A Mixed Economy Japanese Style: Commerce (Part One)

Contents so far

A Mixed Economy Japanese Style: Housing

As I began to try and put this section together I realised that it required dividing into two parts if I was ever going to reveal anything concrete. As you have now had an extremely limited view of the diversity of the housing the next stage is to show how commerce and industry is woven tightly into this urban landscape. This is a construction and combination of urban space the like of which we simply do not know in London and, I would hazard, in the western world.


The picture above shows the space below a domestic house from which someone appears to be running either the supply of or the re-cycling of specific items of commercial catering equipment. The mixture of occupation and the level of skilled and semi-skilled workshops operating in any street defies our comprehension. Just four minutes down our street there is a small workshop complete with two lathes, a decent size bit of block and tackle on a steel girder frame with an assortment of drill benches.

A father and his two sons run their own small precision engineering business there and in conversation explained that they mostly make components for Toyota. There are literally a dozen or more such workshops on the twenty minute walk between the HMiL residence and the Daie Department Store.

Leaving aside the wonder you feel when you walk around and discover that the bloke next door is actually engineering parts for Nippon Electric's Nuclear Power Plant (yes they may only be the widget that goes on the bluffer's valve but....), as I said, leaving the wonder aside, you have to be amazed by the economic implications of this ability to spread national corporate business out amongst very small local producers.


Such an incredibly eclectic mix with boundless diversity acceptable within very small spaces could not operate if it was not for attention to detail (Deets, I know you are appreciating this). If we take a look at the photo of the rubbish truck shown above then the most obvious juxtaposition is the shiny and spotlessly clean rubbish truck, packed with modern technology, carrying a broom of a design that hasn't changed since we lived in caves. But for the expert in this area of detail appreciation the real cherry on the cake is the fact that on this very, very modern truck there is a "broom holder" which I can absolutely assure you was designed with this type of broom in mind. You can see the tech drawings on the designer's laptop:

"Yes, and this is the broom holder and as you can see we favour the traditional broom as it really has no peer when it comes to efficiency and cost."

Once again, Japanese pragmatism at its finest expression, for my money this is one of the key qualities that has helped to produce a premier powerhouse economy.

But this pragmatism extends into a deep consideration for the urban environment. You see we could not operate this intensity of industrial and commercial interests in the very heart of residential areas because who would want to live next to, for example, a meat packing factory or a cement works? If you get within 100 yards of either of these two types of establishment in England you are going to be up to your eyes in dust, packing materials, stench and god knows what rubbish strewn around. That's why we have designated areas called industrial parks (yeah parks, that's quaint eh!) well away from where we live.


But this is Japan and business is business so if you have a cement factory then you have a responsibility to your environment and to the local people. Business needs to be done, people need to be employed, profits need to be made, there is no point having your cement works miles away from where the building is going on. So the pragmatic solution is to make sure everything is clean.

Now we all know that the Japanese worship the God of Clean but when it comes to the combination of the word business and clean, with the possibility of profits suffering if the job is not done well, then these guys are fanatics. Above you will see two cement mixers that passed me on my walk to Daie. Please study the picture carefully, please note just how clean these operational cement trucks are!


These beauties could have just pulled out of the cement truck showroom, I mean they are gleaming. You may ask why there are cement trucks around on my short walk to Daie, well it is because there is a cement factory in the neighbourhood and when I say factory I do mean factory! (remember you can click on these photographs to get a larger image!)


Please also take the time to digest just how clean this cement works is. This could have just come out of the cement works showroom but no, this has been there for years. In your minds eye, you may need a few valium before you do this, in your mind's eye conjure up any image you recall of seeing a British cement factory. Hold the image for as long as you feel able and then look again at the picture above.

Can you see it, do you see what is missing from the Japanese cement works; its the rust! There's no rust, and there isn't anything blowing about in the wind, there isn't a dirty grey cloud issuing forth.


I have been coming twice a year to Meguro for many years now and believe me when I say that on the first time of seeing the cement works I just couldn't believe what I was looking at. Check out the tyres on these lorries, are they caked in dust, mud, grime etc., look at the ground, is it a pot holed puddled mess of mud and slime which the lorries can pick up and discharge across town? I can stand for hours watching this place as literally hundreds of lorries come and go each day.


Now you may know many annoraks; petrol heads, train spotters, plane spotters but I bet you haven't ever come across a cement works enthusiast before! But you just remember over the next few days when you are out and about and see a cement mixer, remember these pictures and take a look at what our offerings in the genre look like. Lift the veil from your eyes and look at how your environment is treated by business.


