What on earth was I thinking? I, after all, once put truth to the phrase 'Can't organise a piss-up in a brewery'. I actually couldn't. It was back at school and a charity auction, at which three dads (one of them mine) pooled their money and put up a hefty bid for the brewery tour lot. I was charged with organisation. Logistics (for what should have been enticing enough trip) tangled. So and so (I forget who) couldn't make such a day. But such and such had a driving lesson that afternoon. And whatshisface was dithering and hadn't gotten back to me. Whatshisface. Always dithering. The brewery tour conductor, more facial hair than man, grew impatient.
So why did I pick me myself to organise a night out with our Brand New Friends Reona and Kei and co.? (One of whom, when I bumped into her on the street last week, asked me if I remembered her- which led me to believe she wasn`t too inclined to commit me to memory. But that`s beside the point. They`re our New Friends and they`re Japanese).
I can`t speak Japanese, let alone write Japanese text messages. Each mail I get I forward to Sean for translation, who bounces it back Englished to me and then I reply in my broken Japanese to Reona or Kei. I`ve been tryin to arrange this night out for four days, intermittently. At what point does the effort strangle the incentive? About now it seems. The process continues...
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