Bucket & Broom in China

by Steve Howrie

  * * *

  February

  Tuesday 1

  On the flight back, it was good to have a serious chat with Julie. “Do you ever miss home?” I asked her.

  “Yeah, sometimes I do,” she replied.

  “Me too… especially my old mates, and mum and dad of course. And football. What d’you miss about the UK?”

  “That’s not my home – not my real home anyway.”

  I was taken aback. “I thought you were born in England? Your parents are British, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah… but this is not my planet.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Simon, you may not understand this, but my Soul does not belong here. I’ve been born into an Earthly body, but that’s my only connection with this planet. Life is a short journey on the path to the Evolution of the Soul. We’re visitors here, Simon, experiencing life through our bodies – bodies which we inhabit when we’re born, then relinquish at death.”

  “Then… where are we when we’re not here – when we’re not in a body… when we die?”

  “Nothing really dies... it just changes form. The body goes back into the Earth, and we rejoin the Universal Soul – and go home.” She closed her eyes.

  I was mesmerised. Was I talking to Julie or the Dalai Lama? I wanted to ask what it’s like when we ‘go home’, but Julie was asleep, or in the astral plane, or she’d just left her body. Do they have satellite TV up there, I wondered?

  Wednesday 2

  Had a long sleep last night after arriving home in Shanghai, and didn’t wake until eleven. After breakfast, I did our washing, some cleaning and cooking, and Julie watched season four of ‘Prison Break’. Whilst I was in the kitchen, she shouted to me: “Simon, I think I’ve got Jet–leg.”

  “You mean Jet–lag,” I said. For an English teacher, she can be pretty ignorant about our language at times.

  “No, Jet–leg... my feet and ankles have swollen up – I can’t get my shoes on.”

  “Oh, I see… try these.” I gave her a pair of my shoes.

  “Yeah, they’re better. What size are they?”

  “Forty–two.”

  “Shit, my feet must be really swollen – I only take size five.”

  Was this the same Guru–type person I talked to yesterday?

  Anyway, it’s Chinese New Year’s Eve, so we’re getting ready for the firecrackers and fireworks around midnight. I’ve been told to expect World War Three, so we’ve got our defences ready (earplugs and heavy rock music).

  Thursday 3

  CHINESE NEW YEAR’S DAY!

  Wow! That was amazing last night! Like a hundred Bonfire Nights at once. We both stood on the balcony and watched the displays from our apartment. Couldn’t hear ourselves talk at times, so just watched wide–eyed. Lots of firecrackers and rockets. Julie wants to have our own fireworks, so I’m going to the supermarket to buy some today. Apparently, they’ll be another big celebration in a few days’ time, when it’s the birthday of the Guan Yu, the god of wealth. People will be letting off firecrackers to get old Guan’s attention, and Julie wants to make sure he doesn’t forget about us too.

  “I didn’t know you were interested in money,” I sarcastically joked with her.

  “I’m not,” she said. “I just want to buy things.”

  “That’s the same thing!” I said.

  “No it’s not,” she replied. “I might want to have a lot of stamps so I can send letters. It doesn’t mean I’m a bloody Philatelist.”

  “A what?”

  “Philatelist… a stamp collector.”

  “Oh. But you like collecting money... particularly mine.”

  “Fuck–off Simon.”

  She’s been very touchy since we got home.

  Friday 4

  I caught Julie reading my Blog today.

  “I didn’t say that!” she exclaimed. “And I don’t swear like that either.”

  “How do you swear then?” I asked.

  “Just not like that.”

  “Okay,” I said, “let’s play back your recordings…”

  “I don’t record every word, Simon… I know how I speak, and it’s not like that.”

  I had to tell Julie that I used a bit of ‘artist’s license’ now and then. “Remember your piece for the last Writers’ group meeting… about Xi’an. Artist’s license wasn’t it?” I said.

  “Yeah Yeah… but that was fiction – yours is meant to be true. If you get this published, people are going to think I’m a neurotic moron.” I kept quiet, then said,

  “Okay, write your own Blog then – tell the World your story through your own eyes.”

  Of course, I never seriously thought she would ever take me up on that. But I was in for a shock.

  “I already have,” she stated.

  “You have?” I said in disbelief.