Ultimately this high density of mixed resources, this cornucopia of productivity which doesn't compete with the domestic environment but co-exists side by side with it, is possible because of a simple basic of Japanese society; good manners. Manners are a code of social behaviour which a group of people agree and buy into. There would be immense shame for the directors if the cement factory caused distress to the neighbours through being careless with the management of their process. A small engineering works can exist in a domestic street precisely because until the sliding door opens you do not know it is there. Piling rubbish up outside of your business is not an option if you want to stay in business! It simply isn't Japanese.



All around these quiet back streets you will see people waiting at the traffic lights for the green man to flash and say you can cross. I watch as people stand there when there is absolutely no traffic whatsoever. They stand and wait until they are given permission to cross, to do otherwise is to break the rules and when you break one rule all rules are then liable to be broken. Do you know what, I also wait for the green man to come on. To do otherwise would simply mark me out as a rude foreigner who has no respect. Even the children wait at the lights for permission to cross, what sort of example would it be to set them if I just strolled over because there was no traffic?


So there it is and isn't it strange. We think of the Japanese as a regimented people who all have this odd habit of bowing and being dreadfully polite. We think of their identities being submerged in the social mass where being different is frowned upon. We think of them as part of a social machine, part of an inhuman surge of social conditioning. I say we, perhaps this is not you but I am sure for the western reader these words have a resonance because they do exist in our history of racial stereotyping.

But when we really look at it, we wade through the inconsiderate rubbish in our streets, our businesses run for profit without any sense of social responsibility and our culture is like a pressure cooker which boils away any sense of respect in our communities. One has to ask exactly who are the victims of a "social grinding machine"?

I like the manners and the clean streets, that's why I come here.

Coming Next: A Mixed Economy Japanese Style: Commerce (Part Two)

Oh Rioko, our love will turn you on!

We are very pleased to announce the arrival of a brand new human being. This is Rioko and as you can all see she has entered the world with more than a bit of attitude. The brain buds are glowing and it looks like Rioko is already asking questions and demanding answers!

"Who got me out of the warm bath? Where is my food? Who is it who thinks they are in charge here because I am telling you now, things are going to have to change around here!"


Already the proud father, David Schaffer, has been wrapped nice and tightly around the little finger of our beautiful young lady.

"And another thing Dad, when I cry you had better come. I don't like to be kept waiting."

Rumours that the mother oven was so happy with her pregnancy that she kept the labour going for nine hours just for the fun of it are completely unfounded.

We are very happy to pass on the reports from Dad that mother, Mitsuko, and Rioko are doing fine and resting. Our best wishes to all at 56 on this stunning result.

Kai Sushi Restaurant: 11.09.2010

This is a special entry in the Japanease blog, perhaps you even could call it a specialist entry. If you are English or any other nationality than Japanese and you do not know or understand the delights of Japanese cuisine then this will be a bit of a novelty for you. If you already know Japanese cuisine and are a fan then you will, no doubt, enjoy this blog entry. However there is another category of reader, a special category to whom this entry is dedicated. These are the Japanese people we know in London; the baby smuggler, John Gay, eyeconic to name just a few, you know who you are!

Saba sashumi: sweet slices of Mackerel

For these dear friends this entry will have a completely different level of meaning to the rest of you. In a few words, this page will make them cry! To give those of you who love a real ale an idea of what it is I am doing to these poor Japanese souls then this is the comparison: Imagine being in the middle of the Sarah Desert, at least a year from anywhere, and you receive a message on your Android phone (I-Phones don't get a signal out there). You open the message and it is a picture of the perfect pint of Abbot Ale complete with condensation on the glass.

For our Japanese friends, stranded in the U.K. where pie and mash, fish and chips and other such inedible glories of our culinary skills are on offer, it is like being in a dry, dry desert. They yearn for mother's chow han, they dream of a really good bowl of noodles and they would cut off their own toes for some really, truly, fresh, fresh fish. This page is for them nothing less than an inconsiderate cruelty.

Our restaurant of choice is Kai Sushi in Todoroki, a real palace to the aesthetic of this Japanese culinary art. The idea of eating raw fish is not one that immediately endears itself to most people from the U.K.. But that idea, raw fish, is a very clumsy interpretation of what sushi represents; certainly it is not about hooking a fish out, bashing it over the head and then slicing off hunks of fish meat to chew on.

I will talk you through our visit to Kai yesterday and you will then begin to see why I consider this one of the finest eating experiences in the known multi-verse. During my long months of exile from manners and sanity, I dream of Tokyo and visiting Kai Sushi. After returning to London and the delights of living near the Holloway Road at the beginning of February this year, my wife and I had a monumental load of work to do before we could embark on our summer trip. As a consequence we had to wait seven grim long months before we boarded the plane again.

The Holloway Road, where police cars scream past every twenty minutes. The Holloway Road, the first forty yards of which has been reported as one of the most dangerous places in London. The Holloway Road, where people wade through the litter and refuse they discard uncaringly onto the pavement. The Holloway Road, the Aludel of evolutionary regression.

