Seafront Diary

Busy doing nothing....Autumn arrives with its melancholic baggage.

2026-10-30T13:01:00.000+00:00

There are days that flash by in a whirlwind of activities, chores, work, and malarkey of various descriptions. Then there are others that just plod along, where you seem busy with little to show for it as the day draws to a close. Busy doing nothing, you might say, and I'd have to agree. Today was one such day here on the banks of the Sumida River, Tokyo. I had loosely planned to head over to Kinshicho to do a bit of shopping; I needed some new headphones, some underwear and a waffle jumper. However, one game of mahjong led into another and another, and a cup of tea on the balcony seemed to occupy the entire morning.

Not wanting to head into the busy commercial centre, yet still wishing to stretch the old pins, I headed off up the road, only as far as Oyoko River, which is about a mile away. I had a vague desire to have a peek at the cherry trees to see if autumn had arrived already, so I strolled down the riverside pathway to where Oyoko crosses with the Onagi River; it literally is the river equivalent of a crossroads. Down Onagi, there are a number of cherry trees, which are beautiful in spring when sakura season starts. Sure, it is no Mchidorigafuchi Moat or Meguro River, but it is jolly nice and completely devoid of foreign tourists. Autumn has barely started, although some of the other trees have seen some of their leaves turn golden or light brown, whilst others are scattered upon the ground, facing the whims of the wind.

The crossroads where Oyoko River passes Onagi River, or vice versa.

It wasn't warm; indeed, it felt positively chilly, and I was delighted to get home after a brief detour to Kiyosumi Park to say hello to rather more evidence of autumn. I'm not sure why, but there is something melancholic about this time of the year that gives birth to introspective thoughts surrounding the year's achievements. I let thoughts wash over me as I headed back along the Sumida River, nodding on the way past Matesu Basho as I went, quite pleased with how this year has been jam-packed with adventures and travels. I may have only visited two countries this year, but I've taken seven flights — three international, four domestic — enjoying five destinations and having lovely experiences.

I pondered the way this year has passed as I enjoyed a lovely cup (or two) of Earl Grey tea on the balcony as sightseeing and dinner boats passed along the river eight floors below me. Oh, such are the simple delights that cost nothing other than time.

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Rainy days and Mondays........that sounds familiar.

2026-10-26T08:58:05.392+00:00

It is a rainy day here in Tokyo; it is also a Monday!

It has been raining most of the day thus far, or rather, I think it has, but I can't be completely sure because I was asleep for most of the morning. I only arose a little after 13:00 from my hard yet comfortable bed. Now, before you think something disparaging like Jason is a lazy arsed fool, or something equally as accurate, let me inform you I'd stayed up late to watch the US Grand Prix. The time difference between here and Austin is something like 14 hours behind us, so the build-up to the race on Sunday afternoon there started at 04:00 Monday morning here. Therefore, I hope you'll understand my somewhat lackadaisical start to the day.

After a long awakening shower at exactly 43 degrees Celsius, I dressed and tottered off to the local supermarket for some supplies for the next day or so. I do rather like my Olympic supermarket, not only as it's less than a two-minute walk from my apartment building, but also for the range of products they carry in a space that's about half the size of a football pitch. Now, I shan't bore you with a list of my purchases, save to say I got enough for three days of dinners including snacks, but no chocolate or ice cream.

'Jason, without chocolate, what is the world coming to?' you may exclaim silently, which of course would be understandable; such is my love of the brown heaven-sent delight. But I'm being strict with myself: unless I do 8000 steps in a day, I do not partake of chocolate. Furthermore, I have to achieve 9000 steps before my willpower allows me a bowl of ice cream. I'm not being masochistic just for the sake of it; I do have a reason, which I feel is pretty valid. You see, I am, let's face it, overweight now, by rather a lot. I can't give you an accurate tally of the kilos, pounds, or stones my body currently has amassed, as I don't have scales here; however, in Australia, before my little plane and helicopter flights, I was weighed, and I came in at 103 kg. In old money, that's 16.21 stone, or a BMI of 36.9, which for a fella of 5ft5 (167cm) is more than just overweight; it puts me in the obese category. According to the NHS, a healthy weight with an average BMI for someone my age and sex should be somewhere between 51.6 kilograms and 69.7 kilograms!

So, yes, I'm being careful with what I put in my body, which is working, sort of. You see, if you think I'm a big fat bloater now, that's nothing to what I was around this time last year. I stopped jumping on scales after I broke my leg, as I wasn't able to do any exercise, and that was about twenty years back. Therefore, when I had to have a colonoscopy last year, I had no idea how much weight I was carrying, ok, that's not quite true; I knew I was a fat bloke, but exactly how much this extra blubber was, I had no clue. When the nurse sat me on a chair, that was actually the weighing scales, I guessed I was on the heavy side. I couldn't believe my ears when I asked her what my weight was; she seemed hesitant to tell me at first, but the pleading look in my eyes must have got to her. "138 kilos," she uttered softly. I'll save you from doing the maths; that is 21st 10lb. I let it wash over me at the time, yet after other doctor's appointments, it dawned on me that 'little old me' was anything but little! I wasn't just a porker; I wasn't just a bit overweight; I was gargantuanly fat, and more so, I was morbidly obese. They don't like to use that term anymore; it's something like obese level III, although to me it doesn't matter what term you use; it's way, way too bloody big and I don't want to get that way again, and rationing chocolate and fat intake is one way I can help prevent it.

Therefore, the long and short of it is that as I've done little over 840 steps thus far today, no chocolate is passing my lips!

Going back to my reason for a late start to the day, it was an interesting race, not major excitement, thrills and spills with crashes galore, but fast and enjoyable. Plus, it was so good to see Charlie pretty boy LeClerc up on the podium behind wonderkid Kimi Antonelli and in front of Max Verstappen. Kimi looks like he's going to be World Champion after the next race in Mexico, which would make him the youngest ever driver to claim the title.

Salad for dinner, yum.

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Ever seen a statue move? Matsuo Basho

2026-10-22T12:55:33.932+01:00

Have you ever seen a statue move?

Just along the river from my little apartment is the Basho Heritage Garden, a raised tiny oasis of beauty dedicated to the memory of Matsuo Basho, one of Japan's greatest poets, especially of the Edo period.

Here, in this little corner where the Sumida River and Onagigawa River converge and not far from where Matsuo Basho is said to have lived for a number of years. Local legend has it that during the day he faces towards Mt. Fuji and then in the early evening he moves to face down the Sumida River.

The statue is a life-size Basho sitting on a cushion and seems to cultivate a sense of stillness and calmness that soothes the soul and quietens the mind. There are examples of his work in the garden and along the side of the river on the terrace, which tourists from overseas and closer to home often stop to take photos of to enjoy at their leisure. There is also a little pond in this heritage garden; some say there are small fish swimming in the clear water, but \i'm not so sure. I can, however, say that on the six or seven times I've been there, I've not seen any.

There is also, quite often, a gentle breeze up here that kisses the cheek like the softest feather, which itself encourages a peacefulness and reflection. Of course, the view is vastly different from the three-hundred-plus years since Matsuo's days; you can get an idea of what it might have been like days long gone. The modern bridges of Shin-Ohashi and Mannen Bridge are in the same places as many previous river crossings that his feet may have used.

Arty riverside.....Art Para Fukagawa Art Festival 2026

2026-10-20T09:30:00.000+01:00

I was walking along the side of the river the other day when I noticed there was a picture in a frame attached to the railings. I thought, how odd, yet how lovely. It brightened my afternoon walk no end. But just a few paces along, there was another picture and then another and another and yes, another. They were all different, all unique, some colourful and one or two monochrome or black and white. I thought some were terrific, whilst others were not perhaps my cup of tea; still, they had artistic merit, and no doubt brought joy to others. I didn't have a clue why it was there, nor how long it had hung along the railings before my eyes noticed it, nor did I know how long it was going to be there. Although if it was back home, I'd only give it 24 hours before each one would either be stolen, vandalised, set on fire, or urinated on.

After a few more wonderful artworks, I saw a poster, which, upon translation, informed me it was the "Urban art" part of Art Para Fukagawa Talkative Art Festival 2026. It read, "The 7th annual art festival is organized by local residents who deeply love Fukagawa and art. With the theme of "Living Together," it is a unique community art festival unlike any other in the world. In the downtown area of Fukagawa, which evokes the atmosphere and charm of Edo, you can encounter works by artists with disabilities. This year, across two areas of Fukagawa and Toyosu, approximately 2,000 pieces of art, original drawings and art votive tablets, are on display. The colours, shapes, and imaginations created by artists with disabilities will give you new inspiration and surprise. The power of art will capture people's hearts and make them stop and think and give rise to unexpected conversations and chats."

It wasn't just along the river terrace; it was all over the place, in key locations right across the area, plus a competition and exhibition, making it a truly accessible and open event running for 18 days.

My heart was well and truly captured; seeing such creations made my heart sing and my soul enriched, and whilst I didn't engage in any chats, I stopped, thought, and felt much inspiration. To the artists and the organizers, I salute you; definitely a tip of the old chapeau. You have created something so magical and far-reaching that will live on in the memory for decades to come.

TOP-2026(豊洲版) | ARTPARA FUKAGAWA

Shopping, fire sailors and autumn dawns.