  “It was going to be a surprise,” she said. She was right there. She showed me her Blog online. Not only was she writing one, she’d already published it on the Net! I looked at the first page of ‘Julie’s Shanghai Blog’.

  “You make me sound like some sort of mental retard – a two–year–old who can’t tell wonderbra from algebra.”

  “Artist’s licence,” she smirked.

  “Wednesday 19: Feeling horny. Simon out with Klaus for the night, so did DIY whilst watching a dirty movie…”

  “’DIY’? You mean you put up a shelf or fixed the plumbing?”

  “No – do–it–yourself… when you’re own your own and you need… you know...”

  “Christ! You can’t put that in a Blog… we’re in Shanghai, not Amsterdam.”

  “Oh, so you mean no–one does it here?”

  “No… I mean yes… of course they do… I’m sure they do… but you shouldn’t talk about it, that’s all. Not here. We could get arrested.”

  “Oh crap – you’re so naive sometimes Simon. What d’you think girls do when they can’t get a bloke?”

  “Knitting?” I ventured.

  Perhaps Julie’s right; but I’m not sure China’s ready for her yet.

  Saturday 5

  Decided that I owed Julie a holiday in the sun, so I’ve splashed out on five nights in Sanya, Hainan Island. Booked a very reasonably–priced hotel and the flights from Shanghai. She’s worth it – and I’ve promised her no blogging whilst we’re away. She has my word as a gentleman.

  Wednesday 9

  Quick post! It’s great to escape the wintry weather in Shanghai and come to what is a bit of a tropical island. Watching Julie very closely with the local waiters – you know what she’s like. Shouldn’t be writing this, but just had to let someone know.

  Saturday 12

  Returned home last night after a great trip. Total relaxation – except for the time we went to a Theme Park and Julie persuaded me to go on the ‘Rocket Launcher’ with her. My body may have ascended fifty metres in 2.5 seconds, but my stomach was still firmly on the ground. She thought it was very funny when I threw up in front of a young child back on Earth; but the kid’s mother wasn’t amused, shouting “Huai de bangyang wei wode haizi,” (a bad example for my children).

  Had some nice meals out, but because of Julie’s new diet we did have a few tiffs now and then.

  “Why can’t you be normal?” I asked her.

  “Why can’t you care for animals?” she said.

  “I do care for animals – I like them very much. Particularly when they’re grilled.”

  “What comes around, goes around,” she stated. “Eat and be eaten.”

  I didn’t sleep well that night. I had a very disturbing dream about being chased by a giant chicken that was trying to eat me. Will give KFC a rest for a while.

  Sunday 13

  Our last day of freedom before going back to school. Julie told me in bed that despite our recent efforts, she wasn’t pregnant. Wasn’t sure whether to pump the air with my fist and say, “Yesss!” or to be sympathetic. So I just said, “Thank you.”


  “Thanks for what?” she asked.

  “For telling me,” I replied.

  “That wasn’t a BBC announcement I was making, it was a plea for sympathy. We’re supposed to be soul–mates on planet Earth, Simon. Don’t you have any feelings?” Of course I’ve got feelings (I feel relieved... but I don’t want to tell Julie that). We watched “Bridget Jones Diary” in bed, and I realised how much I really do love her (Julie, that is, not Bridget Jones).

  Monday 14 Valentine’s Day!

  First day back at school. Although I have to say that it was nice being on holiday, it was good to get back to work and catch up with Klaus, Ron and Sheila. With Klaus, there was a lot of catching up to do.

  “You did how much lesson preparation?” I asked him.

  “Two and a half weeks.”

  “But the holiday was only three weeks!”

  “Yah, I know. But zat’s ze difference between you and me, Simon: I enjoy lesson preparation, and you don’t. Hence, in the pursuit of happiness, I did school work, and you played with Julie – right?”

  “Wrong. I did not ‘play’ with Julie…”

  “Oh, if Julie was my wife, I sink I would play with her a lot, he he!”

  “Well, Klaussie… she’s not. And I think you should grow up.”

  Ron spent his holiday with Venus in Harbin, her home town, and Sheila returned to Australia to escape our winter, only to find herself in the middle of the worst Australian summer for one hundred and sixty years. Graham went to Macau to do a spot of gambling and see an old flame, and got his fingers burnt. Ron gave me the details.

