Mind The Gap.

Japan is frequently (and clichedly) described as 'a land of contrasts'. And some. Edo era kimonos jostle with hot pants on the Yamanote line, the serenity and beauty of a zen garden is overlooked by deafening video billboards and a nation obsessed with consideration for others eats up game shows whose central premise appears to be the utter humiliation of the happless contestants.

Burger Flipping As A Spectator Sport.

During the short period in which it is possible to sustain interest in t.v you can't understand I managed to discern one fact central, I believe, to understanding the national psyche; the Japanese are mad as hatters. My first televisual treat featured a businessman being pursued at speed down a long corridor by a large polystyrene boulder. 'Indiana Jones and the Last Train Home' perhaps? The next foray was no less rewarding and involved what appeared to be a cooking competition for children in which everything hinged on the young contestants ability to flip various food stuffs. Charmingly, the host and camera would home in not on the winners but the distraught faces of the less than successful and their ruined offerings. Perhaps less a game show than preparation for the harsh realities of life in a culture in which coming second best used to mean a hot date with a sharp　blade. I didn't watch long enough to find out if this was the consolation prize.

Pachinko.

Descending the seven levels of hell the soul passes through various torments (Groundhog Day at 6.45am in Shinjuku station, an orientation session for all eternity) the utterly wretched (kiddie fiddlers, dog kickers and bag snatchers) coming to rest in the Pachinko hall. Comdemmed to spend all eternity stuffing handfulls of ball bearings into a vertical pinball game requiring no discernable skill to the accompanyment of manga visuals and a noise comparable to the boming of Dresden untill at last they win a giant teddy bear and exchange it with Satan for money in an attempt to get round Japanese gambling laws. To describe the Pachinko hall as an assault on the senses would be like describing a yakuza heavy as 'a weedy little nance'. I stood three minutes before I was forced back onto the zen like tranquility of the rush hour streets.

The Maid Cafe.

Ah Akihabara. Home to cut price electicals, pornographic clip~together manga dolls (for the discerning hobbyist) 'A Boys' and the place they all go when drooling over a scantily clad, wide eyed cartoon just aint enough; the Maid Cafe. In this haven for the socially skilless young girls with poker faces dressed in frilly skirts and cats ears ineptly serve overpriced fare while another of their underage number writhes on video (in a disturbingly childish fashion) on a bed or coyly takes bites out of a potatoe.

Little Pigs, little pigs.

Japan is a hotbed (sorry) of volcanic activity. Dig deep enough and scalding, stinky water comes bubbling up and into the giant bathtubs of it's many spas. The Onsen experience is a nightmare of potential social gaffes for the uninitiated. DO check first which doorway hyrogliphic indicates your single sex hot tub. DO shower before getting in. DON'T be embarrassed about having to do this on a pygmy sized stool in front of total strangers or your mates. DO add some cold to avoid striping your skin off and, whatever you do, DON'T sip too much Suntory (for relaxing times) in the bath and give yourself a funny turn.

That's it for the culture rundown. Sadly, having had no 'love', I am unqualified to comment on the delights of the ubiquitous Love Hotels (varying prices for 'stay' or 'rest') and capsule hotels (though the Leopalace might count at a push). I have failed you in my quest for enlightenment and must now horizontally extend my navel with a sushi knife for SHAAAAAAAAME!

Tune in for next weeks instalment from beyone the grave.