place close to a station on the way home. So far so good.
These places are genius. For the un-initiated, its simple a mini barbecue in the middle of your table that you cook plate fulls of slice M E A T on. Perfection in simplicity. We decided to start proceedings lightly, and ordered a little kimchee, some cucumber dipped in spicy sauce, and 5 plates of various meat. The cucumber is where the vegetables ended.
After browning and consuming the meat in relatively smart fashion, I felt a little sheepish. I had blatantly just gorged myself on what could have kept the Isle of Wight in Beef for a week……..but I could still go. Sumii looked at me, looked at my plate, and said the magic words:
“More meat?”
How could I refuse an invitation such as that (for those of you still thinking of Porn Stars, get a life, and relinquish that iron grip on you schlong. I said PUT THE PIECE DOWN) so I said “yes” and he ordered another 6 plates of meat. And nothing else.
The meat came pretty quickly, so we got down to the serious business of cooking the lot of eat (I actually did type eat there and not “it” – it’s still got a grip on me…), and ramming it into my face as quick as possible. Dear god it was great. Just picking up the wee fellas, taking them to the little sacrifical barbecue altar in the middle of the table, laying them down for the final rest and sending them to the great god Beef. Before I knew what the hell was going on we’d eaten the lot. Again. Sumii at this point also produced a plate he’d been hiding round his side, saying:
“It’s ok, this was stomach. You wouldn’t have liked it”. He’s bloody right as well. Sicko.
Then, he said “one for the road?” which translated again in to “More meat?” so we ordered another bucket load of meat (6 more plates) and a leaf salad (didn’t want to take the piss now did we?) and then set to cooking the bad boy load in front of us.
Just as I felt close to bursting, Sumii ordered some more food. This time it was Bibimbab, another Korean thing, featuring a searingly hot stone bowl, rice, and egg, and you guessed it, more meat. This was my pudding.
When it came to the bill, it rang up to the stupid total of roughly 80 quid in real money. 80 quid on meat, meat, meat. I felt like I had broken the law.
But the saga doesn’t end there.
The morning after the night before.
The next morning arrived, I woke up, and in place of my usual and timely morning shit all I could manage was a fart so loud my wife heard it in the dining room. Not a good sign. So, I had a coffee (that well known internal lubricant) did my normal morning thing, and headed out to work.
Arriving at the office, still no movement. Last night’s meat brawl was bedded in good and proper. So I had another coffee. This was beginning to look like it might get serious. Yet another coffee around 11am still failed to produce the goods….
Lunch time came, but the giant red meat shit didn’t. So, I did the only thing I could think of, had more meat. Went with Craig to a local italian and had a very meaty Spag Bol (AH! Spag Bol!), and washed that down with TWO MROE CUPS OF COFFEE. Come 3pm, and still nothing. So….
I had another cup of coffee. Craig was egging me on at this point, so I decided to bring him down with me and we both had a cup (and noted how the restaurant coffee was far superior).
At 4pm, we washed that down with, you guessed it, another cup of coffee. That was 7 for the day, and the biggest turd I had manged was the size of a marble. I went to keiko though and all the caffeine racing through my veins (and my bladder….) had me electric and I buzzed out a brilliant keiko!
In the end, it was SUNDAY before I had a proper log. When it came out I thought the world was ending. The thing was dense enough to pull me slightly into the seat with it’s own gravity well, but it was worth it. The relief was instantly noticeable.
Lesson from the learned:
Always lube your meat. Or don’t go in for a 20 plate sitting without considering the anal consequences first.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Having been here more than a few months now (god, it’s been half a year already! Do you miss me, do you?) I’ve come across my share of Jonny Gaikoku in everyday Tokyo and Kanagawa, outside of the dojo.