  “Well, you know the old adage: unlucky at cards, lucky in love?” I nodded. “Well, old Graham’s got a new saying: unlucky at cards, roulette, dice and slot–machines, and unlucky in love.”

  “Really? I thought it was true love with that girl.”

  “Look, if a young Chinese girl chooses the name ‘Lolita’, I’m going nowhere near her. If she’s really that keen on him, why did she leave Shanghai to work in Macau, tell me that?”

  “For money?”

  “Exactly – money first, love second and Graham third.” So it seems that Graham didn’t make any money in Macau. “Listen,” said Ron getting close to me, “if Graham asks to borrow some cash, run a mile – that’s my advice.”

  Tuesday 15

  Had a nice dinner in a downtown Italian restaurant last night. It was the ‘Valentine’s Day Special’ (double the usual cost), and Julie was given an authentic looking red rose by one of the waiters (who told her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met. I told him she would be the last woman he’d ever meet if he didn’t keep his dirty little hands off her). I did tell Julie the rose wasn’t real, but she still insisted on putting it in water (mine). Anyway, it was a romantic meatless dinner for two under the stars (they’d painted them on the ceiling).

  After that, we headed off to the Writers’ group meeting. We were all going to write on the theme ‘Evolution’, but the development of the species has been postponed till next time. Melissa turned up with a New Zealand friend called Martin, who’s helping her to write a book. Well, that’s her story.

  “So, you’re a bit of a writer too, Martin?” I asked.

  “Oh no, not me mate… I just provide the inspiration.” He grinned and turned to Melissa. Their eyes met, and they kissed.

  “Oh please – we’ve just eaten,” said Julie.

  “Sorry,” replied Melissa, “just a bit more research.”

  Anton started the ball rolling with ‘A Treatise on the Development of Overseas Concessions in Shanghai in the mid 1870’s’. I managed to keep awake for the first two pages (a record for me with one of Anton’s articles). Then Toni had a surprise for us: he’d written his first story!

  “But... but... you’re a painter...” Maddy started to say.

  “So? You mean that painters can’t write?”

  “Well, I can’t paint pictures…” she said.

  “Of course you can! Even a chimpanzee can paint. You just have to develop a style of your own.”

  Well, I have to say, Toni had certainly developed a style – but it wasn’t his own. His story was called ‘Julie and Me’, and it was written as a Blog!

  “You can’t do that!” I exclaimed.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “You know why not – it’s the title of my Blog.”

  “So? Have you got it copyrighted?”

  “He doesn’t have to,” Melissa said. “A writer or artist automatically possesses copyright of his work from the moment it’s created. All he needs is one witness, should the originality of the work ever be disputed. Do you have a witness Simon?”

  “Well, of course,” I said, turning to Julie.

  “Ah, that doesn’t count! It can’t be your spouse,” said Toni.

  “You’re making this up!” I said.

  “I think he’s right, Simon,” Melissa added.

  I didn’t want to give Toni the satisfaction of knowing that Julie and I weren’t officially married. I glanced over to her and saw Julie’s eyes narrow, ready to pounce.

  “You little creep, Toni – you knew all about Simon’s Blog!” she exclaimed.

  “You did Toni?” Melissa asked.

  “No, I didn’t know about Simon’s Blog – until he mentioned it now.”

  Then Anton spoke. “How long have you known Julie?” he asked Toni.

  “Oh, I suppose since she came to her first Writers’ meeting…”

  “Ah, yes – that would be September forteenth last year,” Anton said, looking at his records. “And Simon, when did you start your Blog?”

  “It was in England, beginning of August last year,” I said.

  “And you can prove that?”

  “Yes, Julie saw me write it, didn’t you?” she nodded.

  “And were you married then?”

  “No.”

  “And can you prove that?”

  “Yes, your honour…” I thought we were in a court of law for a moment.

  “Then the case is clear: whether or not Toni intentionally or unintentionally copied Simon’s work is irrelevant. The fact is that Simon’s creation pre–dates Toni’s, and he has a valid witness, so Simon is the copyright owner, and any exploitation, including publication, of Simon’s work without paying the prescribed remuneration is unlawful, according to Chinese copyright law. You couldn’t reasonably prevent anyone using the title ‘Julie and Me’ for a piece of work, of course. However, if the subject turns out to be the same Julie that Simon has written about, then Toni would be in breach of copyright if he were to publish or exploit Simon’s work.”

