The circle of life

In order to sustain my self-esteem during difficult times, I like to give myself a little pat on the back whenever I overcome a challenge. For instance, I am now able to conduct a conversation with a Japanese three-year-old. “So what?” I hear you cry. Well, my personal triumph stems from the fact that it took merely one year to reach this level of proficiency, and not three – ergo, I am three times more intelligent than Japanese people. The figures speak for themselves.
Another accomplishment is my ability to eat a variety of things that came out of the sea. My parents will attest to the fact that I couldn’t even be persuaded to eat a fish finger when I was a child (or an adolescent for that matter). I put it down to going fishing as a child and seeing gutted and bloody fish bobbing around in our kitchen sink – but that’s a discussion for my psychiatrist and I.
My most recent achievement is being at one with nature, in particular the creepy-crawly part of it. The most gruesome insect that I came across on a semi-regular basis in the Outer Hebrides was the slater, or grey woodlouse, to be found under any medium-sized rock. At all of 1cm in length and incapable of flying, or biting or doing anything really, I found that I was able to assert my authority upon this little creature with little more that a sheet of kitchen roll. This experience somewhat failed to prepare me for what Japan’s heat and humidity would eventually throw at me.
Once the snow has receded and the temperature begins to creep into double figures, all the creatures of the forests and the rice fields begin to waken from their winter slumber. The spiders are first off the mark. Every window and door now has it’s own arachnid-in-residence. Each one is huge, agile and thoroughly fascinating to watch, providing they are on the right side of your bedroom window. I actually become concerned if I open my screens in the morning and George, Bert and Henry are nowhere to be seen.
Next come the little green unidentifiable paddy field flies (padicus unidentificum, to give them their Latin name). They are only about 3mm long, but what they lack in size, they make up for in number – there are thousands of them. For two nights I thought it was raining as I sat in my apartment. Only later did I discover that the pitter-patter I heard was none other than thousands of these little things banging into my paper screen.
Next up are the frogs. The nighttime chorus can be pretty intense if you happen to live right next to a rice field. I do have a soft spot for the little blighters; they are a comical sight when you come home and they are stuck on the glass sliding door at the entrance to the apartment.
A creature that I am less fond of is the cicada. They produce a sort of buzzing / whining sound in excess of 100db (those of you who are married may be familiar with this sound). The cicada’s “voice” is among the loudest insect produced sounds, I’ll have you know. The beasts are about 5cm long, but I have yet to see one in the wild as they seem to have evolved the strategy of staying well clear of humans – the one’s who didn’t were surely killed-off by cavemen with throbbing headaches. They only kick into life when the weather is really baking hot. It’s raining today, so it’s nice and quiet.
Other things to note here are: centipedes, beetles, mahoosive moths and bees, snakes and bears (thought they deserved a mention somewhere).
The test of just how Ray Mears I have become, presented itself the other night. I had laid my futon out on my tatami and had turned the lights off ready for bed. Knowing that the aircon always leaves me feeling a bit dry in the morning, I decided to go and top-up my bottle with some water from the kitchen. As the kitchen is no more than three steps away, I didn’t feel the need to turn the light back on for my little jaunt. As I filled my bottle, dressed in nothing but my boxers (apologies for the mental image), a not too small insect landed with a thud on my upper-thigh. Needless to say, I screamed like a girl and proceeded, then and there, to freak out. I swung like a drunken hooligan and managed to swipe the unidentified flying insect off my person. I had sent it flying towards the kitchen cupboard door, which it was now clambering up. In the semi-darkness I could make out that the insect was between 7 and 10cm long and had four or six long legs. It also had wings, as it had managed to right itself and land plumb on the cupboard door after I had sent it spiralling through the air. Luckily, I managed to get a grip of myself and calm down. This lasted approximately two seconds as I then swung my half-full bottle of water and smashed the thing into a gooey pulp. Had it been daylight, and I was able to look the insect in the eyes (all 4000 of them), then maybe I would have tried to delicately capture it and release it out of the window. Had this been the case, I envisage that my dying words would have been to none other than myself: “Colin, don’t be a hero…” as the unidentified flying devil insect launched itself towards my throat and latched on to my jugular. I feel assured within myself that I dealt with the situation well and used acceptable force to combat my enemy (in a kind of George W. type way).