Seafront Diary

Back in JapanTyphoon

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.

Walking in Hama-rikyu in the shadow of a shogun....

2026-05-18T09:13:00.000+01:00

Monday…..

I rather enjoyed a restful Sunday yesterday, although, perhaps if the truth be known, it was mentally restful, physically, I ended up walking just under six miles!

I arose early and after a shower and a quick breakfast, I ambled across the bridge and down Shin-Ohashi Dori Avenue towards Nihonbashi, Hatchobori and beyond. It wasn’t long before I found myself in the underground shopping mall around Tokyo Station, which is always a favourite place for me. After a short while walking down and up and along and round, I went up to the topside and took a seat under a tree at Station Square at a quarter after eleven.

I wasn’t there to just people watch, which I do love doing, I had planned to take a fuel cell bus from JR East – the rail company. It is powered by hydrogen and operates a shuttle service down to Shimbashi Station, WATERS Takeshiba, Hinode Pier, and sometimes it goes back to Tokyo Station via Tokyo Tower. I’d planned to get off at the waterfront, so I could visit Hamarikyu Gardens, which I’d walked past on my first trip to Japan when I'd accidentally missed the entrance!

The bus was almost disappointing, for it is rather like riding an ordinary bus, except it is a little quieter and not anything special on the inside

A view towards Hama-rikyu Gardens.

The Hama-rikyu Gardens are, as their sign and English guide proudly proclaims, a ‘Special Place of Scenic Beauty and Special Historic Site’. It is the family garden of the Tokugawa Shogun as well as the outer fort for the Edo castle. The gardens have been a relaxing place to many Shoguns over time, and after the Meiji restoration, it became a detached palace of the Imperial Family. Earthquakes and bombings in war destroyed or damaged many buildings and trees, and thus, some of the views from bygone days have been lost. The Imperial Family donated the gardens to Tokyo City in November 1945, and following some restoration, it opened to the public in April 1946.

Today's garden is almost the same as it was back in the days of
Ienari, the 11th Tokugawa Shogun.

May is perhaps the worst month to visit the gardens as there is very little flowering, budding or changing colour and cascading down. Yet, I still found my visit beneficial and well worth the 300 yen entrance fee. There is a delight in walking paths, passing trees and simply enjoying ‘being’ in places that have, since at least 1654, witnessed the weight of human feet. Sure, there may be modern gravel in places underfoot, whilst fences built in the 1990s halt entrance to areas of conservation, yet it is mostly as it was during the life of the 11th Shogun.

As the sun shone down from a deep blue, unabashed sky, my mind wandered from the here and now to a time of then and there, the time of the Shogunate. Although it really isn’t a case of ‘then and there', Shoguns existed from the Heian Period (794-1185) until 1868, which is quite a long period of time, but the sensation was just the same. I gazed inward, both literally and metaphorically and contemplated a life in these gardens at the time of the 11th Shogun of the Tokugawa Shogunate, Ienari. He took up office in April 1787 and went on until May 1837, the longest run of any shogun in Japan's history and was quite a character. It is said that not only did he have a wife, but he also had many concubines; he also kept a harem of 900 women and may have fathered more than 75 children during his lifetime. He had a passion for parties and err, passion, of that there seems little doubt, but his reputation for decadence and debauchery is seen by many as the beginning of the end of the power of Tokugawa and the shogunate. The only reason I was thinking of Ienari is that the gardens now look almost exactly as they did in his time, and here, all these years later, I’m walking in his shadow, touching trees that his hands may have brushed, sitting in his garden, drinking fizzy pop where he drank tea! We may have lived thoroughly different lives with nearly 200 years between us, yet for a mere fraction of time, we both inhabited the same place and enjoyed life in a man-made nature!

Walking homeward, I wondered a multitude of things, not least the juxtaposition of arriving at the historic gardens in one of the most modern forms of transport – a hydrogen-powered bus, and leaving on the oldest – my own two feet. Of course, you know me, it wasn’t long before thoughts rapidly turned to food and I planned what to have for dinner!

