We had a frustrating evening trying unsuccessfully to light the cooktop to cook a stir fry, and ended up having edamame beans and sparkling wine for dinner. Our morning was even more concerning – just freezing cold water. Now I’m no expert in the Japanese written language, but I reckon the red tag on the gas meter for our apartment might just say, ‘We have just cut off your gas until you pay your bill Mr Timo-san, Yours faithfully, Tokyo Gas.’ The owner has promised us warm showers by tomorrow evening.

Despite the cold showers, I am in love with Japan. Tokyo is by far the cleanest, most polite and quietest big city I have ever visited.  The food we have eaten is ridiculously cheap and fantastic quality. You can pay $4000 per kg for some steaks, even more for choice tuna, but most food is very cheap Everything is BEAUTIFULLY presented if possible. The. Japanese themselves have immaculate manners, however this has caused me some concern.

As you know, I love Italy. The streets are mayhem, drivers sound their horn every time they change gears. They yell at each other and shake fists. Parking lines are suggestions, If your car ends up on a footpath, so be it. Arguments and insults are all part of being Italian

The people themselves will push forward to get the best tomatoes, the next ticket or the last bottle of wine. They party on the streets, talk louder and louder and leave crap everywhere when they finally go home.

Japan is order. They would NEVER insult anybody in public, however when insulted they are willing to wait 50 years for the outbreak of hostilities before putting you , your family, and all your descendents to the sword. There are no bins, because the people never eat on the street. They take their rubbish home, or recycle it. They stick left on escalators, and enjoy standing in a queue – the wait sweetens the treat. Cleanliness and order is everything.

I have always suspected that either Ted or Myrl were Italian, probably Myrl. I can see myself living like a pig in Florentine mud, the sheer pleasure of it all. But this holiday I have become concerned about the woman I love. Her need for cleanliness and order, her patience, her immaculate manners. She sticks left on escalators. And she always cleans up after herself.

I am sorry to have to break this news to my own two children via a blog post, but Natalie, Mitchell, I suspect your mother is part Japanese. There can be no other logical conclusion.