I awoke this morning to find Tokyo covered in a blanket of snow, and whilst it was a wondrous sight to behold it sent a chill, of varieties both literal and metaphorical, down my spine. For surely no city outside of the UK is less competent in coping with a dusting of snow, no matter how light. Grit just doesn’t seem to exist, and whilst some of the roads were cleared of the worst of it, the pavements had been left for the denizens and shop-owners to deal with. This made my morning run a bit of a gauntlet, and I was certainly not helped by the workman who appeared to be watering the road with tepid water, for no other discernible reason that to create a death trap of black ice; I nodded as I passed, hoping that the slight tilting of my head adequately conveyed my caustic judgement of his stupidity.
It wasn’t until I took my seat at the beginning of the today’s rehearsal that something finally dawned on me: I was the only non-cast member not dressed entirely in black. So whilst my colleagues surreptitiously faded into the background, there I was in my burgundy trousers; purple shirt; and electric blue jumper, lighting up the side of the stage like Blackpool illuminations. Sadly, owing to the treacherous conditions under foot, I was also sporting my bright red wellingtons, but at least I had the good sense to remove them, and quickly put them out of sight. Unfortunately for all concerned, the neon pink socks that were now on show were no less conspicuous.