Of Stupid Beards

As is common for this blog, the title refers to something that may (or may not, depending on how I feel) appear at the end, but certainly not the beginning.

So, once again, I've trawled the depths of the internet so that you don't have to.  This trawling includes many game related websites, none of which will make it onto this page because you already think I'm nerdy enough, without me shouting out 'LOOK AT THE BUMP MAPPING ON THAT.'

Anywho, the first thing I saw on the BBC website was this article about piracy in Japan.  Democracy in the west is predicated on the idea that if you piss enough people off, they won't vote for you.  As such, the massively unpopular ideas rarely make it into law.  As a prime example there have been many people who have advocated improving the NHS (an example plucked from the air) by changing the very system itself.  As luddites, or 'voters,' as they're colloquially known, don't like change, the improvements have been vetoed in favour of spending eye-watering sums with no targets, aims or ideas.  Of course there are the few who make substantial sums by virtue of having gone to school with some otherwise exceptionally well to do peer or lord, but the majority are lumped with a slow, inefficient system that benefits senior administrators financially, and no one else.  The result is a system that doesn't work.  Yay for democratic powers!

The alternative is Japanese democracy which works very much like this:  I am the president of Japan.  My friend who runs Sony, doesn't like people pirating songs.  I will therefore enact a law that breaks the constitutional foundations of our country, because he will invite me to tea parties.

In many cases, the person who summons the idea is brazenly the same friend with whom we wish to dine, as in the case of this piracy law in Japan.

'This revision will reduce the spread of copyright infringement activities on the internet,' (ed - no it won't) said the body's chairman Naoki Kitagawa, who is also chief executive of Sony Entertainment Japan...' (ed - boldness added by the nobhead author)

So, they put someone who had clear ulterior motives, in charge of an organisation whose purpose is to lobby the government on behalf of a billion dollar company, in order to enact laws that are unjust, to further infringe upon the rights of the luddites.  Of course, the 'voters,' in Japan are more placid than those in England even, meaning they can do whatever the hell they want; and make no mistakes, they do.  Let this be a lesson for everyone in England - when you find yourself on the ass end of an unlawful arrest, with no access to a lawyer, food or water, and you're starved to death by a gestapo-esque secret police who are above the law, the incremental steps they took to get there could have been avoided had you decided to do something about it, instead of just sitting on your great big, gelatinous asses.  Take heed.  (Of course you won't, that's why 1984 is ever more referred to whenever someone mentions the state of human rights in contemporary society).

The next article is one about the EU.  Apparently we've been pissing people off in Europe (hot news just off the press).  The germans don't know whether to kick us out, the french have all but made up their mind (as this story, based off blogs of all things, seems to indicate).  No one else seems to care.  Should England sever all ties, it would of course be disastrous.  We wouldn't be able to handle worldwide finances without incurring heavy levies and taxes and this would mean losing 99% of all our income.  The other 1% are farmers, and they wouldn't be able to flog their stuff abroad, both because they'd be priced out of the market, and the government wouldn't be able to prop them up.  Gutted.  Should we abscond, someone else will take our place within four or five minutes, and we'd have permanently lost our source of income.

On the flip-side, screw the frogs and krauts, we don't need them as long as we have america.  Oh, they don't have any money anymore.  Well, maybe the chinese have forgotten about the opium wars by now?  Well, there's always Iran...

In sporting news, Nicky Hayden is one of my new favourite riders.  He is ballsy to the point of recklessness, and that merits a special place in my heart.

Take this for example:

Fuck that for a game of soldiers

It's not tiddly winks, but goddamn that's a big one.

He followed the above highside with this ballsy attempt at saving the bike.  As the various commentators have noted, he could have bailed a dozen times before he hit the barrier and slid to a painful, if unspectacular stop.  No one knows as of yet (as far as I know) why he didn't, but I suspect with his recent track record (pun) he was trying to save the bike to save the team from rebuilding yet another one.

It's worth noting that I've used the word ballsy so many times because it really conveys the kahoonas on this guy - gutsy or brave really don't have the same impact for my money.  Again, he deserves respect, and gets it from me.

Everyone seems to think he's okay.  Christ on a bike, the more I watch it the more horrific it gets.  He damn near does two flips, and that's only at 40mph!

The next clip comes from the hyperbole machine that is the BBC.

A typhoon hit mainland Japan last night, making landfall at Okinawa some hours prior.  By all accounts it was quite strong when it reached Okinawa, but when it came to mainland Japan it was weak and pathetic.  Having said that (or written), it wasn't a particularly earth-shattering one even over Okinawa.  They do like to hype these events though, so we got this self-evidently factually inaccurate report.

It's self-evident because the car is not in the air at any point, nor is it picked up.

It's made all the more hilarious by the slow-mo, as if trying to prove the validity of the headline.

Not funny for the man who owns the car though.  Poor guy.

If you want to see something that's actually impressive, watch the first plane land here.  That's a ballsy pilot.  Ballsy again, see.  Irreplaceable in the English language.

Nearly at an end now, this article makes me hate England.  Then it makes me hate humanity.  It turns out that dog-dirt sounds (not worthy of being called music) are enjoyed by people regardless of social upbringing, this pile of shit having bridged the language divide from korea to England.  What a shithouse state of affairs you lot must be in if you listen to this utter tripe.  Christ.  Go take a long, hard, semi-suicidal look at yourselves, people of England.

If you were one of the morons who partook of this crime against humanity, take out the 'semi,' from the previous sentence.

And finally, onto the bit about the beards.  In Japan, having a beard is sinful.  The vast, vast majority of men are physically incapable of growing facial hair, so to save their blushes beards are considered unsavoury by the aforementioned vast majority.

This is a problem for me because I'm fantastically lazy.  So lazy I can barely keep my eyelids open outside of rugby related activities.  This is a high-priority concern because I grow facial hair at a rate that would make Rapunzel blush (presumably her facial hair grew pretty quickly too) and cannot be bothered to cut it every day.  So far I've been getting by on weekly shaves that entail me looking like a spotty devil, rather like this, at the start of the week, then in the middle I look ruggedly handsome, and at the end I look like a stowaway aboard a transatlantic cruise powered by dreams.  Think Tom Hanks, if he spent another eight or so years on the island.

I'm pretty sure I would get fired if I didn't shave at all, so I devised a cunning plan.  If I shave just a little bit, to give the appearance of giving a flying one, they won't fire me.  I don't have to spend the requisite hours shaving it all off, taking mere moments instead - and I get to look like a complete douchebag in the process!  Bonus!

This came about from talking to someone who only shaved every time he scored a try, which was surprisingly often given his position.  I vowed to do the same (only tries for Lion count) but wondered how to enact that plan without turning into cousin It.

Anyway, this first trial resulted in a loss of moustache, next week I might keep the tache attached to the beard, and shave it down a bit, hoping to look like this:

I'm starting to get the old white hairs (hehe).  It's indicative of imperfect cell division, don'cha know.

