Much hilarity here this morning. One of our less wordly trainees, Brother Ainame, was the subject of a most amusing practical joke. It has long been speculated by his classmates that he was ignorant in the ways of the flesh. Given the events of last night, that is unlikely to change any time soon.

One of his fellows slipped a note under his pillow. (I suspect Brother Niguri.) It read: “I am secretly dying to have you, and I’m too horny to keep it in. Meet me in the main courtyard at midnight. Be naked. And blindfolded. With a rose clenched between your buttocks. And so I know it’s you, write: ‘Yessir, I can boogie’ on your chest with a permanent marker. Find me by touch.”

It was “signed” with the name of one of the more attractive young ladies from the monastery.

The idiot only went and followed the instructions to the letter. I believe the only person who was not in the courtyard was one of the junior chefs who had developed dysentry.

I would have found the whole thing even funnier if I had not been recieved a letter “from Master Hamzo” telling me that the Order were looking for someone to carry out a hit at a Christmas Panto and that all those wanting to be considered for the mission should, in accordance with the teachings of the ninjitsu, show their readiness by wearing tutus and blindfolds while practising ballet cambres in the main courtyard at midnight.

Brother Niguri should be out of the hospital wing soon. Once they find where I hid him, that is.

I finally got a commission. Not a hit. But a protection job. This was my big chance. I was told to guard a foreign politician from terrorists. I vowed to fulfil my task in accordance with the teachings of the Ninjitsu.

It was all going smoothly until I spotted a disturbance. “GO, GO, GO!” I screamed at my team. Together we tackled the brutal maniac. Adept Awabi and Brother Unagi moved like the salmon flowing up a waterfall as they rushed to tackle this threat. Then we flattened him. He tried to fight but one man, however determined, has no chance against a group of ninjas – a group of ninjas led by a panda.

Our actions were proved correct by the fact that the thug was held under his country’s terrorism act. God knows how many people he might have killed if we had not intervened.

I think I’m suffering from anger management issues, not at all in accordance with the teachings of the Ninjitsu. Master Toro, the dojo’s most feared individual: our finance director, was going through my earnings to date. He basically compared my meagre revenue against the cost of my food and lodging.

To effectively illustrate the urgency of the shortfall, he then discussed how much panda genitals sell for in the traditional medicines market.  “It’s not like you use them anyway, that’s why you lot are all nearly extinct,” he added.

I snapped. In less than half a moment I had performed the Way of the Frozen Shard, striking in a heartbeat. (Now, as a Giant Panda, I move slowly. But that is only in relation to other ninjas. Compared to deskbound beancounters, I move like greased lightning on rollerskates.) 

In accordance with the teachings of the Ninjitsu , I focused my Ki and jumped – no, flowed – onto Master Toro’s desk. In an almost Zen-like trance I span, my left paw crushing his neck while my right right hand punched out the nearby window. As I continued my rotation, my right paw caught him in a certain spot behind the ear, disconnecting his brain from its stem. By this time, my left hand had caught a piece of the broken glass. In a finishing move I drove this into his heart (this is the frozen shard), my momentum wrenching the still-beating organ from his chest.  As a finale I impaled it on his beloved red pencil.

I’d say the whole process took less than half a second. I didn’t mean to do it. It was instinctive. You insult my kind? You insult my mother. You insult my mother? I kill you. No, I don’t just kill you, I make
sushi from your vitals, sever your nethers and wrap your intestines round your torso like tinsel on a Christmas tree, while you are still talking.

Yes, less than half a second. Blink and you’d miss it. Master Toro didn’t blink. He had seen the whole thing.  He had seen the whole thing from behind the practice dummy he had slipped into his chair while I focused my Ki and jumped – no, flowed – onto his desk. (Now, that’s fast.)

By and large, finance directors don’t like it when you try to kill them. And Ninja finance directors don’t mess around with reports to HR and rigorous examination of your expenses. For a moment Master Toro regarded me cautiously.

I knew I was dead. He moved so fast I would not stand a chance against his attack. It would be over before he realised it had begun, never mind me.

He spoke: ” So you are not aware that I worked at our craft for 30 years? Oh yes, friend panda, I was not always a … ‘deskbound beancounter’, as you put it.”

I knew I was dead. He moved so fast I would not stand a chance against his attack and he could read my mind. (A useful skill when it comes to expenses claims, I suppose.) In a second he was behind me. I swear he didn’t move. One split second he was on the other side of the desk. Then he was speaking in my ear.

“Still, that was a well-executed move, if slow. Unlike most, you kept your right foot – sorry, paw – at the correct angle, in accordance with the teachings of the Ninjitsu. You show promise. That’s the reason you are not dead already. You’re worth more to us alive.

“However, your genitals are still up for grabs. And, no, not in that sense.”

He then deducted the cost of his destroyed practice dummy from my future earnings. Master Toro then told me to start earning or get used to a different style of trousers.

Not a good day.

I am going through a bit of a crisis. I have always wanted to be a ninja, ever since I was a baby panda. While other panda cubs were eating bamboo and lying about, I would be creeping through the undergrowth wielding my lunch like a sword.

I was so quiet I once stumbled on my parents making love in the way that only pandas do. My Dad was lying on his back saying: “I really can’t be bothered. Can you?” My Mum, who was lying beside him, said: “Me neither. Fancy some bamboo?”

For years I struggled to be accepted into the Way of the Ninjitsu. Finally, I was taken on as an apprentice. Finally, I passed the lethal tests of ninjahood and have become an Adept, able to kill silently and efficiently with a variety of weapons. Able to disappear into the shadows afterwards.

But I’m not getting any work. And I need the money. I get my basic pay from the Order but, frankly, that only covers my four-kilo-a-day bamboo habit.

It appears there just isn’t much call for a covert assassin who is a slow-moving, passive, endangered, 260lb ball of black and white fluff.

I take refuge from my troubles the only way I know how: “Quick, Watson, the shoots and leaves.”