In our darkest moments we would huddle together and promise each other that if we made it through we would one day be sitting at Kai Sushi filling ourselves with saba and toro. Yesterday that day came.

We adventured out with HMiL, taking the bus to Todoroki. Everyone on the bus sat patiently, well mannered, as polite travel is considered the basic standard of behaviour in Japan. No-one has their feet on the seats, no-one is shouting down their mobile phone about their problems with genital herpes (using a mobile on public transport is something you just don't do in consideration for other travellers) and no-one is licking the tomato sauce off their fingers after having chucked the greasy Mac-box with the last few fries in onto the seat opposite them. On the bus to Todoroki we sat safely in anticipation of what was to come.

London Local Cuisine: Pie and Mash
Sheep's gizzards minced into tough crust pie, covered with the congealed fatty residue left over after stewing eels, coloured luminous green for the aesthetic by adding sheaves of parsley to cover the smell (known somewhat quaintly as "liquor"). And just to turn the dish into an absolute picture of the art of cockney cuisine, a large slag of lumpy mashed potato is literally scrapped down the side of the plate. Ahh, now that's a genuine taste of London for the media middle class who pollute the back roads of the Holloway Road.

The restaurant itself is so discretely placed that the wandering foreigner would be hard pressed to recognise its existence even if he was standing outside its front door. On entering you find a cool modern interior with a smart wooden counter before which is a row of stools. Behind the counter two sushi artists resplendent in crisp whites stand and hand craft the food for the willing customers. Between you and these masters of their craft runs a glass covered chiller cabinet within which lie the raw materials of your forthcoming dinning experience.

Before you is the table area of the counter,
then there is a short raised platform just in front of the chilled cabinet.
The cabinet is at eye level so your sight constantly sweeps along the potential offerings
awaiting only a simple request for them to be transformed into an elegant mouthful.

A loud shout of welcome from the masters as you enter is taken up in joyous repetition by those off to the right, behind the curtain, in the kitchen area. You take your stool alongside those already gathered, sneak a glance at what they are eating, order a beer, green teas for the ladies and lick your lips. This is going to be special.

My first call yesterday was for the smoked salmon. As the moment of first taste was the epiphany I had been waiting months for the camera was left in its bag. So I will have to describe the smoked salmon to you. First a broad green banana leaf is placed on the ledge before the cabinet. The master who serves you then reaches over the counter and places a small pink pile of pickled ginger on the leaf. This is a mouth refresher to clean the palate between fish. You call up your order and the style in which you wish it presented and the deft hands of the maestro go to work.

Our magician yesterday at Kai

In a matter of moments two rich fat slices of smoked salmon appeared on the green surface of the leaf. For our UK readers, as the Japanese will already know this, we are not talking that hopeless orange gunk you have to scrape away from cellophane sheets before laying its transparent hopelessness on a recycled Ryvita cardboard cracker.

No, we are talking smoked salmon here, the delicately smoked flesh of a wild Alaskan King Salmon. Flesh of a deep red, a cherry red that glistens with an all but invisible glaze of soya. The sushi artist took the side of salmon out of the chiller, expertly cut off two almost identically sized chunks. Then he took a pug of rice in his hands and moulded it into shape whilst moistening his palms with a sweet vinegar.


He next determined what he deemed to be the perfect amount of wasabi and wiped a lump of that green paste on the top of the shaped rice onto which he then stuck the salmon flesh. Once each of the two were moulded and shaped he placed extremely finely chopped ginger, just enough for a subtle flavouring, onto the crest of the fish and then passed these two sculpted delights over the cabinet and down onto the green leaf before me. We are talking exquisite, mouth watering heaven sent blessings which in their own form present an art work to the eye. As far as taste went; rich, soft, scented, with a frothy creaminess that melted away the flesh with every slow appreciative chew.

The magic hands creating au toro nigiri, the richest, fattiest part of the Tuna

Once the first mouthful was safely tucked away the three of us issued forth a stream of orders. Rather than write too much more I will leave the pictures to speak mostly for themselves.

Mackerel, saba sashumi: This was absolutely fantastic. A superb quality super fresh mackerel (they shop every morning in the Tokyo fish market for the very best fish) that was sweet and extremely oshi.

Red Mullet, tai nigiri. Without a doubt the top star of the show yesterday. This was the definition of sushi heaven and I was so stunned by the quality I had to have another portion.

Tuna, au toro nigiri. Not just Tuna but the very finest cut of the fattiest part of the tuna. This is why the meat appears such a fine and subtle pink, it is laced with fat. The obvious reaction to this would be one of distaste as far as the traditional English palate would go. However, the fat just melts in the warmness of your mouth and you do not chew this fish so much as allow it to dissolve in a creamy froth which combines with the nuttiness of the rice and the sharp cleansing of the wasabi. An absolute delight.


