Yongfook in a Yukata
This has been a seriously busy month. My busiest yet since I moved to Tokyo. Many fingers in many pies, pie filling spraying everywhere, small chihuahuas scuttling over to eat up said spilled pie filling, tripping over the chihuahua and into a nearby shelf full of delicate crystal figurines, accidentally dragging myself by my crystal-pierced forearms into the detonation zone of a proximity mine etc etc.
So in lieu of a post with some actual, you know, content, here are some pics from a recent festival in downtown Tokyo where I was fannying about in a yukata. It’s ok, there were other dirty foreigner-types like me wearing them too.
Adam shows us that he is, in line with our suspicions, our Lord Jesus Christ Almighty:
Anna in the middle of an awesome drinking game that was based on a book of “70 Japanese gestures you never knew” we found at Adam’s place, which sadly only went on for about 70 rounds:
Tadashi with his poor date, who looked like a deer caught in headlights - nay, splayed helplessly across the windscreen of a HUMVEE - all night and said about 3 words in total to all of us:
Separate occasion to the above - one of me looking greasy, horrible and exhausted. Can’t be a vision of perfection all the time, eh.
Oh and say goodbye to the short hair, folks. I’ve decided I don’t like it anymore. STOP THE PRESS!
