From the category archives:
You won’t catch me going on about the heat. Well, not complaining at least, though if it’s hot, I do tend to state the obvious rather a lot. I think of it more as a way to remind myself of my good fortune in finding myself sweating rather than shivering. It may also be because I have a habit of repeating myself rather a lot, one of my more charming qualities I’m sure everyone will agree.
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One of the things I loved about living in Tokyo were the thriving businesses run by small shop-keepers: a tiny stationer’s shop wedged between the jeweller’s and a ramen stand, the yaki-imo man driving around in his pick-up truck with a brazier on the back calling out to all and sundry to get his sweet potatoes while they were steaming hot (yaki-imooooo, ya.ki.IMO!), shops selling nothing but seaweed and the local tofu shop which was no more than a hole in the wall.
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When we were kids, my brother and I spent a lot of time with our grandparents in Sapporo in their tiny apartment. I can still picture it very clearly: the old black rotary telephone under a quilted cover, the tatami rooms we slept in – empty until we pulled our futons out from the oshiire – and my ojiichan sitting cross legged on the floor peering down through his thick black glasses at the dictionary.
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