The gardens are relatively unchanged since the time of the 11th Tokugawa Shogun.
Whilst the background has changed and grown with the passing of the years, the foreground is little altered

Shioiri - no - ike, the tidal pool that is a key feature of the Hama - rikyu Gardens

I feel like a forage in the undergrowth

The Nakajima Tea House in the middle of Shioiri-no-ike.

Reflections of the Left Wing of Tokyo Twin Park, MinebeaMitsumi Office and The Conrad hotel in the duck pond.

Unchanged for hundreds of years......except it changes every day

One of the many pathways in the gardens to walk and wonder!

A modern take on a traditional fence

The posh and plush Conrad Hotel faces me over the park.

WATERS Takeshiba just over there, where I took the first photo from!

Now that is a nice little boat!

The view from Hama-rikyu Gardens to the Rainbow Bridge.

It's a bit zoomed in, but still far away!

View from Hama-rikyu Gardens, Tokyo, with the Tsukiji-Ohashi Bridge on the left.

Looking at Tsukiji and Kachidoki.

On the sea wall at Hama-rikyu Gardens, Tokyo.

Hama-rikyu Gardens

Busy doing nothing......

2026-05-13T10:41:00.000+01:00

The dawn light started to illuminate the front room of my riverside apartment a little after four this morning. The clear sky unblemished by even a single cloud was a sight my eyes beheld as sleep faded into nothing but a memory, and wakefulness reigned supreme.

I gazed out the window after tending to the pressing morning ablutions that take priority when you climb past the 50-milestone. The river’s surface looked so calm and restful as if it were still in slumber's sweet protection. There was a hint of a ripple near the furthest shore that caught the eye before they turned upward at the watery blue. It was going to be a nice day, I didn’t need to check the weather forecast to inform me so, although I did, before I went for a wander. I seem to check the latest meteorological bulletins these days, I’m not sure why, other than the fact that I’m in a strange land and still not used to what the normal climatic characteristics are for this time of year.

If you are at all interested, 23 Celsius was the temperature at the time, which would climb to 27 a couple of hours later. The humidity level was somewhere between 54% and 68%, plus a gentle, comfortable breeze, which made it less sticky than usual.

I packed up my backpack, which I mostly carry by its handle, rather than its designed method, to avoid a big, sweaty patch slowly expanding over my ample back. I packed it with an umbrella (to also act as a parasol if it gets super hot), mobile internet thingymabob (so I can turn on Google Maps and find my way if I get lost), wallet, purse, folded napkins, baseball cap and reading glasses. Thus prepared, I set off without a single plan. About 10 steps later, at the end of my road, I had to decide, left or right. For no apparent reason, I went left and crossed the Shin-Ohashi Bridge to head down the Shin-Ohashi Dori Avenue.

Immediately on the other side of the bridge is the Lovot Museum, which is an appointment-only museum dedicated to Lovots, which are cuddly little robot-type pets or creatures. They look adorable bundles on wheels with a sensor horn on the top of the head, which has a built-in half-sphere camera that can see all directions, a half-sphere microphone that can determine the direction of audio, an illuminance sensor that detects brightness, and a temperature camera that can identify people and objects. These electronic plushy things have voices, along with this modern phenomenon of machine learning, to become ‘part of the family’ and have a memory. It apparently reduces stress and can encourage different behaviour and induce feelings of love and calmness. I’m not really sure what to make of it, they do look adorable, with magical eyes and in a nation where more people live alone rather than live with someone else, they could be the ideal companion. For example, they make no mess, they self-charge, they don’t require feeding, and they will never argue with you. I suppose a downside for some might be the price, JPY 599,500 or £2807. I’ve yet to make a reservation for a visit, but you never know what I might do in future.

My walk took me down the avenue all the way until a crossroads with Yaesu Street, which leads to Tokyo Station, so I turned right and walked towards the station. Now, one of the many reasons why I love this area is the underground shopping streets or mall if you prefer, so I descended at entrance/exit 24 to the air-conditioned delight of Yaechika. There are more than 180 eating places and stores in this subterranean retail heaven, and I love to lose half an hour or more down here. If you get the chance, you should wander freely down these avenues; you’ll probably find a bargain or a treat, or a bite to eat, whether you wanted to or not! Hokkaido ice cream is rather yummy!

