If I told you Japan is weird, you wouldn't believe me, would you.
Okay, maybe you would. I recently had to spend a few days getting blasted by the sun in Fukuoka. If there's a black centre to the universe, Fukuoka is the city it's furthest from - I mean, seriously, it's so nice and clean and neat and pleasant. Still, having been there a few times I felt no need to further sample its delights and passed a fair amount of time in my hotel room with a laptop and a bottle of scotch. If Mohammed must go to the mountain, then he can damn well drink and write while he's there.
Throw in a 3 day trip down south for a family affair and I haven't been home much. But now I'm back with my duty free in one hand (I honestly didn't realise the bourbon was overproof. You see it was hot and I had sunstroke and the beer wasn't helping, well, it was, but not in that way, and all the discombobulations added up and) and finally all the writing that was going on and on but getting nowhere might just be heading somewhere, and Lord knows it's just in time, what with two more tests against India and the international rugby season just starting up and tomorrow I'm back in the day job, so, to sum up, phew.