The REAL sushi for beginners...

So. (I really must work on these beginnings) Hit by another bout of boredom, I feel forced to rack my brain (was really hoping to find a word beginning with 'r' there...to continue the alliterative feel I had going on...but it was not to be) for a suitable story worthy of note. Failing this, I have changed tactics (the sinking feeling of melancholy you may now have is perhaps due to this reversal of the tictac 'lift') Ahh wonderful. Already the cheesy-joke-making has set in. Clearly insisting on a preamble is a mistake I will NOT be making again. I shall now ignore fate's mocking smile, which can be glimpsed through the diminshing breathing-space of my future blogs.
*With a hefty tug at concentration* Sushimaking. Is what I will be discussing today.
It all started when... [Can I get some dry ice in here?? and a lemonade, that would be great, thanks.]
It was the day we were making sushi [I think I've done that point to death now]. Having already wandered dazedly into the textiles classroom by accident I managed to make it into the fiery depths of the area charmingly dubbed 'food tech'. I was here with good friends Rebeeehhhcahsan and Emeeleesan, and while we scrabbled in the corner with bags, the class was already gathering about the rice-laden table. (I don't mean we were busily touching up on our vocab ability by playing scrabble with our bags, just that...OK SORRY I'll stop...I've stopped.) As we also gathered excitedly around the (conveniently round) table, our lovely japanese teacher explained how the sushimaking would pan out. I'm going to be honest, this is where I made my first mistake. No doubt fooled by the building and the whiteboard, I forgot myself for a moment and adopted the vague lack of thought suitable for a school environment. I therefore listened with the rapt (non-existent) attention as I would in a lesson. Futhermore (with growing agitation at the familiar feeling) I then realised, as with any form of practical work, I would actually be required to carry out the demonstration myself. I dithered at the table a while longer before marching off decisively to locate an apron. It seems by this time I was falling behind (bearing in mind we had been asked to start a mere handful of seconds ago). Emeeleesan and Rebehhcahsan were busily searching for the knives, and as I joined them Abiiisan (who had somehow acquired all the equipment and even started sushi-rolling) gave us the coordinates of the knife whereabouts. (I'm making this all sound very cryptic) After three fruitless glances (or more relevantly, knifeless glances..teehee.....*dodges a real knife that has materialised in reader's hand*), Abiisan lost her temper and led us to them herself.
Grazing quickly over the long task of choosing a suitable knife among the dubiously-sized ones available - some of them bore more than a passing resemblance to a mechetti - I reached the table once again and set to work savaging (or slicing, as is the recommended method) my half-cucumber. Next, we had to paste the sushi rice onto the seaweed - I had seen the teacher do this, I was HDready for this. However, I had not accounted for the sticky nature of the rice. This first came to my attention as I casually hurled a few spoonfuls of the rice onto the seaweed, only to find the rice was stubbornly latched onto the spoon, as if it had found its soulmate. Unfazed by this curious love story unfolding before my eyes, I used a number of tools in order to prise the two apart. This unfortunately meant the majority of my surroundings also ended up sporting a rice-coat (top of the range, mind). However, a furtive look about the room reassured me I was not alone (MJ was in the corner serenading me), and I joined the few who were surreptitiously flicking rice from themselves every few seconds.
