A Thursday Evening.

It is late on a Thursday evening and I am trying to put off washing the dishes for as long as possible.
After a week’s holiday, a joyful time of frolicking in the Sierra Nevada Foothills, I returned Sunday evening to San Francisco. The the that followed, to this point, was at the beginning slightly painful. A week of peace, quiet, and harmony in an area with clean, fresh air and miles of rolling hills is difficult to leave behind in exchange for one of the world’s most congested blocks of concrete. As the week progressed, however, things would grow better. My Japanese lessons resumed and the teacher was rather surprising. An Edoko, Tokyo-native, judging on her accent she is a case apart from the average Japanese woman. While not a great beauty, she has a husky, gravelly voice and a sultry demeanour more akin to a Nipponic Marlene Dietrich than the stereotypical Japanese woman, much less a language teacher. My luck further continued in my weekly Kanji (Japanicised Chinese characters) when my memory had not fully abandoned me and I was able to score 90pc on my quiz. Tomorrow I will return to the Sierra Foothills, but only for the weekend. My excuse this time is a trip to buy a bottle of wine, a locally-produced Moscato.