But more than likely ending up like this:

You have to imagine green/black eyes instead.

Why all the beard talk?  Simple; I've nothing else better to talk about.

Bye.

#EDIT#  I just noticed someone left me a message on the previous post:

hahahahahaha
where do you get the brilliant words? soooooo funny

There are two possible options here:  He is a sincere fan, or a bitter, sarcastic dick.

Considering the fact that the kind of person who would sincerely leave a message of this kind probably isn't inclined to read anything I write (non-pop culture, non-fashion, non-celebrity) I have to assume he's option B.

In which case: Dick.

No.

This article from the BBC raises an interesting point.

Having separated areas is a great idea.  Obnoxious children with shit parents shouldn't be allowed to travel on planes or trains with civilised society.  I say civilised but we all know that you'll never get rid of the asshole with really loud music.  I hasten to suggest that the asshole in question was at one stage the child we are trying to protect ourselves from with this suggestion of segregation.

Interestingly, someone allowed a complete moron to comment on the article, espousing such wisdom as:

"I very, very much think that people need to be tolerant.  People who have a problem with children in flights needs to get over it."

Well.  I'm glad I didn't miss the irony of this statement, it's quite subtle.  Re-read it again and tell me if you didn't chuckle to yourself a little.  People need to be tolerant.  People need to adhere to my world view.  I see, mister asshat.  Thanks for your input on that one.

That's not mentioning the 'get over it,' line, as if a four year old screaming in your face for eight hours while the parents ignore it, is something willpower can overcome.  Or fucking assholes kicking the back of your chair for twelve hours while you're flying across several continents.  Yeah, get over it.

What a self-absorbed asshole.  Then again, parents expect preferential treatment because they're continuing the human race.  Well done.  You're also destroying the planet (that you wear hemp socks to protect) to a far greater extent than I ever could.  Square that circle you sanctimonious douchebag.

There are plenty of people and children in the world, what makes yours special?  Nothing.  Get over it and yourself.

It also says in the article that people might resent being treated as second class citizens.  I think it's a brilliant idea.  Concentrate all the scum in one place, let them all scream their pathetic lungs till explosion, and let the parents try ignoring the caterwauling of a dozen kids.  Now you see why we hate you.

As the last point on this subject that has me so irate, it shouldn't be the innocent passenger who should pay extra to have child-free zones, it should be the goddamn family that insists on ruining the day of everyone else.  They are taking their non-cognisant spawn to fuck knows where, for the purpose of DOING NOTHING WITH IT.  IT WILL NOT REMEMBER THE HOLIDAY.  IT WILL MAKE MORE STRESS FOR YOU.  IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL A HOLIDAY?

Christ on a bike.

Be Inspired

So at the end of the third year English book there are a number of (supposedly) inspirational quotes with which to create a sense of aspiration within the classroom.

I'm going to show you how ill thought out they are.

The first is from Walt Disney, the well known anti-semite (to be fair, everyone who was born before 1935 seems to be anti-semitic).

'All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.'

This is plainly a lie.  Wipe that stupid moustache off your face, you filthy liar.  If you need to be told why this is an untruth, you're either five years old or a king.  Or both.  If you still don't know, I'll just say that the most basic principle as to why this is nonsensical - money.

The next is from Thomas Edison.

'Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration.'

In the case of Edison, it's actually more like one percent stealing ideas, ninety-nine percent driving the creator into the ground while profiteering to the fullest extent possible.  He is a hero to the americans because he's heralded as a great inventor - the truth couldn't be further from reality; interestingly, he should still be a marker by which americans judge themselves for he symbolises america to a tee.

He is a filthy liar, who was rubbish at making things, but great at inventing uses for things that people didn't need.  When it was something useful, he stole the idea and ruined the original creator.  He was a true american patriot, standing on the shoulders of migrants to reach the stars.  See here for one of the many he ripped off.

See if you can guess who this is from:

'We want to live by each other's happiness, not by each other's misery.' (sic)

It's actually from Charlie Chaplin.  I have no idea why it's in a third year middle school English textbook, nor why he was chosen for these words.  I mean, as words go they're not bad, but what is particularly inspiring about him?  I don't know much about the man, nor do I know much about what makes him great enough to appear in this very select list - so I leave it up to you to find fault with this one.

'It is not how much we do, but how much love we put in the doing.  It is not how much we give, but how much love we put in the giving.'

This one is quite difficult, but when you know the answer you'll see it makes sense.  This is much more sensible as the author, Mother Teresa, was known to be quite saintly.  She was a rather nice lady, who liked helping other people.  Fine.  Go do your helping, inspire others to help.  Great.  Nothing wrong with that.

Next.

'Language is to the mind more than light is to the eye.'

This one wouldn't be guessed in a million years, but works well for both the person uttering, and the utterance.  It is Anne Sullivan, the woman who taught Helen Keller (again, someone I'd never heard of before I met americans).  It works because Anne was a teacher - which makes sense in a school.  It also works because it's talking of language highly, and wouldn't you know it, this is an English language textbook!  Full marks.

So all-told, of the five English language quotes they included, I would scrap three because one is pointless, one is from a man who hated jews and made cartoons (giving him roughly the same qualification to help others, as I have to judge him, ha!) and the final is from the perfect american (therefore making him a somewhat dubious role-model for kids outside of america).  The Anne Sullivan quote has two unabashed thumbs up from me.  Not to mention the validity of the quote (in whose opinion?), the quotee is someone who can be admired.

But, of course, this is Japan.  This means that despite these quotes being in an English language textbook, one that the kids are supposedly learning English from, there has to be a Japanese quote to ensure no one thinks Japan is losing face.  To comply with the aforementioned learning English and stuff, it's been translated.  Now, the above quotes had little in common beyond being vaguely upbeat, do gooder nonsense.  This is a prime chance for the educational authorities to pull a fast one, and say something extremely profound, that expounds the Japanese psyche and reaffirms their unshakable knowledge that Japan is the best.  So, with this prime circumstance established, here we go:

The old pond;
A frog jumps in, -
The sound of water.

...  What?

A.Blooper Reel - A Story of Muckups

So there's another speech contest coming up.  I say another, because I've almost certainly written about them in the past; they're a pain in the ass for myriad reasons, not least because they're pointless.

They don't prove who is the better speaker, merely who has spent more time practicing.  They don't teach any valuable skills, besides patience.  Then again, the best students are the ones who are inherently more patient, so it doesn't really teach that either.  What on earth is the point?

