Earthquakes - why I hate them

I absolutely hate earthquakes, so news of the latest incident always upsets me.

I spent 6 years in Japan. Like, no doubt, every other Gaijin(foreigner) there, I found tremors exciting at first. Then, bit by bit, they started to bother me, until I reached the stage when they scared the hell out of me.

My Japanese earthquake memories:

1. The times when I leapt out of bed and, as oft instructed, opened the main door of my flat, yet found that as the sole foreigner on the street, I was the only person to have done so. My Japanese neighbours would invariably sleep through the whole episode.

2. A visit to a 7 Eleven with my friend Mike. In the beer section, we noticed that the bottles were wobbling. We stood and watched as, in an eerie rippling effect, the shop's entire stock of bottles began to shake. Needless to say, no one else noticed. And no, we hadn't been on the grog.

3. The Kobe earthquake of 1995. Devastating, but what sticks in mind is the Japanese reaction. For a start, the first organised aid came from the local mafia - the Yakuza.

And the media coverage was, at least to this the western eye, hugely unsettling. The earthquake hit early in the morning. By the same evening, one TV channel was broacasting the names of the dead, on a continuous loop. Set against a black background, with the names in white, and dirge-like classical music playing, it felt deeply, deeply strange.

So all of that, I guess, adds up to why I hate earthquakes.

A rainy day and a Monday ... but brightened somewhat by the return from holiday of my lovely boss. Having been in Japan for two weeks, she brought me a pair of kabuki-patterned socks (fantastic)and a wonderful coffee cup with a cartoon of Nikko's famous three monkeys. Of special resonance to me, as I was once chased down the road by a wild monkey at Kegon Falls, near Nikko. Offended by my efforts to take his picture, he lunged at me, prompting me to sprint off at a speed since neither before or since.