Last night's dream was particularly silly.

I was playing tennis in the Australian Open, in the doubles final. Problem was, I could play tennis about as well as I can in real life-which is, very badly. I was a tennis player in my dream though-it wasn't as though Fiona had just stumbled onto the court. In particular, I was having problems with my serve-I just couldn't seem to get it over the net. Fortunately my doubles partner ( I have no idea who she was) was on fire, hitting many winners to save my ass. It was also extremely hot, and I was badly sunburnt. At one point I had to retire to the side of the court, where I asked around to see if I could get a hat from someone-no luck. Fortunately the Japanese Ambassador was sitting courtside, watching the match with his family, and was kind enough to lend me his sunscreen. I tried desparately to apply it quickly, but it seemed to be taking forever, and the umpire kept calling 'Time', and the crowd was getting antsy.

Then I woke up, and was extremely relieved.

9am, wake up. I am in Kyoto. The room smells like straw from the tatami mats on the floor, a smell which I found objectionable at first but quickly grew used to. Out of the window I can see treetops, rooftops, a pagoda spiked up into the air. Today I am going to Osaka. Breakfast at the tiny cafe around the corner. Breakfast Set A, ordered by pointing and smiling and saying 'hai'. Thick sweet white toast drenched in butter, bitter percolator coffee served with a tiny jug of cream, the television burbling away in the corner. My Japanese is terrible. It's not as hot as it was yesterday (I could actually feel sweat streaming down my legs as we wandered through gardens and temples. We saw a man lying draped across a bench in the park, another lying on the ground, as though their legs had suddenly melted away on the spot). I'm wearing a pink and white dress and cream coloured espadrilles. The bus is crowded. People in Kyoto get in through the back door and pay as they get off, we learn quickly. At the Shinkansen station I manage to read the indicator board. No-zo-mi Express service next, we can't catch that one with our train passes. The nozomi pulls in silently, white and sharp-nosed and gleaming, and I can't take my eyes off it. In two days time I'll finally get to ride on one, but it will be on the way back to Tokyo, heading home, so there will be a slight pall over the day, because I really don't want to go home yet.

But for now it's still today, and I am going to Osaka in my pink and white dress. We board the shinkansen and find seats. I dash off the train to the vending machine to buy a skinny little can of orange juice. Sitting back down, I drink it as the train slowly gathers speed, and marvel at the fact that, when I place it on the tray table in front of me, it hardly moves as we turn the corners.