  I like Anton.

  Wednesday 16

  Toni came round to apologise this evening. He explained his obsession with Julie, ever since he met her at the Writers group, and said he regretted his actions. He returned five hundred dollars from the money I paid him for the painting as a goodwill gesture.

  “I hope that makes up for my Blog about Julie,” he said.

  I thanked him (I could do with the money), and said we should meet up for a drink sometime.

  When Toni had left, I opened the envelope he’d given me. Inside was five hundred dollars, and an official–looking note saying ‘$500 paid to Mr Simon Broom as copyright fees appertaining to Julie & Me.’ The bastard.

  Thinking about my future today. Both Julie and me have offers of jobs abroad, but Dr Wang would like us to stay here too. Don’t know what to do. What is my path in life?

  Thursday 17

  David Gillespie, the American maths teacher I hired, joined the school today. He’s going to shadow me for the next week and learn how we do things here. I think he’s in for a surprise. He seemed to be impressed by my attitude to education. “I see teachers as circus performers in many ways. You’re on stage, and the punters want to be entertained and go home happy,” I said.

  After my lesson, Dave and I had a chat about what he’d seen.

  “Well, Davie, wha
t d’you think?”

  “Er, thank you, sir, for letting me sit in on your lesson…”

  “Hey, none of this ‘sir’ crap. ‘Your majesty’ will do just fine.” (I think this sort of humour is what makes me so likeable.)

  “Excuse me?” he said.

  “British humour – you can call me Simon.”

  “Thank you. I think you have a very good relationship with the students, Simon, and they seem to enjoy your lessons. I hope you don’t mind me mentioning this, but I did notice that the students made quite a few errors in their math when they wrote their answers on the board – and you didn’t correct them. Is this a planned pedagogical approach?”

  I wondered what he was insinuating.

  “David, if you are implying that I would abuse these kids in any way…”

  “No, I mean, did you ignore the students’ errors for some educational reason?”

  Got it.

  “Well, y’know, I don’t believe in all this right–and–wrong, black–and–white bullshit. That’s not the way I teach. I tell them it’s a continuum… from extremely right, to extremely wrong, with every level in between.”

  “I appreciate that, but if you don’t tell them when they’re extremely right, very right, very wrong, or extremely wrong – how can they learn anything?”

  “I tell you this, as soon as they fail their end of year examinations, then they’ll know which end of the scale they’re on – big time.”

  These young teachers… tsch!

  Friday 18

  Passed David onto Klaus today, so he can see how the Germans teach maths. That will sort him out.

  Saturday 19

  A bad day. Had an argument with Julie, all about the future. She wants me to be different if we’re going to stay together. I told her that I was different from her, but that’s not what she meant: she wants me to be different from me. I need to grow up, she said. Then she talked about us being a team: me, her and our future baby – with her as the team’s manager and the baby as captain (the baby, for Christ’s sake!) I’ll just be an ordinary player.

  I had hoped that Julie would be satisfied with the baby doll I bought her. She does seem to love it, and it’s the first thing she plays with when she gets home, though she gives me dirty looks when I say ‘playing’.

  “It’s practising, Simon, not playing. Your students don’t play at maths, do they? They’re practising to get better.”

  “Yeah, but we play in bed, don’t we? That’s not practising,” I replied.

  “I’ve heard you practising in the bathroom.”

  “That’s just warming up,” I said. She can be very cruel.

  It’s not easy being a boyfriend – so many demands on you. Why did I choose to be a man?

  Sunday 20

  Remembered why I chose to be born as a man: beer and football. Went out with Klaus, Ron and Dave last night – we wanted to show Davie the Shanghai night life, and paid a visit to Jane’s bar in Hongmei Road, where Venus used to work before getting married to Ron (she doesn’t need the money now – she’s got his).

  It was Liverpool against Arsenal on the television, and whilst Ron was talking to David (explaining the merits of supporting Arsenal), I had a chat with Klaus.

  “D’you think you’ll ever get married Klaus?” I asked.

  “Oh sure – if I can find the right woman.”

  “And who would be right for you?”

