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A day (off) in the life


The original idea was to get up early, get going early, and document an entire day in photographs. In fact, 12 hours in 24 pictures, a whole film, one picture every half hour, no matter what the surroundings...

8.00am. Brass monkeys.

..but like our friends the lizards, we don't move too fast or too far when it's cold. So, first job of the day is to get this fella going and curse the Japanese habit of building houses without insulation or heating.

After a couple of pints of coffee, I'm slowly regaining the feeling in my extremities and I could even manage a few words of English (though Japanese may well be beyond me for another few hours yet). Early morning TV news is bemusing. News producers favour showing long shots of empty streets where something may have happened. So let's pan along this anonymous suburban street. I've no idea what happened, or who did it, or to whom, but it's strangely hypnotising viewing.

8.30am. Signs of life.

Some stray sun rays are poking through the shoji now, and as I glance into the garden, still beaming with colour although it's nearly December, I think perhaps this Sunday in Mashiki is beginning to come to life.

Gradually the noise of traffic on the road outside is increasing (notably a couple of screeching skids, where I held my breath and waited for the crunch - some of the locals are evidently driving without their guide dogs this morning).

A quick look over the rooftops to the mountains in the west though, where the mist is low and the clouds are breaking up, and you just know it's trying to be a beautiful autumn day.

9.00am. Further life forms detected.

The sun's come out to play - and so has Kuniko! By a rare coincidence, she has a day off too, hence the late start. Time to ply her with coffee too, I think, because she's answering questions simply by staring at me. It's becoming a bit unnerving.

With sense at a premium at this hour, plan-making is put off until later. I've heard mutterings, however, about the purchase of Christmas decorations. While this smacks of a trip to some kind of hellish shopping emporium, if I can use this in bargaining for donuts, then the other party may have a deal.

Hmm. I think I'd better procrastinate a bit more have another cup of coffee while I think about it.

9.30am. A neighbourly visit.

Now that we've thrown open the shoji and the curtains to let the light, and perhaps a bit of heat, stream in, we're spotted by our neighbour, Bob. He's doing the Sunday morning rounds, ensuring all is well in his 'hood.

After inviting himself in, a couple of laps of the kitchen, two dismissive refusals of food (that's salmon, you ingrate!), and a disapproving glance into the living room, he finds nothing interesting enough to keep him.

He is also upset by my attempts to capture his mug on film (this photo really was the best I could manage this morning) and so as usual, he shows me his arse and departs for unknown adventures elsewhere.

10.00am. Producing great works of art.

It's nothing more than a distant rumble at first. But it grows until the house starts shaking and my vision blurs. Just as you think you'll be swallowed by the bowels of the earth, you realise. Not an earthquake at all. Someone's hungry.

To the left, a fine work in progress. An œuvre in need of an œuf. (Ed. Stop now. That's en-œuf!)

Ahem. Anyway, greasy fry-ups rule (when accompanied by extractor fans), and it's time to neck the scran. Should set us up for the day and we'll be ready to get going...

10.30am. Springing into action.

Not to be accused of acting rashly or unthinkingly, we consider our plan over a cup of tea.

Yeah, I know what it looks like, but it's green tea. And it gives us the time to make our plan for discussing the plan of action, which is to put it to immediate discussion.

And the upshot of all that is that it seems it's going to involve... shopping. I'm under strict orders to remain calm at all times, no sighing, no shouting and no tears. Like I have any control over that sort of thing.

11.00am. Weeeeeee're off to see the Wizard...

So on a day that offers nothing but pure, unadulterated shopping pleasure, we hit the road.

I remind my wife how lucky a woman she is by treating her to a live, acoustic, in-car version of Faith No More's Falling to Pieces. The car stereo accompanies this rendition, though is mostly drowned out by the sheer power of the vocal.

Pedestrians drop to their knees as we pass, presumably in order to worship this new and rising star in the world of mobile karaoke.

Unfortunately the journey is short and there is only time for the one song before we reach our destination. Even so, she is still weeping tears of joy as we get out of the car. How lucky she is.

