DIARY
TERRY PARRIS At a village called Pals on the Costa Brava, where we have a weekend flat, I settled down with the Times. Surprised to see that my eldest son Matt had `outed' a minister on a television programme. Doesn't sound like Matthew at all. His outstanding quality for me has always been his honesty, but at his own expense, not others', I have complete confidence in him. There will be an explanation — just as when, while he was working for Mrs Thatcher 20 years - ago, the newspapers during the general election, in which Matthew was a candidate, were full of an angry letter he had written on Mrs Thatch- er's notepaper to a complaining council house tenant. This lady showed it to her local Labour party, which showed it to the Daily Mirror, which in turn used it to depict Matthew and Mrs Thatcher as anti- council tenant. Labour then printed three million leaflets reproducing Matthew's let- ter, but nobody saw the letter to which he was replying. It was full of dislike of immi- grants on her council estate. Its author also disliked living next door to a family with a Down's Syndrome child. Matthew always has a reason, but sometimes it isn't clear. It's hard for me to know what it all Means, as I don't know anything about Peter Mandelson. I'm sure he's very nice.
Ifly to Japan — my first visit, seeking Material for my next teaching project, sug- gested by the youngest son, 'Virtual Reali- ty', the 'reality' part mine and the 'virtual' handed on to my Catalan students in English. All four sons help in anything I dn. Over ten hours' flight to Tokyo, many hours in darkness. Row upon row of dark Japanese heads, all sound asleep. All dreaming in Japanese. So clever! I ask Myself again why we don't think it odd that, at a certain time, we all go to sleep at once. When awake the passengers are very sniffing. I can see the Confucian ethic of orderliness, and in the attentive air host- ess an ordered Zen spontaneity. Already I find myself returning respectful nods.
Vast Tokyo is fantastically modern, with skyscrapers and flashing lights everywhere; private railway stations are located in gigantic department stores; swarms of salarymen', immaculately dressed office Workers, ebb and flow across pedestrian Crossings the width of a street. There is lit- tle left of the old places, but our friends knew some of these, where we sampled, in tiny rooms full of tired businessmen, yaki- I" (grilled chicken) and brochettes of quails' eggs and river fish, all cooked over hisamg gas flames. Odd that no one stared at us. Isabel said that gaijin (foreigners) are always drawn with red hair, high- bridged noses and blue eyes — a concept based on the American GI of 1945. Today we've walked miles to see Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, always accompa- nied by what seem like thousands of schoolchildren, in orderly crocodiles and uniforms of distinctive colours. The ado- lescents wear only black uniforms of Prus- sian appearance. Mostly it's been raining — the umbrella a universal accessory. Within a haze of hand-clapping to sum- mon the nature gods, much bowing and `purification' by incense smoke, three things stand out: a golden temple standing in a serene lake where giant golden carp glide by; a Japanese gardener peering from the green branches of an elegantly stunted tree; glades of majestic cedar trees lining the approach to a Shinto shrine.
Our day trip from Tokyo to the Hakone region tested all forms of Japanese transport. Under a station viaduct I noticed long, coffin-shaped cardboard boxes, by each box a pair of shoes neatly placed. It is obligatory to leave one's shoes outside before venturing on to the tatami mats of a Japanese home. The force of custom pre- vailed even for these homeless men. Apparently some were migrant workers, some had run away from rural homes, unable to repay loan sharks, and some just didn't want to work. We went by train, toy train and cable car. The sulphur springs on Mount Soun-zen were yellow gashes. We descended by another cable car. The last boat was ready to leave on the lake below — a most extraordinary boat, by Columbus out of Walt Disney, complete with pirates. I loved it. And so back to Tokyo. Was it worth it? Yes, because we saw Mount Fuji, dark-blue and snow-crowned, floating in an ethereal sky.
Ten to Kyoto by 'bullet train'. It stopped raining in Kyoto — except during our visit to Nara Park. We saw the Great Buddha and the thousand deer, believed to be messengers of the gods, but more inter- ested in our sushi lunchboxes. Baseball- capped school children slipped through a hole in a wooden column near the Great Buddha. Those who squeeze through gain Enlightenment. Would it were that easy!
Harmony' and therefore 'team spirit' is the basic philosophy in Japan. They say a train driver minutes late for work once committed harakiri. I don't believe it, but the concept of 'harmony' rings true. Flying home from Osaka I ponder what comes closest to 'reality' in modern Japan. Pachinko parlours (a vertical pinball game)? Spotless streets? Houses and flats packed so tightly together? Kabuki theatre with its stylised acting? Groups of giggling girls, older than they look, on a night out? Dreary grey miles of industrial sites? I pre- fer Mount Fuji, floating serenely above the mist of everyday life. But that's me. Crazes seize urban society here. The latest is `Dogs-town', where computer-simulated costumed dogs may be patted and looked at in simulated 'houses'.
Home to Spain. The Daily Mail has faxed asking for an interview about my life. Phone Matt and he says to go ahead if I would like a weekend at his London flat. I hadn't expected to travel so soon after Japan. I did and I enjoyed the interview. Hope I haven't sounded like a doting moth- er, or shown Matt in the wrong light. The swans I can see from his flat on the Thames are beautiful.
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