1 pm. Atsushi Fukatami's desk at Universal Music in Japan plays host to my diary today -my brain still somewhat jetlagged despite the best efforts of Virgin Upper class to prevent the usual ravages.
My journey began at 9am on Saturday morning, when the courtesy limousine (a Mercedes taxi by any other name) arrived to take me to Heathrow. There I experienced the joy of the in car check in, which whisked me straight from the car to the Virgin club lounge, and thence to my gold plated fully reclining seat aboard the great ship Branson, complete with sparkling bubbles and in flight massages.
The cost of business class seats may be unnecessarily exorbitant, but the fact that I am typing this diary without too many sppeeling misstakes means that it has reduced the usual downtime on a trip of this kind by about four days.
Unfortunately, it cannot, however, shield you from the peculiar joys of Tokyo jetlag. I went to bed at 5pm (having nobly stayed awake for the whole day), and awoke after what I hoped was many hours of fitful sleep to discover it was still only 7pm. Another fitful period of slumber saw me reach the dizzying heights of 9pm, at which point I gratefully watched the only English speaking film on TV (except for the Pay per offering of the Rord of the Rings), which featured some half human aliens. Thus refreshed, I continued to do battle until the early hours. At first light, I dragged my confused body around the streets of Tokyo in something resembling a jog.
11.30 pm. Just returned from dinner with Fripp and Satriani, who is touring here. We shall see if Sapporo can cure the jetlag that other beers cannot reach.
"Answers will come through the guitar."
