Hitting the Wall

Tuesday night: out of school at the stroke of four and at the bouldering gym before the chalk dust has settled in my classroom. For an hour an d a half Jake and I lunge at brightly coloured bits of plastic bolted to the walls, following trails of chalky tape that always seem as if they're going to lead somewhere - some climber's paradise up above the chalk-covered crash pads - but so far have ended abruptly at a ceiling beam or light fixture.

It's cathrtic, after long hours of teaching to focus on something so intensely physical, to limit your persepective to the next fingerhold or toe crack. I sleep better at night. I receive compliments from co-workers on my anger management.

Now I'm back at home, tapping at this ageing keyboard and listening to the newest Nick Cave double CD, The lyre of orpheus/Abbatoir Blues, and wishing the 7-11 hadn't closed its doors last Friday - it's now a 20-minute roundtrip to the nearest beer.

Such is life in suburban Tokyo.