  “Zum–one like Julie, of course.”

  I’d forgotten about Klaus’s passion for Jules. I suppose I’m a lucky guy, everyone seems to like her. Well, the guys anyway.

  “What about your second choice?” I asked. “I mean, seeing as Julie is unavailable.”

  “Google,” he said without blinking an eyelid.

  When I got home, Julie was still up – watching the end of a movie. She looked very thoughtful, then said, “Simon, do you ever say no when Ron or Klaus ask you out for a drink?” I paused for a minute.

  “I dunno – hadn’t thought about it,” I said.

  “Well, think now.” She seemed rather serious.

  “I can’t remember ever saying no,” I had to admit.

  She paused the DVD, and turned to me. “I hadn’t realised it before, Simon, but you’re a bit of a ‘yes’ man, aren’t you?”

  “Am I?” I asked, surprised. She nodded.

  “You remember when your mate Chris suggested you take the Microbiology Course with him – and you said yes?”

  “I think I do”

  “And when you were offered the teaching job in Shanghai – you said yes again?”

  “Yes, I did.” I wondered where she was going with this.

  “Then Jessica Wang asked if you’d like to go on the course in Guangzhou?”

  “And I said yes…”

  “And before Christmas she asked you if you’d help out with interviewing teachers for the school?”

  “Yes again…” I was beginning to see a bit of a pattern building up here. And I had my own example. “You’re right Jules – and whenever you ask me if I want sex, I always say yes too.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not because you’re Simon – it’s because you’re a bloke. The point is, you never actually say anything other than ‘yes’ when anyone’s asks you to do anything, do you?” She moved close and stared into my eyes, into my Soul. I was getting scared now, and noticed the cover of ‘Silence of the Lambs’ on the DVD player. I shook my head nervously, and she continued: “With one exception: every time I’ve asked you about having a baby, you’ve always said NO – right?”

  “Not guilty!” I blurted out.

  “Simon, we’re not in a court of law – I just want you to be honest.”

  “I did say yes once, I’m sure I did.”

  “Your mouth said yes, but every other part of your anatomy said no. Why else would you keep using a condom, when you know I want a baby?”

  I did think of asking for the Fifth Amendment, like they do on TV, but I’d no idea what it actually meant. So I just said, “I did buy you a baby – remember?” The way she shook her head and left the room indicated that this was not the sort of answer she was looking for. Maybe I should have asked for the sixth amendment?

  Monday 21

  I think I’ve lost my sense of humour. I’ve looked everywhere for it, but just can’t find it anywhere. Perhaps someone’s stolen it – perhaps Julie?

  “Are you sure you haven’t got it?” I asked her for second time at breakfast.

  “Simon, what on Earth are you talking about? You can’t steal someone’s sense of humour. Who would want yours anyway?”

  I decided that I should say sorry for yesterday – I think she had a point.

  “It’s not a case of saying sorry,” she said, “it’s a matter of why you say no to me and yes to everyone else.”

  “I said no to Tracey Jones last year,” I confessed.

  “Who’s Tracey Jones?”

  Oops! “Oh, er, someone on my Microbiology course. She asked if she could go out with me.”

  “Is she attractive?” I was really under the cosh now.

  “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder…” I ventured. Her icy stare indicated I was talking a high level of crap. “No she isn’t,” I admitted.

  “So that doesn’t count then. Why don’t you want a baby?”

  “Honestly?” I asked. She nodded. “I like our life together – just the two of us. Inviting a baby into our world would be like inviting your crippled cousin to come and live with us.”

  “I don’t have a crippled cousin,” she said.

  “I know… but if you did. All our attention would be diverted to him…”

  “To her,” she corrected. I looked blank. “All my cousins are female.”

  “Okay, all our attention would be directed towards her. You’d lose interest in me – and you’d probably go off sex; we’d never go out because one of us would need to look after her; I’d lose sleep, because of the crying at night (hers, not min
e) – then my work would suffer. You’d expect me to change her nappy, feed her, read her stories. And I’d have to give up my social life to look after her.”

  “Are we talking about my cousin or the baby?”

  “It’s the same difference…. except for the nappies perhaps.”

  Julie looked thoughtful. “Y’know, what you just said… it’s right. But it’s all about you. If you bring a new being into this World, you have to make sacrifices, Simon. You have to give to another person.”

