(Maybe) only in Tokyo

... and even then it was rather surprising.

Before the start of my improv. comedy workshop this evening (I emphasis the before part to give the story credulity) one of the other participants told us how he had left his ipod touch at a bar the proceeding week. This bar transpired to be a well known seedy hangout in Shibuya (the details of exactly what he was doing there were rather glossed over) and he left his ipod on a table right in the centre of this bustling joint. The following morning, he called the bar and asked in resigned tones whether they happened to have seen said ipod and if so, whether it was still visible to them. Not only did the bar have it safe but he found on collecting it that they'd recharged it for him overnight.

If it had been a bicycle, it would totally have gone.

Touch

Have discovered my desk lamp has a touch sensitive button to switch it on. Touch on. Touch brighter on. Touch off. Touch On. Touch more on. Touch off. Touch on. Touch off. Touch...

Doujinshi...

... for when you know you could do better.

Doujinshi are the manga equivalent of fan fiction. They are self-published manga (although sometimes novels) from amateurs writing new stories based on their favourite official manga / anime series.

But what about copyright? (I cried upon hearing about this). Isn't it completely illegal to profit from characters you didn't create?

Oh it is, I was assured. But people turn a blind eye.

A blind eye? I looked around the convention centre I was standing in (so can you, it's the above picture). It was a huge barn of a room, normally consisting of three separate halls but whose partitions had been removed to create this gigantic space. People milled everywhere, browsing and queuing by the booths of their favourite doujinshi artists. 8000 circles were here today (A "circle" is a somewhat misleading name for a doujinshi publisher, normally just one or two people). That's quite some "blind eye". Oh, and did I mention that this was a small event? The one in May has 22,000 circles and was split over two days. The one in August will be split over three.

Doujinshi events such as this one are also not the only places to buy the fanfic manga. Normal manga stores also stock it, the self-published works sitting alongside the latest official manga books. However, doujinshi is generally considered to have a positive influence on official sales, adding to the interest in a series and prolonging its life. Providing the doujinshi writers aren't obviously making huge profits (most roughly break even), the copyright holders ignore the legal ramifications of such publications.

It makes logical sense... but it's still kinda weird. Remember the arguments over the Harry Potter Lexicon? We did, over lunch, our bags packed full with our purchases. Admittedly, the lexicon probably would have made considerably more cash than the manga, but you still can't imagine this sliding under the radar in the USA or Europe.

I should probably add a word regarding the usual theme of doujinshi. It is, of course, a way for fans to explore story lines not covered in the series. Sometimes, it is obvious why such ideas were not ... look, the fast majority are pornographic, okay? But really, it's all about the art. THE ART. Yes. Anyway ... this being so and given these are, after all, graphic novels (you know, pictures) it's a little surprising to find young children taken to these events. But there they were, big brown eyes fixed on the posters. But then, the education system in Japan always was known for its early intense training.

Hello, you have cat ears

Tokyo Dome; home field of the Yomiuri Giants baseball team and host to a myriad of other events from martial arts to monster truck races. However, it wasn't the sports that drew me there this afternoon but rather the surrounded shops. I was looking for a "Jump Store", outlet for the manga line "Shonen Jump" who produce the Prince of Tennis series. (Apologies to non-TeniPuri fan readers. This post is going to have a certain theme.) The location of this store rather depended on my understanding of the manga's Japanese web-pages so it was with uncertain footsteps that I approached the outdoor mall, looking up at the giant egg of the Dome rising in front of me. As I wondering whether I had the right place, I saw sauntering towards me in full regular attire:

Oh hello Fuji and Eiji.

That'd be a 'yes' then. Reaching the main open square, I found myself surrounded by anime characters. Ninjas, pirates, people whose parentage clearly included a feline, girls in frilly dresses and (most importantly from my perspective) tennis players.

It's all true! I knew it! Seigaku, I had to find you eventually.

It was around this point that I realised I'd forgotten my camera. [Brief pause in our story to allow for the necessary cursing that cannot be blogged.]

I set off around the mall, trying to take in everything while not being run through by a samurai. I can only presume this wasn't an entirely regular Saturday at the Dome, but I've still no idea what everyone was doing. Also, it IS Japan, so ...

Just then I heard loud screaming coming from above me. Was the anime really a huge cover for a Dome take-over? Ah no, it's just the GIANT ROLLER COASTER that wraps around the mall. Of course. Further inspection revealed a log flume, a merry-go-round, a big wheel and one of those things that drops you like 800 feet. There was also an attraction that was linked with Philip Pullman's "The Golden Compass". I was tempted to try it but couldn't guarantee that it didn't end on that roller coaster.

After locating my store, I dropped down at a picnic table to have a drink and take in the scenery. While sipping my coke, I observed Gakuto and Oshitari coming towards me, hand in hand.

Well, it was only what we had all suspected anyway.

They headed towards a group of their Hyoutei tennis team counterparts where Ootori (wearing platform heels for added height) and Hiyoshi were also cuddling close.

That was more surprising.

Shishido stooped to take their photograph before waving the rest of his group into a pile for a joint picture. I watched Hyoutei, a few random members of Rikkai and a lost Ryoma try and arrange themselves into acceptable poses. Ryoma's significant bust was posing a problem for his 12 year old boy image. Gakuto tried to flatten it with his hands. After the shutter clicked, Shishido abandoned the group to run towards a pirate with a huge sword. Well, it was no wonder Ootori was out of the picture. Behind him, Oshitari was trying on Ootori's platform boots.