2026-10-13T13:17:00.000+01:00

It has been a rather lazy couple of days down here in Koto City with lovely weather. Wait a minute, the cogs in your brain are whirring at full speed. You thought I was in Tokyo, but here I am telling you I'm in a city called Koto. I wasn't telling you a big fat porkie, promise. Koto is actually part of Tokyo. It is just off the central part of metropolitan Tokyo, between the two rivers, Sumida and Arakawa, and slotted between Tokyo Bay and Sumida and Edogawa.

You might not know this, or if you've done a little bit of research, you probably would, but Tokyo is actually made up of a large number of other cities, or more accurately 'Special Wards' as most of them are officially called, despite being more widely known as cities. I think there are around 49 of those and another 10 or so towns and villages that go to make up the Tokyo Metropolis, which is home to some 14,264,798 people. And that, my little cherubs, is rather a lot of folks! In fact, it is more than the entire population of, say, Sweden, or Czechia, or Tunisia, or Portugal, or Greece, or Norway, Finland, Cyprus, and Estonia combined.

So, anyway, I've had an enjoyable couple of days doing normal things, like going to the supermarkets, getting shopping, walking along the terraces of the river, having a picnic and watching firemen on a boat, although, as they are on a boat, would that make them sailors? I'll just call them fire sailors, sorry if that's wrong. But I occasionally see them, as the two boats are based just a little way down the river from my apartment on the Chuo City side.

The days have been warm, 26 or 27 degrees with sunshine and blue skies, which isn't too darn bad for late October and the start of autumn. That's only here in Tokyo, though, because other parts of Japan have autumn at slightly different times, given how big the nation is. For example, in Hokkaido they've already had lots of snow settling; indeed, a few blizzards have been reported. In Kyushu, autumn doesn't start till the middle of November and lasts well into December. And back here in Tokyo, it is basically from now until the middle of December, yet the leaves are already turning golden, with some trees shedding as the breezes ripple through their branches.

A blast from the past at 4:40am

2026-10-09T09:34:00.000+01:00

I was woken by my phone blasting out a version of Harpo's Movie Star, my current ringtone, at 04:40 this morning. My bleary eyes blinked open as the sound got louder; it took a few seconds to first locate my phone and then turn it around to read the illuminated screen. It was a UK number; for some reason that I've yet to discover, the caller ID doesn't display here, so I answered with a sleepy, croaky voice. "Hello," a voice I knew boomed out of the speaker, although it took a few moments for my sleep-addled brain to fire the neurons in my right inferior parietal lobe and recognise the dulcet tones of Simon, an old friend and beau of mine from times long ago.

It was a surprise phone call, and Simon had no idea I was not in the UK and currently on the other side of the world and living in a time zone that was so vastly different to that back home. Now, I haven't had a conversation with Simon for ever such a long time, more than a year and a half, I'd wager. Therefore, it was jolly good to catch up and have a natter; indeed, whenever we do converse, we do so at length. This morning was no exception, and whilst he woke me up, I kept him up late as we gabbed away as if we'd chatted only the week before. Our discourse lasted just over four hours this very morning, although it passed by in a fraction of that duration, I thought.

After a shower and a second cup of tea, I ventured to the local Supermarket for all sorts of goodies and supplies. After unpacking, I put a load of washing in the machine and went for a walk along the river. Only 7075 steps were completed before my little tootsies crossed the threshold of my eighth-floor apartment and I relaxed.

I may have felt a little tired all day long due to such an early start, but I was jolly grateful for the call. It is always great to have a conversation with an old friend, especially one that you have such a long history with. Simon and I first met way back in the early 1990s, and when I say early, I mean 1990; it might even have been 1989 — I'm not completely sure, but I'm sure you'll agree that is rather a long time down the long and winding road that is called the past!

All the way through my walk, fragments of our conversation came flooding back, as did memories of a lovely weekend in Oslo, staying in the Oslo Plaza Hotel, a massive mirror-fronted tower block hotel that was considered (at least at the time) one of the best the city had to offer. As memories of Scandinavia faded as the steps mounted, recollections of another overseas trip tumbled out; Malta was a dusty place, filled with old people with wrinkled faces, dark hair, and never without a cigarette. I can remember the two of was walking along the front of St Julians Bay, Valleta and buying comilation cassettes for a fractio of the cost back home. Oh, the memories! So odd how some things from more than thirty years ago can seem clearer than what I did a week ago last Monday!

River walks....

2026-10-07T16:51:20.515+01:00

When you consider that I live in an apartment that overlooks a bridge over the Sumida River, it probably wouldn't surprise you to learn that one of my favourite pastimes is to stroll up and down the banks of the aforementioned river. There are a few reasons why I like it so much; not least the exercise value, its calming nature is also a boon. Watching fellow walkers, joggers, dog walkers, promenaders, anglers, or other such activities is very enjoyable for a person such as myself, who some might say is nosy whilst I'd contend I'm just inquiring. Experiencing the weather is jolly nice, especially in this autumn season which seems so very changeable at the moment. As an example, there had been a long period of rain every day just recently; the day before yesterday it was bright sunshine with temperatures knocking on 29 degrees. Yesterday, mostly cloudy with the afternoon sun chasing that cloud away like a naughty minx in the wood. Of course, sometimes the humidity is a factor; sometimes it is quite low at 40%, other times it's up to 92% and above, which means you'll either have to walk thirty minutes to get a sweat on or do half a dozen steps before the moisture starts leaking from your pores. Apologies if that's given you mental images of things you'd rather not have floating around your hippocampal formation

Yesterday I went for a walk along a river, but not the one that I can see from my window. I arose early, well, ok early for me, and headed off down the road. I strolled all the way along Tokyo Prefecture Route 50, otherwise known as Shin-ohashi-dori Avenue, or to me, the road outside, until a jolly long bridge/flyover construction, Funabori Bridge. Now, I'm not sure where officially the bridge starts, but the whole thing is pretty long, about 1.9 kilometres, and transports vehicles and people over the Kyunaka River, Arakawa River, and Naka River.

Pccari Sweat and an egg sandwich picnic refueled me after the 6.2 kilometres or 3.9 miles walk, and I enjoyed the view for a while. There is a cycle and jogging track, a separate footpath, and a lush, overgrown, marshy-type section right by the water, which all vie for attention. There is an almost wild, wide-open charm about the area, despite the busy road, the industrial aspect, and the overcast skies. It was moody; it was, at least for a little while, a brief scene from a music video or a promotional film, maybe of a dystopian drama with the distant Tower Hall Funabori, the evil overlords' watchtower. A scene made all the more believable by the tower's square, almost brutalist architectural style. I can only wonder what this place would look like on a cold, snowy winter's day with a sky of battleship grey and as bleak as bleak could be.

Sorry, rivers often make me dream, or perhaps that should be daydream, or just let my mind wander down rabbit holes of gargantuan proportions and create mental images of the movies in my mind. I'll try to resist those temptations in the future, but the mind does what the mind wants.

I didn't walk home; I took the metro, the super efficient Shinjuku Line, back to Morishita Station, just down the road from the apartment for a bit of a rest. Of course, you'll never know what I did a couple of hours later, after a long rest and a nice cuppa. Yep, went for a walk by the river!

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Back in Japan with a typhoon sent to greet me!

2026-09-30T10:48:24.968+01:00

I've completed the Australian leg of my travels, have returned to Japan, and am back in the Tokyo apartment. I had a wondrous time 'down-under,' and it was great to experience so many places. In the days to come, I'll tell you more about my activities and my innermost impressions of the Australian cities I visited.

Now, I'm back in Tokyo, and my soul feels contented, although the weather is a bit damp. In fact, today is the 35th consecutive day of rain in central Tokyo, a new record, and tomorrow is very likely to be the 36th. In the last 24 hours, there has been 36mm of rain. Typhoon / Tropical Storm Surigae is off the coast and may bring more wind and rain tomorrow if it doesn't weaken and change course, which is quite likely.

I arrived back on 25th September on a lovely Japan Airlines flight from Sydney in Business Class, thanks to a successful low upgrade bid. I was flying on a Boeing 777-300, which was very comfortable, with a lie-flat seat, massive entertainment screen, and lots of space. As it was a day flight, almost 10 hours' worth, I didn't turn it into a bed and only had a post-meal nap, as I didn't want to create that jet lag phenomenon. I'm glad I did, as I slept through the night, waking up around five in the morning on Saturday.

I've wandered around the local area, up and down the river and to the local parks, to reacquaint myself with things and see what has changed in the nearly three months I've been away. In short, not a lot has changed; the major noticeable difference is that the two trees out the front of the apartment block have been well and truly pruned. Everything else looks and feels the same, including shopping in the local supermarket.

On Sunday I took the long walk to Tokyo Station, which is always a great place to visit, almost always very busy and packed with all kinds of life going about their business. I often find it strange that if you ever want to feel completely alone whilst being in a big crowd, go to the station. Yet, if you feel lonely, you can also head to the underground shopping streets and feel the warmth of humanity, which chases the birds of loneliness away.

I didn't buy anything down there, but I headed down the street to the massive flagship GU, Uniqlo, and Daiso stores at Marronnier Gate, Ginza, which, despite the number of people, is always a nice place to shop. I got some domestic supplies, such as fluffy towels, vases, flowers, containers, and a super large mug. Now I can have a cuppa, British style, whilst looking over the river from my balcony.