Sardine, iwashi nigiri. Compare this image of food presentation to the picture above of pie and mash. Even the most barbarian brain buds can see where the artistry lies.

Crab, canni. Absolutely superb, two portions again!

Prawns, ebi. These were cooked but that is an option not a compulsion. They were a solid prawn, rich in flavour with a strong firm meat set off with a splash of fresh lime juice.

This was a shellfish which we were unable to identify. Our maestro did tell Akane but she has forgotten what it was. The shell fish is lain on the wooden block, swiftly sliced into strips and given a firm slap with the flat of the knife. The nervous system in the shellfish responds by curling up and this pulling together of the muscle intensifies the flavour in the chew.


Pilchard, sanma sashumi. Many of you will remember Pilchards from school dinners. Many will know "Glenryk Pilchards" tinned in tomato sauce. This is a whole world away from that desperate food preparation. Stunningly good.

Keeping Mum about the Old Man

There has been a bit of a scandal here recently because it appears that Japan has lost a whole load of centenarians (people over 100 years old). The Japan Times carried a story on Tuesday explaining that over 200,000 people aged over 100 years old are "missing".

The BBC picked up on this story as well and stated that 230,000 centenarians were unaccounted for. Lets just put this figure into some sort of perspective we all can't understand. If you place these people on a timeline one after the other then ( 230,000 x 100 = .......) this is 230 million years of human life we are talking about. Shit! The dinosaurs lived that long, what on earth is going on in Japan?????????????

Nipponosus Lordus Lucanus

How can you loose 230,000,000 years of human life? Dammit we have only been on the planet as a species for 4 million years surely the maths don't add up here!

Ah, yes, well, this is Japan! How did all of this come to light? Well it appears that Tokyo government officials thought it would be a good idea to pop around to the bloke who was the oldest resident, clocking in at a sprightly 111 years of age, and give him an award. God knows what they were thinking of, I mean, a surprise visit by senior council officials, the bowing alone would have killed a man of his age and that only if his heart survived the unexpected arrival.

Thankfully for the officials it transpired that the man was already dead. Unfortunately for the relatives it appeared that he had been dead for 30 years and they had been keeping the by now mummified remains whilst still claiming the pension.

Let's just go back to the headline number, 230,000 centenarians appear to be "missing". That is one hell of a lot of pensions we are talking about! This instilled a very Japanese panic and especially when it was realised that some of those missing would be over 150 years old if still alive!

Now personally I don't blame the relatives, no, I blame the buddhist temples because if you were a relative faced with either keeping the mummified body of the old man and collecting his pension or paying the monks the years of re-incarnation fees, which would you choose?

The Cost of Reincarnation

Traditional values

I am not sure how many people who are not Japanese get close in to the rituals of death Japanese style. I have a feeling that this is not a very widely experienced aspect of Japanese culture outside of Japanese consciousness so once again it appears that I have managed to sneak in through another cultural gateway.

To get to this portal we journeyed from Meguro to Kotobuki by car, a journey of two and a half hours. Some of you may remember a previous description of my brother-in-law's driving skills and so should be suitably horrified when I say that he was the chauffeur on this appointment with death. For those of you not acquainted with the implications of his being the driver I think I can summise thus: he plays the accelerator like a heavy rock drummer plays the bass pedal, the on board television is on constantly at full volume regardless of how it looses signal and mercilessly turns the inane drivel of Japanese day time television into intense static, and finally, he seems unaware of any relevance in the position or relationship of other vehicles to his own.

Needless to say the prospect of the journey filled me with a deep despair which I tried to mitigate by sitting in the back rather than travelling shotgun up front. Honourable Brother-in-Law (HoBiL) tried to insist that I take the front seat but with all the native guile of someone fearful for his sanity I resisted stoutly with the claim that his sister, my wife, should have the opportunity of sitting with her brother chatting during the drive.

I won my case but it was to be a pyrrhic victory. Not long into the journey I found that my head rested just millimeters away from the television speaker in the back. As we journeyed further from Tokyo so the signal edged away from stability and into off signal hiss, clicks and high pitched whines. A request to turn the sound down, as switching off was never going to be an option, was met with the volume going up a notch: mental note, work harder on your Japanese Jack.

Becalming the stressed traveller

Arrival at the temple in Kotobuki was a blessing and somehow the sight of the tranquil garden in its car park was a welcome sensual transition from the world of Japanese media to that of Japanese spirituality. We left the car and the daytime television behind, absorbed the gentleness of the shaped bushes, sculpted shrubs and pond filled with the golden glimmers of gliding carp. From the raw heat of the day into the cool shadows of the temple, this felt as though someone had pressed the "calm" button.