The rolling was then in full swing when I saw, from my station among the happy hive of activity, a camera walk in. (There was, of course, a person attached to the camera, but my fear drove my eyes to block all else out) In horror, I let my knife clatter to the table as I frantically scuttled over to the sinks. At this place of refuge, I was confronted by another person wielding a knife, and managed to stop myself leaping for cover by remembering we were in a kitchen, and knives were normal. Safe under the guise of needing to wash my hands, I silently observed the movements of the camera. As it and its mediator roved eagerly about the room, I congratulated myself on having averted danger and wandered casually back over to the table. I settled back into the relaxed atmosphere Emeeleesan and Rebehhcahsan had created, while inwardly panicking at the lump of rice, cucumber and seaweed in front of me. Just then, the japanese teacher came over, so we all put on beaming faces as she complimented our work.
"So, do any of you cook much at home?"
"No" was one the lightning flash replies, as well as a sinister "never" from someone.
"ahh...!?" A little confusion in our teacher's voice, yet we all still beam desperately.
"But of course, you will when you are married!" she (half) jokes, though the laugh is shortlived as she moves away with a worried expression on her face, leaving me and Rebehhcahhsan holding up our rice-ladles in bemused shock, our future apparently crashing down into flames around us. Though recovering from this blow was difficult, I managed to rescue my roll (really I am on FIRE with alliteration today), though in my distraction I had been oblivious to the advancing camera. I looked up to see them both (yes the camera too) grinning fiendishly at me, and as the 'technician' (I use the term loosely in recognition of the fact that the camera seemed to know its own mind) gestured happily at the table - I lost the will to resist. Emeeleesan had managed to escape, but me and Rebehhcahhsan were forced to put on a couple of pained grimaces for the benefit of the 'right angle' (Note the amount of bitterness I have attempted to deliver in those inverted commas). This over with, Rebehhcahhsan was further tortured by a teacher wandering in requesting what the smell was. After also having been reprimanded for taking a breather on a stool at the beginning, this final straw was it for Rebehhcahsan. As the woman next hinted at how nice the sushi looked and how its taste ought to be verified, Rebehhcahhsan swiftly responded with a curt "yes" and closed the box from view.
And then, it was time to pack away. When I had once again recovered from the shock of seeing 15 people wandering aimlessly about brandishing knives, I happily set to washing up my equipment at the safe haven of sinkdom. Here, I could do no wrong...at least that was what I initially thought, until my bubble of concentration was broken in upon by a helper woman at a neighbouring sink. (It might be worth pointing out there were more teachers than students present - suggesting a certain lack of trust or a certain nosiness on the teacher side. I shall leave you to decide.)
"Could you pass the washing up liquid?"
Ahh. Of course, such an easy task, how delightful it is to accomplish a favour for someone, I thought to myself while confidently handing over the bottle.
"That's the Handwash."
The neccessary embarrassment ensued, and I sought comfort in turning to Emeeleesan and Rebehhcahhsan, the former of whom was suspiciously munching on her surplus ingredients.
When I next thought it safe to return to the sinks, the helper had been replaced by a small boy. He inquired to the general public if there was any washing up liquid about, and in my enthusiasm to prove myself I startled him by grabbing the object in question and frantically leaning across to force it into his possession.
I smugly returned to the table, packing more knives away (I had somehow acquired a handful of them). A dishcloth was forced into my hand and I stood awaiting brain activity, as everyone bustled about me. I then became dimly aware of Rebehhcahhsan in a similar predicament at the other end of the room, also in a state of pause, dishcloth in hand.
So there we have it. The trials and tribulations of sushi-making. And if I had just said that at the start we could have avoided a lot unneccessary words :)