I was awoken at 4:47am yesterday morning by a 4.9 magnitude earthquake, and as the epicentre was only in the next-door prefecture, the warnings only arrived as the quake had already roused me from my slumber. Now, it may sound scary, up here on the 8th floor, the wobbling wasn't aggressive or excessive. Indeed, dare I say, I actually find it almost comforting. No point getting scared, as such tremors from the ground up are a fact of life here in Tokyo. Thus, after a brief look outside, a drink, wee, and then back to sleep, I went for an hour.

In the last few days, I've gone by the lovely statue of Matsuo Basho, which is a five-minute walk away from the apartment, at various times of the afternoon to see if I can spot it moving. Yes, legend has it that the statue faces Mount Fuji during the day and shifts position to gaze down the river to Tokyo Bay of a night. As of now, I've yet to see the big bronze sitting poet move, but I'll keep you informed.

What is fun anyway?

2026-09-05T05:45:53.984+01:00

Can you believe it is September already? It seems to have come around so fast this year, although I would wager that isn’t too surprising, as I’m travelling and they do say that time flies when you’re having fun. Yet, who exactly ‘they’ are is now and always has been a mystery to me, and I’m not sure ‘fun’ is the right word to describe my enjoyment of my explorations. The word ‘fun’ to me dances with thoughts of fairground rides, waltzers, dodgems, rickety roller-coasters through my mind. I can hear a ringmaster like Stephen Fry bellow out lines like ‘All the fun of the fair, roll up roll up roll up’ and so on. If not that, then I’m transported back to a time when I was a child building sandcastles with a bucket and a spade with my name burnt into the staff when fun was free and true bliss cost the price of a stick of candyfloss!

Do we have fun when we reach our fifties? Sure, we have pleasure; we enjoy doing things, perhaps more sedately than years gone by, but is it ‘fun’ or is it contentment? Having a croissant sitting on a bench by a wall in South Brisbane, watching people pass by and CityKats chug up and down the river, with reptilian company, was delightful. But perhaps not what you'd call 'fun'!

I arrived in Cairns on Thursday evening after three whole weeks of lovely contentment in Brisbane, which I’ll add is a delightful city. I very much enjoyed my time there; it was joyous and relaxing, although on average I walked 5.9 miles a day! There is something easygoing about the city, which is surprisingly walkable, that appeals. It is easy to get around; travel costs 50c a trip on public transport, so it's foolish not to take advantage of it.

I flew on a National Jet Systems, which operates as QantasLink, new(ish) Airbus A220, which entered service in April 2025; my first time on that type of winged wonder, and it was a lovely, comfortable two-hour flight. My bid for an upgrade was successful, so I flew in business class, as advised to me a couple of hours before the flight, which was a nice bonus. No veggie meal was loaded on the flight, but the crew got me a cake from business and a quiche from economy, so I was delighted. I hadn’t expected any nosh on the flight, so even a drink was a welcome extra. It was so much better than my previous flight with Qantas from Melbourne to Brisbane, where the crew seemed to treat passengers as an inconvenience. So, jolly well done to the purser of flight QF1566 for your friendly, professional service and ingenuity.

I arrived at my next apartment hotel not long after 18:30 and picked up the keys, before heading off to the supermarket for essential supplies. Well, one must have teabags, milk, bread and chocolate to survive the night through. The next day I wandered through the city, then onto the esplanade and promenade and enjoyed the super scenery and lovely weather. A breeze gently tickled the fronds of the palm trees as the sun kissed everything with 28-degree warmth, and you know, the world seemed alright. I’m not sure you’d call this ‘fun’ per se, but I was certainly enjoying my day!

Oh for the love of clouds........

2026-08-31T09:55:00.000+01:00

Clouds across the moon, empire of clouds, far above the clouds, clouds in my coffee, beyond the clouds, dark clouds, black clouds, white clouds, mushroom clouds, clouds of loneliness, and more than thirty just clouds. Puzzled? I am talking about songs; all the aforementioned and dozens and dozens more have cloud or clouds in the title and are, to a greater or lesser degree, about those dewy bundles of ice crystals and water droplets. Or perhaps more accurately, of what they may mean to us, or others of this race we call human. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a nephologist, nor a meteorologist, nor an ologist of any kind; I just....well, I'll admit it, I like clouds. I might, if you push me a bit, even go as far as saying, I love clouds! (Quit your sniggering!)

I've been thinking about clouds a lot over the last few days: their shapes, sizes, colours, names, composition, and so on. I'm not exactly sure what initially brought them into the conscious mind, probably the abundance of them at points various during my days here in Brisbane. Considering it is winter down this sphere of the globe, the appearance of clouds on a daily basis should not be a wholly unexpected feature. And it hasn't; most days have been a mix of sun and clouds, with a little bit of rain thrown in for good measure. Should you probe my grey matter with your searching rods, you might find a few stands in my belief cortex that would say it was going to be colder, wetter, and more like Sydney. Yet, I've been pleasantly surprised by how mild and nice it has been here. So much so that I've even got a touch of sunburn on my nose and ears; sunblock hasn't exactly been in my weary traveller's knapsack!

I was up at one of my favourite river stopping points the other day, when a whole bank of cloud floated on by, high in the sky, dissecting the wide blue like a giant friendship bracelet round the globe. On another day, I was walking across the Story Bridge, as the wind tore at my clothes and stung my face and hands like a hundred tiny needles being thrown at my extremities. At the same time, these huge billowing clouds slowly danced overhead in their magnificent menace, creating a foreboding desire to pick up the pace and avoid a potential drenching downpour. The clouds looked, ok you'll think me foolish, but they looked angry. Honestly, they looked angry and if not angry, then more cross than if your dunked biscuit drops the soggy half into your tea or you start accidentally cleaning your teeth with shaving gel.

Today is another fine example. I'd taken a ferry to the furthest point on the F1 route, Northshore Hamilton, which has one of the smallest beaches you've ever seen. There's quite a bit of development going on in the area, but I was there just to have a peek around, see how far it would be to walk to the Story Bridge, with the preposterous idea of walking over it. So, peek I had, and as it was going to be more than a mile to walk to the bridge, I decided against it and sat on a concrete bench by this little beach and had essential supplies of a mini croissant, OJ and a Snickers and contemplated life for a bit. There was a tiny bit of sun, but it was mostly a sky constructed of clouds up high and down low. Clouds floated by at different speeds and in slightly different directions depending on their altitude, I supposed. The cloudscape was just as pretty and as magnificent as the rippling river, bobbing boats and wind-ruffled trees. The more I looked, the more I saw. Some had shapes, some looked like animals, whilst others looked like....errr....clouds!

It occurred to me that I do rather like looking at clouds and indeed, I do spend a reasonable amount of time casting my eyes skywards. At least I do these days when time is both abundant and precious. I doubt I would have had much time for cloud watching when I was working in Hastings, nor when I was a much younger person working at the radio station, when the only time I would look to the heavens was to make sure the aerial was still up! Yet, now, when I'm over half a century old, I've time a plenty to gaze to the 'up above' and contemplate the life and times of clouds. Ok, that might be exaggerating a wee bit; I don't look up and plot a whole biography of each individual dew conglomeration. But I do wonder how and when it was formed, what places it has blown over and which towns or cities have yet to see its natural amazingness.

I sit on my balcony and look at a delightful row of clouds spanning the sky in massive fingers from an unseen hand. They float on by like balls of candy floss in the wind. Yet, unlike the sugar confection, this layer reflects a hue of amber and red from the setting sun that has already passed below Mount Coo-tha for my eyes. As I marvel at their beauty, I can't help contemplating life, but not the whole great big 'meaning of' sort of thoughts. No, it is more the immediate sort of life. It is the here and now that I'm thinking of, the enjoyment, the excitement, the contentment or the isolation, loneliness or whatever the sensation is that ripples round my bones.

It occurred to me, as I watched the clouds from Northshore Hamilton earlier, that we don't give these combinations of particles as much love and credit as we should. No, we're mostly bemoaning their presence, castigating them for just being up where they belong. We look skyward and almost always feel downcast as soon as our eyes rest on them, and I think that is wrong. I think we should look at them with fondness, joy and dare I say love, without you thinking I should be carted off to the nearest funny farm. (Are we allowed to say funny farm these days? Will some thought police come out of the woodwork and tell me that it's not politically correct or the correct phraseology in 2026? Funny farm, should, like a lot of my childhood learned vocabliry, be consigned to the dustbin of outdated language.)

I give you a challenge today, yes, this very day, to go outside, or at the very least, to the window and look skyward and be pleased, no, delighted to see a cloud. I also want you to say a wee 'thank you' to that cloud. Ok, you don't have to say it out loud; I know you're not as crazy as me, so maybe you just mouth it, or say it silently in your mind. Just feel a sense of gratitude toward it, and as you're doing that, try, if you can, to marvel at its beauty. Needless to say, if the only time you go outside today is when you're driving to town, looking up for extended periods of time is not recommended.

Monday Monday......

2026-08-24T09:12:14.604+01:00

Congratulations, Mr Norris, on taking another win in the last, for the foreseeable future, Dutch Grand Prix. Thoroughly good watch, even if I did have to stay up late last night to view it all, whilst down this end of the world.

