Today marks the thirty-fourth to last time that I wish I were home. How do I know? The cheese calendar opened its tiny fake front door and catapulted a piece of Blue my way. Yummo!
Chances are that this feeling of contentment because of the ingestion of tiny portions of edible mould will end on the same day as my desire to leave Japan. It be the first Monday in August. Chances also give a 50-50 indication that something new will arise and distract me from my preferred perspective of living the Australian wet dream; from behind a diver's mask ten to fifteen metres below the surface of the water somewhere on, in, over, beneath, inside of or next to the Greatest Barrier Reef.
Sure, this will probably set into motion the wheels of another countdown to something better, but...
Who the hell am I kidding? Once we're back in Australia, what could top that? Pah-ha-ha-ha!
PS Go see this majestic web site if you're still unsure about what to get your old man for father's day. I don't urge you to go because the people behind it need the publicity: it's because if you do, the dastardly bastards behind it all promised to extricate the tape worm as gently as technologically possible before the stroke of midnight tonight. Think of me as you dream, knowing you did nothing of the sort to improve my health, then wonder about how many different ways I could seek revenge. Then wonder some more whether I'm skilled enough to carry it through alphabetically.