11.30am. Lifestyles of the rich and famous.

Our first stop is the local hyaku (hundred) yen shop.

That little coin on the right will buy you anything, yes ANYthing on these two storeys of style and class for discerning consumers.

Except it won't, actually. There's the 5% sales tax to take into account too. But "the hundred and five yen shop" wouldn't trip quite so easily off the tongue, would it? Nor would your desirable plastic kitchen goods (in an array of pastel colours) or bandanas for dogs, or plaster statuettes of historical figures sound like such indisputable bargains.

If you think I'm overdoing the sarcasm, come with me...

12.00pm. Leave your taste at the door.

Time out now.

That really is what it looks like. And yes, I'm as baffled as you are. And yes, I've asked myself all those questions too, like who makes them, who do they make them for, do they actually sell any of these things?

But there's certainly a wide variety on offer - the pig dancer, the pig stewardess, the pig tennis player, and of course the many poses of the pig nurse either straddling, caressing or otherwise caring for her ailing pig patient.

And this evidence that there's a product manager smoking crack somewhere is yours for the princely sum of a hundred (and five) yen.

So hands up if you're looking forward to your Christmas present. Anyone?

12.30pm. Suckered by good sense.

I've just agreed to go to YouMe Town. I don't know what happened. Or how it happened. I think I've been played. Done up like a kipper. She knows my weak spot is donuts, and she went straight for it. And now it appears we're going Christmas shopping.

There was probably a sensible-sounding idea attached to it, which distracted me. Yes. That's it.

The fact that there's a queue just to get into the car park prompts an utterance that in turn prompts a reminder of my no crying/screaming/bloodshed agreement.

Much later. Sunday Service.

This is my Church. This is where I heal my hurt.

I've spoken of the strength of my faith many times in the past. My spiritual side is no secret. And while I can worship any day of the week, Sunday remains a special day. YouMe Town has the single benefit that it has an altar to my god, where I can stuff my gob in the presence of our Lord.

This is my Church. This is where I heal my hurt.

For tonight, God is Mister Donut.

4.00pm. There's no such thing as a free suit.

Which is in fact a lie. And here we are at the Dry Cleaning Photography shop to pick up mine. We've just had it developed cleaned. I was given it the other week, and now it's sparkly clean, it's ready to shake its bad black thing at the next wedding on the calendar. (You wear black to a Japanese wedding. And to funerals. Saves having two suits, I suppose.)

And this particular dry cleaner will also develop your photographs (and win the nomination for "Most likely to die in a hideous chemical accident at work"). While next door at the convenience store, you can buy a beer, do your photocopying and pay your phone bill. Multi-tasking of this seemingly random nature, while it's to be encouraged, takes some getting used to.

4.30pm. The Secret. Part Two.

My brother and I are the only ones who know. Only we two share the secret knowledge of the Bacon Double Cheeseburger (the "modern technology + haute cuisine = fine comestible item" thesis is still a best seller waiting to happen).

Well, bruv, this one's for you. Such a bun-bound delicacy is not to be found within these shores. But this is.

*drum roll*

The curry donut.

Enough said. You're either with it, or you're not.

5.00pm. Mr Blue, you did it right. But here comes Mr Night...

So the sun is setting, and our very ordinary day is drawing to a close.

It's that time of day when the thoughts of every man turn to sinking into the sofa with a beer in hand. Time for the evening news, for relaxing, for...

Hark! What's that sound? A distant rustling of autumn leaves?

No. It's shopping bags, and I recognise it only too late.

There's work yet to be done.

5.30pm. In the Beginning, there was glittery stuff.

Here's a selection of the 100Yen shop's most glamourous merchandise with which we are about to adorn our abode. These are the finest Christmas bargains to be found this side of the International Date Line.

With these mere trinkets, we shall transform our humble home into a fantasy Christmas grotto.

Without fear for the sensibilities of our neighbours, and with reckless abandon in the face of our January electricity bill, we're gonna light this baby up like a... like...

6.00pm. Have yourself a Heath-Robinson Christmas.