Of course little Lando will never actually read that congratulatory salutation, so I wonder why I made it. I’m not alone; we often post such statements on social media offering compliments and commendations to stars of screen, stage, song or sport, and we do so willingly. But, we know, at least, most of us know that those said celebrities’ eyes will never gaze upon our words. We offer those thanks and good wishes to the universe, much like the religious offer up prayers to their chosen deity and divinity. We’re doing the modern social media equivalent of standing on a corner in the town square shouting our head off that so and so did so well.

But why do we do it? Why do we want to shout such congratulations or heap such praise in a public way? We’re not doing it to make a direct message to our chosen hero or heroine; we’re signalling our sentiments to our friends, relations, followers, subscribers or other such assembled throng. It is almost like a less hypocritical virtue signalling that our snobbish QI-watching, quiche-eating, soy-latte drinking acquaintances tell us is so wrong. Therefore, if we’re not saying it to them, are we really just saying it to each other, you know, to our ‘tribe’ and by writing them are we just doing so to demonstrate our membership of that tribe, group, gang, collective or whatever other word you choose to use? I think we are, but more than that, I think we actually feel better for doing so and perhaps being part of that sentiment of collective celebration gives us a little boost, a little spark of goodness. I suppose it also has an added benefit of strengthening the bond between us fans of whichever celeb it is. Of course, having said all that, in these modern times, where, for many, the online world is more important than this thing we call reality. Where the views of strangers are held with greater regard than those we physically see, it could all be done to achieve a greater number of thumbs up, likes, hearts or similar.

None of that was what I was thinking about as I walked along the banks of The Brisbane River, crossing The Story Bridge. Nope, I didn’t contemplate commenting on social media at all; mostly my thoughts revolved around the natural beauty of the plants dotted along the route, the strange engineering feat of a cantilever from the 40s that still carries one heck of a lot of traffic. The oddly worrying cracks in the concrete balustrades and the teeth-shaking vibrations on the aforementioned construction. When I paused, under a wooden pergola beside the river when the rain came, I thought of little other than the smell of fresh rain that tingled my nostrils and the pat pat pat of the drops hitting the corrugated tin roof with increasing force.

I like the rain; I liked it today; it felt right for a reflective mood on a Monday; sometimes it is the simple things in life that give the most joy. So, if I were you, I’d just get out and smell the world after the rain.

21332 steps completed today!

That's all for today.....

Everything revolves around Thursday!

2026-08-20T13:24:26.823+01:00

It is a Thursday; I can tell that by two methods: first, the calendar that features on the front screen of my mobile phone, and second, is that realisation that I’ve been here in Brisbane, Queensland, for a week! Thus far, all my flights have been on Thursdays, and therefore my accommodation is always booked for the same day of the week.

Why did I choose a Thursday for the day of my travel? You may well ask. Indeed, there are numerous reasons why Thursdays are a good day for a jaunt of the air journeying kind, not least that it avoids the weekend surcharge, which traditionally, at least in the airline world, includes Fridays. This is, so I’m told, because these days are, or were, the most popular with the leisure/family traveller. Things have changed somewhat in recent times, and it varies depending on geographical areas as well. I could also offer safety as a factor: the day of the week when most plane crashes take place is Tuesday, followed by Wednesday, and whilst Sunday is said to be the day when crashes have least occurred, that is a weekend day when the flights are fullest, and upgrades are least likely to be granted. Fridays are the days with the most delays, and therefore Thursdays are thusly the best day of the week to fly. I could tell you all that, but while there is a grain of truth in it, it's mostly bunkum, and I picked Thursday because it was one of six other options, and I had to pick one of them, and it was the day of the week one day before my temporary stay visa for Japan ran out!

Today I arose at half eight of the morning, as is my usual leisurely awakening time in the days passing. All normal ablutions and breakfasting were completed customarily, which saw me exit the front door of the hotel before a non-existent Grandfather clock would have finished chiming ten times. I looked up and down river for a ferry; with none on this stretch of the river, I ambled down to the bicentennial bikeway and gently strolled my way towards the city centre. There was little in my mind of an agenda or destination; indeed, my grey matter was untroubled by thoughts of any nature as the morning's beauty greeted my eyes with each passing step. I like days like this, where plans are few and far between; I like Thursdays like this, where the freedom to just wander is luxuriously inviolable.

I did a circuit of the main shopping thoroughfares of George, Albert, Edward, Adelaide, Elizabeth, and Queens Streets. I also passed through some delightfully old-fashioned arcades, Tattersalls being one such example, that made me hanker for being an Edwardian Gentleman of independent means. Alas, as my means, which while they are independent, are less like means and more like beans, I repaired to the nearby botanic gardens and quaffed my lunch of pastries and iced coffee. Of course, on the way, I caught sight, if you can catch sight of the monstrously tall 222 Margaret Street, which is perhaps more popularly known as Brisbane Skytower! Which, at 900 feet and 90 stories, is both Brisbane’s and Queensland’s tallest building, plus it has an underground eight-level car park! Normally, such a tall building would loom over you and look out of place; however, Brisbane is slightly different: most of the really tall skyscrapers are in the CBD – the Central Business District, in a sort of loose rectangle. They belong together, and it is the few historic buildings dotted around the central city that, beautiful though they are, seem more out of place and like something created for a theme park!

After fortifying myself, I ambled across the river on the lovely Kangaroo Point Bridge to enjoy a stroll along the Riverwalk to South Bank and wherever this wind, will, and my feet would carry me. The sun was breaking through the clouds, and despite it being winter, its warmth and potency managed to tingle the nose, prompting a judicious application of sunscreen! I did the slop of the Slip, Slop, Slap, Seek and Slide, beloved of all sun-conscious Aussies.

I was in my own little world, just marvelling at the beauty of nature and the man-made world blending in near-perfect harmony of this little corner of Brisbane. Apart from the slightly odd aroma of the factor 50 that was now shielding my snozz from the harmful UV rays, everything was delightfully pleasant. I smiled at people and people, well, some of them, smiled back. I paused for some more iced coffee (without the ice) and walked onward at a pace that would seem positively glacial in the busy streets of London.

I’d passed the closed Streets Beach and wandered through most of South Bank Parklands when I happened upon a big wheel. Well, ok, I’d seen it before; you can’t really not see it, considering it's about 197 feet high and has over 40 capsules, or pods or gondolas or whatever the flippin ‘eck those cars are called. I checked out the price; it seemed rather expensive, $25, and it rotated quite fast. However, I’m only in Brisbane for another two weeks, and if not now, then when? The staff were friendly, much more so than Sydneysiders, which is a subject I’m sure I’ll come back to at another time, anyway, soon as I was climbing my way in a gondola, which was, thank goodness, air-conditioned. Up, up and away I went, and I rushed about getting a few photos, and soon it was down, down, and down we went. However, what I didn’t realise was that for my $25, I didn’t get just one go round the Wheel of Brisbane, nope, nor was it two, or three or even four, but five whole rotations! Yes, round I went five times on that lovely big wheel, which even stopped a few times, including with me on the very top. It was quite a lovely way to spend twenty minutes, and the views were delightful. On the way out, I was so elated with my experience, I even purchased the commemorative photo, which is actually a green-screen jobby rather than using the real wheel as a backdrop, but hey, I was on a post-revolutionary high, so what did I care about wasting another $35?

There aren’t many days when going round and round can be as pleasurable as this one!

Seven miles and a world away....

2026-08-19T08:43:00.000+01:00

Greetings from Brisbane, where the local time is 17:43, and I'm currently enjoying a cuppa whilst sitting on the balcony of the penthouse apartment of the hotel where I'm staying. Although having written that, it occurs to me it may look a little grand and perhaps, dare I say, pretentious. Therefore, when I write penthouse, just read that as a corner room on the top floor, which is less theatrically grandiose and more descriptive.

It is a mild afternoon, there is a gentle breeze that would, if I had any, ruffle my hair with soft caresses. The sky is a lovely myriad of blues, deep when looking directly overhead, lighter and more watery with a golden tinge, the further one gazes toward the TV transmitter aerials on the hills in Mount Coot-tha Reserve to my left. On my right, over the river, beyond West End and over South Brisbane, the sky has a slightly lighter hue, equally as pleasing and easy on the eye.

Earlier, the sun shone brightly, with nary a cloud blemishing the distant blue as I walked up and down the South Bank area of Brisbane. I did venture further from the riverside and headed inland a wee bit. I wandered freely along the Arbour Walkway, with its shade and abundance of Bougainvilleas along the arches and arcs. From there, I paid a brief visit to the small yet reflective South Brisbane Memorial Park before crossing a busy road by a red brick clock tower that reminded me of a Catholic cathedral, opposite the massive Queensland Children's Hospital. This area is evidently the medical quarter of the city, for I counted at least four other hospitals, half a dozen clinics, and numerous other healthcare-related businesses in this area, all impressive in size and scale, although, as most of them were private, I shudder to think of the insurance and operation costs!