A Fittingly Mundane Start to get the Ball Rolling...

Voila! (after musing to myself for a few seconds in the hope of finding a word to start my FIRST EVER BLOG I clearly decided none of the [insert number here*] words in the english language were satisfactory)
*I must apologise for this disclaimer so early on in my FIRST EVER BLOG, but apparently [and I am prepared to admit to attempting this] typing in 'how many words are in the english language' into google generates the oddly realistic reply of, AND I QUOTE: 'There is no single sensible answer to this question'. Excellent. So, grumbling, I must return to my FIRST EVER BLOG which has somehow acquired nearly 8 lines of these apparently uncountable words...ahh dear. Rambling has set in already.

Let me recommence (please). I have lately been trying to think of a sufficiently everyday occurence worthy of note. And.. Voila! (This 'voila' would have had better effect if I hadn't started the whole post with it...however, I am not in the least bit tempted to rethink my starting word so this will have to do...)
BASICALLY (as the Sherlockians among you may have realised, I am fast losing my grip [cue singing-Avril-Lavigne-in-corner-of-screen] on what I am saying, straining to keep my grasp on the fiery entrails of my story. :O)....
BASICALLY...walking through WHSmith today I was victim to.....*intense drumroll*
A salesperson.
You know, the ones that lurk around trying to make eye contact with you before throwing their products into your path with practiced ease and a winning smile.
Scarystuff.
Leading me to think [*glowing light builds up behind the proclaiming blogger (That's me)*] ...PERFECT!
This is a perfectly everyday-not-very-interesting-yet-potentially-scarring-event-to-mention-only-through-the-anonymous-medium-of-internet-posting..thought I.
In truth, this is merely my cover story...I did in fact fall into their sales-trap by my foolish mistake in thinking myself safe inside the shop...I was unaware 'they' had taken to lurking inside shops rather than in the freezing cold. *sigh*
Be that as it may, rushing through the shop as I was in that faster way that you walk when by yourself - where you only realise your walkspeed after zooming distractedly down a street and being out of breath - a man lunged out of nowhere into my path. As I swerved out of the way of collision I had time only to realise there were three other similarly-clothed men stationed by the heaters at the door, before I had been attacked by verbal questioning.
Have you heard of -inaudible name-
Was there an 'excuse me' there?? I don't recall....... *dismissive glance at questioning man*
No.
Have you heard of Sex and the City?
What now? Throw him off the scent completely. [In reality didn't actually think of answer to question, but blurted out word in mind]
No.
Puzzled glance on salesperson. Good. I have successfully reduced expert-persuasive-talking-seller into hesitation. Oh no. He is gathering back his confidence.
Ah..so you don't watch it, me neither, it's -inaudible description-
Starting to get desperate now. I must find escape, yet I am still somewhat inquisitive - man is amusing me. He gestures me over to a table of makeup. I start to wonder why he has stopped me. did he think me in need of make up? Did he think me rich? Did he think me a weak target? As I am clearly not going to be a buyer, is he simply trying to look useful to the outside eye?
Here follows a bombardment of description of various make up products, in which well-rehearsed-salesman incorporates much kinetic and rhetoric techniques. For example, after commenting in a jokey manner on the many 'make up bombs' that MUST have happened in my bags, sales-man hands me a foundation stick 'for free' and I am made to stroke the casing on a pack of eyeshadow (incidentally, the casing material is the same as on GHD's).
I admit by this point I am having much fun. While being comfortable in the knowledge that I could never be persuaded by his comments, I am considering what would happen if I ran off with the foundation stick, and also enjoying the many 'interested' and 'impressed' faces I am using.
Next, we move onto blusher, involving a heartstopping moment in which I must expose my bare hand [and so grapple with my long sleeve without looking too pathetic] so sales-man can show off the 'brushiness' of the 'brush'.
And then....lipglosses! and so many! with this word 'free' being thrown about so liberally (pun intended as an afterthought :p), one can only assume these too, are free?
And What are we going to do? We're going to give that to you free aswell!
I knew it.
I am then shown the assortment of pink shades available.
That's one for every boyfriend! *accompanies light-hearted comment [no doubt intended to put customer at ease] with a cheeky nudge and a wink*
My response is, of course, a nervous laugh (what else? He is leaving me no room to speak). But what on earth is his comment supposed to mean? Am I being insulted or flattered???
And now, the big moment. I have to admit, sales-person made it very easy to sit back and relax while being talked at, and yet have the impression that I was making decisions and answering his questions. But now, I think he must have expected me to find a sudden burst of enthusiasm (which I'm still baffled to understand he didn't find amiss from the off) in whipping out some money.
So, you're thinking what's the catch?
Me? No, really. You flatter me. I honestly thought all these products were going to be free. Although it is nice to be told what I'm thinking. :
Sales-man then proceeds to reel off a list of number and prices and successes and discounts and the like...
I spot talk-time will soon be over and expectant looks will soon commence, I edge away (still don't know when that foundation stick actually left my hand...perhaps when he was showing me the nifty little packing device for all my make-up needs??)
In my edging away (now making no more attempt to seem willing to stay), I mumble something about going to the bank
Well we take card...
I've nearly made it to the door. I can feel the heaters. I'm almost out. One last burst of interest.
Really? *pause for impression of torn-by-decision* I might come back in a bit then.
[how much of that descended into mumbling I don't quite know]
And then I'm out. And avoiding WHSmith like the plague.

I do feel a little bit like a time-waster, but to be honest, I had fun, he got practice, I had time to spare, and he was being paid.
As a final note (I promise, it is final...) I wish to apologise for this lengthy first post! Especially on
such a dull topic, which would no doubt have disappeared into the dusty recesses of my short term memory if not for this...
over&outtt (you'll be glad to hear!)

:D