Anyway, as chief whipping boy it is my duty to write the speeches, record myself saying them, then teach the kids the speech I've written.  Of course they're meant to be written by the students themselves, but no one is naive enough to believe they actually are.  One particularly tough speech was written for the second year student, overseen by my newly (self) appointed boss.  The problem isn't the speech material, or length (everything is supposed to follow any number of rules (only some of which I'm privy to, which makes writing them an exercise in frustration as re-drafting becomes second nature)) but the overseer.  The lordess (not lady) of propriety is a wicked proponent of ranks and social structure.  Disregard the fact that I am both English, and an English literature graduate, if the teacher whose second language is English (in a country where second languages are regarded with roughly the same degree of respect as potatoes (much like England, for that matter)) says tomatoes, you bloody well write tomatoes.  Now, while you might be thinking that last sentence perfectly illustrates why I shouldn't be writing anything for kids who are starting out on the voyage of ignorance that is institutionalised English Language education; I hasten to point out that I am capable of writing 'the cat sat on the mat.'

Anyway, this resulted in a speech that is fine, if unremarkable for the most part.  I often come to loggerheads regarding almost every conceivable part of my day however, so some of the nascent frustration resulted in a compromise.  The compromise in quality of the written word.  It is unfortunate that this student should have two such obstinate teachers, but in the cold hard light of post-mortem, I've decided the text actually has more authenticity as one written by a learner of English.  That, coupled with the fact that the other listeners (and indeed readers) will also be Japanese, means this isn't a hindrance to the students chances - quite the opposite in fact.

So I bring this up because I had to record three speeches, so the students would have an idea as to the correct pronunciation, cadence etcetera.  The first and third speeches were recorded within one or two takes, being simple enough in their own right.  The second took seventeen takes because I kept coming a cropper among the thorny Japanicised English that'd crept in.

At this point I'd originally planned to upload the blooper reel and let you laugh for yourselves at my failed attempts, but I can't edit them on work PC's, and I don't want to upload them wholesale because they have students names and whatnot in them.  Therefore my parting shot won't be particularly funny, but will give you an indication of the problems I faced when reading this particular speech aloud, and why it took me so many attempts.

The title for this particular speech is simply:

A Wonder of Smile

What.

What I Eat

I've been on a manic quest to put on a bit of weight while living in Japan.  Everyone tells you that it's impossible.  Portions are too small, the makeup of their diet is wrong; et cetera.  This is absolutely true.  I have struggled immensely with this issue, and have only recently begun putting on weight due to an insane amount of eating.  Once you've got the weight, it's quite easy to keep it (I don't know whether that's genetics or what) but getting there is a chore.

I eat a small breakfast (I've never been one for breakfast, it's a stupid meal).  Then when i have some, I'll have a protein shake for elevenses.  As an aside, whoever invented elevenses is a genius, especially if your choice of fattener is chocolate milkshake.

Lunch will be a sandwich, nothing major.

Then around four, I'll have noodles, or another sandwich, or a Japanese curry chicken thing out of the corner shop (whatever I can get my hands on really) then I'll hit the gym or go for a run (adequate time being left between consuming food and workout).  When I get back it's two chicken breasts, all the vegetables in the world, and a portion of rice.  Veggies will include peppers, green red and or yellow.  Spinach type things.  Broad beans.  Mushrooms.  An onion (always).  And whatever else is available.  Couple that with the myriad fruit juices I drink every day and I think it's pretty healthy.

So for all the effort I've put into gaining weight, I've put on about 2kg's.  Two measly kilogrammes.  It's certainly lean weight though, I don't think there's much in the way of fat going in me at the moment.

92 kg's isn't bad, and I certainly don't want to be much more than that.  Another one or two and I'll be done I think.

Assuming I can afford this terribly expensive eating habit.

Things That Are Cool, Things That Are Awesome

Just so you know, this is not for the faint of heart.  Those Jehovas witnesses will go to any lengths to stop you enjoying your life - even if you're deaf.  Damn you Jehovaaaaaaaaaaa~!

(It's worth noting that Japanese people love to use the tilde, something I've refrained from using outside console commands, but I've started quite enjoying its use as an extension to imply a never ending letter, the example above being an 'a.'  Just thought you'd like to know...~)

A prime example of the above tilde usage, would be in transcribing this scene.

Anyway, I sometimes report on the crazy shite that I happen upon from Japan - often it results in something that's quite cool, once you wade past the bizarre.  It might take a while, but you can oftentimes figure out the intent and subsequently see the 'cool.'

This game was deemed 'cool,' enough to be copied by the BBC.

Sometimes, the bizarre nature of the image transcends description.

What.

But the proverbial biscuit has been taken, not by the Japanese, but by a rather creative american individual.  The act of remixing videos and music is not new.  Whereas the above creations are originals, intended for a sadistic audience that has no intention of creating anything - the below is a brilliant mix of two things I could honestly care less about.  Religion is stupid.  Signing a religion is obviously a necessary part of subjugating everyone (even the deaf need to be downtrodden), but the subject matter, coupled with the song (from a genre I would normally baulk at) make for a perfectly timed dance; one that I would have no hesitation in learning should I be musically inclined.  Or just plain terrible at dancing.

This is a terribly fantastic video with strong signs.  You have been warned.

#EDIT#  The gallery of images from the previous post has been updated with words an' stuff.

Stop Me if You've Seen This Before

So these are holiday pictures from Nikko.  Feel free to tell me if you've seen these before because the many, many photographs that were taken during the holiday are all blurring into an amalgamated mess.  I'm finding it increasingly difficult to differentiate between the various folders I had created, and as a result I have no idea what I've already posted.

I could look back and check, but I don't want to read the drivel I've previously written.  Besides, where's the fun in that?

So this picture is of a fortune tied to a tree.  When you go to the various temples you have the option of procuring a fortune.  This fortune is absolutely guaranteed to come true, because it tells you nothing - as is generally the way with fortune telling of any kind.  To make sure the fortune comes doubly true, you must tie it to something.  Normally there are ropes in the temple grounds that serve this purpose, but this tree works just as well.

The weather was pretty hot, as is to be expected when doing anything in Summer around Japan.  There were a few clouds though, so I took the opportunity to highlight those instead of the trees.  I do love watching a moody sky roll by.

Which do you think is better?  This isn't a very good picture, nor is the one below, but as a holiday snap which do you think is better?

I like the stairs more than the posts in the picture above, but the dappled lighting is distracting.

This reminded me of the old illustrations for things like the Canterbury Tales.  Except the trees and dragons, they are of a completely unique style.

As with any hot and humid country, the insects here are monstrous.  While that doesn't necessarily translate into an easily recognised sense of scaled (this dragonfly could be big or small, there's no way of knowing) it does make taking pictures without macro lenses somewhat easier.  Obviously the results here are far from being perfect (the background is really distracting, the subject is too small, the wings and body don't contrast with the background enough) but they're acceptable for a small holiday picture.

Nikko is a famously religious area, with temples and shrines all over the place.  I have no idea what any of them mean, or stand for, but they often make for decent enough pictures.  I often shoot at 105mm to isolate the subject, but it's good to shoot wider in order to get an idea of the surroundings.  Variety is the spice of life, as they say.