Hmm. I know it looks like some sort of redneck plumbing contraction during the day. But we're kind of hoping that once it's dark it's going to be a classy and jolly addition to the decorations. That's right. It will all look better when it's dark. That doesn't really have the right ring to it, does it...

But the neighbours have come to check it out already. They professed to looking forward to seeing the finished article. Well, what they actually said was "We're looking forward to it being dark."

I'm choosing to believe that this meant they were as excited as we are to see the impending light show.

6.30pm. A pain in the arse in sheep's clothing.

While this garland of fairy lights in golden Christmas shapes is very pretty now that it's up, it's also shedding glitter as if it were moulting. I've just hoovered the hall, the living room, the sofa, the coffee table, and it's made little or no difference.

I can just imagine the looks I'm going to get when a student sits opposite me and wonders why I'm sparkling. If anyone asks, I'll simply say, "Don't you know the true meaning of Christmas? Why aren't you covered in glitter?"

Or if I'm not feeling inventive, I might just say, "Because I'm English." This simple answer is deceptively effective and satisfies many a puzzled punter.

7.00pm. Only the heartless are unmoved.

When we decide that it's dark enough, there is the Grand Ceremony, which culminates in a local celebrity switching on our lights. Once I'd found the plug.

At this point, I feel I must point out that these are not mere lights. Oh no. They are a visual spectacular in blue, green, red and yellow. They incorporate a remote control with various 'flash' speed settings (of which we agree that it's probably the second fastest that should keep the neighbours awake at night).

And with our home now safe from passing aircraft, we can retire inside.

7.30pm. The fight for control.

This rather exciting live-action capture from our webcam catches the very moment when the Christmas tree bit back.

The tree appears to be somewhat gravitationally-challenged, which may have more than a little to do with missing some of its feet.

And while Kuniko is beating the tree into submission, the Messenger window on the computer goes "ping!" (actually it doesn't, but I can't think of a short and pithy description of the noise of the last of the bathwater going down the plughole).


8.00pm. Our man in China

For our purposes, we shall simply call him "Special Agent Smith", and he runs the Chinese operation.

Those who know him, love him. Those who don't know him, wish they did. The humble artwork to the right was created and transmitted entirely during our conversation and shows him reclining in his luxurious and highly fortifed Guangzhou penthouse overlooking his manor, from which he is checking in for one of his regular despatches.

And whilst I can reveal neither the nature nor the content of his report due to its sensitive status, ladies the world over will be relieved to hear that he is well and thriving.

8.30pm. Seconds out. Final round.

Sick and tired of the Christmas tree's evident attitude problem, Kuniko decides to take matters into her own hands, and bring the whole messy episode to a conclusion.

When the Blue Peter box of bits 'n bobs comes out of the cupboard, it's clear that the poor little green fella's going to be taught a lesson and it's time for me to beat a quiet retreat.

Seen here is one of her earlier, less successful attempts to enforce a vertical posture.


9.00pm. All is calm, all is bright.

With the delinquent Christmas tree finally behaving itself, now tightly jammed into a flower pot (a lesson in discipline for any young parents out there), sparkly and cute things strewn liberally about the house, and the nearest electricity sub-station bravely trying to keep up with our lights, we sit back on our glitter-covered sofa and look at what we have created.

And it is good.

But the work has built a hunger, so it is time to sit down to that most Christmassy of repasts...

9.30pm. Can't talk. Eating.

...a piping hot chicken curry.

Which, along with the satisfaction of a good job well done, produces a glow not seen since the days of the Reddy Brek kid.

Over dinner it is suggested that, though it might be difficult to believe at first, there is perhaps room for more, as yet unpurchased decorations to be put up.

Well, we'll just have to see.


10.00pm. Time is circular.

And here, I believe is where we started.

It's a cloudless and starry night tonight, and consequently, cold again. So once more the living room fills with the delicate aroma of burned aircraft fuel.

And here also, our very ordinary day draws to a close, and we take our leave of you. As we settle down to watch the Sunday night movie, my eyelids are already getting heavy, and I'm guessing that perhaps the opening credits is as much of this film as either of us is going to see...