After a little while, it became apparent that there are 4 different kinds of category for your average round-eye-barbarian to fit in to. And not one of them likes head on their beer (note to japanese alcohol: humans should have a head [though not a frothy one], you should simply have bubbles. If you have head, it should be the beer equivalent of my haircut and no more. Remember this before you allow yourself to be carried to my table.). This may have been done by other bloggers elsewhere, but I can’t remember if it was, or if this is the product of drunken talk at the yakitori place round the corner from the dojo. Both are likely.
The Ignorer
This is your average foreigner, we shall call him State 1. A foreigner in State 1 engages business much as they would anywhere else, by keeping themselves to themselves and generally getting on with the heady task of walking to their destination. I am currently in State 1, this is normal. I hold no grudges against other foreigners, nor do I feel the need to interact with them immediately or the wish to destroy them.
The Greeter
Let’s call this State 2. State 2 involves a smile and a nod at your fellow outsider. After all, those crazy japanese won’t give us the love, so we’ve got to give it to each other, right……(what bollocks!). Some times “The NOD” is accompanied with an “awight” if you are in range for the attack. This is a slight advancement in Gaijin technology, so we’ll give The Vocal Greeter an “Awight” upgrade and call him State 2.5. Treen has confessed to currently being in State 2.5. This confession earned him quite a bit of scorn. Bloody greeters.
The Starer
OK, we’re getting serious now. State 3’s are highly unstable. They also have a hard time believing that in the heaving metropolis of Tokyo there is more than 1 foreigner (them) living there, and as such stare at you just as much as half the elderly population of the entire country might do, and more so if you are sitting on a priority seat and your phone is ringing. That is how much they stare at you. To them, you are as out of place in Japan as a bespectacled accountant wearing a Paul McCartney world tour of 1986 T-shirt at a Limp Bizkit concert.
The Owner
So called because they own Japan, at least in there eyes. This is State 4. Rather than being dependant of the other states, this is a natural progression of State 3, and where they all end up in the end. How DARE you be in this country?! I’m the only foreigner in Japan!! GET OUT OF MY JAPAN! These are the kinds of thoughts and sentiments rushing round a State 4’s head. You are an abomination to their very eyes, almost to the point that you are so singularly impossible (ANOTHER foreigner?! In MY Japan?!) that to them, 50% of actual foreigners don’t even exist, because there couldn’t possibly be another one in MY JAPAN. They think they are true cultural pioneers, crossing boundaires and experiencing the delights of the closed realm of Nippon before everyone else, and that they are unique. Well, they certainly are unique. This is Treen will end eventually. It’ll start out well, but he knows it’ll end in tears.
And I still can’t quite believe though that Treen actually owned up to being a 2.5 greeter.
A couple of weeks ago (whilst drunk) on my way home from a few after work beers, me and Craig (the other guy I was drinking with) came across this bad boy:
Poor fella, times must be hard…….especially when you have to put up with huge lumbering drunk foreigners. Heh. Look at his face…
I might be something of a twat at times, but the ignorance of the people on my train this morning actually astounded me.
3 stops from where I get on, a pregnant woman (she really was obviously pregnant) got on the train and stood next to where I was standing, right in front of the priority seats. Each and every train in Tokyo has priority seating, 6 seats, 3 on either side, and the front and rear of every carriage on every train. People who are old, injured (like a broken leg) with young children, or PREGNANT WOMEN are supposed to get priority for them. You can’t miss the seats either, they are a different colour, have big posters in Japanese AND English, even the hand holders around them are different.
So this was a rush hour train, and pretty dam busy actually, more so than usual (I actually thought the crush at one point was going to break one of my ribs!), because this train was delayed by some stupid plum who got himself caught in the doors (thats right, caught in the doors. I like to think – and have a strong hope – that it was his head or neck that got caught). This woman got on, bump and all, and stood in front of the priority seats. One fat wanker went out of his way to ignore her (nice one, Fattie), one woman stuck her head firmly in her book, and another guy actually looked at her before going to sleep.