This is an example of not having a big enough lens to isolate the insect.  This time, the relative
smoothness of the background means that it would have been easily identifiable, had it not been microscopic.  If I were to blow this up to a large enough size, I think it might work quite well.  As it is, not so much.

Look at the difference a change in millimetres makes.  Standing from essentially the same spot, but this time dialled all the way back - the entire picture changes completely.  I actually quite like both of these despite the aforementioned blights on the above.  This one needs to have a sky peeking from behind the trees, not just an amorphous all-consuming whiteout.  The lens flare really doesn't bother me, but it will annoy some enthusiasts.

A birds eye view of the decorations.  They were incredibly ornate, but also very difficult to photograph.  This is probably one of the few times where a 3D camera would have worked well because each ornament stood out; literally and metaphorically speaking.  They vied for the attention by overshadowing their neighbours, or at least attempting as much.  It's very difficult to stand out, as it were, when everyone else is doing the same, which is why this bird seemed as good a place as any to take a picture from.

I have a copy of this picture, taken with in-camera HDR activated.  What this means in practical terms, is that the highlights (such as the sky) are not washed out (as in this picture) because the camera takes a picture for those, then it changes the settings back, to take a picture for the shadows (the trees/eaves) and snaps another one.  Finally, it takes a picture at the correct exposure and combines the three (or five, or seven - however many you tell it to).  This picture isn't HDR, but I think it shows the proud dog/monster well.  Presumably it's guarding this building from something.

Another dog/monster, this time guarding the entrance to one of the many temples and shrines.

I made mum wait for ages so I could take this picture.  There were people everywhere and while a couple holding hands, or a family with a small kid might have been nice, the deserted feeling of having no one in shot makes it a more interesting picture.  There is barely any colour, when I changed it to black and white I barely registered the change.

This exceedingly angry man guards yet another entrance to yet another shrine/temple.

He's also angry because he has cauliflower nipples.

This was one of the most ornate drinking fountains we came across.  Of course this isn't a fountain used to drink from - instead the locals perform a ritual that's designed to cleans the body (wash hands, etc.).  Something my mother baulked at, pointing out the obvious opportunity for disease of any variety to take hold.  They either don't care, or don't know.  Considering the advanced nature of their education system and economy, I'm going to guess it's the former.

I don't know why I took this picture.  It's a screen separating hinged in a doorway, kind of like a second door.  I assume this would have been closed at some point, while the main door remained open.  Maybe so onlookers could tell if monks were praying?  Who knows.

They have no shortage of extremely angry people in Japan.  Something I've not witnessed often firsthand, but something that has obviously provided inspiration for countless angry gods to rampage around the place.

And finally, one of my favourite angry guys.  It's not particularly spectacular, and as you can see the colours are rather faded, but he stood out in a way that none of the others did.  I found that having them stare at you like an angry in-law wasn't conducive to a particularly interesting picture; beyond the first one at least.  I tried various angles, and this one turned out to be the best of those I tried - despite it leaving a lot to be desired.

Then again, everything you see here is merely a holiday snap, a picture that bears little resemblance to the artsy fartsy crap that I sometimes churn out, and is merely supposed to show the route on which I blundered while heading through my Summer holidays.  If you made it this far expecting some amazing pictures, or incredible art, I'm sorry to disappoint.

What the What?

What's that?  An article from the BBC that's actually interesting, mediated and articulate - without pandering?  Surely an impossibility!  Alas, it's about sex; a topic I fear will mean very few people will read it and of those who do, none will be the targeted 'problem,' audience.  Read it and you'll see what I mean.

So we had training on Saturday with Lion.  I didn't pick up any shampoo this time (I'm running out!) but I did get a bottle of water (shhhh, don't tell anyone!).  It was pretty hot, as it always is.  There's nothing much else to report really.  Sunday is when the fun started.

I played with the Tokyo Gaijin in the first game of our shuto league season.  The shuto league is the easier of the two leagues we play in, despite it still being over thirty degrees.  This game was against a French ex-pat team who have exceptional hearing, because they must have listened in to my frog jokes beforehand; you'll see why later.

We played them in a friendly six months ago, we won 100-0.  A pretty impressive victory, and the biggest win I've ever been privy to (I've lost 130-0 before, a world record for rugby league in case you were wondering).

The game started with the humidity pushing the absorbency of my clothing to the limit, but our forwards immediately put the hammer down meaning I didn't have to run much.  They rumbled it up the field with the help of a couple of crash balls from our centres.  After a few minutes they pushed over the line, a great team effort.  The forwards were completely dominant for the whole game.  Regardless who threw into the lineout, or who fed into the scrum, our forwards won the ball.  To say it was a dominant performance is underselling their push.  The french were down and out with only ten minutes played, making the rest of the match substantially easier for everyone else.  My first contribution was to skin the inside centre, then the full-back and finally get bundled over the line by their team.  The video replay was inconclusive, but I maintain downward pressure was generated.

This move started from their ten metre line, which deceptively named, isn't actually ten metres away from their try line.  It was incredibly selfish because there were several people shadowing me the whole way, but in fairness there were also opposition players between me and them.

The second try came from the number eight peeling off the back of the ruck and drawing just about every player on the pitch - I came in for a switch (scissors) and took the ball with acres of space.  The defensive line opened up as if emulating the various, pustulating grazes I received from the bone-dry ground.  This was around our ten metre line, which is very far away from their line.  Luckily their defence was pretty disinterested even at this early stage, and they didn't put up much of a chase.

The third came from Nikola Pavesic, a Croatian (maybe the first I've ever met?) forward who is as ungainly as he is good.  He is the other foreigner who plays with Lion, the other team I'm currently part of.  He ran a sideways line across the backs (always discouraged wholesale when you're a kid, always effective when used properly) drawing in, once again, their entire team.  He passed the ball out of the tackle - it was somewhat awkward because I'd gone too early and it hit my shoulder.  I caught it after a couple of attempts and ran in under the posts.  Again, there was no defence to speak of.

The fun started early in the second half, after I'd posted a hat-trick (I think that might have something to do with it) and after I'd monstered a couple of their team, forcing a couple of turnovers when they were in promising positions.

