For some unknown reason, call it astrology if you will, troubles always seem to build up for me in the last third of april and the first two thirds of may. Build like a constipation victim ready to explode shit everywhere. Once Gemini kicks in diarrhea brings the system back to normal.
I’m trying to get a bed made. You’d think that being so close to Japan that there would be futons here but they haven’t even heard of them. The local verson is called a yo, and oddly enough, when I asked several locals about these — they hadn’t heard of them either. It’s a rather thin crud-filled ‘mattress-like’ thing that’s chucked down on the lino-covered cement. I’m sure it works fine if you get hammered every night. So I asked for a triple-yo. Twice now the guy hasn’t had it ready on schedule.
I was just down there. It’s good being able to arrange these things with gestures, numbers, pointing at things and the odd word of english, but tonight the word ‘tomorrow’ wasn’t the one I wanted to hear. I said if it wasn’t ready tomorrow that I’d come back and strangle him. He just grinned sheepishly like he didn’t understand.
It’s my fault really. I should’ve followed the advice of an old aunt who alas is no longer whinnying with us; “Never do business with a hunchback”. She would do speedballs and stay up all night constructing model battleships.
The last time I visited her, the bedsit she lived in was awash with gunmetal wedges of destruction at 1:350. I mistakenly stood on the HMS Dreadnought, she flew off the handle and I left.
It was the Yamoto that did her in. 4980 seperate parts. It wasn’t even a regular off-the-shelf kit. It was actually a one-off, crafted by a man who was, I suppose, just as insane as dear old aunt Velma.