I had no plan, no map, no preconceived ideas, so I just followed the road along until I either saw a pretty-looking street or found its name appealing, and thus found myself preambling down a road called Park. Mrs Merton came into my mind when I saw a road with that name, and yes, I walked down part of it, until Ross Street, which took my fancy. There is something oddly soothing about casually walking along residential streets as a tourist, where your mind considers the architecture, the street furniture - if there is any, the greenery or gardens, and so on. Of course, there were a few properties where I'd wonder what it might be like to live there, stay there, and so on. I'm not sure if I'm alone in conjuring up those sorts of fantasies, but the mind does what the mind does, and I'm quite pleased about that. For about a minute, maybe two, I was dreaming what it would be like living in a house that looked like something out of The Sullivans, complete with cream colour picket fence, down a road called Fleur. How delightful it would be as the owner of a historic, wooden house in a Brisbane suburb with a wide shaded front deck where one could sit out in a rocking chair sipping on a coffee, cup of tea, cocktail, or beer depending on the time of day. Those mental pictures disintegrated when my eyes happened upon other houses on stilts, with the living area raised above the ground, and my mind raced to how achy my knees would be, should that have been my abode.

I have no idea how I somehow managed to find my way to a street called Hawthorne, high above a busy highway and a most pleasing and rather exotic-looking church. Now, those who know me will honestly contest that religion and me are not best friends; however, that doesn't apply to religious buildings. The architecture of worship can be amazing; some are ridiculously imposing and more ostentatious than some Arab millionaires' boudoirs, while others are more subtle and almost homely. The church on Hawthorne was neither of those, yet had various traditional anglecan church like freatures, such as arched stained glass windows, yet with its white painted walls, terracotta tiled roof and square bell tower with no clock and the appearance of a minaret, looked positively Venetian or at least Italian, with perhaps a touch of the Spanish. For a few minutes, I was stopped in my tracks, just looking at this wonderful building dedicated to a god I didn't believe in. Yet, for once, I was glad that others believed in her, for they created this Romanesque building and others still kept it looking as bright as when it was first built. I may not be religious myself, but sometimes, just sometimes, I'm bloody glad it's there!

It is only now that I come to write this, from the comfort of my balcony, that I realise that:

A) My feet ache.

B) I've walked some 22,460 (about 7.8 miles) steps today.

C) I wasn't in South Brisbane all the time.

D) Woolloongabba was the area in which the church was located.

E) It's too cold to be sitting out in shorts and a T-shirt.

F) My nose got a little sunburnt today!

Winter in Melbourne

2026-08-13T09:39:33.700+01:00

Rainy days and Mondays.....

2026-08-10T11:35:45.837+01:00

Rainy days and Mondays…..

Yesterday was a lazy day and today has been well, indolent as well, although not quite as slothful as yesterday. The early morning was besmirched by clouds releasing water, and I just attended to the ablutions of the day at an almost glacial pace. This slow method has been greatly aided by a recent addition to my smartphone's collection of apps. I downloaded a Ma-jong game, which, I confess, has prickled the addictive aspect of my nature and in the space of a week or so, I’ve gone from zero to level 132. Perhaps I should not take it into the bathroom with me, for an hour on the loo is perhaps forty minutes too long!

In a break in the cloud I ventured out; I got halfway down the road when it was dry no more and for the rest of the day (until I’d gotten back to the apartment) it rained. Sometimes it was soft and gentle like a cooling mist spray, whilst other times it was so heavy the dancing soldiers were as high as my knees. Do you know what dancing soldiers are? I’m not sure if that is a well-known expression or if it's just a certain section of the population that will have a Scooby what I’m referring to. Anyway, dancing soldiers are the resulting upward splash a raindrop causes when it lands in water. Like a puddle, river or sea. If you look closely, it is like a long thin upward jet preceded by a little round drop, which, in the right light, look similar to dancing toy soldiers. At least in my mind they do, and an old sailor once told me that’s what they were known as in the navy and it's just stuck.

There are a number of museums in Melbourne city centre, which is ideal for academically enlightened tourists and those like me, seeking to escape from the rain. It is amazing what you can see when you’re trying to escape a savage drenching downpour. I’m sure there are some that would balk a the price of $15 - $40 to shelter from the rain, but it’s the same price as a coffee and fancy pastry at that crowded cafe up the road by the station, and only one of those two locations will expand your mind!

In the Immigration Museum you’ll see hundreds of passports on the wall, some with stamps in and some with stories. Being from Europe, where they don’t stamp passports any more, I rather miss that old-fashioned activity. Indeed, these days with ‘Electronic Travel Authorities’, ‘e-Visas’ and machine-readable chips, fewer and fewer nations have their border guards get out the old ink pad and stamp. Yes, I miss those stamps; when I was a twenty-something, you could open my passport and find a stamp on most pages. It functioned as both an identity document and travel journal; flicking through the pages, each inky blob would cause an avalanche of memories of a place and a time. United States on the first page, two over is a number of stamps from repeated trips to Canada, then there was a blue smudge that I think was Norway, or maybe it was Malta! I’ve got a few stamps stuck in my current passport from going in to Japan, but very little else. Yes, I miss the long-gone halcyon days of stamping passports.

Outside in the rain, the city takes on a different atmosphere, fewer tourists and visitors on the streets, while shoppers are safely ensconced in their retail havens. Office workers tend to lunch at their desks rather than head to the Babajan or K-Street Toast. Only those who have to be out, moving between locations or rushing this way or that, are braving the weather. Oh, and me! I don’t know why, but I tend to get a little introspective when out in the rain; my mind thinks of things in my past, while my eyes search out the new beauties of a world in wetness.

Of course, if such a wet day occurs on a Monday, then sooner or later, the sweet refrain of Karen Carpenter's voice proffering ‘Rainy days and Monday’s always get me down’. Yet, despite the sorrowful mental soundtrack and the introspection, I’m not down. I remember the past, I look at the present, and I wonder what will come when the rain blows away.

What comes into your mind on rainy days and Mondays?

That's all for today.....

Far have I wandered and much have I seen......

2026-07-10T08:08:00.000+01:00

Far have I travelled and much have I seen......

I fear I have neglected you once again; my updates have been lacking- well, not only lacking, but completely non-existent. I am sorry, and I wish I could give you a reasonable excuse or valid reason for my lack of words on this blog/diary/journal/thingymabob, but I can’t. There is no excuse other than living life, forgetting to turn on the laptop, or not having too much to say. Although those last six words are not really true, for in Tokyo I had experienced several earthquakes and storms, then I packed up my bags and headed off to Sydney, Australia for three weeks, and currently, you find me at the start of the third of three weeks in Melbourne.

I’m not sure where to go and what to say first, other than it’s been a blast travelling around. You could say this is like a geriatric gap year, and rather than dossing down in hotels, dorms, and the like, I’m staying in apartments and hotels. Currently, I’m on the 16th floor of an apartment building in the Southbank area of Melbourne, with views over South Melbourne, Albert Park (where the really fast Grand Prix F1 cars go round and round), St Kilda and, in the far distance, a place with the familiar name, Brighton. Of course, if I cast my eyes a little right, I can see Port Melbourne, Hobsons Bay, which opens up into one of the biggest bays I’ve ever seen, the name of which I think is Port Phillip.

Over there, somewhere, beyond my eye’s view is the town of St Leonards, and the narrow opening of the bay, according to the locals, is called The Rip and is less than two miles wide, and beyond that is the Bass Strait, Tasmania and the rest of the world!

Although if you’ve read this far, you’ll already have seen the photos of how vast the view is, both in the daytime and when the night falls and the lights twinkle in the distance. So, I’m sorry you’ve had to endure this word salad just to get to this part.

The reason I jumped out of Tokyo was twofold: first, the immigration person at the monolithic X-shaped building that houses the Regional Immigration Bureau would only extend my tourist visa for another 30 days. Secondly, I was looking to escape the notoriously hot and humid summer weather where temperatures regularly soar into the mid-to-high 30s. Thus, I gave up the rental on my riverside Sumida apartment and headed on a Japan Airlines Boeing 777 to a land down under where women glow, and men plunder!

A 1998 vintage me!

It isn’t the first time I’ve been in the land of the kangaroo and wombat; no, I was first here, albeit briefly, in September 1998 as part of a round-the-world trip in little over three weeks! Ha, Phileas Fogg took 79 days to complete his circumnavigation of the globe whilst I did it in 24! Ok, I cheated a little and flew by aeroplane, but have you ever tried getting a ship from Gatwick to Los Angeles? Goodness, 1998, that was so long ago, and whilst a few things like walking on Four Mile Beach at midnight, nearly falling off the concrete seat/barrier outside the Sydney Opera House, and buying a collector's edition of Titanic complete with a few frames of the original actual film are as clear as if they occurred a week last Wednesday. The bulk of the memories have long since been consigned to the waste-bin of my mind. Of course, there have been generations of changes in those 28 years; therefore, it is like coming to a nation for the very first time, with just occasionally a whisper of deja-vu echoing in the darkest recesses of my noggin.

Feelings of familiarity abound when visiting Circular Quay, the goings and comings of the famous ferries, still in the same old green and cream colour scheme of old, although I do have a vague impression they were, for a brief moment, blue and white vessels. The Harbour Bridge and the big shells or sails of the Danish architect Jørn Utzon-designed Opera House don’t change, and emotions of visiting old friends cross the minds of nearly every tourist, so often have we seen these icons of Australia. Yet, despite the countless times on computer and television screens and printed in newspapers, they still seem much bigger in reality as opposed to in the mind's eye.

Is she coming or going? With two bows, it is hard to tell.

Darling Harbour, like the city itself, seems a little more developed; many more skyscrapers or tower blocks vie for attention and dominance. Gone is the monorail that seemed so modern all those years ago, although the remnants of one or two stations still linger. Yet, if you let your eyes search, mixed among the modern developments, you'll find traditional functionaries, including Queen Victoria Building, or QVB as it's known these days. Its classic splendour remains timeless to some, but for some reason, insides reminded me of the Grace Brothers department store of the 70s comic telly programme – Are You Being Served!