By this stage I had choked on my coke and bubbles were coming out of my nose. I headed out, mulling over the question of whether to return and buy a Seigaku jacket from the Jump Store. They are pretty expensive but pretty damn awesome. Oh, the dilemma.

My watch doesn't tell time

"I'd like an iphone," one of my Japanese friends was saying at coffee this morning. "but I don't want a contract with softbank."

A unsurprising statement, once you realise that 'softbank' is a Japanese mobile phone provider. Around the globe, people have bemoaned the fact that Apple have chosen to lock themselves into particular telecommunications companies. It was a common gripe and I didn't pay much attention until:

"Though it doesn't have a built in electronic ticket like my current phone."

You what?

It transpires that, in addition to 5-10 MP cameras, Japanese phones also contain an electronic ticket that can be credited for purchases. By waving your phone over a reader, you can pay for bus, train, taxi rides and even groceries. It also stores your e-ticket flight information so you can collect your boarding pass without digging through your overstuffed hand luggage to find the elusive sheet of paper that you might not even have remembered to print out. (I know it's not just me, I've seen you all in the queue doing the same. ALL OF YOU).

It's maybe no wonder, therefore, that the Japanese seem obsessed with their phones. Step onto the metro and 80% of the carriage will be staring at the screens on their flip handsets (the other 20%, in case you were wondering, are playing on their Nintendo DS). Oddly though, I've never seen anyone actually make a call. Perhaps, like the watch in Spy Kids 2, Japanese phones don't make calls.

The cat cafe

Meet Momo. Momo is an orange (or rather, as his name suggests 'peach') coloured cat who spends his day being admired by a stream of visitors who stroke, play and feed him treats. He is a resident in one of Tokyo's cat cafes; places where pet-starved customers can pay by the hour to cuddle a feline and have a mug of hot coco. The novelty of this idea made it onto the BBC news at the start of the year but I was surprised by how many of these cafes actually exist.

The one we visited this evening was in Kichijo-ji (for those who know about such places) and cost about $10 for an hour. Before entering, we had to wash our hands and naturally, it was a perfect opportunity for a bit of shoe removal. We then stepped into a room best described as a cat emporium. Toys, beds, shelves, cat trees and (for reasons I didn't fully appreciate) manga, filled the room from floor to ceiling. Lolling about over these furnishings were approximately a dozen kitty cats. Some were keen to play with one of the many toys you could pick up while others preferred to doze while their ears were gently scratched. The only exception to this peaceful setting came when one of my friends opened the window to shout to a person below which caused a beeline of cats towards this new and exciting 20 foot drop. The window was, fortunately, closed in time.

For people unable to keep their own pets due to space restrictions or for visitors like me missing their own cats, it was a fantastic and fun way to spend a bit of time. On a side note, I was one of the only people there with an actual camera, everyone else simply used their cell phones for photos. An examination of my office mate's phone revealed the answer; it contained a 5 megapixel camera. This, I should add, was an old model. Apparently the new version has 10 MP.

I'm British. I know how to queue.

"Ok. Leave this to me. I'm British. I know how to queue."

However, today I discovered that had Arthur Dent been in a line in Japan rather than Vogon, his disorderly behaviour would have cause Trillian and no doubt himself, Zaphod, Ford and Marvin to be fed to the ravenous bug-blatter beast of Traal. (The demise of last one on that list probably coming as a relief to all concerned).

I was standing at the end of a line of people at the bus shelter when the vehicle in question rolled up and stopped just in front of me. Its front and rear doors swung open and people poured out of the second door. I looked at the front entrance to the bus, open and inviting mere feet away. Then I turned to view the queue of people in front of me. No one moved. Were they all waiting for a different number? I couldn't see from my position whether multiple buses used this stop.  I hesitated, debating whether to move. Was it really likely that all these people were waiting for the bus to pull forward three feet to the front of the line?

Yes. Yes they were.

A minute later, the bus doors swung shut and the bus inched forward to where it stopped again and people began embarking. I blinked. No matter how good the British are at queuing, there is no way a group of people would wait just because the bus had pulled up at the back of the queue rather than at its front. There is also no way the bus driver would give a hoot whether he had stopped at exactly the right place or be prepared to stop twice, meters apart, to give the exiting passengers room to disembark before letting new people on. It was an awe-inspiring example of orderly efficiency and I was deeply glad I had not moved for fear of confirming what everyone in that line probably suspected of me anyway.

This calm patience even extends to the trains which can be painfully over-packed. Although I've yet to experience 'pushers' (people employed to push people into the carriages to ensure as many can travel as possible), a train trip last weekend saw me pinned upright in the middle of a carriage by the people stuffed in around me. Yet, no one yelled or cursed (except me, and then only silently) or even looked particularly harassed. In a nation where everyone bows rather than make physical contact, it is amazing that such crowded conditions don't cause aneurysms. A similarly packed London tube carriage causes at least half the occupants to require psychiatric counseling.

So sorry Arthur. You thought you could queue but, quite frankly, you can't.