They broke down the right wing, using their backs to send a prop, of all people away and unmarked.  I was already there, so lined him up perfectly.  He saw me, and I swear to god, this big fat french prop was smiling.  He didn't try to step or swerve, he just ran straight into me.  So I obligingly hit him, stopped him not just dead in his tracks but lifted him up, drove him back a metre and dumped him on his ass.  Unbeknownst to myself, I'd also forced the knock-on, the big fat frenchie unceremoniously dropping the ball.  So a triple whammy.  This big fat frenchie was humiliated by an English back, a full-back at that; and he'd been dispossessed.  Well, that was it wasn't it.  He had me in a completely exposed position (he'd grabbed my shirt in the tackle with one arm, leaving his other free to let the fists fly; coupled with both my arms being around him due to the tackle having been enacted) while maneuvering himself into an advantageous position.  The fists started flying and I was fucked.  It took about three punches before I managed to cover myself up, and even then I couldn't get my arms completely in front of my face so he was hitting my nose and mouth with typical french aplomb.  I won't lie, he landed a couple of good ones.  He didn't split anything, nor did he draw blood, but I was dazed.  The tackle was perfectly legal, even the referee agreed which led to the opposing player being sent off, but only on a yellow card.  To be honest I was aggrieved that it was only yellow, seeing as he spent an eternity trying to re-arrange my features.  I was also too stunned (at first because of what was happening, then because of the blows) to throw any of my own, so I curled up like a girl and waited for the kicking.  A few of the lads jumped in pretty quickly though, so thanks to them.

Everyone was in agreement that it was a completely fair and legal challenge, even the referee - the opposition claimed it was a spear tackle (how his ass hit the ground first and it be a spear tackle is beyond me) and claimed to have photographic evidence (on of their ranks had a monstrous zoom lense and a big old camera) but I've yet to see the evidence.  If and when it does emerge, I'll put it up here for the whole world to see, regardless of who's right or wrong.

Anyway, I was quiet for twenty minutes, I got snaffled a couple of times, had the ball stolen once, and generally did nothing.  Then for the last five or ten minutes I was back in action, being fed a couple of balls to create breaks.  The fourth and last try came from a kickoff, one of our players gave me the ball, and skinning the first line of defence I ran away to score out wide.  It was a generally good game, and thanks to my brain rebooting after the beating, I was able to continue and prove effective late in the second.

All-told, an eventful day on the field.


On a non-rugby note, we've got speech contests coming up.  I've written and re-written the script for the second year student half a dozen times now.  The second year teacher just handed me a piece of paper; the script I've worked on is now unrecognizable.  Where once there was clarity, confusion reigns.  Where once there were simple, concise sentences, now rambling.  Where once there was English, there is now Japlish.

In an interesting twist, the second year overseer has asked me to speak into one of those, voice recordey boxes so there is a permanent record for the student to repeatedly listen to.  Fine, I say.  I'll do it as an MP3 and they can listen to it on their phone or ipad, whatever the cool kids are listening to these days.

What's an MP3?  I'm asked.  Oh jeez...  It's like a small cd player.  They can listen on their phones.

Oh, is the reply.  But no one has one of those.

I was unable to contain the look that obviously appeared on my face.  Whether it was shock, or purely stupefied I can't be certain, but it registered that she'd said something dumbfounding as she continued; yeah, only the really bad students have phones or MP3's.

A couple of seconds passed as I processed this information.  Oh, realisation suddenly dawning, she means at school, obviously they're not allowed to bring this stuff to school.

No is the reply.  At home too.  Only the really bad students have cellphones or MP3 players at home too.  They're not allowed them.  They only have CD's.

I'm using anecdotal evidence from my own personal experience here, but that means roughly 105% of all Japanese students are horrendous, awful people who should be put to death because not only do they all have mobile phones, they all have MP3 players too.  That's like a double whammy of horribleness.  Only CD's; really.  I'm pretty sure my grandad has an MP3 player, yet if he could purchase music on vinyl he would happily jack all this electronic stuff and retread the timeline fantastic.

I give up.  I'm going to make some token changes then give it back to her, this poor kid condemned to spending the next month learning gibberish - I feel for you, child.

Changes Afoot

So today I was fucked over by one of the native English teachers.  One of the shitbags (who shouldn't be in the company of civilised humans) was dicking around the classrooms only fan.  A minor tribulation in the scheme of things, but because he's incapable of rational though, he took umbrage to my attempts at taking the fan away from him and pointing it at the whole class.  The native teacher undermined me, giving it the fan.

An incredibly minor thing - far less minor than the kid beating up a teacher a couple of days ago, or the kids going round breaking all the windows, or the mysterious arson attacks that have claimed two houses, where the scum hang about after school.

But now they've reached the inevitable conclusion.  The nationalistic tendencies of the sub-class have overcome them, and they heed me by the name 'stupid foreigner.'  The last semblance of their dignity gone - reverted to the stereotype by which all BNP members ascribe.  And here I am, in a room of witnesses who deny any wrongdoing.

It's all the more depressing because they see it as the ultimate slur; the most offensive thing they can say about me is that I'm not them.  The arrogance implied is self-evident, but the baselessness of it is what astounds me.  You belong to a country that you happened to be born into, on the grounds of pure chance, luck or coincidence.  Congratulations.  Far be it for me to compliment or criticise the past endeavours of your people, Msrs scumbag and co. (I have plenty of other blog posts to do that)  But if you insist on being Japanese, and on abusing another person because they are not Japanese, you bring yourself into the crosshairs of both modern and ancient history, for which I fear no sane person would grant you a reprieve.

Of course the blind tend towards nationalism, it's the last resort of those who are unwilling or unable to see how similar we all are; and are unwilling to put a stint in at the coalface, as it were.  Riff-raff will grow up living off handouts provided by working people, while they bemoan the lack of jobs because of foreigners.  Does this sound familiar?

Everywhere is the same - regardless of ethnicity or country.  It's not this kids fault that it is barely human; it is the product of myriad forces beyond its control, and the product of its parentage.  I would be extremely interested to find out how much its father loathes whiteys because, at a guess, I would have to venture quite a lot.

I suppose it's worth noting that I'm not surprised, or even perturbed.  This country is a bizarre geological formation; a majority of sane individuals sitting atop a substantial chamber of nutters.  I often wonder if there will ever be enough pressure to erupt, but the brilliant strategy of giving the crazies their own holiday (to celebrate at the shrine for dead japanese war criminals) ensures the patriotic fervor is dissipated in small, lifeless bursts rather than with giant outpourings.

In totality I find myself struggling to get particularly angry, and despite wanting to kick the kid in question (about ten years too late for it to learn any lessons, however) I end up simply feeling sorry for it.

Perhaps, in ten years time when it's in prison and suffering from chronic cocaine withdrawal, being buggered by its cellmate, it'll wonder what america or Australia are like.

I would imagine that some, if not all of the things mentioned above ring chords within your own fiefdoms.  It's not an isolated problem, and yes, I do regard it as a problem.  Perhaps you don't, fair enough I suppose.  Each to their own.

So all the negativity aside, the blog layout has changed!  It's only taken three or four years for the change to be made and at this rapid rate of improvement, it'll be respectable within a decade. I'm trying to make the banner (the picture at the top) change every time you refresh the page, but as of yet I have had no luck in making that happen.  If anyone knows of a simple (simple is key, I've tried and failed to implement coded solutions) widget or gadget or badger, (whatever they're called) to perform this seemingly easy task, then let me know.

