Found in a bonbon tonight:

'Who invented King Arthur's Round Table?'
'Sir Cumference'.

'Hi, I've got a physio appointment after lunch so I'll be gone for the rest of the day if that's ok...'
I'm crawling in traffic, faced with a red light at every intersection - traffic lights are always red when you're in a hurry. My stress levels are at their peak, compounded by the suffocating humidity and heat. I look at the clock - I'm almost an hour late. I've got this feeling my friends will be packing when I get there. Punishment perhaps for lying to the boss. 'Shit,' I mutter, and stamp on the brakes as the car in front stops instead of going through the amber light. I wring the steering wheel in frustration.
I am close though, now, and as I drive on a hilly stretch of road I can see the ocean before me, the soft horizon blurring with the sky. Suddenly all worry is gone, my anxieties soothed. Everything is alright, whispers the breeze.
When I finally arrive, everyone is still there and the sun is still shining. I wait impatiently for the newly-applied sunscreen to dry and then run into the water. For the first time ever I try bodyboarding, and I have enormous fun riding along the crest of waves. She helps me tie the strap to my wrist. Sometimes, it's the littlest things.

'Hey,' comes the softly-spoken greeting, and then a light hand on my shoulder. I look up to see a man staring down at me, and I suddenly feel angry and confused for the intrusion. He notices this on my face and seems surprised. 'You don't remember me, do you?' he asks, slightly hurt. I pause a second longer, and then it clicks. It's David, my best friend from high school, who I haven't seen in almost ten years.
As is usual when two friends meet again after a long time apart, we have a lot, and very little, to talk about. 'This is my sister Hannah,' he motions to the pretty blonde girl next to him. I remember Hannah when she was a little girl running around the house, back in high school when I used to take the long train ride up north to David's house for video games and DVDs. David's still the same. The same intelligent blue eyes, the slight English accent, the meek smile and awkward hand gestures. His tone of voice seems to have changed slightly - harder and sharper, perhaps - and the years have made him, like myself, a tad bitter and disenchanted with the world.

We're both here tonight because of our common love for music. It was David, many years ago, who triggered my passion for music and movies and art. I remember the first CD he lent me, back then when all I listened to were easy-listening hits on the radio. We shared books and video cassette tapes, and trembled in excitement waiting for the original Star Wars films to be shown at the cinemas. We argued about movie plots and meanings, and I had a  secret goal to better him at creative writing and essays.
Now tonight we are at this bar for a free gig, waiting for our recent favourite band to come on stage. The significance of this is not lost on me. When the band finally plays it's magnificent - soaring melodies, melded guitar and ethereal voices. I turn to him in the midst of it all, and watching him, I find it all too hard to believe. High school was so long ago that now I'm not even sure I attended one, and I wonder if any of this is real.
When it's all over we step out onto the street, shake hands cordially and go our separate ways. I know, though, that our paths will cross again someday.

'Everything else catches up with you, and there’s just one thing left that you can do' - Fools' Gold, The Middle East

The weekend was surreal. It was like I was someone else, in another world, in another age.
I could feel the tug of some heady emotion, an overwhelming - and familiar - feeling that threatened to spill over the safety of borders. Some of it must have escaped, as I spent a restless night dreaming of the future and all its impossibilities.

You can't miss what you never had.

The dance floor is a mass of sweaty heaving bodies. We're drunk and happy, liberated tonight from the shackles of work. There's free-flowing alcohol, canapés, poker tables and people, hundreds of people in miniskirts, dark eyeliner and skinny ties. The subwoofer kicks like the heart of an enormous animal, the guitars a wall of fury and defiance. The epileptic strobe lights flash, and someone draws me near...

On the boat back to Pyrmont we lie slouched on the deck like worn-out sailors. The sea breeze runs coolly through dishevelled hair, and dries our sweat-soaked shirts.

'I know everything about you, you know everything about me' - We Are The People, Empire Of The Sun

The ceiling fans whir monotonously against the backdrop of a cloudless morning. Empty bottles and plastic cups lie baking outside on balcony tables, remnants from a night of drunken antics, perfumed hair, cigarette smoke, slender waists. Somewhere in the kitchen are bacon and eggs sizzling away for breakfast.
When breakfast is done we head for the beach. We scurry over hot sand to soothe our feet in the ocean, jumping and diving, over and under the rising waves. The day is interspersed with beach soccer, sunscreen, fish and chips and cold showers. Everything is white, white, white and blue.

Late afternoon is a good time to scamper over rocks with a camera and iPod, wedge yourself against a chair-looking formation and wait for the sunset whilst listening to The Middle East. You will unknowingly fall asleep in this position, awakening just in time to catch the brilliant flaming rays of the sun as it dips majestically over the horizon.