The sail of shade over a city garden of exquisite design

I picked up a picnic lunch and headed up above, to the second floor, which is an open garden area on the Yaesu side, with a sail-like shade that seems to go almost the whole length of the station. The area is like a raised platform, which isn’t so surprising considering that behind a living wall of plants are the actual station platforms. There are raised beds of green plants of various descriptions, interspersed with monolithic benches, wooden seats for four, recliners for two, and clear plastic positions for solos. A little tip, if you run out of power, the benches have power sockets, so you’ll be able to charge your electronic devices. There is also a bar and a restaurant up here, with its own seating section. I’ve never eaten there, I’m never hungry enough for a full meal, and to be frankly honest, it's harder to watch people when you’re shovelling food down your gullet!

After my picnic, I headed down a long passageway that takes you on a slightly darkened route under most of the 28 platforms to the other side of the station. Now, Yaesu is all funky and modern, the other side, Marunouchi, is the side with the hotel, classic architecture, history and the wide open square. I plonked myself under a tree and simply enjoyed the sights of people going about their business.

A station of two sides.... one modern and functional, and one historic and dreamy.

Sun continued to shine down, the temperature was up to 27 degrees, although with the tall buildings and the very soft wind, the ground temperature was much higher, at least in the high 30s! Thusly, I was content to spend a little more time under the tree, sitting on a concrete seat wall, wondering where all the people were going, who they were going to see, what joy their journey would culminate in and so on.

One of the many entrances to the station

So many sights to see, so many people, so many lives intersecting, albeit briefly at one location at one time. Oddly, I saw more Western folk today than I’ve ever seen in Japan; most appeared slightly bemused as well, and I have no idea why. I smiled at all of them, and none smiled back; perhaps they were doing the Japanese thing, or perhaps they didn't like a smiling Brit to spoil their excursion in the land of the rising sun. I also spotted four or so school groups during my time sitting in the shade, all of which had group photos taken with the central Imperial entrance in the background. There were some couples walking hand in hand across the big square, which I don’t think was romantic, for there was no doubt, with the sun shining down, those palms would be sweaty within seconds! There were a group of OAPs waiting for a bus tour to depart from just outside the very luxurious hotel. I was concerned that if they had to wait too long, they’d melt, but before you can recite the eight times table, four times the bus arrived, and the sweltering seniors stumbled on. There were quite a few businessmen, or salarymen as the Japanese call them, hurrying here and there, wearing dark suits with shiny shoes and expressions of bland indifference. There was a photographer with a big, expensive camera, which reminded me of the 80s Japanese tourist stereotype, with some amusement. Then there were three skinny youths with tattoos talking excessively loudly, lighting up cigarettes despite the non-smoking signs. But, they didn’t stay long after a camera was pointed in their direction and red flashing lights appeared along the roadway, not even long enough to finish their smokes, which they just threw to the ground and hurried off.

After a while, I’m not at all sure how long, I decided it was time to get up and walk the three and a half kilometres back to the apartment. I retraced almost the same route, and before I got back to my abode, I paused for a pink grapefruit beverage, which I consumed down at the side of the Sumida River. It was a day of doing very little, of relaxing and enjoying the gentleness of the busy city, yes, a day you could say, I was busy doing nothing and nothing the whole day long.

The beauty of the poppy is timeless. On the Sumida River Terrace.

Flowers along the riverside circles in my mind......

2026-04-24T04:34:00.001+01:00

The Skytree points like a needle to the heavens above.....

Along the side of the river, on the man-made concrete banks at various points are raised flower beds, populated with brightly coloured flowers or big bushes and mini trees. The names of which escape me, for I am not a green-fingered man or at all knowledgeable about such horticultural things. However, despite not knowing their names, they are all a pleasing sight for the eyes to feast upon. They instil a sense of calm and near tranquillity upon one. I say near tranquillity, after all, we are still in a city of many millions, and the daily activities of the populous hum ever present in the background. These flowerbeds are complemented by various bricks, tiles, or paving slabs along the walkways, some raised, some not, some rough, some smooth. It is a little nod to the aesthetic that you often see replicated through the city, which helps ensure its charm envelopes you.

