I was discovering neither my jacket nor shoes were even vaguely waterproof. The rain was lashing so hard that I had to hold the umbrella in two hands, with my wet fingers clasping the plastic canopy to stop it turning inside out. Beneath this plastic shield, the backpack I was wearing across my chest yowled a protest.

Which was frankly a bit rich, since I was wrestling the umbrella for her benefit. Also, this was my second walk in the typhoon that was predicted to be the most powerful storm on record to hit the Greater Tokyo area.

“According to legend, the very origin of the Japanese race depended on the outcome of a sumo match.”

It was 5:25pm and I’d dashed from my seat to catch the bookstand in the Ryogoku Kokugaikan —Tokyo’s sumo stadium— to buy the ‎‎¥‎100 booklet on the history and rules of sumo. Since the tournament ended at 6pm, I’d arguably left this a little late.