This last weekend has been, unusually for me, grog fuelled but I'm happy to report that I came through it all relatively unscathed.

It started on Friday, as it always does. Now there are a number of reasons why I don't drink and drive and foremost among them is the $3000 fine if caught. No, actually, foremost among them is the fact that I'd lose my licence. No, actually, foremost among them is undoubtedly the fact that my wife would never, never ever ever in a thousand years ever, let me forget about it if I ever got caught.

Putting aside the fact that it's a dumb thing to do anyway. (And, just as a sidenote, did you know that in Japan every passenger in the car (over 20) is automatically fined $1000 too, for allowing the driver to drive drunk...)

Well anyway, because I don't have to worry about driving, I generously give myself free rein with the old amber nectar and, to coin a phrase, paint my toenails red. (This is what you can be said to do if your boisterousness is not quite up to painting the town red, or even the bar for that matter, but is noisy enough for other patrons to look over with a 'what's going on over there' kind of look)

Friday was spent celebrating (although that's a wholly unsuitable word in this case) the imminent departure back to Canada of my friends Marcel and Lisa. I trundled off home at about 3am to find my wife doing the accounts. I'd like to have been able to say at this point that I came home to find my wife cavorting in something small and easily removed but sadly no; she was all done up in her no nonsense jimjams and it was early to bed with no dessert for bobsleftnut that night. This is a good opportunity to take a quick detour and make a proposal to you guys. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but if you don't tell her, I certainly won't...my wife possesses but the one pair of what could charitably be called sexy undies. She tends to wear undergarments of a more functional nature and when I asked her about this she said that she thought it was a waste of money to buy expensive sexy stuff. "But," I said, "if you wear something sexy, you'll feel sexier yourself and besides, if I slide my hand inside your panties and find them coming up to my elbow, that sort of takes the tang out of things for me, somehow."
She of course just gave me the sort of look that tells me that she won't be buying herself any in the immediate future.

Anyway, since that means that I don't get much excitement of that nature these days, my proposal is that each of you send me a photo of your underwear, I'll make up a mix and match game and you can all guess whose panties are whose. Needless to say, you don't actually have to be wearing the things, although I might award special prizes if you are. And also needless to say, this is an equal opportunity panty proposal, so all you guys out there join in too. (I think that means you Wally...)
I will of course be adding my own pair to the pile. So get to it by sending your pics HERE

OK, detour over, back to the boozing. On Saturday night there was a barbecue at my wife's folks' place. Now you should know that any 'do' there is not going to be the sort of event that I'd want you guys to come to. Not unless your idea of a fun filled social gathering revolves around the television and inter familial squabbling. By virtue of not being a blood relation (and a foreigner to boot), I get to excuse myself from any bickering going on and by virtue of having no interest in it, I get to excuse myself from watching the TV. So what I do is sort of take myself off into the darkest corner I can find with a large bottle of sake and do my level best to drink as much as I can before I fall asleep. From time to time someone will come over to check that my glass isn't empty, which it isn't, or to bring me another plate of whatever I need, which I probably do. Come to think of it, it'd be infinitely more fun with you guys there, so the next time, you're all invited. This party was pretty much as all the others; Aunt Naomi expressed amazement at my ability with chopsticks (which she's been doing every time we've met for the past 8 years, but which I forgive her for because she's usually the only one who comes over to drink with me and she likes to drink...), Uncle Hiroshi was drunk within about 30 minutes of arriving and, as he too has done every time we've met over the last eight years, expressed amazement that I was drinking sake. I find that I am able to adequately plumb the depths of my ability to grin inanely at people if the ratio of sake to grinning never falls below 3 to 1. This revelry continued until only my wife and her two younger brothers were still up. I (pretty much off my tits by this point) decided that now would be a good time to tell the brothers that although my wife never actually tells them (and in fact although she never does anything but complain about them), she really loves them both an awful lot and why couldn't they all get on and talk nicely to each other....
Which in the event turned out to be a really cunning plan to become the only person still awake in the entire house, thus giving me the opportunity to slip into the garden for a quick somethingorother. Which in the event turned out not to be a really cunning plan, because I immediately remembered that I had to get up at 7am to go sweet potato digging....

One of the misconceptions that the Japanese have of the English is that we are all keen gardeners. Personally, I like looking at gardens, but no one has ever accused me of being green fingered. However this doesn't prevent me from being invited to events of a horticultural nature from time to time and on Sunday (early on Sunday actually), my family and I were invited to help another family dig up the sweet potatoes in their vegetable garden.

Over the years I have perfected the ability to stand around looking knowledgeable and businesslike, which is a useful ability in situations like these. Small children were assigned trowels and shown where to dig and soon a veritable stack of satsumaimon was unearthed. I appointed myself i/c putting potatoes into bags and am happy to report that I fulfilled this arduous task with great aplomb...

Digging dispensed with, we repaired to our friends' house where ice cold cans of beer were soon produced. Then more cans appeared which we had to do away with and then more cans and so on until we found that mysteriously all the beer in the house had somehow managed to get itself drunk. Calamity was easily averted by a trip to the nearby convenience store and so the afternoon continued into the early evening, when dear old mrs bln decided that enough beer was enough and it was time to go home.

And thusly did my weekend come to a close. Except that when I got home I remembered that I still had a couple of cans chilling happily at the back of the fridge, ready for just such an occasion. So while the missus and the young nuts were doing their ablutions, I sank back into my exceedingly comfortable armchair, popped open a can and let the world whirl on around me.....