The flowerbeds are a delight for the eyes and the mind

Only in Tokyo do spaceships float!

Thus far, my favourite pastime in quiet moments, whilst living on the banks of the Sumida River, is to walk along these banks and let my eyes wander and dance over the rippling river to the flowers and greenery. The various tall buildings beyond the flood containing walls vie for attention with the passing marine traffic, mostly made up of sightseeing boats and restaurant launches, some of those so futuristic looking you could be forgiven for thinking that aliens have landed. Occasionally, I'll see a working boat, a barge or tug, then even more fleetingly, one of the emergency services boats zooms past.

There is beauty with every step!

Sometimes my mind ponders on the beauty of each flower or bush as I stroll past, other times I'll marvel at the architecture of the myriad of buildings that rise skyward. Of course, as a boat travels up or down the river, my thoughts are cajjouled in that direction. I wonder where it is going, who the captain is, what it costs, how many passengers are looking out at me upon the banks and other such practical matters. I have also let my mind wander into the lives of the other people I pass on these walkways, the way one often does when people watching from a pavement table at a cafe, or so. I don't know if I'm alone in that, but when I'm in a city, I can't stop my brain from wondering about the secret lives of the people I pass, either on the street or down here by the river. Are they married? Are they single? Are they having a secret affair with the person on the next floor up in their apartment building? Are they working, and if so, what is the occupation? Are all questions that dart across my mind at lightning speed, which I'll never know the answers to, although I do occasionally make up!

A sea of dasies and not a chain in sight!

Of course, being down here, walking slowly on, not exactly aimless, yet with no particular destination in mind, I can often find my head on loftier things. I've pondered emotions, the difficulty of finding a place to call 'home', of wondering what one's point is and various 'heavyweight' subjects like that. Yes, down here on the riverbank, you can often think of higher things, mentally pontificate on the meaning of life, or lack thereof, of god and her presence or not, of peace and war. But mostly, I like the wind upon my face and my mind flittering over subjects as rapidly as the sun shimmers over the ripples of the waves on the river.

Traditionally modern!

Why am I here and what am I doing? Well, I wish I could give you a concrete and secure answer that would satisfy you and me alike, but I can't! I suppose, I'm here because I've reached the age where I should settle down, grow old, and well, not to put too finer point on it - die! I'm mid-fifties, it's time to stop this aimless existence and stop in the place I feel most at home. Except, I don't know where 'home' actually is; I've not felt completely at 'home' in any place I've lived for the last twenty or so years. So, I guess right now, I'm just trying on Tokyo for size. I loved it as a tourist, so now, staying longer and seeing if the magic and shine of the big vibrant city wears off with time, and the grind gets me down. Or whether the delight of being one in 14 or so million shines like the brightest star in the sky.

Sometimes even where your feet walk is a thing of beauty.

Dreams and desires

The wonder of lines

The joys these plants bring will be fleeting, yet their memory will linger for years to come!

The lonely stranger in a foreign land….

2026-04-22T15:12:00.001+01:00

The lonely stranger in a foreign land….

If you’re lonely before you come here, your loneliness will greatly increase once you are in this strange land where little is the same. There is an old expression, presented perfectly by Harry Chapin, “You can travel ten thousand miles and still stay where you are”. I feel you can’t expect travel or relocation to ease all your woes, solve all your problems, heal your broken heart or fill whatever void exists in your life. Your past is YOUR past, and will forever be so; it travels with you, despite any desire you may hold to leave it back where you left it.

Once you learn or realise travel and relocation isn’t the panacea for all that’s wrong in your life, the better you’ll be. I don’t guarantee much, but I’ll guarantee that! Equally, if you’re lonely, Japan and especially Tokyo is probably not the place for you to spend too long in. It is hard to explain, but for me, I feel like Tokyo is made up of 14 million individual people living 14 million individual lives! There is a certain independent expectation that exists here that I’ve not noticed in any other city. For example, if you go out to eat, the vast majority of restaurants and eating places just assume you are dining alone, and there is no drama and definitely no stigma if you are. Fresh ready meals from supermarkets or convenience stores are proportioned for either families or singles, and nothing in between.

