* This essay column is written by a longtime foreign resident of Japan.

Five, four, three, two, one. No, er Mr. Tracy, Thunderbirds were not go, but with the end of the countdown at midnight on television on New Year's Eve, my son and I were off to the local shrine for our first visit of the year -- and probably our last.

My wife was semiconscious on the sofa after overdosing on an evening of television "specials." Is there any other country or context where that word is so misused? As far as she was concerned we could have been about to enter 1904 and she showed no interest in joining our hatsumoude.

Now a visit to a shrine early on New Year's Day may not seem so special, even by Japanese TV standards, but at my advanced age, staying up past 10:30 p.m. is a major achievement. And, I'm not a great fan of queuing, or as Americans are wont to say, lining up.

The apparent willingness of the Japanese to queue for absolutely anything was one of my biggest culture shocks when I first arrived here in 1986. In my early days of bright-eyed naivete the rare occasions when my wife risked taking me out for a meal frequently ended with me strutting off, muttering something about rationing being over when confronted with a line of people waiting outside a restaurant.

But perhaps my biggest sense of achievement is because I am English and we don't have a tradition of celebrating New Year's.

Don't get me wrong, we're not all the dour, boring, killjoys that some people -- notably the French -- make us out to be. It's just that in the British Isles we're used to leaving all the festivities come Dec. 31 to the Scots.

It wasn't so very long ago that only Scotland in the United Kingdom had a national holiday Jan. 1, and when the rest of us were granted a day off on the first of the year, the Scots got Jan. 2 as well. I remember when I was growing up the television stations in England used to go off the air at midnight on New Year's Eve and hand over the airwaves to TV north of the border, and invariably to a Scottish celebrity called Andy Stewart -- whose main claim to fame was a hit song titled Donald Where's Your Troosers? -- and The White Heather Club welcoming in the new year with the swirl of kilts and the skirl of bagpipes.

My dad used to adopt and adapt Scottish tradition for his New Year's celebrations. He'd pop out the back door of our house just before midnight on New Year's Eve, kick his heels and have a cigarette in the garden until he heard the church clock strike 12, and then come in through the front door, bringing the new year in with him. If we had any, he'd bring in with him some bread, salt, a piece of wood or coal and, of course, some whisky to give his first footing a little bit of authenticity.

So coming from stock that was happy to assimilate foreign culture so readily, perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised to find myself standing in a queue at 15 minutes into the new year at my local shrine, sipping amazake with my 11-year-old son.

Perhaps it was the sacred surroundings or maybe just my son's presence, but I was on my best behavior and I spent the 50 minutes shuffling forward patiently rehearsing every few steps the required number of bows, claps and bows that I would be required to perform. Perhaps it was the amazake that made me feel so relaxed and at one with a couple of hundred Japanese -- a most unusual feeling. Or perhaps it was fortification from the soggy brown spaghetti -- OK, soba, but cultural assimilation only goes so far -- that I'd had on New Year's Eve to ensure a long life, well at least as long as it took us to get to the saisen-bako (offertory box) and throw our money in.

I'd welcome any comments or opinions, in Japanese or English, about my column. You can write or fax me at The Weekly, or e-mail me at jtweekly@japantimes.co.jp

The Japan Times Weekly: Jan. 24, 2004
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