Of Testing in Japan

So I'm currently administering the umpteenth set of speaking tests.  Of the thousands I've conducted so far, one thing strikes me as particularly interesting.  When a kid fails, they're forced to do the test over, and over, and in some cases, over again until they get it right.  Obviously speaking isn't taught in Japanese schools, so often most kids will pass with mediocre results (I don't mark based on the american curve, you can either do it, do it okay, or not do it).  This is great because it means the average is consistent among classes, and we can see which classes are faring better than others.  It's not great because it means that people who are not good enough, fail.  Now, people seem to think that the epidemic of abstaining from failure, from ensuring everyone passes despite having no ability is isolated to England.  That is most certainly not the case.

There are five levels of grade for the internal testing we do at the school.  At this point I must stress that these tests have no bearing on the certification they receive upon leaving school, they are not nationally endorsed tests.  They simply show the school and governors where each student is in regards to the curriculum being 'taught.'  They are broken down into five categories.  The bottom category, as already mentioned, requires the student retake the test in order to continue.  Not only does this create extra work for the teacher, it makes them look bad.  Having a student fail is tantamount to a critical failure by the teacher.  Forget the fact that most, if not all of the fail grade kids would be put in special needs institutions anywhere else in the world, the teacher is obviously the one to blame (the system is perfect - THE SYSTEM IS PERFECT).

Anyway, I was only allowed to grade the kids on a 1-4 scale after the first round of tests made me re-test a dozen kids from every class (they'd walk in, sit down, speak some Japanese then walk out).  Unsurprisingly the bottom grade was the one dropped, which meant I could only grade the kids on pass marks.  For whatever reason, none of the kids could answer any of the questions.  The average was somewhere between a D plus and C minus.  The inevitable conclusion was to grade the kids on a 3 mark scale.  The D being dropped.  This meant no one could get below a C in the grading scheme, making the teacher look substantially better.  Unfortunately, they were all still terrible.  They don't teach conversational English in Japan, it's honestly not their fault.  It's a completely different discipline to writing, utilising different areas of the brain and requiring completely different skills.

The answer wasn't quite so simple this time.  You can't just eliminate all the grades leaving only an A grade.  The solution must have kept this years teacher up for some time; but arrive at a solution they did.  All the kids came into the test (two lines, 'I went to ....' And 'It was fun.') with worksheets.  The answers handwritten by the students, copied from the blackboard prior to the test.  They read from them without even looking up.  Instead of walking in and leaving after speaking Japanese, they now walk in (heads down, dejected), sit down, say their lines, then walk out.  It works brilliantly because it's impossible for anyone to score lower than a B, I barely have to say a word and the teacher of this grade looks like a hero.  Everyone wins!

Except the kids.  They continue on with their lives, oblivious to the massive lie they are a part of; condemned to work in starbucks and macdonalds, ironically learning more english there than they ever will here.

Anyway, the dude next to me has finished slurping the ever loving shit out of his noodles, so I feel it appropriate to point to the now worded gallery from last post.

Oh no, he's found more noodles.  I have to leave before he somehow creates an inter-dimensional vortex with his incessant slurping.

DNS Report In!

I just tried to access this site via the url http://www.eastern-escapology.blogspot.com and it came up with something else entirely.  Either the DNS has been poisoned, leading to an entirely different site, or they changed the URL and I have no idea about it.  Basically, access this site via google using any search you want, rather than via the URL bar.

Anyway, here are some more pictures.

So all these pictures have been digitally retouched.  Interestingly, a few of them have mistakes that I can't be bothered to rectify.  Don't worry, I'll point them out anyway.  This one is one of my favourites - as such it's received a few different treatments to see what you can get away with.

Black and white helps a lot with some pictures, but it often detracts from the more mundane ones.  For this one I'm not sure why, but it looks better in black and white.  A photographic theorist will surely know the answer as to why; but an academic I am not.

This one has the slider for 'vivid,' cranked up.  The sky is boring, the shapes not well framed, but I liked it because it's fairly representative of what you come across in Japan.

This is another one of my favourites.  I was struggling to take (what I consider to be) an interesting picture of the cranes.  They were often in isolation, and it was difficult to bring the colours out from the background.  The strings of origami were often bereft of identity, so having the chinese characters in the background helped with placing them.

This is one of my b/w versions of the above picture.  I turned the red to maximum and picked out the flame.  The reflection was the hardest part to select because the tool kept doing an MS paint and selecting everything.

B/w is key for this picture.  I really like it, despite it being too busy for it to be considered 'good,' by most people.  The desaturation (is it desaturation to take away colour?  Who knows) takes away some of the complexity, while the straight line running through the centre of the picture is broken by the kid and her dad, and the people in the rickshaw.  There's a lot going on, and I find it appealing.

Often, pictures of homelessness are shown in colour to pick out the drabness of their situation, highlighting the difficulties of their plight.  B/w does romanticise the whole situation which is unfortunate, but at the same time you have the opportunity to look past the clutter and focus on the person - should you choose to do so.

These insects were everywhere.  It took a lot of stretching, pulling and coercing to get the picture like this; you can tell by the imperfections in the image.  Still, the whole thing has a pleasing simplicity that I enjoy, while the colours really stand out against the post.

So this was taken in the hotel where Kurosawa stayed while in Kyoto.  The paper had the most fantastic texture, but once again I had to torture the image in order to bring that out.  I didn't take the best initial photograph to do so, thus ending up with this grainy picture.  It's worth noting that all these are jpg's due to the limitations of the blog website.

The final picture.  If you look at the bottom right of the flame, I accidentally overlapped the green effect causing it to overtake some of the silver of the metal.  This mistake is pretty elementary and reasonably easily rectified (praise allah for layers!) but I can't be doing with it.  I spent long enough looking at these pictures that I don't want to go back anytime soon.

And that's that for these edited pictures.  I'll put more holiday snaps up in the future (there are plenty).

Ciao.

Damnit

So school doesn't start for another couple of days, but guess where I am.  Unfortunately my criminal ineptitude means that not only could I have stayed at the festival (photographs incoming) for a lot longer, I could have properly thanked those who helped me out over the weekend.  It was excellent.  On the Saturday we had a Lion training session in Summer heat that shouldn't be legal - then a superb barbecue hosted by a fellow Englishman on his penthouse terrace (whom I'm asking for a job, which is a shame because his abode is something to aspire to and I don't want to seem like a kissass).