On the weekend I was able to, well, half-fulfil my dream of making a movie for Tropfest. I was the boom mike operator for a film my friend had written and was directing. (He ignored all the suggestions and script changes I'd made!)
I always imagined film-making to be a glamourous affair, but the weekend showed that it's a lot of hard work, dedication, and above all, patience. Lighting, angles, continuity, and take after take of a single scene. My arms are still sore from holding the boom above my head for hours.
It's not the type of movie I would ever make but all the same I hope it does well. If it makes the finals, then perhaps I'll become a famous boom mike operator.

Two Guys, One Dice. Out in February 2010. I think.

I'm on the 45th floor of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, waiting for the last embers of orange sunset to be extinguished from the clouds. I can hear the constant drone of tourists, and the click of expensive cameras on the necks of artless consumers. Night is descending, and soon the skyline will be filled with red lights, blinking like stars. For the last time.
On this trip I have often dreamt of my everyday life back home. I wake up, confused, to an unfamiliar ceiling, until the realisation sinks in that I am in another country, thousands of miles away. By the time I type this I'll be in my room at home, to eventually fall asleep, and dream in shades of neon.
Man is memory.

One night I followed a man as I was making my way back to the hotel. He wore a tattered dark blue suit with an overcoat of the same colour, and thick-framed glasses. He was slightly unshaven, his hair unkempt. I watched as he walked to a vending machine on the street and discreetly placed his hand into the change compartment, fishing for coins. Unsuccessful, he moved to the next one. I felt an urge to help him; only this morning I had been deliberating whether to buy an expensive second-hand watch! I increased my pace until I was only a metre behind him, and then I faltered. Stopped. What should I say? How should I approach him? Do I throw coins at his feet? No, this would not do, this would not do....
I looked up. He had turned into one of the side alleys, and was gone. I returned to the hotel room, empty plastic shopping bags everywhere.

A week to go now.
We're back in Tokyo, beginning our period of mourning for the inevitable return flight.
Rushing around, spending every last yen, exploring every last alley, eating at every last ramen shop...

Most memorable moments in the last fortnight:

• Making friends with a Canadian guy called Paul and bathing naked with him at the onsens of Gero
• Finding the free porn channel in the hotel at Osaka
• Getting hustled in the red light district of Namba, Osaka
• Getting locked out of my room and sleeping on the floor of Michael's hotel room
• Trying to reach Himeji Castle before closing time. Near the end of a 3-hour journey on the slow train we would find out it had already closed before we reached there.
• Going crazy at Den Den Town (Electric Town, Osaka) over Gundams, Transformers and anime figurines

Hiking to waterfalls near Takayama

Crossing swords (safely) at Osaka Aquarium

Sidling up to share a romantic moment with some random girl at the aquarium

'All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain' - Dotonbori, Osaka

'Yo, I want to shabu-shabu all night aye!' - Shabu-shabu at Namba, Osaka

'Oooo...map ish my favourite dessert!' - Deer eats my map at Miyajima

The Itsukushima Shrine Torii Gate at sunset

M4 at Kobe Harbour

Mmmm....milk

Milk makes Michael go

The sign says it all (I'M GAY)

The tunnel to Shangri-la - Miho Museum, Ishiyama

The Shinkansen rolls away from the platform. Outside, the city lights begin as pin-pricks of glaring colour, then turn into bright smears and eventually long illuminating threads as the train cuts demoniacally into the night. Time is passing by as quickly as the lights blurring outside. We're over halfway through the trip, now.

If you ask whether this holiday has turned out the way I anticipated, then I'd have to say no. Oh, I'm in no way unhappy or eager to return, but there are certain expectations that remain unfulfilled, a vision of events and feelings that haven't eventuated. And then there are the people I miss.
Today the four of us went our separate ways: Monkey to Nara, Marco down to Fukowaka and myself to Hiroshima, while Michael stayed put in Osaka. I think it was good we spent some time apart; being with someone twenty-four-seven can be suffocating. We were starting to be annoyed, detesting even of each others' presence. Everyone needs room, even the best of friends.

But no, it's not just that. I get the sense that in this vast neon-lit metropolis, this throbbing mass of humanity, I am but an outsider. I'm the kid that looks forlornly out the window and sees the other kids playing in the street. I've been excluded from some big secret plan, the conspirators talking in hushed tones whenever I approach.
So while I've squirmed through crowds at congested intersections, been crushed and herded onto trains, ordered food and asked for directions, I feel as a ghost might feel as he reaches out to grab a cup, and watches resignedly as his fingers slip helplessly through it.
I wonder how many lost souls there must be in a city such as this. To be lonely in a big city, or be busy in a lonely city...

 Riding through fields of gold...

 

...and down cool forest paths.

 

 Lake Aoki, where we stopped to have bento box lunches

 

 Country lanes and rice fields

 

Attacked by bicycles

 

Wild flowers growing by the roadside

 

Later in the evening, making yakisoba and okonomiyake at the hostel with our hosts

Warning! Climbing Mt Fuji in the off-season is extremely dangerous. Serious injury or death may occur.

