I retire wincing and suggest to Sidney that Mr. Ishowi be phoned in his room. When he turns up he has all his clothes on and I am glad to see the new batch of nippons showing a spot of oriental humility as they bow and scrape before him.
‘Teahouse not the same without you,’ says one of them eager to show off her English. ‘Business very blad.’ Ishowi darts a quick glance at me and barks, a few words of Japanese at the girl that makes her turn away as if slapped across the mush. I feel sorry for her, and give her my Mark I friendly smile. She makes sure that Ishowi is not watching and smiles back nervously. One thing I will say for Ishowi, he certainly knows how to keep a grip on his staff. Tell a skivvy at the Cromby to stop spitting on the spoons while she is polishing them and she would ask for her cards immediately.
After tea Ishowi addresses the girls privately and then takes them down to the warehouse for product familiarisation. I am impressed by this willingness to buckle down to the job in hand and Sid starts to rub his hands together again.
‘Fantastic, these Japs, aren’t they?’ he says. ‘Only been here five minutes and they’re hard at it already.’
‘Yeah, and while you mention it,’ I say, ‘I’d put some pit props under the ceiling of Ishowi’s room if I were you. He’s a bit of a sexual athlete on the noisy. And if Fly Diver and Ample Bottom are his nieces then I’m their Dutch uncle.’
Now, it is a funny thing with Sid, but he is very variable. His attitude to people can change quite remarkably. Because Ishy produced a few half-decent birds he is now Johnny Jap, first-class again.
‘No need to point the finger,’ he says stiffly. ‘We all have our little existentialists. What Mr. Ishowi does in the privacy of his own room is his affair. His ways are not my ways.’
‘I hope not, Sidney,’ I say. ‘I’ve had my differences with Rosie but she is my own flesh and blood and –’
‘You know what I mean,’ snarls Sidney. ‘M.Y.O.B.’
‘Myob? Who’s Myob?’
‘Mind your own business!’ hisses Sid.
‘But I’d like to know, Sid.’
‘Shut up!’
‘But, Sid –’
‘Shut up!! We’ve got more important things to worry about. There’s those Japanese instructions leaflets to be translated for a start.’
‘Well, don’t look at me. I can’t speak a word of Japanese.’
‘Exactly! If you spent a bit more time doing something useful like learning Japanese and a little less time criticising people we’d all be a lot better off.’
‘Oh – go and play volley-ball!’ I mean, there is no point in talking to him when he is in one of his moods, is there?
Three days later we are ready to go. Yes, three days. Amazing, isn’t it? It just shows what a mixture of British grit and Japanese grey matter can achieve. For some reason best known to himself, Sidney had decided that the North represents the right market for the Nugget. Mainly, I think, because he reckons it is dirtier up there; that the natives are friendly, e.g. gullible; and, because he knows nothing about it, it does not sound so unpleasant as all the places he does know something about.
He has selected somewhere in the Sheffield area as being a good starting point and the girls and ourselves are going up there after a small launching partly organised by Mr. Ishowi. He and, thank God, Apple Blossom and Pearl Diver are staying behind to handle distribution of the product.
‘Very nice of him to lay this on for us, isn’t it?’ says Sidney as we prepare to enter the Noggett Suite where the reception is being held – yes, I am afraid that happened in the days when Sidney had total control of the hotel. We settled for that after we heard him talking to his solicitor about changing the name of the hotel from The Cromby to The Ritz Noggett.
‘Who’s paying for it, then?’ I ask.
‘Typical of you to come up with that. It pains you to think well of anybody, doesn’t it? Is my robe looking alright?’
‘Your dressing gown, you mean. Yes, but you look a right berk with that flower stuck behind your lug-hole.’ Sid has decided that because it is a Japanese evening we have got to dress up in Nippon style. I have tried to talk him out of the idea but it is no good and I am stranded in Bermuda shorts and one of Rosie’s maternity smocks. I reckon Ena Sharples looks more Japanese than I do. Before Sidney and I can exchange any more words the door opens and there is Ishy in full Japanese kit. Head band, baggy trousers, billowing sleeves, knee length jacket, broad sash, sword. Sword!!? Good evening, everybody.
‘Come here!’ snaps Sidney. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’
‘I forgot something,’ I mumble.
‘Forgive him, he’s a bit off-colour tonight,’ says Sid. ‘Oh, this is nice isn’t it?’
He is no doubt referring to the lanterns, candle light, low tables layed out with all kinds of invisible goodies and, not least, the lovely Daughters of the Cherry Blossom who have also slipped into traditional Nippon gear.
I try not to look at Ishy’s sword and prepare to encounter the next hazard to my enjoyment of the evening. Neither of them seem to be here.
‘You look around for my nieces?’ says Ishy reading my mind. ‘Unfortunately they not come. They indisposed. Great pity. They have very soft spot for you.’
I doubt it, I think to myself. You would not find a soft spot on those girls if you went over them with a set of drain rods.
‘What’s the problem?’ says Sid.
‘Strained their stomach muscles,’ says Ishy with obvious satisfaction. ‘They take their sport very seriously.’
‘Sid knows all about that, don’t you, Sid?’ I chip in. ‘You had a game with the girls, didn’t you?’
‘Something like that, Timothy,’ says Sid narrowing his eyes at me. ‘Ah, what is this?’
With exquisite timing he turns his attention to a tray of thimbles which is being proffered by one of the birds.
‘Saki to warm your heart,’ beams Ishy. ‘Tonight we give you true Geisha evening. Our ladies will do everything in their power to pleasure you.’
Can’t be bad, I think, as I raise my tiny cup to my lips. Ugh! The liquid inside is warm and tastes like armpit nectar. I make the mistake of knocking mine back sharpish and another one is quickly made available.
‘Delicious, isn’t it?’ says crawler Noggett as we are bowed towards a pile of cushions.
‘U-u-um,’ I say nodding my head vigorously. My gaze is directed towards the bird who spoke English when the party first came to the hotel. She is looking at me like a spaniel watching its master unwrap half a pound of sausages, and her interest mirrors my own. Small delicate features