  We were both quiet for a minute, then she said, “Okay, I’ll make you a deal: if we can have a baby, you won’t have to look after it at all. I’ll feed it, clean it, get up when it cries – I’ll do everything. You can still have your social life with your mates and you don’t have to lose sleep. And I won’t go off sex – you know me… What do you say?”

  I looked into her eyes, the ones I’d fell in love with two years ago. “Yes,” I said. And this time I meant it.

  Tuesday 22

  In the Teachers’ Office this morning, I couldn’t help thinking about my conversation with Julie yesterday. Am I going to be a father? Did I really say ‘yes’ to Julie? I turned to ask Klaus what he thought about fatherhood – only to find that I was totally on my own. Then out of the blue, a student appeared.

  “Teacher...” He pointed to my telephone, breathlessly.

  “Yes, what is it?” I asked.

  “Telephone,” he said.

  “Yes, good… telephone. And this?” I said pointing at my chair.

  “Chair,” he said.

  “Great!” Not the way I usually give English lessons, but I’m always very flexible when it comes to learning. (I think that flexibility is one of my greatest attributes.) Then he said, “Problem… use telephone can?”

  “No, you should say: ‘I have a problem, please can I use the telephone.’” He looked a bit panicky. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I know it’s not easy – take a deep breath, then say the words.” He took a few deep breaths, then said “I have problem… please can use telephone?”

  “Okay, that wasn’t bad. I understand your meaning – but you’ve missed out a few prepositions; and to speak English correctly, you really should repeat exactly what I say: ‘I have a problem, please can I use the telephone?’ Now you.”

  He took another deep breath. “I have a problem, please… can… I use… the telephone.”

  I gave him a big hand. “That was really good, well done! Anything else I can help you with?”

  “Father attack mother… please can I use the telephone?”

  Got it. He phoned his mum, and spoke for several minutes before putting down the receiver. He looked relieved.

  “Is she okay? What did she say?” I asked.

  “Yes… she okay now. She told me to work hard.”

  Wednesday 23

  Started reading a book of ‘Twisted Tales’ last night. Y’know, mystery–type stories that have a twist at the end, and you discover it’s the quiet, polite, hard–working student who chops off her teacher’s head with a machete and puts the body in the freezer. In some ways, I think my life is a bit of a mystery – interesting to find out how it will end. Julie says her life is like a twisted story. Well, her mother’s certainly is. Jules had a call from her last night. Apparently her dad has been let out of jail three years early, and her mum is in a real panic – doesn’t know what to do about the boyfriend who’s moved in with her. I suggested she invite her mum to Shanghai while things cool off a bit.

  “You don’t remember my mum, do you babe?” she said.

  “Yeah I do… she was very kind to me when we went to London.”

  “Kind? She was trying to get off with you, Simon… she wanted to screw you.” I had to admit I found that hard to believe. “Don’t you remember the way she grabbed your bum?” she said.

  “I thought she was just being motherly…”

  I asked Julie what her dad would do if he discovered her mum had a boyfriend.

  “Oh, he’d probably go back to Prison.”

  “What, you mean he’d just knock on the door and ask to be let back in?” I said.

  “No, he’d be sent back to Prison after he’d cut the guy’s balls off.”

  Interesting family.

  Decided to write my own ‘Twisted Tale’ for our next Writers’ meeting.

  Thursday 24

  Y’know, the boys here are mad keen on basketball. I’ve tried to tell them it’s just a girl’s game in England, but they don’t believe me. Basketball’s so easy, I said. All you’ve got to do is throw a big ball (a bit like an orange beach–ball) into a hoop. There’s not even a goalkeeper to stop you – how hard can that be?

  I saw Dr Wang today and suggested we have a ‘students versus teachers’ basketball match. She wasn’t too keen at first.

  “It could be quite embarrassing, Simon – a big difference in ability and age.”

  “That’s okay,” I replied, “we’ll let them score a few.”

  “No Simon, they will beat you… easily.”

  I couldn’t believe it – little kids against grown men! I mean, we’ve got Big Ron, Hamish, Graham – all tall guys – plus me and Klaussie. Then there’s David, the new maths teacher. He’s American – and tall – he must be able to play.

