In Tokyo...Day Six – at Narita Airport

Checking out of the hotel and the journey to Narita airport was simplicity in the extreme: a short walk to Roppongi's metro station and then a train to station number 17 (Roppongi is station number 4). I was back on the Hibiya line all the way to Ueno and from there I followed signs towards the Skyliner train (Tokyo's equivalent to the Heathrow Express). I purchased a ticket and was allotted seat 11a in coach three – all the seats on the Skyliner are reserved and details of my reservation is on the ticket itself. This didn't stop me sitting in seat 3a in coach 3 and having to get up when the real occupant showed up at the next station. I apologised and shuffled along the coach to my rightful seat and then spent the rest of the 45-minute journey looking at the passing fields and houses as the train sped along the track towards the airport.

I could have flown to Vladivostok and taken the train...

At the airport, security was straightforward. It was so simple it was almost pleasurable. I unloaded my lap top in the usual manner, placed it in a tray (a very small tray compared with those you get elsewhere in the world). Nothing untoward happened with the scanner and soon I was heading for a brief stop at passport control. It all went smoothly and suddenly I found myself in the awful world that exists beyond passport control, where all the boring brands are waiting and where everybody thinks you're a wealthy bastard. I found myself getting irritated by this thought, I hate rich people at the best of times and I hate the big brands too – the perfumes, the watches, you get the drift. They didn't have the sports car raffle, which seems to be a permanent fixture at Gatwick airport in the UK. Again, the assumption is that everybody pines for an Aston Martin DB9 or something similar. Not me. Once you're in the driving seat, it doesn't matter what car you're driving as all you can see is a dashboard, a windscreen and the bonnet (and the road ahead). Give me the money instead and I'll buy a house on the south coast and paint it white and then just sit there looking at the sea – that's all I want from life: a beach, a sea breeze and a push bike.

I'd love to go on the rampage in Duty Free, smashing bottles of whisky and perfume and stamping on expensive watches, throwing Toblerones at the police, but of course this is little more than a fantasy, but one I would like to become reality one of these days. It's probably worth going to prison for, but I wouldn't want to pay back any money for my blatant, intentional and highly enjoyable criminal damage.

I ordered chicken with rice and noodles at the airport – the food offering at Narita leaves a lot to be desired, or is it something to do with the fact that I'm becoming a bit of philistine, expecting to find a Starbucks so I can enjoy a large mint tea and a piece of cake? I've just added another tea and a banana to my breakfast. The chicken noodles were consumed in Café Avion, or something like that, and the additional tea and banana in Bowl Bowl, a larger establishment. Café Avion was a little too cramped for me; Bowl Bowl was bigger and brighter and I sat at one of their Formica tables enjoying a last bit of relaxation before heading for the gate – gate 72.

That whole idea about taking the long way home: a boat to Vladivostok then the Trans Siberia to Moscow, another train from Moscow to Brussels and then the Eurostar to London took on a whole new life when I noticed that it was possible to fly from Narita to Vladivostok at 1540 with S7, a Russian airline. I was looking over from a galleried walkway at passengers waiting to board my flight, BA0006 to London Heathrow, when I was approached by an old man who was conducting a survey on why people travel to Tokyo. There was link to Tokyo 2020 when Japan hosts the Olympic Games. He ran through various questions and then gave me a tiny plastic model of Mount Fuji.

What never fails to annoy and unnerve me about flying is that whenever I head for the airport, the weather starts off fine, but gradually deteriorates as my departure draws closer. This morning as I sat on the Skyliner looking out at the Tokyo suburbs that whizzed past me, there was sunshine and relatively cloudless skies, but as time progressed the cloud thickened. Very, very annoying especially when a 12-hour flight awaited me. I'm glad to be heading home, but I wish I was there now and didn't have to bother with the flight bit. And when I arrive back in the cuntry, of course, I'll have to deal with the racist cab drivers or the crappy cab drivers who can't drive to save their lives or the useless cab drivers that have been known to take their customers to the wrong airport, not forgetting the taxi drivers that stop in the fast lane, get out of their cars and proceed to kick the tyres of their taxis before jumping back in and simply going the wrong way to the airport. Brexit has made all the racists who voted for it a little bolder. They are quite happy nowadays to express their views and always make the assumption that we're all racists at heart, without stopping to question that other people are not scumbags like them. Anyway, I must not work myself up into a lather over the issue. 

In Bowl Bowl, Live and Let Die by Paul McCartney and Wings comes on the sound system. "You used to say live and let live (you know you did, you know you did, you know you did...). But in this never-ending world in which we live in..."

Perhaps that's what I should do: live and let live. 

The flight home was smooth. Smooth, but long – 11 hours and 40 minutes to be precise. We chased the sun for a while, across Siberia, but then the night time caught up with us until we were almost in the UK when we were briefly greeted by the early evening twilight. During the flight, to pass the time, I watched Incredibles 2 and Unsane, which starred Claire Foy. Both movies were good. I then watched an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, not to mention an episode of Family Guy. The rest of the time I spent at the back of the plane, standing up, stretching my legs and chatting to the cabin crew, munching the occasional mini Fudge bar, a couple of chocolate digestives and a Miniature Hero Mars Bar. So much for healthy eating.

The flight was late taking off and we reached London Heathrow Terminal 5 just before 7pm – we should have landed at 5.20pm. I thought about a taxi, even called my racist cab company, but there was nothing doing. The only options were a black cab or the train and I knew how much the former would cost me so I headed for the Heathrow Express, took the Circle Line to Victoria and then the East Grinstead train, getting off at Sanderstead where a much needed lift awaited me. 

I slept well from around 10.30pm until 6am, got up, had breakfast and then thought I'd finalise my blogposts on Tokyo, this one being the last.