And so, on a rare sunny day, Marco, Monkey and I set off for the highest point in Japan. (Michael stayed at home to look after the unborn babies).
We arrived at the 5th station on the first bus at 11am - the 5th station is where most climbers start off, the paved roads here reaching about 2300m above sea level. From the 5th to the 9th was about a 6 hour hike; we knew we'd have to hurry if we were to make it back down before dark.
We reached the 6th station pretty quickly, but from then on things started getting tough. Monkey, unbridled by a heavy pack and using his inate primate abilities, pushed on ahead, while I hung back with Marco as he struggled with his backpack loaded with camera equipment.

We were at the 8th station around 4. By then we were both cramping badly, and Marco was having difficulty breathing in the thin cold air. He decided to turn back at this point and descend while I forged ahead, half-crawling over the rocks.

I finally reached the 3700m summit and met Monkey-Smeagol there around 5pm. After throwing the one true ring into the crater we descended the mountain at sunset, and then in the dark, guided only by the moon which shone brightly that night.

We reached the 5th station at 7.30pm, our legs aching. We knew there'd be no buses at this time during the off-season, but were hoping to hitch-hike back as the others had done. To our dismay the place was empty, and, worst of all, Monkey's phone had died.

What followed was the longest night in our lives. With no other alternative and being ill-equipped to camp, we walked along the bus route down what would normally be a 40min car ride. We plodded along the sloped asphalt, each painful step, in the dark and cold. We walked till 2.30am, until we finally saw the lights of a toll booth and caught a lift to the station, and wandered another hour from there to the hostel.

It would be 4.30am before we put our heads on our pillows and dreamt of receiving foot massages from ten thousand middle-aged women.

 The 5th station car-park

 

 The beginning of the easy bit

 

 The beginning of the hard bit

 

The going gets tough (Marco against the metal barrier)

 

'You won't be smiling for long, boy!'

Shinto gates along the way. This was near the 7th station.

 

Sometimes the clouds would roll in, covering the track

 

The 8th station

 

Looking down on creation

 

 Monkey cuts a lonely figure against the mountain backdrop

 

Next stop, Everest?

 

 Descent at sunset

Michael likes talking loudly on trains. Often he will publicly question Monkey's sexuality, or make dubious claims to his own bedroom prowess. At other times he will gesture wildly to a female on the train, and exclaim something along the lines of 'Fck! That's a hot MILF!'

A few days ago, on a full carriage where we were crammed like sardines, he spotted a man next to him watching TV on his mobile. 'Hey I get to watch TV!' he shouted while looking over the man's shoulder. The man paused, turned his head slowly and stared at Michael, their noses almost touching.

Behaviour such as this ensures we garner plenty of attention whenever we travel on public transport.

'I've got a feeling... that tonight's gonna be a good night.'

At Ryokan Kangetsu, having some good innocent fun. Later on that night, Monkey cried.

'Who want some Wang!'

With Michael (as Bruce Lee) at Yoyogi Park. It was rather disturbing to see old men closely photographing young girls dressed as anime characters at the weekly cosplay gathering.

 

The story of Mini Monkey and the Giant Fingers. Later on that night, he cried.

 

'Puck you sir!'

Takeshita Alley, Harajuku. This was the start of a long shopping adventure, dicktated by the lure of department stores and tightly packed shops.

 

'Let's go shopping, fags!''

Monkey blew about $600 AUD that night. Michael walked away with 11 T-shirts and XS boxers, but didn't blow quite as hard as Monkey.

Currently we are residing in a small ryokan, away from the hustle and bustle of the metropolis.
It is very peaceful here, and the sound of swaying branches are only interrupted by the shrill screams and racous laughter of Michael.
We have seen sumo wrestlers, fended off waves and waves of young girls in Shibuya, spent 3000 yen trying to win a $5 soft toy, and climbed up ten storeys in every anime shop in Akihabara searching for Michael's hentai figurines. We have tried all sorts of different food (such as chashu ramen from Shinjuku, and chashu ramen from Shibuya), and walked hundreds and hundreds of miles within the shops and streets of the city. (You should see how toned our legs are - go on, I know you want to.)

We are getting along smashingly of course. Last night I dreamt that Marco was being aggravating so I tried to punch him, but instead I woke up when I hit my hand on the bedframe.

After a long and arduous plane journey, we finally arrived in the land of the rising sun. And sunny it is! We arrived on a hot and humid day (30C), the sun scorching our blackened faces and making our jeans stick seductively to our inner thighs.

Yesterday was spent perusing the alleys of Shinjuku, eating chicken ass skewers (courtesy of Marco), and watching Michael play Street Fighter.

The highlight though was the Park Hyatt Hotel, which was where Lost In Translation was filmed, although none of us really knew what that meant.
On the 52nd floor there we sipped cocktails, discussed financial markets, took in the magnificent night views of the Tokyo skyline and got uproariously drunk - well, I did anyway...