At home

The cleaner got diagnosed with terminal cancer a year ago but is still alive. She carried on paying her her hourly wage bi-monthly, "What else can you do?"


But time hasn't expanded and she hasn't found time nor a new cleaner and consequently the place gradually became miserably dirty.


She said I'd been in Japan too long, but there was dust like settled snow and black cat hairs in balls. I started hoovering but, like two shampoos at the hairdresser, I needed to cover the area twice- giving time for the carpet to breathe once again and exhale another clingfilm of deeply ingrained dust.


The place is quiet and once again I am here in the country I remember where the rain tap is almost always left on. Not too much adjusting for me apart from for the sensors in my bum. 'Recoil' as they hit the cold porcelain, after months of warmed plastic, beeping plastic, plastic which creates a flushing sound when appraoched so that the pooper can poop in peace even if there are other listeners in the vicinity. But here it is just that temperature and there are no gadgets to play with to wash the bum, spray your bits or...


I begin reading the Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid. 52 pages in; it is brilliant...

Tokyo Shoe Rescue

just another two days in tokyo.. but still every days at least a little adventure...


today was many things including what to do when you loose your shoe... or flip flop for that matter!

Omotesando, is just one of those places.. where you could find beautiful new treads.. a popular station as ever, and me, laden with baggage as officially moving out from lux Minami Aoyama Garden Court, I step off the train to let all those behind me escape to ?
and in the process of the moshpit push out I precariously loose my shoe..

Oh yes, oops! for its gone haphazardly right between (into that small deep chasm) the train and safe platform.

I stare and as the doors close I point to the outlooking passengers in pantomime.. my bare foot and then the whole, small and tight, right under their squashed-to-the glass. noses.

I wonder if my purple flip flop will be sliced, but the train slides out and as I go to peer over the platform (wow it's high!) it is still in tact. My fellow photographer friend runs up to the end to go inform the guard, I don't have much spare yen and I'm not prepared to return on one foot if a rescue attempt is indeed possible. Lights shine in the tunnel and its not a question to pop in, get dirty then try to work out how the hell to get out. I wait as more loads pop out of the, already in the station train.

And you can see what happens. Maybe he's been missing pachinko sessions for arcade claw practise.. but it is smoothly delivered.. and .. yes.. the day continues.. on two feet..


so, see you soon!

Tokyo Pirate

Rup rup rup, been sitting on this returning train covered in a bit of Chichibu mud. Not quite the 64k 4day-day hike I was planning as the sequel to last weeks trail 100, but am tired n totally dozy so pretty satisfied none the less.

ONE repetative event keeps opening my curious eyes.. the man opposite is fastidiously cleaning himself with Japan's wet wipes. He carefully opens one, rubs his face up and down and finally, using both his hands and all his concentration twists it into a long ring of a wipe and scrudles it neatly into his ear. Now, we're on the fast train and from his station (Tokorazawa) to Tokyo's Ikebukuro it takes 33 mins. But the whole journey is a pile of wipes neurotically opened, folded, unfolded, twisted, scrudled then left as a growing sculpture on the little window pane.

He Never even looked dirty (not only comparatively) and I wonder what he has been doing that makes him feel quite this dirty.

Taking a trip this Friday to Blighty. Torn, an interlude in my Japanese love affair, but ....

Let's make the whole world laugh

So... Life in Big Tokyo, eh? Well.. last night was the photographer Araki's birthday bash at the Gr
Grand Hyatt.
An arty crowd unsuprisingly and some shows to accompany the delicious buffet... Araki's work and him working... a girl stripping, knickerless under a twirling tutu.. Araki snapping polaroids in an accompanying funny dance.. the crowd standing by in the darkened room watching the great man work...


All unlike the frenzied crowd participation though at the Sumo on Saturday. A late liquid lunch had helped cause the seat cushions to rip recklessly through tipped fingers towards the purple lantern above the stage.. the fans of the fighters at the front hiding helplessly under a shield of fallen cushions... Cushions descending from all floors like spongey confetti...


Araki's polaroids...
http://www.assemblylanguage.com/images/Araki.html