The training session consisted of me trying my best to stay in the shade; on a rugby pitch.  As you may imagine that didn't work out well.  Nor did the sun-cream that kept removing itself due to my incessant sweating.  I ended up being burned in more ways than one, because the fitness session we had at the end caught me off guard.  It was (what seemed like) an incredibly simple concept, do ten sprints over 50 (or so) metres, broken up by a minute or so rest.  Each set of sprints was conducted in pairs, so we left the line five times.  The execution was quite fun - a race between two teams to pick up cones scattered around the pitch and then feed them onto a pole placed on the halfway line.  Getting the cone and placing it onto the pole was the first sprint, with a few seconds rest while you're threading a surprisingly difficult needle, then sprint back to your team.  I didn't know when we started, but the losing team had to buy drinks (non-alcoholic) for the winners.

It caught me off guard because I was trying my hardest.  On the final sprint I ended up just flopping over the line and collapsing in a giant heap.  Afterwards, as cliche as it might sound, my legs were jelly.  They barely responded to commands and whether it was the heat or the exertion, I felt awful.  It took about twenty minutes for my body to behave normally again, which is a long time to remind yourself of the old american frontier literature, where they take glee in pointing out to the reader that overworked horses are sent to the knackers.

One of my friends was performing at a concert on the same day.  Unfortunately he was playing at a place that cost forty quid to enter, on the other side of Tokyo, at the same time as my training finished.  To cap off the impossibility of going to see him, all the tickets were booked so I couldn't get in anyway.  It's a shame because I'm not normally interested in music and events like that, except when a friend or acquaintance is involved.  He's the guy I went swimming with a year ago, whose shorts were far too small.  I was thinking about buying a cheap pair of kids shorts to give to him.

So I ended up wiling away the interminable hours at a barbecue, forcing myself to eat sausages and burgers provided by a fellow Englishman who goes by the name of Liam.  The burgers were particularly good as they were chunky things - none of this macdonalds style american nonsense.  The sausages weren't so good as they were the american style nonsense; but they were edible.  I'm thinking about having a spare key secretly made, so I can sneak onto his patio and chill out without the need for a pesky invitation.

Unfortunately I lost track of time (something I do with alarming frequency) and missed my last train home.  I therefore had to stay around the team captains house (again) so I could play in the small 9's tournament being held at the gaijin home ground.

It was a lot of fun, but somehow hotter than the Saturday which meant a lot of hiding under the various tents people had erected.

Our club were banned from our own competition by the council (the long arm of local politics reaches far in Japan) because one of our players threw their boots away in the wrong rubbish bin a month or so earlier (evidently boots are not combustible) necessitating a divide within our team.  A few of the Japanese players went to a team in blue.  A few of the foreigners went to a different blue team, and the rest of us went to a team that goes by the name 'dandelion.'  With this stoically branded team, we would embark on a six (or so) game campaign to win the title.  It's worth mentioning that me and Bati (a Fijian guy who is over forty) initially went to the light blue team and were rejected, turned away like the fat kids in school.  This was to fuel for us to burn while playing.

The games went by surprisingly quickly, with the green team consisting mainly of foreigners (for some reason they'd turned up to this tournament with few players, most of whom weren't even willing to participate) and spoonfuls of luck.  We won every game of the league stage, meaning we went into the knockout competition for the top prize.  The matches were seven minutes long (there were ten teams, so a lot of matches which was the reason for the short games) with no turnaround at half time.  The scrum situation was bizarre, with the attacking team picking however many players they wanted, the defending team being obliged to match that number.  Any fewer than five people became an uncontested scrum so everyone opted for four men each time.  It was quite strange.  There was an eight man scrum at one point, which meant there were no players in the back line.

It was exceedingly hot, but a lot of fun.  It wasn't particularly serious so it made a nice change from the other competitions I play in, and there was a great atmosphere among the foreigners, even though we split up into different teams.  We didn't end up playing the light blues (a crying shame, in my opinion) but we did play the dark blues in the final.  A couple of our Japanese players were playing for them, and were dominant in their previous games.  We were expecting a tough game, which they delivered due to a late fightback after we went a couple ahead.  Bati, a veteran in sporting terms, has this incredible ability to turn on his Fiji within the short format game.  It's often said that Fijians go through spaces no one else could, but it's not true.  I watched him actively make space, where none existed before.  He's not the fastest guy, but he has a psychic ability to split defence despite there being more than enough people to cover him. In the final he took a defensive line of five people, and walked between two of them to score.  When he got the ball, one of the defenders was actually standing right in front of him, but Bati mesmerised him, telepathically forcing the opposition player to move out of his way without so much as a touch.

Mojee, another Fijian, is much more direct.  At four foot nothing and a hundred or so kg's, he essentially makes like a temple of doom boulder and bowls people out of the way.  A pretty effective combination.

Anyway, after the tournament I was escorted to a local public bath by an american who has studied Japanese for a long time, and who has lived here long enough to know all the customs and traditions.  It's not the first time I've been to one, but it is the first time I've been so filthy when going in so he imparted practical knowledge unto me, for which I am grateful.  The first thing you do is clean off, showering away the grime so that you can enter the hot baths to chill out.  Unfortunately I never got past the cleaning off the grime part as I couldn't get the dust out of my grazes.  I spent a fair while rubbing down the cuts and scrapes, quietly cursing the fact I eschewed taping in favour of vaseline.  I also have some nice blisters on my feet - nice enough to take a couple of photos tonight I think.

After that we went to a massive festival - the biggest one I've ever been to by a long stretch.  I'll write about it at a later date, but for now, that's all you're getting!

#EDIT#  The other pictures are now annotated.

More, We Need More!

So I'm sitting here, 2 more days left of my holiday.  Things that might occupy my time today include; doing uni work, running or going to the gym, writing letters, reading one of the trash chick-lit books mum left behind or concocting another blog post.  Of those things, it's self-evident which I chose and as a result, hope you come to learn a little of the laconic malaise with which I prefer to spend my time off.  Why work hard in these short few days?  I'm only going to have to head to the money making institution come Monday.

So we start this edition with photos of a couple of my friends eating ice.  Quite literally ice.  I don't know why they do it, I've got to assume it's an american thing.

It took a good long while for them to get used to having a great big camera shoved in their face, but I got a few good pictures of them - something for them to look back on.  Again, none of these are colour corrected (because I'm too lazy).

The girl on the left is the opera singer from a couple of years ago.  Still got an amazing voice - still not seen her live.  I'll get round to it one day, when I have lots of money and lots of free time...  Probably not soon then.

And the last one, because I like it.

I don't know what kind of insect this is, but there were a few emerging from their pupae stage.

Late night photography is tricky without a tripod.  It often leads to unexpected results.  This is the river that `

I quite like the fluid look of photographs taken over a longer period - even if they're not particularly well thought out.

Every city looks the same at night, looking down a long road at a line of taxis.

There are homeless people in Kyoto too.

Pagodas too.  Lots of pagodas in Kyoto.

This is the entrance to Kyumizudera temple, or as I affectionately know it; the temple in the clouds.

These stone guardians are everywhere.  I assume they ward off something evil or bad, but they could just be effigies of past owners pets.

