Look at him, the little dweeb. The above highlighted Gilles Peterson in Fukuoka was a dream, for reasons manifold. The music being the most obvious place to start, the supporting acts (Eichi Izumi, Hdchrist, Nomata and Morukama) not only churned out some cracking broken beat, latin, funk and even a smattering of techno, but did it in white dinner jackets, bow-ties and crupier’s gloves! Gilles himself was not so adventurous in the wardrobe department, but provided a kicking set underscored by fun rather than any need to impress us with silly noises. It was also great to finally be exposed to some new Japanese music that wasn’t completely sugar-coated (although in fairness I have the upmost respect for alot of J-Pop compared with its western counterparts), and to knock about with a crowd who were friendly in ways that befit nice people talking to nice people rather than Elliot freaking out at ET. Maybe that’s a little harsh, maybe even bordering on the xenophobic myself, but there have certainly been a few moments here when I’ve felt extra-terrestrial.

Which brings me to the next bit. Fukuoka is a dream of a city, and I am just one of millions of others to step in line and say it. With 1 million people, it’s about the same size as Manchester, and is almost as cosmopolitan. OK, that bit might be a small lie, as I saw no-one black for a start, nor anyone of south Asian origin, which wipes out a massive proportion of Manchester’s population… So maybe cosmopolitan isn’t quite the right word.  There was more a sense of the continental about it I guess; as exciting as Manchester but as laid-back as Seville, and with much better-dressed people than both. The Japanese are renowned for their fashion sense and in Fukuoka you see the magic happen. Canal City comprises a 6-building monster of a shopping centre, only it doesn’t feel anything like as frenetic Meadowhell or the Trafford Centre as it is actually quite a tastefully designed temple to consumerism. The train station is something of a manic experience, as it is also home to another warren of a shopping centre but this time selling mainly crap handbags and scary sausage that might just be fish for a change.

There will be multiple on entries on Fukuoka over the coming year I am sure, as I only managed to test out a tiny fraction of what it has to offer. Coming back to Yamaguchi was something of a comedown I have to admit; spending a week at work doing NOTHING is even more of one. Before I start dwelling on that, however, I shall run by my 24 hours in Shimonoseki…

This is Rosie. She is my new collapsable town-bike. I had been giving a somewhat aging although surprisingly functional bike by my employer which promptly got stolen outside Japan’s answer to Asda. I swear half the people I tell don’t believe me, what with Japan being crime-free and all. The poor bloke in said hyper-market seemed rather unnerved by my desire to purchase her, given the fact that I understood nothing of what he said and could not even write my own name when asked. I was determined to walk away with it though; I’d gone for an evening walk and realised I’d walked too far for me to be arsed to go back on foot so this was my only option. Small though she may be, I have had lots of fun zipping round Hikari today, much to the amusement of many of my prospective students who I passed along the way. I need to work out a way of not turning up to work sweating like a pig though, as ‘twould be a most unprofessional guise in which to arrive on my first day as celebrity foreigner…