Umbrellology

©  2006  Rose George

But Ueno is also Tokyo's homeless village, populated by shortish oldish men – all men – who have been defeated by something or someone or the whole harsh salaryman system. P's boyfriend has just started a new job at an investment bank and gets to the office at 6.30 though he only needs to be there by 8.30. Why? “Because I'm a new joiner. I have to.” Y. gets to her office at 9.30 and sees no reason to change that, although, having been there only 4 years, she's one of the newer employees. But she told me last night, as we ate aubergines fried in butter (“auberginbatta” in Japanese) at an Irish-Japanese restaurant-pub under the railway tracks in Ginza run by a fluent Japanese-speaking Irishman called Andy, that there is an unwritten code and everyone follows it but when she asks her colleagues what the code entails, they can't tell her. In Ueno park, I saw a crowd of homeless men waiting under the trees for their free lunch. At least I assumed they were homeless men. Either that or they were massing for a job interview to ladle soup in a portakabin. From a quick survey, I conclude that Japanese homeless men have cats, not dogs, and that Japanese homeless pets are classy, as they get to sleep on Burberry scarves:

Also, Japanese homeless have electric razors, and probably the nearly latest model. They don't have mirrors, but they have friends.

Near the outdoor shaving wall were four people from the Fast Show:

One of the songs was about having wind in your poncho. It was jolly. The Japanese fan behind them was dancing. Two of the men appeared to be Japanese, which is feasible, as there are enough Japanese immigrants in South America to have produced a president whose name I still remember and who turned out to be more Chinese than Japanese in his grasp of fiscal probity and work ethic and the like.

In the Tokyo National Museum, there is a select selection of beautiful things. That is not a snide way of saying there wasn't much in there. There wasn't, but because it was a select selection of beautiful things. My favourites were the three hundred year old “waste water jar”, a lacquered two hundred year old towel rack, several lacquered cosmetics boxes (the Japanese were so good at lacquering, a lacquered object was called a “Japan” which sounds daft until you think of China cups). And, outside, an excellent umbrella holder. The obsession with innovation in this country is astonishing. In toilets, obviously: yesterday someone asked me why the British toilet weren't being improved. I had to think. I said, “I think we think we've solved it.” This would never occur to a Japanese and certainly not to a Japanese toilet engineer. Also, take lockable umbrella holders. Britain is a wet country with many museums. But I've never seen a sensible lockable umbrella holder. I will stop there before I turn into Disgruntled of Roppongi-Itchome. But really, a bit of invention wouldn't go amiss.  I've been trying to understand what makes the Japanese so obsessed with and good at hi-tech products. My wise and considered conclusion is this:
The British won the war.
The Japanese lost.
The British had to keep funding a military.
The Japanese weren't allowed to.
The British have Trident and other probably expensive and useless things (but not enough workable radios in Basra).
The Japanese have hi-tech toilets and lockable umbrella stands.