I’m not sure if Tokyo is an outlier or more typical of Japan as a whole, but the overwhelming majority of 20 to 29-year-olds are not married (79.4% of men and 65.3% of women). Around 35% of Japanese men in their 30s have no spouse or partner. The percentage drops by just 5% for guys in their 40s and only about 7% for those chaps in their 50s. Based on projections from the 2020 census, there are between 4.5 and 4.7 million singles in Tokyo today, and by 2030, that number could be up to between 5 and 5.2 million.

So if you’re lonely at home, before you come to Japan, I think the chances of that loneliness following you here are, to say the very least, damn likely to be sure. But if you are like me, single and not necessarily lonely, you might just find this is an ideal city for you to visit. There is no faux concern when you eat alone in a restaurant, nor do you get approached by a woman, inviting you to join her and her family to eat, because they ‘felt sorry’ for you sitting all by your lonesome. Indeed, many restaurants have only ‘single person’ booths, stalls or tables. There isn’t an expectation for you to be in a couple, have a ‘significant other’ or be otherwise entangled. It’s refreshing, at least it is for me, to get a meal for one and not have accusatory or sympathetic eyes boring holes into the back of your head, nor do you get the quizzical questions about how come you’re single at such a mature age!

Waseda - Keio Regatta

2026-04-19T12:04:00.140+01:00

I was out on my balcony today, enjoying a leisurely mug of green tea and feeling the wind ruffle my hair, or what little I have left, when some sort of noise and commotion caught my attention from down below on the river. At first, I couldn't see what it was, then my eyes focused, and there, near the other bank, beyond the bridge, I spotted about eight or nine fellows in a rowing boat. Not only that, coming along the river was another rowing boat with a similar number of people rowing it. Plus, there were a few other boats of various sizes, something was evidently going on and something a little more than the usual marine activity.

It was a rowing race, I suppose it is similar to the annual University Boat Race between Oxford and Cambridge, held on the River Thames in dear ol' London town. However, here in Tokyo, its a series of races, including two really long ones that kicked off just across the river from me. (Is kick off the right exprersson for the starting of a boat race? I'm not sure!)

This is the annual Saikei Regatta, between Waseda and Keio universities, which has been running for 95 years, which is, needless to say, rather a long time! Although, it is a mere baby when compared to the London one, which saw its 171st one take place on 4th April this year.

Some of the races took place upstream and were between 500 and 1000 metres in lenght, however the two that started near me had these rowers battle it out for 3,750 metres, which is about 2.3 miles or thereabouts. I know I couldn't row that far, at least not as fast as they were going, it might take me about three hours to complete the same distance they did in under 11 minutes!

I wonder how fast you could spiddle your macons or cleavers in a tidal river?

Soothing Sunday and Saturday shopping.

2026-04-12T11:15:00.002+01:00

Sunday greeted my eyes with the early morning sunlight filtering through the net curtains that hang at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my rented apartment. It was, according to a blurry grab of my mobile phone from the small bedside table, a little after 5:30. I’m not usually up at this time of the morning; however, I’ve still not quite got used to being in a completely different time zone. It could be said that, for the first time ever in my life, the lag of jet travel was deeply affecting me. I’ve been tired in the daytime and waking up late in the evening, just as the world says sleepy time should be upon you.

I yawned as I stumbled out of bed, opened the curtains before gravity had its pressing effect on the bladder of a fifty-plus-year-old, and I scurried as fast as my fat little legs could carry me to the bathroom. A few minutes later, I emerged, relieved and busied myself with making a cup of coffee while I tried to drive the pain in my right foot out of my mind. It is, apparently, quite common for sufferers of Plantar fasciitis to have difficulty in starting to walk, and for me, first thing in the morning is the worst. Well, that’s not quite true, it is equally bad after I’ve rested a wee while after doing a lot of walking and then getting up, and yesterday I did oodles and oodles of walking.

