(diaryland) June 16, 2001 - 1:47 a.m.

Tonight I saw two bands: Bidston Moss and Sneeze. They made me hungry.

Today, I was at the bus stop. An old lady came and waited for the bus with me. She wanted to talk to me, but she was afraid, probably because I was reading a book and she didn�t want to disturb me. Finally, she got the courage to say, �Hello.�

I looked up from my book. It was lime green. She asked me when the bus was coming in Chinese. She was chewing gum and smiling. I said, �I�m not sure,� in English. She pointed at her watch, and asked me to estimate. I told her that I had no idea. But she still thought that I didn�t know what she was saying. I knew exactly what she was saying, because of the circumstances. I tried the shrugging option, but she was still convinced I was withholding information. So I held up five fingers. She smiled. �Ah, five minutes,� she said in Chinese. �Awesome.� Or something along those lines. I lied, but she was satisfied. And then the bus came straight away.

It reminded me of something that happened a long time ago, when I was four. There was a girl in my kindergarten who cried if you talked to her. I talked to her so much that she stopped crying at me. We used to pretend to paint the play equipment different colours using just water but real paintbrushes. Then I found out that she lived right across the road from me. One day, I was playing by myself in the front yard. I got bored. So I decided to cross the road and go to the girl�s house. She wasn�t playing in her front yard, so I thought she might be round the back instead. So I walked down her driveway. There was no-one in the back yard, but the back door was open. I walked in, and there was an old lady cooking and steam was flying everywhere. There was dark furniture and posters with calligraphy on them. She wasn�t as surprised to see me as she should have been.

�I go to kindergarten with the girl who lives here,� I said. �Is she around?�

The lady smiled compassionately and said, �Sorry, I don�t speak any English.�

�Well, you must know English if you can say that,� I said. You must remember, I was only four and telling me that you couldn�t speak English whilst speaking English was too much of a brain strain for me to handle.

She repeated herself. �Sorry, I don�t speak any English.�

�Well, OK then,� I said sceptically. I stood in the doorway for a while. I remember that the kitchen walls were pale yellow, with stains on the ceiling, and there were things all over the room I�d never seen before. It was the first time I�d experienced non-mid-European culture, in domestic form or otherwise. It was fascinating. Finally, I decided to go back home.

�Goodbye,� I said.

�Goodbye,� she said.