ANZAC War Memorial Photo Jason Shaw

St Mary’s Cathedral, just down the road from the grammar school, and the 1880s Town Hall are pleasing to the eye. If you like Italian Renaissance Style as seen by the Victorians, then you’d want to have a look at the old post office building with its tall clock tower and delightful arches. The State Library is also an impressive sight and calmed my mind each time I walked past, as did the similar-looking New South Wales Art Gallery. Although the building I saw most was less habitation- or retail-focused, the impressive ANZAC War Memorial at the top of Hyde Park. Quite often I’d plonk myself on a nearby bench and ponder the futility of war, the lives of the soldiers of the antipodean this 1930s-constructed Art-Deco mausoleum commemorates, the adorning sculptures' significance and, when they weren’t doing work outside, the oasis of peace in a busy city.

Hyde Park and the Botanic Gardens were my favourite places to walk, contemplate, picnic, and just enjoy the experience of being, although I did rather also like strolling down Oxford Street, heading all the way to Centennial Park, where rest and snacks were in order, before heading up Ocean Street and back via Rushcutters Park. I was warned that Kings Cross could be a bit of an adventure to go through, but I didn’t encounter any problems; indeed, it felt a darn sight more friendly and safe than parts of its London namesake!. However, I did notice the area had more than its fair share of people with either alcohol or mental health issues on the street. Perhaps no more so than London or Paris, yet here they were more noticeable, or maybe I was just looking around more than I usually do. Another thing I couldn't help but notice was the sheer number of homeless or street folk who exist here. Especially around the court building, or outside the high-end stores, you'll spot them and their sacks of belongings and bags of sleeping. Some are selling copies of Big Issue, some are just with signs detailing their plight, and others are just asking for a couple of dollars from the passers-by who pretend not to see them.

Lazy afternoons on the bank of the Parramatta River Photo Jason Shaw

Parramatta lies at the end of ferry route F3 along the river of the same name and is just over one hour and twenty minutes away from Circular Quay, and I so enjoyed this ride that I did it again. Well, in fact, I did it a further three times, to be exact, once on the way back that day and on a return trip a couple of days later. There’s something rather soothing about travelling up (and down) a river that you don’t get on a sea cruise or journey. The gentle ripple of the water, the occasional wake of other vessels to sway the senses as well as the hull, the passing scenery on the banks as we glide along aboard a Parramatta River-class catamaran ferry with a top speed of almost thirty miles an hour. Oh, the joy of not having to rush anywhere and enjoying a desirously leisurely ride in the mild mid-winter morning. Yes, it may be late July, but over on this hemisphere, the seasons are the opposite to back home, and now it's winter here.

Remembering the moment just now has put me in mind of my fondness and spatial arrangement for open water that seems to have been fairly constant since my mid-twenties, perhaps even before. I suppose as a child, I lived near two big lakes, which were a treat to go to on the long, hot summers of my youth. There were one lower and one upper lake, with the latter having rowing boats to hire for a while in clement weather. I have no idea how much they cost, nor how long a time period you got for your cash; I just know when we did, I loved being on the lake, surrounded by water or circumnavigating the island that seemed like a wilderness land of dreams and monsters. Oh, the things we think of when we’re six, seven, or eight, when the magic and wonderment of the everyday experience is still held with such precious naïveté, when almost anything is possible. Back then, the lakes formed part of an epic amount of land, a common area where one could run, and the imagination could flourish with wild abandon. Of course, looking with today’s eyes, it is some 200 acres of nature reserve. Or as Natural England will tell you, it is a combination of various “habitats including two large lakes, a number of smaller ponds, wetland corridors, scattered trees and woodland, and semi-improved grassland, which includes the nationally rare plant Chamomile. Animal species seen on the Common include Roe deer, rabbits, and foxes. The site is also important for bats, birds, and many species of insects.” To me then, as a youngster, it seemed like a whole different world. To me now, it is a memory of a different life, a time too long ago to fully remember and yet not far enough to completely forget.

Yes, perhaps it is those early days near those two lakes that started an accidental, unconscious desire to live or be near the open water. Over the years, I’ve lived in Brighton, Portslade, Fort Lauderdale, and Hastings, all of which are on the coast, and whenever I’ve travelled, it has been to places that are either by the sea or have a river running through them. That’s true, only if you forget a very brief interlude in landlocked Southern Illinois, which was about 700 miles from the nearest coast. Although having just written that, Crab Orchard Lake was nearby, which, despite what its cute little name suggests, is actually a massive 6,965-acre reservoir, and that’s just part of the rather gargantuan 43,890-acre wildlife refuge of the same name (yes, without the lake bit!)

Brightly painted beach huts at Brighton Beach in Victoria, Australia. Photo Jason Shaw

Even on this trip, I am or have been near the ocean or river; in Tokyo, it was both, living along the Sumida River, which flows into Tokyo Bay, which in turn enters the Uraga Channel and on to the Pacific Ocean. In Sydney, I was near the harbour and spent much of the time crossing it to Manly, Parramatta, Mosman Bay, McMahon’s Point, Watsons Bay, and so on. Here in Melbourne, I’ve been in a hotel room overlooking the Yarra River and now enjoying an apartment with far-reaching views over Port Phillip Bay. Yesterday, I walked mostly along the edge of the bay to the resorts of St Kilda, Elwood, and Brighton, with their golden beaches and gentle lapping waves. Next stop is Brisbane, and will there be a water connection there? I guess you'll have to return here in a week and see if A) there is and B) I've remembered to write a diary entry for it!

Toodle pip!

Reflection on a day of aimless direction

2026-07-07T09:45:00.000+01:00

The day has been marked by showers, drenching the city and then relenting for a peaceful while before attacking the weary traveller. An informative weather pixie might tell you the temperature was 24c, but that just demonstrates that you should never trust a pixie! It has not climbed out of the teens; indeed, it hardly climbed into them, achieving only 13 according to the funny mam on the telly!

My first thought was not where to go today, but to make sure I had my wooly hat and waterproof jacket with me, for need them, I would. (And did!) Much like most of my exploration of Sydney thus far, plans I had none, desires few and needs even less. So I just ambled along, taking each corner as it came, deciding then and there if it was right or left or as the case may be, straight on!

I'm not sure I'm alone in this theory, but quite often, getting lost is more fun than knowing where you are. It was something only relatively new to me, something I found out last year in Japan, when I turned off the electronic devices and just wandered around without a destination or care in mind. I saw and experienced more that day than most of my other 'well-scheduled' explorations. Maybe one day I'll tell you about them!

Today was one such day, going hither and thither and that way and this, although it is actually quite hard to get yourself lost in a city where you can read the road signs and have clearly defined and visible landmarks. You try it, go on, I dare you!

I started at the ANZAC War Memorial, with its cascading water steps and pools of reflection for reflection and marveled at the height of each splash that gave off an optical illusion in the right light of water climbing back up, rather than tumbling down. I must have looked like a right fool, trying to get a photo of the aforementioned effect, but I've long since learnt to care less about what others think of me. Perhaps if I had a better camera, or I were a better photographer, I'd be able to share with you the beautiful sight my eyes beheld, rather than just writing about it. Oh well, I don't have, and I'm not, so words, you will just have to make do with.

I tried to lose myself, but simply found a different and oddly shorter way to Darling Harbour, which was pleasing nonetheless. If I'm being thoughtful, I'll try to look at different things, or from different positions, for it can be quite remarkable what differences your eyes will see in familiar places when viewed from a different angle. Try it, walk on the other side of the street on your way home, and see if I'm not wrong.

I might have walked further into the hills beyond Darling Harbour; however, my feet were aching, or rather, just the right one, with the plantar fasciitis, so I needed to rest up for a bit.

I watched the people for a while, the way one does when one has too much time on one's hands. I wonder how many 'ones' I can write in a sentence before it stops making any sense? Perhaps that was enough, or perhaps before the fullness of time, your eyes will chance upon another string of words piled together with a singular aim of beating three!

Rested for a bit, I did, walked for a bit I did next, and before I knew it, I was near the old strange music house again, or hus as it would be in Danish. Odd how that happens.

Sometimes sport gets in the way of sleep, other times sleep gets in the way of sport. England v Mexico

2026-07-06T09:18:00.000+01:00

I am, I confess, jolly tired today; I have been so ever since I woke up and will be so until my head hits the pillow again for slumber's sweet refrain to collect me from reality.

The reason for my lack of energy is due to sport! Yes, sport. That may have surprised you, but I stayed up late to watch the British Grand Prix, back in dear old Blighty. I then got up early to watch the England football match in the World Cup, all the way from America. It was a good match, and Mexico played well, I thought, although not as well as 'our boys' as the score line can testify. Kane and Bellingham did the necessary for England, and Jimenez and some chaps whose names I've forgotten scored for Mexico.

The rest of the day was filled with doing a celebratory jig in the bathroom, a wander to Circular Quay, a nip round to Darling Harbour, a saunter to the Maritime Museum, and watching two big cruise ships in different places in the harbour.