Twenty-three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-nine steps I had completed yesterday, Saturday, as I’d walked to the popular shopping area of Ginza for some retail therapy. That amount of steps, judging by my height and step length, is a wee bit over eight miles, and that, my little cherubs, is a bloody long way. Yes, I experienced some pain yesterday, plus there were a few moments when I had to stop and either sit down or just lean against a wall and lift my foot off the ground for a short while. However, let it stop me from heading to Chou Dori in the Chou Ward of Tokyo, it did not.

I’ve just paused to unload the washing machine and place clean garments on two clothes racks, one now on the balcony, the other in the bathroom, under the clothes drying fan, such are the boons of modern life!

Yesterday, I was up at a similar time and after a leisurely shower and ablutions, I headed out on an ambling walk in the right direction of that enclave of shopping delectation. I should have waited, I should have fixed myself a decent breakfast, for time was on my side. I didn’t know, nor did anyone warn me, that Tokyoites are not early risers and thus, it is unusual to retail establishments, other than those of grocery or convenience kind, to be open before 10:30 or more likely 11:00 on weekends. Therefore, I had almost an hour to kill before the stores opened, and money, I could spend. Thus, little old Jason explored the local area, going up backstreets and down alleyways, savouring the sights and sounds and digging the general atmosphere of the place.

Of course, I now know I could have gone down to a store called Don Quijote, affectionately known as Donki, which opens its door at the shockingly early time of seven ante meridiem. But, I didn’t know that at the time, and to be honest, you really do need to mentally prepare yourself for a visit to the haven of bargains, narrow aisles and crushing tourists that is your average Donki.

One of the more globally well-known Japanese clothing brands must surely be Uniqlo, yes, it’s from Japan and not some European nation like many believe! I do like the store, its clothes and the whole vibe of the place, but perhaps it is a little young for me. However, I do rather prefer its slightly cheaper and more encompassing subsidiary GU. For me, the conventionally stylish and unadorned by big brand branding, garments that GU offer are, right up my street, as it were. Thus, at just gone 12:30, I was emerging from the said flagship store with a large big brown paper bag containing a pair of shorts, a hoodie, two caps, two jersey-type shirts and six t-shirts. A smile upon my face, not least because I hadn’t packed t-shirts and needed lighter clothes more practical for the local climatic conditions, but also for the 10% tax reduction I received for being a visitor to this beautiful country.

Oddly, the walk homeward seemed somewhat shorter, and I was rather pleased with myself for making it all the way to Ginza and back without needing Google Maps to aid direction. Although after I dropped off my GU goodies, I tootled round to the local supermarket for supplies, including bogrolls and bananas. Two crucial things for an international traveller, I’m sure you’ll agree, although I did get some more things, like bread, rice, and other such delights for dinner.

I turned left and then left again out of my apartment building this Sunday morning and strolled like an old fart along the banks of the river. My leisurely ambling took me just down to Sumidagawa-Ohashi Bridge, which carried me across the river before I made my way back home on the opposite bank. It was rather peaceful, despite being a Mecca for joggers of all ages and courting couples from the younger generation, all making the most of the oasis of calm. At various points along the riverside, there are beds of either wild or cultivated flowers, which combine with sections of shrubs and bushes to add to the beauty of the waterway. If you ever come to Tokyo, I suggest you take a walk down this way, it's an ideal way to relax and enjoy a peaceful part of the city.

I’ll have to go now, the wind is picking up and I’ll have to retrieve the washing from the balcony before it blows away and someone crossing the Shin-Ohashi Bridge gets a face full of my undercrackers!

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News or no news.....

2026-04-09T09:22:00.000+01:00

It is Thursday, 9th April, 2026, and I’m sitting down to type this after returning from a domestic shopping trip and a walk. A walk that has seen me, according to a pedometer step-counting app downloaded on my smartphone, take 18369 steps, the approximate equivalent of 6.38 miles. Now, you may think that’s quite a mediocre amount, but let me tell you that for a fat fifty-six-year-old with a metal knee and Plantar fasciitis, it is a blooming mammoth amount.