I don't think I had the correct lens setup to portray what you could see through this gate, because the view through to the rest of the city was quite special.  You'll just have to take my word for it.

Unfortunately an awful lot of the temples and religious structures were under repair.  The kind of repair that lasts until 2020, and encompasses the entire structure.  It wasn't just at kiyomizudera, it was all over Tokyo and Kyoto.  I wondered whether the Tokyo renovations were due to the earthquake, but I don't think Kyoto was particularly affected so I'm not sure whether there was a different reason.  Maybe an injection of funding from the government?  Implausible, I'll admit.

So here's something I've learned the hard way.  A very large number of your photographs rely on horizontal lines being exactly level.  If they're not, you end up with the above.  It looks like the titanic just after it struck the iceberg, replete with worried passenger.

I don't know why they like terrapins so much, but they're everywhere.  Also, try telling a Japanese person that English people call freshwater tortoises terrapins and not tortoises/turtles. It elicits some interesting attempts at pronunciation.

Once you've gone through the main temple, you walk around a short covered path that looks back on it.  In my opinion, this is where the best views are to be had.  You can see the fantastic work that went into creating the structure.

The city is in the background, with the bowl of mountains encompassing it.

These are looking back at the pagoda, which is a less photographed part of the grounds.  If you've ever seen a photograph of a Japanese temple, there are good odds that you've seen the silver pavillion, golden pavillion, or this place.  It might or might not be particularly important within the realms of religion in Japan, but it is a fantastic sight.

For that reason I tried to shoot something that's a bit different.  Obviously there are a billion pictures of this too, but you work with what you've got.

The main structure is supported on these beams, extending upwards ten or so metres.  It's very large so I'd imagine there's a fair amount of stress on these uprights.  I wonder how they replace them?

These are paper cranes.  Origami is obviously popular in Japan, but the cranes are symbolic of peace.  A girl tried to fold a thousand after the Hiroshima bombings, believing they would save her life (she was burned and suffering from radiation poisoning).  Unfortunately she died before finishing, so her classmates folded the thousand and hung them up in Hiroshima.  After that, they came to act as a reminder that war is bad - and don't piss of the yanks.

These ones have obviously been hanging up for a while, fading in the sun.  You're free to form your own opinions of what this is symbolic of.

Lyn doing some martial arts.  In my head, Kung fu fighting is looping continuously.

Kyoto tower is essentially a baby version of Tokyo tower, which is now a baby version of the new skytree.

Kyoto tower, once more.

I think sushi is a taste you come to like more and more, because I'm starting to enjoy it as a foodstuff, rather than simply a novelty, as I did before.

This drunk chinese guy was attracted to Lyn, and our stuff in the fridge.  I tried to get mum to leave him and Lyn alone for some quiet talking time, but her sense of camaraderie beat out my devious plan.

I think this is back to Tokyo now, but I'm not sure.  While the temples have distinguishing features that make them all unique, the eaves aren't one of them.

All artsy fartsy like.

So we went to learn about a tea ceremony.  I knew some of the stuff, how to present and be presented with a bowl for example, but I learned tons about old Japanese customs.  In much the same way as European high society developed a complicated 'language,' with fans, Japan used them to communicate with their hosts or guests.

A particular highlight for me was a trip to the hotel that Akira Kurosawa stayed at, while filming some of his epics.  He wrote a lot there too.  He was the director I compared to Shakespeare (he based several movies on Shakespearean dramas) during my final year dissertation.  I'd walked past the place a few times (it's in Kyoto) but never realised this is where he stayed.  It was only on the off-chance that I noticed something written in the kimono shop, leading to the owner (Takako's mum) explaining that it was from the hotel across the street.  A marvelous coincidence.

This is a lamp from the hotel, touched up to bring out the details in the paper.

He had a specific room, looking over this courtyard, where he used to write.  The woman who owns the building talked about him and how they'd talk about films, music and anything else that had taken his fancy.

And this is us outside the entrance.

After I dropped mum and Lyn off at the hostel, we went out for a couple of drinks.  As I was still recovering from my knee/hand op at this point, I wasn't afraid to have a few.

This container was actually only a litre.  I didn't have the heart to tell them that in Germany, this is a standard size for one glass - and in England people would think nothing of ordering a few of these for themselves.  It was worth leaving them in the dark for the reaction though.

So I wore rugby stuff for the entire holiday.  My theory was that rugby clothes are meant to be sweated in, which is something I did with aplomb.  The shirts are also comfortable which helps.  Free advertising for Lion.  (Buy their shampoo!)

This was a wedding shoot in Nara, south (I think) of Kyoto.  When you look at the screen on a digital camera it's called chimping, and the way this guy is walking makes him look like a monkey, so it's a perfect combination.

It was a thousand degrees and the photographer is wearing a hoodie with trousers, and the couple are wearing kimono.  Incredible.

I sometimes wonder why they need to meter the light when it's that bright, but I guess the shade from the umbrella changes everything up.

Last one from the wedding shoot.  Physical contact.  Risque.

Look carefully at the sign behind these guys.

How they didn't make it onto TV I'll never know.  Wasted talent.

Nara is famous for deer, of which there are many.

And temples.  There are an awful lot of those too.

This old bastard was spitting, making the most horrific noises that I've heard come from a human being since I watched Psycho.  Anyway, I accidentally took quite a good picture of him.  Damnit.

These chinese girls kept harassing the poor deer, but their picture taking made for some interesting pictures of my own.  Very meta.

I threw some change into this guys bowl.  After doing so, realised that I'd woefully underpaid him so I took a quick snap and ran.

This is pikachu eating Lyn.

Kyoto station is massive in every sense of the word.

We went to an umbrella shop, a very high-class establishment that had little for under a hundred quid.  Needless to say, I was on tenterhooks every time they picked one up.

I can't remember which one Lyn got in the end, but they were all magnificent.

This is the festival for a town near me.  After Lyn departed, we went into town and happened upon this event.

The same place, with a woman accompanying the drums.

There were a surprising number of children.  Considering the much bemoaned decline in interest of younger generations in traditional arts, there were a lot of kids playing instruments.

This guy was the best.  He was belting those drums with everything he had.  Extremely energetic considering the heat.

Thumbs up, good music too.  The street had a dozen trucks each carrying music makers, creating an intensely confusing, but extremely vibrant atmosphere.  It was difficult to tell where one song ended and another began, but it was a great piece of Japan.

This was the shrine they were carrying.  We got there quite early so no one was actually running around with it yet.

The last picture is one of sashimi.  I think sushi is raw fish with rice, whereas sashimi is raw fish sans rice.  There's also some chopped up octopus there too (too chewy for me).  Octopus aside, delicious.  The green paste is a strange, hot accoutrement that is delicious.  Any more than a dab and it acts as a decongestant rather than a foodstuff, however.