Old buildings in need of constant repair

The purpose of the visit was to perform the ritual prayers of the 23rd anniversary of the death of my wife's father. To the western mind, such an anniversary is not immediately recognisable on the occidental process of social and physical death. I put this down to the fact that when compared with the Japanese religious establishment our own Christian based franchises are contemptible amateurs in the business of death. Whereas our spiritual corporate profits are taken in one hit at the moment of demise the Japanese spiritual business model provides a substantial, and costly, customer service which is essential if the deceased member of the family is to gain a respectable re-incarnation.

Naturally, a family may choose to ignore this dusty obligation, they may even decide to bin the direct mail reminders issued by the temple "holding" the ash asset however they would then have to deal with the approbation of the ancestors. This is an important underpinning concept that has been written into the mythological psyche of the nation; the ancestors guard the fortune of the family therefore any lack of effort in following the required rituals, with appropriate costs, risks the fortune of that family.

In addition, if the required rituals are not performed then what sort of example does that set to the younger members of the family? After all, no-one desires to be re-incarnated in a low social position of ill fortune because the children didn't perform the correct rituals at your death.

The view from the temple window

I would like to consider the salient point that differentiates the business of death between the eastern spiritual corporate model and the western spiritual corporate model. This crucial differential is the concept of re-incarnation. In the west the spiritual corporations base their business model on the basis of an "entry fee". In order to enter into that most exclusive of private members clubs, heaven, the individual has to accumulate "heaven miles" on the membership card of their chosen corporation; Consolidated Anglican, Catholic International, Baptist Heavy Industries,... etc, etc.

This financial model relies on gathering the most amount of revenue during the lifetime of the customer, cutely referred to in the Christian mythology as "the lamb". Theological economists postulate that once dead and safely buried the lamb no longer has any economic value. Therefore the spiritual corporations of the west seek to maximise profits during the lifetime of the lamb with a whole host of branded consumables; birth rituals, christening rituals, coming of age rituals, marriage rituals, death rituals, pew sales, funding of church up keep, charitable tax breaks etc., etc., etc..

Catholic International cunningly cornered the market in the so called death bed conversion option which allowed the most dreadful of sinner to make a last ditch confession, kiss the cross and with a fat codicil to the will, achieve a v.i.p. fast track system through celestial immigration control. Other than that the range of product available is remarkably consistent across all of the western spiritual corporations.

The faithful prepare lamb for dinner in Catholic International's Haitian Division

I appreciate that there may be some dissenters to the point of view I am putting forward here but I wont call for them to be burnt at the stake! You may also be wondering if I am drifting away from the key interest in this blog which is Japanese culture but I would ask your indulgence for just a moment and would hope all will become clear, and relevant, in due course. In respect of the dissenting voices I would offer the following quote from THE VATICAN BILLIONS by Avro Manhattan:

"The Catholic church is the biggest financial power, wealth accumulator and property owner in existence. She is a greater possessor of material riches than any other single institution, corporation, bank, giant trust, government or state of the whole globe. The pope, as the visible ruler of this immense amassment of wealth, is consequently the richest individual of the twentieth century. No one can realistically assess how much he is worth in terms of billions of dollars."

source: Chick Publications

Franchise opportunities in sales to middle class socio-economic groups

The importance of understanding this balance sheet in the western spiritual economic sector is that once you are able to see past the marketing campaigns run by the corporations involved you are better placed to understand the Japanese business model.

Note: If you cannot see past the western sales pitch then perhaps I can interest you in the latest version of New Age Buddhism which provides you with a superior moral ascendancy, the ability to maintain a rich western lifestyle guilt free and a rather fashionable new spiritual guru all for the cost of a weekend workshop (£499) in a cosy country house in the English counties. Just mail here to complete your order: wellrippedoff@newage.con

Whilst you may perceive a certain flavour of cynicism in my writing on western spirituality any such literary approach would simply fail in describing Japanese faith based business models. This is because the Japanese people are not blind to the "corporate nature" of faith practice in their culture. They see no contradiction because in their belief system poverty isn't a spiritual issue for the rich it is a spiritual issue for the poor.

If your life is mostly occupied by vigourously scrapping the bottom of the barrel then clearly your family in your previous incarnation failed miserably in their duty to provide the correct rituals, at appropriate cost, for your re-incarnation. Perhaps this now helps to make the picture a little clearer!

Quality after life customer service

The Japanese spiritual business model doesn't see the death of the customer as a barrier to levying charges to his or her account. On the contrary, death merely increases the value of the customer's account and enhances the possibility of premium rate services. All of this is possible because the process of re-incarnation is not immediate at the point of death, rather it takes the form of a journey to the new life, a journey fraught with challenges and dangers. These obstacles are best overcome with the assistance and prayers of the relatives led by a monk, at an appropriate cost, from the temple where the ashes are located.