It was another damp and somewhat chilly day, the temperature struggled to climb to 14 degrees, and had I not known it was winter downunder, I would surely have been disappointed. When one thinks of Australia, one mostly thinks of long hot days of golden sun, frolicking on the beach, and Neighbours! One doesn't usually think of seasons much like ours, just the wrong way round. Or, maybe you do, maybe when someone says Australia to you, the first thing that jumps into your noggin is cold winters and a climate similar to Italy!

The furthest you can go and walking in the rain.

2026-07-05T09:50:00.000+01:00

It's been a cold day here in Sydney, just reaching around 14c on the old thermometer thingamajig. There were quite a few police units around the city when I went for a walk earlier today. Apparently, according to the news, the Prime Minister was in town today for the Labour Party conference. I'm rather shocked and perhaps saddened to admit that I had to look up who the Prime Minister of Australia was. I'm usually so good at those sorts of things, but I guess I missed the appointment of Anthony Albanese, who has been in said job since May 2022. I remember some of the previous incumbents of that position, including: anglophobic Malcolm Turnbull, ineffectual Tony Abbott, the first female PM, Julia Gillard - who incidentally actually came from Wales, some bloke called John who was in office longer than Maggie Thatcher, and Bob Hawke, who always reminded me of Liberace!

In the morning, I walked to Circular Quay, just to watch the ferries go about their business for a wee while. I can't say how long I was there, for time just evaporates when there is no pressing need to look at the clock, or watch, or more likely these days - the mobile phone! After a bit, I looked at the ferry map for the longest route, and that was the very next ferry I would take. Parramatta - here I come. I loved the journey, in fact, I liked the journey more than the destination, but sometimes that is the way of it, the doing is better than the arriving. Although I'm not saying Parramatta was bad, I'm just saying the bits I saw were not excessively interesting; however, having said that, I did find the coloured glass awning around part of the New South Wales Police HQ rather impressive.

It was raining when I took the ferry back to Circular Quay, and it was still raining when I walked back from the Quay to the hotel. Day had already turned to dusk, or perhaps beyond, with night starting to reclaim the day, allowing lights to shimmer and shine on the wet surfaces. I rather like walking in the rain - but let that be our little secret because if you tell people you like walking in the rain, they tend to think you are a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic or the lift doesn't quite go to the top floor!

Dinner was, if you're remotely interested, salad and a milk bun. I confess, I'm rather taken with the Australian milk bun, which admittedly is little more than a white bread roll, it still has a rather nice taste to it!.

Typhoon number 6 Jangmi

2026-06-03T15:30:00.000+01:00

During the last day or two of May and the first couple of days in June, Typhoon number 6, called Jangmi, blew its way here, causing record-breaking rainfall, flooding, and quite a lot of disruption in many areas of Japan.

Morning world....here comes Jangmi. Photo Jason Shaw

Jangmi, a Koren girls name which translates to Rose, a somewhat benign name for a storm that was anythng but. It affected Okinawa, Kyushu, Shikoku, and western Japan. According to the local news channels, it was a particularly powerful Typhoon, with strong winds, around 126 kph with gusts up to 180 kph, that's 78 and 112 mph! Travel was widely disrupted, some 524 domestic and 92 international flights were cancelled and numerous train services either halted or delayed.

Typhoon number six whilst having a morning cuppa.

The storm produced record rainfall in a number of regions, and there was some flooding and damage. According to News on Japan, 1.6 million people in the Tokyo metropolitan area were affected by official warnings; indeed, some parts of the city had Tokyo’s first-ever Purple Level 4 (Urgent warning - all residents should evacuate from affected area, when or before Evacuation Instruction is issued). The area where my apartment is located, just across the river from Chuo City, four streets away from Sumida City, Koto was in a level 3 warning area, but I had no plans to go out. The day before, I'd purchased enough food and supplies for three days, including food that didn't need to be cooked or heated up in case of power outages. I've lived through the so called great storm of '87 in the UK, a Super Derencho in Illinois, USA in 2009, a 7.9 eartquake in December last year whilst enjoying my first visit to this fine country. Yet, I'd never been through a Typhoon, so I wasn't quite sure what to expect.

Even during a typhoon the expressway is busy Photo Jason Shaw

Opps, I went out on the balcony in my slippers, I'm so naughty!

and wind was the answer, a rather lot of each and then a wee bit more of both and guess what, even when I thought it was over a whole lot more came from the skies. As the day passed into afternoon, the typhoon had moved up and venturing out, I was greeted by a surprisingly pleasent early evening. In fact, if you'd been asleep all day and just came out after 17:00 you'd be forgiven for thinking nothing but a brief shower had occured.

Sumida River - the calm after the storm. Photo Jason Shaw

A poets view, a perch up high, refreshed anew, water drips from the sky Photo Jason Shaw

In the olden days you could see Mount Fuji from that bridge. Photo Jason Shaw

The river seems high, the cloud breaks. Photo Jason Shaw

A ripple of light is a right good sight on a cloudy day. Photo Jason Shaw

Eitai Bridge over the Sumida River. Photo Jason Shaw

The typhoon is blowing away as the skies clear. Photo Jason Shaw

Watching the clouds pass Photo Jason Shaw

You'd hardly believe more than 7 inches of rain had fallen in 24 hours. Photo Jason Shaw

Its almost sunset time. Photo Jason Shaw

Can you see the bird? Photo Jason Shaw

Clouds and dreams. Photo Jason Shaw

A view to the back side of the departing Jangmi. Photo Jason Shaw

Lets take a walk and go and get lost

2026-06-02T17:25:57.527+01:00

Walking, walking, and more walking.

One of the main activities of my time in Tokyo has been walking. I’ve walked to Ginza, to Asakusa, to Akihabara, to Ojima, to Kachidoki, to Shimbashi, to Shiomi and all places in between. I’ve not quite made it to Minato City for Tokyo Tower or Edogawa for Arakawa River yet, but who knows, maybe next week I’ll venture that far out.

Keeping fit is one of the reasons for me electing to use my own two legs as my main method of transport, rather than the epically proportioned rail and subway networks of Tokyo. The other, and perhaps the main reason, could be called sightseeing, although for me it is slightly more a case of seeing life going on around me, rather than spotting typical tourist sights, which sightseeing usually conveys. My eyes are sweeping along the various streets, roads, and avenues that my feet are walking down. I’m gazing at the restaurants offering a multitude of cuisines, many displaying pictures of meals served. I see the stores selling household supplies are commonplace, whereas clothes retailers tend to be mainly in the shopping centres. Another, conceivably surprising addition to the Tokyo scene is the proliferation of European-style bakeries making a variety of cakes and pastries at high prices, which are popular with the well-heeled ladies of the city, especially at the weekends. The queue outside my local one is always nine or ten deep, fragrant ladies under parasols.

I enjoy walking off the main thoroughfares just as much, down those narrower streets, where houses are cheek by jowl, where pavements are just differentiated from the highway by a white line. One of the charms of these less busy streets is the remarkably different styles of architecture that complement each other. There are funky new apartment blocks next to vintage machiya - small, mostly wooden townhouses, just over the road from an abode that looks somewhat like an akiya (old vacant property). Then, just when you least expect it is a shrine, complete with banners, stone animals, and an ink stamp in a box. You might think it is someone's drive, but if you look carefully, you’ll often find that shadowy uneven ground is actually an entrance to a small but peaceful park.

Over the last few days, I’ve spent a lot of time walking down streets like that. I’ve gone out with just a phone, a packet of Polos, and a plan of having no plan! I left the mobile internet Wi-Fi thingamabob behind as I didn’t want to rely on Google Maps or other such location-finder apps to influence my wandering. I don’t have mobile internet on my phone – well, I do, but I can’t afford to use it on my current plan whilst in Japan! Plus, if it didn’t have a pedometer and audiobook app on my phone, I’d have left it on the side in my apartment as well. For more than seven hours over the last three days, I’ve wandered about freely, deciding which direction to turn at every crossroads only when I get to it, and happily getting lost. Every now and then, I can honestly say that getting lost is the most fun. I advise you to do it, no, really, go and get lost sometime this week!

Insomnia in the city.....

2026-05-29T16:04:59.338+01:00

Insomnia and me are no strangers, indeed, you might say we are old friends, we’ve been acquainted since I was a sulky schoolboy in sleepy Surrey. For me, it comes and goes; it arrives unannounced, stays around for a week or so before it pops off again. There is no way I can tell when this old mate will show up, stomping about in my head, throwing things hither and dither and generally being annoying.

Shin-Ohashi Bridge as dusk is just about to fall.

I had regular bouts as a teenager and during college, then he disappeared for a long while before coming back in my late twenties. I don’t remember him visiting during my thirties, although, if I’m completely honest, I can actually recall a lot of details about those years. I didn’t have many periods in my forties, although working twelve-hour night shifts on a four-on, four-off basis plays hell with the normal sleep pattern anyway. After I stopped earning a crust in the darkest hours before and just a tingly bit after dawn, I’ve had regular periods of sleepless nights. Usually it is when my world turns upside down, and daytime seems sleepy bye-byes time, and at night, it's wakey wakey after midnight. Sometimes there have been reasons for it, job stress, end of relationships, death, illness and that sort of malarkey and other times, there seems to be no reason, none at all.

