Insert Lionel Ritchie lyrics here

Perhaps the dinner was a wrong move. Poor Yukki, already besotted with the town’s suspiciously flamboyant Westerner, almost used up the entire supply of Skype smiley faces when I accepted her invitation to dine with the family. And why not, I thought. After a year of making the same five meals over and over again, your humble narrator would have crawled across a muddy field to get a home cooked meal. Also, with the days of my contract running out, I have become suddenly desperate to cram in as many ‘Japanese experiences’ as is wholly possible. And of course, there was the underlying flattery that after eleven and a half months in Royston Vasey, someone finally thinks that I am worthy of a dinner invitation.

What can I say, dear readers; I was touched.

I was picked up at the train station by a hyperventilating Yukki and her aunt ‘Honey’ who was by far the coolest person in the entire town. She had blonde spikey hair and a chin piercing and elaborates tattoos swirling down both her arms. She wore a T-shirt with picture of a skull and crossbones and underneath, the words ‘CREAM SODA.’ She drove a pimped out four wheel drive with gothic satin cushions in the back seat and those flat screen-TVs-in-the-seats that don’t exist outside the world of music videos and the world of people who make music videos.
As I hoisted myself in, she stubbed her cigarette in gothic skull ashtray on the dashboard and heartily shook my hand. Her grip was ridiculously strong. I winced but managed to turn it into a crooked little smile. Yukki giggled.

The rest of the family turned out to be much more status quo and after meeting Grandmother, Sister and two cousins, the seven of us sat down for the much anticipated dinner. The feast in question was nabe; a traditional Hokkaido dish of meat, vegetables and tofu that are cooked in a pot of boiling stock in the centre of the table. The whole thing would be far more delicious if each item didn’t have to be dipped in raw egg before eating it.

Half way through, possibly realizing that my meagre scraps of Japanese vocabulary had been used up, I foolishly got out my camera to take a few quick snaps of the sumptuous food. This caused a commotion as Yukki squealed and whipped out her bejewelled cellphone. For the next twenty minutes, the meal was forgotten as the entire family began an elaborate photo shoot which involved four cameras, sixteen different combinations of people and more peace signs than San Francisco in the 60’s. Aunt 'Honey' did the metallica sign. I loved every moment of it.

After dinner, Yukki took me of a tour of her house. She introduced me to her three cats and her collection of handmade dolls. She showed me her bedroom and wouldn’t let anyone else come in. I sat awkwardly in the corner wearing a pair of panda earmuffs as Yuki yelled at her sister in Japanese through the crack in the door. I showed her YouTube videos of M.I.A. and Justice and she freaked out. I guess there’s not much call for Srilankan rappers in rural Japan.

As I left, Yukki slipped me a small present, telling me to open it when I got home. After I had bowed and thanked everyone and made it back to my apartment, I opened it to discover a sparkly letter ‘Y’ dangling on a silver chain.

Yesterday was my last day at Yukki’s school. As usual, she accosted me on the train and proudly showed me that addition of ‘D.A.N.C.E.’ on her iPod nano. I smiled and nodded and pretended to be very tired. She didn’t buy it. The crunch came in third period; the last ever class and an emotional occasion even for me. In the final ten minutes, I was presented with a leaving card with messages from the entire English class, all of which were in Japanese. The exception was Yukki’s, which read in shaky English; ‘I was so happy until now.’

As the bell rang and the students began to shuffle off the gym, Yukki who had been looking ashen face for the whole hour suddenly burst into tears. She started sobbing and had to be led away down the corridor by her best friend; a tall plain looking girl with glasses who was clearly the Monica to her Rachel. Unfortunately, this was the only exit and so the English teacher and I had to follow them all the way back, keeping a good ten feet behind like a funeral procession.

We had almost made it when a group of sweaty, post-basketball Jocks burst in from the gym. At the sight of a crying girl, they started pointing and laughing and Yukki gave a high pitched wail and was veered off to the side by Monica. She disappeared down the hall but I could still hear her sobbing for a good few minutes.

At least she has Justice. That song could brighten up the Apocalypse.