As an historical note and in order to be able to cite established business precedent, the history of re-incarnation in Tibetan Buddhism, a brand much loved by the western spiritual consumer, is instructional. Sometime before the 10th century the King of Tibet enacted a tax law which meant that all property of anyone who died without an heir would become part of the royal estate. Obviously if you want to keep the cash in the family then best get married and have children, simple, but not if you are a buddhist monk!

Worst still was the position of the senior monk in each temple for in the eyes of the law they owned the temple and all its properties. Clever old King eh, he is the sort of chap who would be on a good bonus in an investment bank today. However the monks were not to take this threat without the appropriate spiritual response. Such an unpopular take over bid had to be resisted as the shareholders were not happy with handing over their assets to a private owner (see Glazier takeover of Manchester United for reference). The response was devastating and demonstrates the power of the spiritual business model over the temporal estate.

There was an odd tradition which was not all that popular at the time but practised the idea that when people died they were born back into life again. The monks quickly realised the tax advantages of this system for if the head monk was reincarnated then he was, de facto, his own heir and the king could have no claim on his assets. This was the critical business stimulus the odd eccentric practice needed to go mainstream. Once nicely branded and presented as a package the possibilities to mass market the product were obvious. As the journey from Life to Death to Life was in the hazardous realm of the great beyond, which no-one but the monks can chart properly, then the risks and rewards are high.

Fortunately, the temples are able to calculate exactly when these moments of re-incarnation crises are at their most crucial. These calculations allow the temples to provide a timetable of rituals to follow after the death of their client. As we had journeyed to the temple for the most important ritual of the 23rd year anniversary of the death of my father-in-law you are able to get some idea of the extent and regularity of these important functions of faith. And lets look at the business model here, being able to charge for services to someone who has been dead for 23 years, boy have our churches missed an opportunity!

Reception

Once in reception within the temple we were offered a cold drink and a very nicely wrapped and presented biscuit. The monk joined us as he robed up. There is something quite wonderful about the buddhist monks for they have a truly cheerful disposition when you meet them in such circumstances. Well that is my experience so perhaps it is not sound practice to generalise but the ones I have met all appear to have a cheeky smile and a fine sense of humour. We discussed the various pleasantries of life and then moved into the adjacent temple where four stools were already prepared for us as the monk took pole position in front of all the the accoutrements required for this ritual; bells, drums, beads, incense burners and a selection of appropriate effigies and scrolls.

Addressing the infinite cost of reincarnation

If you have never been within the real space of a buddhist monk chanting then you have missed out on a real art form. The low, highly paced, almost guttural sound of the seemingly circular chants really does draw the listener to a connection of something that lays beyond the everyday. In this temple, within this space, enveloped in the sound and fragranced with an air rich with incense, the twenty first century simply evaporates from your consciousness. This is utempora.

Where the ancestors rest

Honourable Mother-in-Law (HMil) takes her faiths seriously and equally meets the responsibilities those faiths require.

It should be clear that the Japanese mindset in particular (if not oriental cultures in general) is capable of holding two sets of mythic belief structure simultaneously in a way the western myth systems fundamentally deny as a possibility; you are either Jewish, Christian or Islamic (and they are the same myths simply with variant market branding) let alone the possibility of being Jewish and a follower of say, the New Guinea Pig Cults etc.. Consumer brand loyalty is the absolute essential condition of the western spiritual business model. Such is its intensity people are prepared to kill each other simply because they cannot agree on God's name; is he Yaweh, God or Allah (they all do agree however that he is actually the same one and only God).

At the heart of western mythology is the idea of the separation of humanity from god, the eden myth, and the positioning of human beings as "having dominion over" creation, in other words different to and separate from all that is "creation". God is external to the western brands. In the eastern mythologies the human experience is part of the universal experience, they are inclusive belief systems, God is in everything and is everything even us. Such a fundamental difference creates a very different cultural psyche. For if we are part of everything and everything is part of us then anything we do in the spiritual practice department is all part of the same thing just a different way of looking at it. Therefore there is no problem with being a buddhist, a zen follower and even a christian all at the same time.

This ability of allowing for a multiplicity of interpretations of the human experience also allows for the fact that business is a part of life. An inclusive viewpoint which accepts that religion has a business aspect and sees no conflict of interest because the values of the the belief system do not separate the worldly from the spiritual.

So when HMil readily accepts the rituals of the death process and the costs those entail she might mutter about how wealthy temples are but she sees no hypocrisy in it. In the west our major accusation against the wealth of the churches is precisely the hypocrisy because for us our Christian and Islamic teachings specifically injunct us against the temptations of wealth. In Japan the poor are poor and that is the way of things, if you don't work you don't eat and as we all are able to work then your poverty can only be because your karma is not good. Someone in your past scrimped on the fees!