For the last few nights, he’s been back, the first time since I’ve been in Japan and about as welcome as a glass of Andrews Liver Salts when you’ve got the trots!. Actually, yesterday that was also the case, I had both a sleepless night and a butt that was almost permanently on the heated seat of my class A loo. The tummy trouble was, I’m pretty sure, due to consuming four cans of a ‘sugar-free’ alcoholic beverage as well as polishing off a tube of ‘sugar-free’ mints. Accidentally overdosing on sorbitol can have a laxative effect; well, it certainly does on me, as yesterday can attest to.

Clear skies and gentle breezes

I did manage to head to the supermarkets today for a stock up and also a walk around the neighbourhood. I enjoyed a lunch on the river terrace watching the boats go up and down the river, and after returning home, I sat on the balcony and again watched boats go down and up the river, until the sun started to set.

Now, as the clock ticks onwards to midnight, my mind is not in the least bit sleepy and is racing away to various subjects and topics. Indeed in the last twenty-four minutes, I’ve contemplated buying a new camera, which shop to get the tax refunded, potatoes ‘n’ mint with the possibility of growing one or the other or both on the balcony, where to buy a bag of compost, can kiwis fly, how many steps it is to the nearest vending machine that takes IC cards, what liquid refreshment to have next!

So, as the week rapidly races to its end, this sleepy insomniac is wondering if he should go for a walk before midnight to tire even further achy bones to encourage sleep to arrive before four in the morning. Or stand on the balcony and watch the last of the river traffic heading back to its mooring while I wait for the timely dew of sleep, falling with soft slumbrous weight, inclines my eyelids!

Pretty hydrangeas and other lovely flowers offer food for the soul.

Matsuo Basho keeps a lookout up the river. On a clear day, in days of old, you can see Mount Fuji

Who can say what dreams were made this day?

A world of history is just around the corner.....Matsuo Basho

2026-05-24T10:00:00.000+01:00

Less than a thousand steps from my apartment building is a memorial garden, a shrine and a museum all dedicated to Matsuo Basho, a leading haiku poet of the Edo period.

The small shrine on the site, which is believed to be the place where Matsuo Basho's hut was.

I’m not an expert, but from what I gather, this chap was about as famous as you can get, back in those times, which is the mid to late 1600s during the Edo period. Now, legend has it that in 1680, Basho abandoned life as a priest, moved from Nihonbashi in Edo to a thatched tiny house, or hermitage as they are called, in Fukagawa.

He used this hermitage as a base and concentrated on creating haikai, a form of linked Japanese verse, drawing his inspiration from a wide variety of subjects, including those he saw around him. He also wrote several travelogues, such as 'Oku no Hosomichi ‘ (‘The Narrow Road to the Deep North’), following a journey of some 1500 miles during the spring of 1689. Oku no Hosomichi starts off:

“The months and days are the travellers of forever. The years that come and go are also voyagers. Those who float away their lives on ships or who grow old leading horses are forever journeying, and their homes are wherever their travels take them. Many of the men of old died on the road, and I, too, for years past, have been stirred by the sight of a solitary cloud drifting with the wind to ceaseless thoughts of roaming.”

He may have taken up to five years to write, rewrite and rework it, but all that effort was well worth it, for even to this day it is considered to be one of his best-known works and part of the reason his legacy lives on. Basho is also revered for playing quite a major role in developing the modern haiku.

Climb the stone steps for a wonderful view and a tiny memorial garden.

His thatched cottage or hermitage was called 'Basho-an' because it became overgrown with banana plants gifted by his disciples or followers, although, I suppose in today's parlance, we'd call them fans. After Basho's death, it was incorporated into the samurai residence and preserved, but it disappeared between the late Edo and Meiji periods. However, whilst the exact location may not be known for sure, there is a sweet little shrine on what may have been its approximate location, and it's just around the corner from both the memorial garden and the museum. The museum was opened on 19th April 1981 on the site of Basho-no-Ō Old Pond, where his cherished stone frog had been found following a typhoon back in 1917. Another of his famous works is this little haiku: “An ancient pond - a frog jumps in - the splash of water

Basho left Edo for the last time in the summer of 1694, enjoying some time in Ueno and Kyoto before arriving in Osaka. Unfortunately, he became unwell with some form of stomach complaint and, with his disciples around him, he passed away in November, aged 49 or 50. His last poem offered a farewell to his followers.

“falling sick on a journey - my dream goes wandering - on a withered field.”

It is amazing what is hidden just around the corner. By looking around, you can open up your eyes to new sights and your mind to new experiences.

Local legend has it that the statue moves at night!

Can you see the fish?

Looking upriver to the Shin-Ohashi Bridge and the memorial garden just in the right corner

More info on the museum:

Basho Memorial Museum | Koto Ward Cultural Community Foundation

Take a stroll around Koto city using a restored old map from the Edo period.

Kase Map 'Koto Ward Revitalised Old Map' Service Launched | Fukagawa Edo Museum | Koto Ward Cultural Community Foundation

Rainy days are beautiful too!

2026-05-22T14:33:21.693+01:00

Thursday and Friday.

I love the feel of rain on my skin

If you believe in an omnipotent god, you might well have said he or she had been upset over the last couple of days, for the heavens have opened and tears from angels have fallen down. I don’t, so for all I will say is, it's been raining!

Yes, water from the clouds has been falling for most of Thursday, through the night and for pretty much all of Friday as well. The temperature has also plunged, 22 °C yesterday and 15 °C today, which means it was warmer back in dear ol’ Blighty than down this end of the globe. (Do globes have an end?) Indeed, most of Southern England has been bathed in clear sunshine (well, at least during the daytime!) whilst a cloudy, rainy sky has been the mainstay of these days.

Looking out under the umbrella

Yet, whilst the weather hasn’t been exactly the best, I’ve still gone out for a little walk for fresh air, exercise, and to find out if Japanese rain was warm – a request from my brother. The short and honest answer is no! The rain that greeted my head yesterday was not warm at all, although I will admit, it wasn’t icy cold either; it was pretty normal. High humidity percentage meant it probably felt colder than it actually was, but it was still worth being out in it.

I strolled by the river, with hardly a soul about, both today and yesterday, which was hardly surprising and honestly quite delightful. I looked at the plants, the bushes, the wildlife – a large grey Heron, the raindrops, the sometimes slightly slippy paving and tiles, which were enhanced by the cloudy and somewhat murky sky.

Little drops on little leaves

Yesterday, the cloud was so low that the entire 634-metre Tokyo Skytree was obscured from view; today it made an eerie, ghostlike appearance, looming in the sky between bursts of rain. I found it slightly disconcerting that the single tallest landmark, by which I often navigate this part of the city, was absent from my vision, while my mind assumed this is what the skyline must have looked like 15 years ago, prior to construction.

Today, I walked a little further, down to Kiyoshu-bashi Bridge, where I crossed the river, then walked along the terrace and up and over Ryogoku Bridge and back along that side until I was home. Sometimes the rain was soft and little more than mizzle, other times it was driven ferociously by the wind into my face, blowing the umbrella inside out and soaking my top.

In this dull and rainy state, you might have expected my fondness for Tokyo and Japan in general to dissipate and diminish, at least a little bit. You know, people rarely wear the rose-tinted tourist sunglasses in the rain. But you’d be wrong, I still have a soft spot in my heart for this massive city. Even in the rain, the mist and the murk, I still found beauty in almost all directions. Be it along the sides of the river, or the roadways I pass down or the skyscape that greets the eyes as I gaze heaven-bound. I’m not sure if the fact I’m getting older, or indeed am already old, but I try and find beauty in everyday activity, for which I am thankful. Perhaps, it is only when you get old that the simple joy of seeing a Heron perched on a bush in the middle of a downpour, or feeling the rain tingle your cheeks, or watching bigger drops splash in puddles, delights and lifts your heart.

Rainy days are beautiful too!

What is that bird? Is it a heron? Maybe.

Walking the straight road

2026-05-19T08:00:00.000+01:00

A perfect place to sit and rest for a while.....

I went for a little walk today. I decided to treat my senses with another stroll along Shin-Ohashi Dori Ave, which is the same road that I see from my apartment, and I usually head down when going to Ginza and Tokyo Station. Today, however, I was going the other direction, so I decided to head towards Funabori. I did have a vague idea of walking all the way to the Arakawa River, which would have been a distance of 6 kilometres, that’s about 3.7 miles, and that is a little far, double if you consider the return. However, I started at lunch time, and as the temperature had crept up to 28 °C, it was a little on the sticky side of things. Plus, I was wearing my big pants, which are not ideal for walking in as they tend to bunch up at the gusset. Which, I dare say, is way too much information for you, so I’ll just say, you don’t want your undercrackers bunching up around your dinglydangly bits in such hot weather!

I made it to the Ojima Police Box and a pedestrian bridge crossing the road. As I’d gone down the right side, I crossed over the carriageway and walked back the other side. I paused for a little rest under the shady trees of Sarue Park. I was accompanied by insects of various kinds, birds chirped unseen from a canopy of greenery up above, wind rippled the water's surface on the large rectangular pond.

Hello little critter

A pterol station where the pumps are in the ceiling and the hoses hang down!

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky

Are also on the faces of people going by

I see friends shaking hands, saying, "How do you do?"

They're really sayin', "I love you"

I hear babies cry, I watch them grow

They'll learn much more than I'll never know

And I think to myself....

(I bet you're either singing or humming the next line)

What a Wonderful World" written by Bob Thiele (as George Douglas) and George David Weiss.