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I`ve written before that I as well as any foreigner in Japan am treated as a curious oddity. “Can you eat Japanese food? Oh you use chopsticks well.” Well we have a new panda in the house. A baby panda if you will. The baby. The foetus.

It doesn`t even have to use chopsticks. Just being is its main attraction. When you see it moving inside Reiko it gets cries of delight and exclamation. When it kicks as it thankfully often does, the applause is deafening.

And it`s just going to continue. It being born, crying, walking, talking, crying, laughing, shitting, puking. My future in the panda industry is uncertain. I`m going to be an ex-panda. A washed-up has-been turning to drink and drugs in the gutter whilst my protege - the one I myself created - takes away my glory.

“Look! I can conjugate all major Japanese verbs!” I cry from the corner of the room only to be deftly countered by a burp emitted from the Judas` mouth and drowned out by the ensuing cries of “Kawai!” from the mothers` circle. Time for an inevitable surrender.