The Last Weekend in September

Sunday 27th September 2009

AM

Least: Just after 5:00am, I was jolted out of my fitful sleep by the first of perhaps a hundred tram rollbys for the day. If only the Japanese engineers could have made the track as smooth as the rail network so that my sleep would be left uninterrupted. The Melbourne-ish clunk of the wheels as they pass over the gaps in the rails has the effect of shaking Sanshou at its foundations. I have heard that the Uemachi tramline (see bizarred simulation right) has been in danger of closure in the past, only to be saved by nostalgic locals who apparently live nowhere near the wonky rails.



Most: At close to 9:30am, I finally added wireless internet to our flat after days of technlogical agony. I thought I'd give it one more try after a thought I had in the very early hours of the morning. My idea failed miserably, but an idiot's guide on the internet showed me how to set the wretched thing up in less that ten minutes. Amazingly, the shonky 'bloadband' router came to life gave our laptop new freedom. The triumph I felt literally left me punching the air. Amazing.

PM

Least: Just after 2:00pm,  I scoured Youtube for footage of one Brendan Fevola disgracing himself on national TV during the Brownlow telecast. He was clearly incredibly drunk and displaying the rank boganism that is so rife in the AFL. The most boring part of it will be his fellow players tut tut tutting about his behaviour even though most of them do the very same thing every weekend. Good one Brendan.

Most: Not too long after 1:00pm, I began the very satisfying process of cooking the Autumny meal of Sanma. A student told me how to make the dish a few weeks ago, and I watched carefully as Tee of Tee's Kitchen cooked one up for me. I bought two of the long silvery fish for 200 yen down at Life and prepared them according to the simple instructions. I scored one side of the fish, added plenty of salt then grilled them in the fish grill for a total of nine minutes. The result was spectacular (above) and I served them with grated daikon, ponzu dressing and a squeeze of kabosu. I'm now looking for a new cooking adventure.

The Battle for Bloadband

Friday 25th September 2009

AM

Least: At about 9:00am, I woke feeling completely dehydrated. The weather on Thursday was expectedly warm and created an uncomfortably hot night. I feared for a moment that the cool of a couple of weeks ago was an abberation. I felt as if I had a hangover, yet without any memory of revellry and this feeling lasted until well into the afternoon. No amount of water or staring at the playstation screen seemed to do any good. An utterly empty morning.

Most: Close to 11:00am, I peered through the netting on the balcony to find that my intermittent study of katakana was beginning to pay dividends. A sign on a mountain of tissue-related product over at the Drug-11 read something along the lines of  "Early Bird Special". The sign finally explained the ridiculously long queues on certain days of the week that had been the subject of intense speculation for seven months. Now it all makes sense and fits perfectly into the Japanese habit of being incredibly bargain conscious. Hazaar!

PM

Least: Sometime after 6:00pm, I enlisted a our friendly neighbour in an attempt to set up the already boring router. Despite his best efforts, my dream of wireless internet was shattered. I became especially discouraged when I read the box and it read in English "Wireless Bloadband". I should have smelled a rat back in Den Den town.

Most: At nearly 7:00pm, I dashed up to the bottle shop to raid its supplied of tinned tomatoes. Outside the barn-like shop sat thousands of cans of the hangover inducing Chu-Hi and as many cartons of beer. Incredibly, the shop also passes as an understocked supermarket that allows the drinking man to cook up all manner of junk food for his night in front of the TV. The most interesting thing about the store though, are the massive barrels of what I assume to be Shochu. By any measure, the Japanese seem to be extremely heavy drinkers and appear to revel in afterwork drunkeness. At least it keeps the can scavengers in business.