I’ve just drunk a mug of strong black coffee and opened up the Sky News website, but I can’t help but sigh despondently at the headlines:- ‘US and Israel have violated ceasefire, say Iran – as more than 250 killed in Lebanon strikes’ ‘Massive destruction in Lebanon’s capital’ ‘‘Democracy kills’- The self-styled revolutionary turning his back on the West’ and ‘Artemis crew face questions as mission enters final stretch’. Each story vies for attention on the first part of the screen, which in the days of newspapers, would have been termed ‘before the fold’. I’m not sure which story to click on first; none of them sounds like good news. There is a lack of anything nice or indeed remotely positive. I give up and make another mug of coffee!

It is a little after three in the afternoon, my feet, or rather, just my right foot – the one with Plantar thingamabob- aches, not surprising considering the walking I’ve completed today after leaving the apartment not long before eight-thirty this morning. I’ve closed the news down, I’m not in the mood to read more about death and destruction in Lebanon, nor have I the will to expose myself to the latest craziness of Donald Trump’s and Benjamin Netanyahu’s ill-fated and absurdly injudicious war with Iran. The news is so depressing these days that sometimes, I just need a little respite from the madness of it all and live in a blissful bubble of ignorance, at least for a while.

The reason for my venturing out this morning was to buy myself an extension cord, a packet of bin bags, dish cloths and possibly a plant. Hardly the most exciting of retail excursions, however, I’m pleased to say, mission accomplished, although the plant has metamorphosed into an artificial mini Hydrangea Bush. Which is perhaps a more sensible option, I’m not in the slightest green-fingered folk, and even I can’t kill something that’s made of polyester and polyethylene.

I also nipped into a supermarket just around the corner before coming home to get something healthy for dinner. If you’re interested: salad, bread, rice cakes will be followed by pineapple, pear and grapefruit. Also sneaking into my basket were some mini chocolate-filled buns and a small bar of white chocolate, so my desire to have a healthy day has somewhat been tarnished by my complete lack of willpower to avoid sweet things and treats!

I’ve just paused to head out on the balcony to see where a loud and somewhat harmonious siren of a passing ambulance was coming from or heading to. Yet, despite its sonorous tones reaching me up on the seventh floor, I could not locate the said emergency vehicle or see where it was heading. Instead, I busied myself with a brief look at a boat chugging up the never-ceasing undulations of the river below. I do like the view, the river, the way the sunlight dances off the waves and wakes like thousands of tiny mirrors. I always find rivers, just like the sea, to have a calming effect upon me. However, coming back to the keyboard, I fear you could take me to Trading Standards and complain about the title of this blog. Not the diary bit, but the seafront bit. You see, right now, I am not residing on the coast, nope, I am quite a few kilometres away from any particular seafront!

Nine days ago, I left my flat on the seafront just outside Hastings after more than a decade and headed somewhere completely different, although still with a view of rippling water. This time it isn’t the English Channel that greets my eyes each morning, but the darker river, called Sumida, that flows some sixteen or so miles from Iwabuchi to Tokyo Bay. Yes, you’re right, it isn’t in the UK, but the archipelago of Japan and the major city of Tokyo, to be more precise.

I came to Japan for a six-week holiday in November and December last year and really enjoyed myself, so much so that when my tenancy came to an end in St Leonard’s, I thought little of boarding a passing Boeing 787-9 and flying more than thirteen hours to the land of the rising sun!

I’ve rented an apartment on the river for three months, which is the length of an initial tourist visa given upon arrival to British citizens. There is a possibility to extend the visa for another ninety days, making a total of six months' stay. I’ve already informed the lettings company that I do intend to extend my stay here as I sample ‘living’ in Japan rather than just ‘visiting’ it as a tourist.

Right now, I know little Japanese, except good morning, thank you very much and how to ask the way to the nearest train station or where the toilet is, but I’m sure I’ll pick up more the longer I stay here. However, right now, the Google Lens app with its language translation function is a vital addition to my daily life in a land where the local language contains three different writing styles. Although, as anyone who has ever been here will tell you, a lot of products offered for sale in the numerous convenience stores also proclaim their contents in English. Equally, many of the street signs, trains, subways and buses are in both Japanese and English, thus ensuring even the most language-limited visitor can get by.

I’ll show you around the apartment at another time. Right now, my stomach is rumbling loudly, informing me it needs food, something it hasn’t had since breakfast around six-thirty this morning, and, for a fatty like me, is a long time ago!

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