So in the temples of the west glittering with gold, as Popes and Immans travel in air conditioned limousines whilst they measure time on their gold Rolex's, we see a disparity in what they preach and what they do.

In Japan, as with all aspects of life, everything has a cost and if you want the best, in this case a higher status monk, then it will cost you more, naturally!

Coming up next; The Mystery of the Head in the Pacific. Japanese police are investigating the mystery of the head of a foreign blog writer that was seen floating in the surf of a beautifully sunny Pacific beach. They are following up the theory that he may have upset certain religious business interests.

The Running Bin Men of Tokyo

Arrived in Tokyo just under a week ago after a fair old journey. Everything had gone fine until we actually boarded the plane at Heathrow. As soon as everyone had strapped in an announcement came over the tannoy informing us that the auxilliary power was not working and as a consequence the air conditioning was not switched on.

"As soon as we start the engines we will be able to return the cabin to a more comfortable temperature very quickly" we were assured.

Everyone looked around at each other and smiled, nodded a bit then sat back taking in deep breaths from the already hot and stifling air. Within nano seconds a second announcement came over the tannoy.

"This is your captain speaking, I have just been informed by the control tower that there is a problem with the runway and we will be held here until that is cleared up. At the moment there is no indication how long this will be but once we are given the go ahead we should be near the top of the queue to leave."

A collective sigh as loud a blue whale spouting shushed along the length of the plane. Somehow everyone realised that this was very bad news and we were in for a melt down.

What always amazes me in these situations is the lack of foresight. Obviously all of the staff disappeared into the first class cabin where they stood fanning the air with the a la carte menus but it was half an hour before anyone thought about opening the doors to allow some air in for the rest of us.

Eventually we were taken out of the oven and allowed permission to take off. True to the prediction, the moment the engines started the cabin temperature eased down and the arm rests on the seats stopped melting.


The flight itself was notable for turbulence and there was only one moment of staff surliness to note. When asked if I would like a drink I requested a lemonade. The hostess looked at me, curled a prehensile lip and said in a withering bass tone worthy of Dame Margaret Rutherford "Just a lemonade?". Obviously not being a raging alcoholic was an issue for her. "Go on then, make it a double and put some ice in it!" I responded with all the authority of an economy class passenger.

I did my usual trick and watched movies for the full 12 hours of the flight. Iron Man 2 lasted for 8 minutes before Robert Downey Junior stood on a stage backed by a line of inanely grinning chorus girls and a backdrop of a huge American flag fluttering across an enormous screen. When you have that moronic, jingoistic, mono-cellular nationalism shoved in your face it almost feels like some disgusting old man has just opened up his raincoat. I immediately switched that movie off.

Avatar gave me some relief, Walt Disney meets Terminator is a jolly sort of jape but there is always something slightly suspicious about American films celebrating the triumph of indigenous culture in the face of corporate genocide! Thankfully the Japanese film Rinco's Restaurant was available and that provided the entertainment highlight of the bumpy ride across Siberia.


An American review says, "After a bad breakup, a young woman returns to her hometown and opens a menuless restaurant.". Well that provides you with a truly insightful sentence covering a really clever film about, as is a standard for Japanese cinema, the tensions and disfunctionality between generations. The further comment that the film is; "Quirky, Quiet, Kind of Interesting, A Little Slow" obviously took our critic into the area of aliteration... but only just!

Quirky: because there were no guns.
Quiet: because there were no guns.
Kind of Interesting: truly I have no idea what this means but suspect it is because there are no guns.
A Little Slow: required cognitive thought processes.

You may be detecting a slight anti-American stance in my writing and o.k., I will come clean, America is not my favourite country, some of American culture makes me feel like the planet Earth is quite rightly doomed and I find too many Americans.... (was going to add something else but on second thoughts that's about right).

Rinco's Restaurant is a beautiful film, very humourous, gentle and ultimately uplifting. The story, and I refuse to ruin it for you, provides the basics of Japanese culture; food and family. I absolutely loved it and have no idea how many dollars it made at the box office though I am almost certain that our American reviewer will be able to tell you.

"My name is not news!"

I cannot be the only person who is infuriated by the belief that dollar sales figures are the prime indicator of value in the culture of film. Fine if our American cousins (remember chimpanzees are also our cousins but prone to less violence) want to start every revue with the bottom line but why on earth do we feel the need to copy them? Over recent years our media has been so completely bastardized that whenever a serial sex pest appears on the front page of a newspaper the first thing we are told is the value of the house they live in. Arghhh.....

You may be wondering if you have stumbled across the right blog at this point. Wasn't this meant to be something about Japan and Japanese culture rather than the story of a hot seat in Heathrow and a diatribe against the U.S.A.? Well yes and no... you see the flight out to Tokyo is the start of what I call "The Purging". Having spent the last seven months in the evolving armageddon that is London culture whilst working on human rights issues (in other words looking daily at the most awful crimes against humanity perpetrated by truly dreadful examples of humanity) I tend to become, how shall I put this, a little negative. My time in Japan is always the bath tub of sanity for me but it takes a few days to relax into a society with so many fewer stabbings, manners and a sense that the future can be better than the past.


