The Cat Burglar He Ain`t.

   This must be the official definition of `heaven`. Take a photo. Of me. Sat in first class on the Nex to Narita Airport. Doing nothing but gazing out at the suburbs zooming by. I must admit, it did take me a good ten minutes to subdue the urge to give the trolley lady a hand with her orders. Not to mention, the the ads hanging a little bit too much to the left for my liking. That sinking feeling that I`ve forgotten something is well...sinking a tad after I wrote `the kids are at home with Dad` a hundred times. I can actually hear my thoughts now that the fervour of three wee ones all grappling for my attention, at the same moment is now Dad`s predicament across Tokyo somewhere. Yeah. Take a picture and place it next to the definition for `heaven` in an English dictionary.

"Ahem." I hear a throat clearing opposite and am stunned to see that it is my Grandma sat opposite. "Gran," I exclaim joyously," What a lovely surprise! You are looking well!"  For a person who died eight years ago, surprise was rather an understatement of the situation.

"You need  to wake up,lovely,"  she purred balancing a tuna sushi roll between deftly held chopsticks. "There`s a man in the garden." Wrenching my head round to look out the window at the hundreds of gardens in differing states of bloom, I enquire. " Which garden?" With a sigh and a smile, Grandma replies. "Your garden,darling. There is a man in your garden!"

I sit up rigid in the bed. The Dreambends. Almost as bad as the Babybends. I swear there is a tangible smell l of Old Spice left from that encounter and then I hear the noise. On the balcony from the twin`s room next door.

I still cannot rationalise what I did. Call me stupid, naive, brave or just empowered from witnessing my dead `meat and Yorkshire puddings` Gran consume sushi heartily with double helpings of wasabe. Obviously being dead adds a new lease of life to things. I got out of bed. Walked into the twin`s bedroom. Saw the outline of someone on the balcony outside, fiddling with the door. I strode over to the door. Unlocked it, opened it and came nose to nose with a very startled young man. "What the hell do you think you are doing on my balcony?" I roared in Japanese, feeling anger bubbling up through me. "Get off my balcony NOW!" To which, he swiftly acquiesced, jumping over the railings, hitting the tree nearby and thudding to the garden below.Pulling his T-shirt over his head, in a vain attempt to hide his features only resulted  in a rather nasty collision with another tree. Gobsmacked, I watched as he pulled a can of beer from the air,took a swig and he was over the wall into the neighbour`s garden.

One police car, six police bikes, and a total of ten police later in my garden. It is 4am and pouring with rain. Two of the policemen know me from the summer when my underwear kept being stolen from my washing line. Victoria Secret, to say the least. Worth bringing the FBI in, in my opinion.

"So?" Policeman in charge pauses," He was a burglar?" I shake my head. " I am not sure!" And further to the officer`s enquiring look. " I mean a real burglar wouldn`t wear a white T-shirt and be drinking beer in between jobs, would he?"  I shrug. "Totally stupid,right?" I reinforce with a smile. "Unless he was a foreigner," bursts out one officer laughingly patting me on the back, followed with hearty guffaws filling the night sky as I quickly interjected. " Or a member of the Japanese police constabulary!" as more back tapping and laughter rose up. Rose up around my husband stood horrified to the spot, making slashing noises across his throat at me.

Ten minutes later they caught him. He was found terrified, hiding in a bush in some nearby garden. Drunk and rambling on that a foreigner had tried to murder him.

We found his shoes, wedged in the tree this morning. If he wants them, he can come and ring my doorbell like a civilised person and ask for them back.

Oh....and the police, after I thanked them for all their help and kindness, informed me that my kidnapped underwear is now a cold case......

In The News. Yokohama Hotel Offers It Doggy Style....