  In the end, Dr Wang said okay, and let me arrange the match.

  Told the teachers about the idea, and they were all up for it (apart from David, who said he really hated the game). So five of us had a warm up after school – which left me a little concerned. First Big Ron began by kicking the ball to Klaus, who tried an overhead kick to get it in the hoop. Then Hamish threw the ball so hard at Graham that he had to retire hurt. We’ve got one week to get our act together, or we’re toast.

  Friday 25

  Since saying that little magic word ‘yes’ to Julie, she’s been reading everything she can about babies. I did tell her that she needs to be pregnant before having a baby, but it hasn’t stopped her preparations.

  Last night, whilst she was doing some research online, she suddenly turned to me. “Simon, what blood group are you?”

  “I dunno,” I said. “Why d’you ask?”

  “Just find out will you, there’s a good boy.”

  I did my good little doggie impression and went to fetch my health check certificate from last year.

  “A,” I told her.

  “I said, I need your blood type.”

  “I didn’t say ‘Eh?’ I said ‘A’. I’m blood type A.”

  “Are you positive?” she said, in that teachery way of hers. I checked again.

  “Yes, A positive.”

  She went back to her laptop screen and frowned.

  “What’re you looking at?” I asked.

  “It’s information on blood types and personalities,” she replied, not looking up from the screen. Apparently, some people believe they can tell your character and personality from your blood type. I asked what mine said.

  “Type A: Tender, neat and kind. They make good wives.” She smiled. “I always knew you’d make a good wife, babe.”

  “Whoa! Hold on a second let me see that.” I studied the screen and asked her what type she was.

  “AB,” she replied.

  I read the text aloud: “Type AB: weird geniuses; sometimes thought to be crazy and emotional. There’s definitely something in this, Jules.”

  “Simon, I’m not crazy and emotional – I’m not, I’m not!” she said, storming out the room.”

  Saturday 26

  Talked to Klaussie about this blood type business over a couple of drinks last night. Did he think there was anything in it?

  “Oh yah… ze Japanese certainly think so. If you apply for a job in zum Japanese companies, they have to check your blood type. And dating websites always ask your blood category when you register. Popular Japanese cartoons, like Manga and Anime, also give the blood type of their characters.”

  Klaussie obviously knew a bit about this, and he’d cl
early been looking for Japanese girls. I asked him what his category was.

  “Oh, I’m type A,” he said. The same as me then. “And what about Google?” he asked. We both looked at my sheet. Type B: loving, cute, active and humorous.

  “Got to be B,” we said in unison.

  Sunday 27

  Met up with Ron, Klaus, Graham, Hamish and David for our second basketball practice today. David said he didn’t want to play, but he’d help us with the rules, as he used to play for some small American team called NBA, or something. Anyway, he did seem to know the game. Bit of an improvement since last time. Davie taught us several ways to pass the ball to each other, and how to score from different angles on the court. We eventually persuaded him to be our sub for the game against the students next week. I think we can beat them!

  Monday 28

  The student who used my phone last week came back to see me. He told me his name was Rooster (he was born in the year of the Rooster), and he warmly shook my hand. The handshake quickly turned into a bear–hug – just as Dr Wang came into the office.

  “Everything alright, Simon?” she asked. I smiled thinly from behind the hug, and released myself quickly. Dr Wang left with a concerned look on her face.

  “Well, got to work now, Rooster,” I said. But he wasn’t going to let me off so easily.

  “Teacher, can I sing song for you?” he asked.

  “Oh, er… what sort of a song?”

  “Backstreet Boys… okay?”

  “Which album?” I heard myself saying. He looked blank. “Can you tell me the song title?” I said.

  “Yes – as long as you love me.”

  “Okay okay – I love you… now what’s the song called?”

  “As long as you love me,” he repeated. And then he sang the song.

  “Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine,

  I’m leaving your life in my hands.

  People say I’m crazy and that I’m blind,

  Risking it all in a glance...”

  This did worry me slightly. But he wasn’t finished.

  “And how you got me blind is still a mystery,

  I can’t get you out my head…

  Don’t care what is written in your history,

  As long as you’re here with me.”

  I gave him a little applause (as little as possible), and some words of encouragement. I wonder what his blood type is?

  That brought to an end a very strange month.