Consequently with each new trip the first entry on this blog tends also to give the reader the opportunity to carve their way through the mayhem and also arrive in Japan. Already in just the past few days I have seen enough to write a book about but the real reinforcement that I was in a completely different culture left a broad grin on my face. In the picture above you see the shopping arcade just opposite Mushashi Koyama station which is a two minute walk from where I live when in Tokyo.

This arcade is a long air conditioned tube, auxillary power supply always working, which tunnels for six or seven hundred meters away from the station. Every hundred metres the arcade is cross sectioned by side roads whose main physical feature is their narrowness. A car width with room for a pedestrian either side is about the space provided in these little veins of commerce.

I was strolling around the other morning and doing some serious people watching down in the arcade. It was very hot out, about 37 degrees with the sort of humidity that even slows down the pace of snails. Inside the arcade space the air conditioning keeps the jostling crowd relatively relaxed but as soon as you step into one of those side streets the air becomes so thick it is like trying to breath in treacle. The effort of breathing also immediately drenches you in sweat so all in all not an environment to consider running a marathon in.

As I sucked in another spoonful of breath a Tokyo Dust Cart came towards me. A note here, all the recycling vehicles are of a scale which allows them to pass through the famously narrow streets of Tokyo. They are quite dinky really! As the truckette passed me at a steady pace I was confronted by two men running down the street behind the vehicle loading the rubbish bins into its crushing mouth. The operative word here is "running".

Not only were these bin men running in urgency to gather the bins and fill the truck but they were doing so in corporation hard hats, uniform overalls, boots and the mandatory cotton gloves of all Japanese working people. I mean it, these guys were running and the rubbish truckette was rattling along at a fair pace.

The reason for this urgency was obvious, behind the dust cart was following a small line of traffic; two motor scooters, a delivery truckette and a car. In such narrow streets removing rubbish would inevitably cause delay and clearly the Japanese response is to do the job as quickly as possible so as to minimise the inconvenience.
After all, rubbish collection is a public service and therefore carries a responsibility to the public.

I stood watching and would have shaken my head in utter disbelief if it wasn't so bloody hot. You see I live most of my life in London and there the dust carts are bigger. If you drive along a back street and come across a dust cart you just pull up the handbrake and switch the engine off to save petrol money. Our dustmen are a lot more laid back, a lot more relaxed about their task. They will be careful not to breach any health and safety regulations by invoking unwarranted urgency.

But this is Japan and things are very different here. Now I have got the transfer process out of my system I will be sending some more detailed insights into those differences. Today promises to be a rich opportunity to relate. In a few hours I am off on the two and a half hour drive to visit my father-in-law's grave. This is for the occasion of the 23rd anniversary of his death, a very, very important moment in the death process which requires a priest and ceremony (with a not insubstantial fee involved) in order that father's transition into the fullness of re -birth is complete.

I have a sneaking feeling this will be the topic of my next entry; the business of death Japanese style.

Waiting for lift off.

I have been thinking about athletics recently. You know, throwing a stick, throwing a piece of metal too heavy to throw or running pointlessly in circles. Images of these meaningless ball shy activities invoke the ancient oni Wey Ting.

Not long now and I will be leaving for Tokyo. The first thing I will do when I arrive is have a nice, long, Japanese style bath in a Japanese bathroom. Can it be possible to imagine what it has been like to go the last eight months without having a proper level of bath standards?

You cannot imagine how much my heart bleeds having to content myself with western European bath culture. The difference is clear and once you have enjoyed the experience of Japanese personal hygiene culture everything else is dreadfully second best!

The Countdown

This has been a long hard old slog. We returned from Japan at the end of January this year and have had to wait a full seven months before we would be released from the penury that is life in the UK.
But it is not to be long now until I return to onsen, shinkansen and sushi, the three gods of desire that ever torment my memory as I wait for a delayed train in the cold water of the London rain whilst the smell of kebabs drifts across North London.

Only five weeks to go and my feet will be on the soil of the rising sun once more.

Daimyo Tataroka Enkas

Daimyo Tataroka Enkas is the name of Lord Tatlock's famous football team in the renowned Boozehounds Fantasy Auction League. Before the commencement of the 2010-11 season the team was previously known as Lord Tatlock's Trotters but the noble Lord decided to recognise the long and ancient ties between Britain and Japan whilst celebrating their outstanding World Cup performance in South Africa by re-naming his team in a Japanese style.

Lord Tatlock lives at Tatlock Towers, Tufnell Park, England N7 and is very, very old.