Weddings that is.  A hotel in Yokohama is now offering the bride and groom the option of having their pet pooch along as a `witness`. Just as I was wondering what exactly the doggies in question would be sealing this momentous occasion with, the article then goes on to explain that the doggy `witnesses` attending can `seal their paws` on paper to show their corroboration on the joyful day.

www.japantoday.com/category/national/view/yokohama-hotel-offers-weddings-with-canine-witnesses

I can just imagine it. A whole new dimension in the `wedding stress` stratosphere opening. Instead of your future in laws arguing the toss over the flower arrangements or guest list, it could now be superseded with whose canine takes the momentous day`s biscuit. Would the bride be upstaged by little furry Tixibell decked out in matching mini dress,diamante and bouffant hair with decorations?

Over the last ten years in Tokyo, I`ve noticed the doggy presence intensifying on the streets. Canine restaurants springing up, doggy fashion stores, doggy salons and don`t get me on the doggy prams we now see everywhere. Don`t get me wrong! I adore animals but pampered pooches being wheeled around like wee bairns, dripping with designer clothes and jewellery has the `lights are on but nobody is home` or `please go get a life` pong to it. Save it for the reality shows set in totally unreal Hollywood. It`s like listening to nails scratching down a blackboard when you experience it constantly in your everyday life. particularly when you are forced to wait for an elevator with your twin toddlers in the double pram so a couple of ladies can go first with their wee poochies sleeping in their new doggy perambulators.

But maybe it`s my generation. My mum could never understand why I thought my Siouxie and the Banshee hairstyle was sexy.

The League Of The Lego.

I hate Lego. White, black, green , yellow, red, blue, purple...I am not a racist. I hate Lego. It wasn`t always this way. As a child, I adored the stuff. Tinkered with it for hours but  there`s a thin line between love and hate, they say.

I am sure it breeds faster than gerbils. I know gerbils. I took four home one summer holiday from school. Two boys, two gals. "Whatever you do," warned Ms Teacher, perfectly manicured nail waving pointedly two inches from my nose for extra effect," Do not put them together in the same cage." Me being the worldly age of 14, where you know everything, sick to death of all these old farts harping on about head transplants,  I took pity on the wee things one hot day and let them loose in the `big` pen. Eight weeks later, I took over sixty back to the school. In a new cage my Dad had constructed as the harem had started to gain momentum. I know gerbils.

"So what do you not like about living here?" enquired a mutual mate of hubby and mine one evening." The cockroaches and..." I paused as my lip started to curl and friend interjected "Let me guess... the hot and humid summers?" Shaking my head, I spat out  "Lego."

After being impaled through either foot numerous times on a daily basis, I have decided that every piece of Lego needs to be redesigned with it`s own mini airbag. Sweeping a field for landmines somewhere out in south east Asia must be a hell of a lot easier than securing the first floor in my place. These tiny, plastic tyrants are not only magically capable of transporting themselves anywhere throughout the house but once there, have chameleon qualities rendering them invisible to the naked eye. My confidence to walk `shoe free` into any room has been shattered, placing a great strain on me emotionally and physically. " Everything okay?" enquired my mummy friend stumbling onto me hopping, swaying and dancing around on my toes, humming under my breath " I know you are in here!"  in her son`s playroom.

I`ve heard rumours that a piece of Lego was even found on the moon. Imitating a moon rock.Nearly ripped a hole in the astronaut`s  boots. But it was all hushed up by The Whitehouse.....probably by another piece of Lego. (Cue in Goldsmith`s `Ave Santani` in the background)

Besides the physical daily torture, Lego also has other insidious means at it`s collective `We are The Lego` hand to stomp it`s presence into your psyche. Yesterday early morn, I was wrenched from a deep sleep by what I thought at first, was a bat flapping in my face. A torchlight revealed Batboy. "What is it?....Did we have another aftershock?" as I reassured him with a hug, suddenly noticing that the house was silent....and still. And the clock`s hands glowed on 5.30. "No,Mummy." Batboy grinned his lopsided grin, and holding out a catalogue, flapping it excitedly in my face "I know what I want for Christmas.This new Star Wars Lego kit..........."