Now, I know that salary men are tired, but this just fucking apalled me. It’s no wonder that Japan is facing a future population crisis. First of all it costs the average couple ONE THOUSAND POUNDS to have a baby (actually, an initial outlay of two grand, with half of that returned by your insurance) which I thought was insane when I first heard and even still think is so totally nuts that I still have real trouble believing that Japanese politicians give two fucks about the future of their country and its workforce (one politician who subsequently resigned described women as “birth giving machines” to the press). Second, you have the total ignorance of the general street commuter. Now, like I said, I might be a right nob end at times (heh, you should see me after a skinful), but if I see a pregnant woman standing in front of me on a train or bus, she gets the seat, no questions asked, priority fucking seat or not. I would not just look at her, and got to sleep or continue reading my Mills and Boon, or stuff my face with pie (yeah, that’s right, Fatty, I said Pie!). And it goes past that too. I’ve actually NEVER seen anyone help mums with pushchairs (this is something else I do in the vain hope that someone else might do it in the future for my wife), and sometimes when I offer to help they look at me like I have just suggested that I am actually their baby, and not little Taro in the chair in front of them.
Back to my train this morning. This poor woman was squashed and pushed like the other commuters. The train obviously got busier and as more people got on she was pushed further into the train. At one point I could swear her bump was less than 30 centimetres away from the face of the dude sitting in front of her. He finally gave up his seat, of course (how big of him), when he was a minute away from Shibuya, where the fucker GOT OFF THE TRAIN, no doubt refreshed after his little kip. Sometimes I can’t help but view people with contempt.
I dare not think about what my wife will have to go through because of inconsiderant, ignorant and stupid commuters and pedestrian who have no sense of decency enough to let a pregnant woman sit down, or can’t find 10 seconds of their own time to help someone struggling. At times, this country sickens me, and this is one of those times.
I forgot my bloody shinai today. I even looked at them before leaving the flat. I took them home on friday to administer the “bamboo love” (make of that what you will) and triumphantly forgot to pick them up on my way out this morning. What a fucking penis. I spent the best part of 2 hours nobbing around with them things yesterday afternoon too!
To give you an idea of how I feel, put your tongue between your bottom lip and your teeth, push it out, making a stupid noise, slap your forehead repeatedly with one hand and shake the other randomly and repeatedly. This is how I feel right now. In a word: Fucking Stupid (yes I know thats 2 words, I’m emphasising a point.)
Dumb.
On the plus side I ordered a new hakama on saturday and it’ll be ready on tuesday, which I am looking forward to because its nice. It also means I now have enough hakama (6) to leave a couple at the dojo, have one for shiai and gradings and still have enough spares to go through a hectic weekend as well. All good. Maybe I’ll do the same for keikogi too….mmmmmm thinking about spending money I don’t have…..mmmm.
I also bought a couple of new shinai. They are posh fancy smoked shinai (I’ve bought the hallibut equivalent of bamboo!) (I never though I would write “Hallibut” on this blog. Hmmmm, I wonder if I can legitimately fit “Turbot” in here somewhere in the future…) and nicely balanced too. Slightly thin for my tastes, but after I rammed a second tsukagawa on it was back to the Ron Jeremy thickness I normally enjoy (in my shinai).
On the down side, I think I need to ask the bougu shop to order special “wide and long” (Back to Ron Jeremy again!) tsukagawa for me. Everytime I buy a shinai we go through the shinai and tsukagawa equivalent of trying to put a finger puppet on an elephant’s foot. At time the thing looks quite strained. So I think I’ll order the new XXXXXL “Trojan” tsukagawa and just take them with me whenever I buy a new one. Not cheap though, they’re something like 1800yen, or 9 fucking quid! For the same price I could actually buy the cheapest shinai the shop sells!!!!! Gutted! Thats the price I get for my mammoth hands I suppose.
Its like they say: Big Hands, big, er, tsuka.
Dam.