I have to walk ten minutes from my hotel to a different hotel with my laundry. The rain is heavy; a super typhoon has hit, making the rain and wind stronger than any I’ve ever experienced. However, I need to do my laundry. The sky outside is the darkest grey. Eventually, I find the other hotel. Fortunately, the coin laundry is accessible directly from the street, saving me the awkwardness of entering a hotel where I’m not staying just to use their facilities.

The laundry room is accessed through a shutter door currently pried open by what looks like a rotten plank of wood, which is a little worrying. Outside, noisy construction work is taking place despite the weather. The noise makes it rather difficult to concentrate on my book. I plan to spend as little time as possible outside today, so there is no point traipsing back through the storm just yet.

Inside the coin laundry, the room is dirty. The old vending machines no longer dispense detergent; luckily for me, I bought a ¥28 single-wash-sized pouch on the way here. I sit reading, waiting for my clothes, occasionally glancing up at the dirty walls.

With the laundry done, I head back to the hotel as fast as I can. On the way, I notice abandoned inside-out umbrellas dumped on the street. I observe people ducking and diving into shelter, and I see areas of the pavement completely flooded. Meanwhile, the sound of sirens fills the air.

Back at the hotel, I sit by the balcony on the second floor of the lobby, quietly reading my book. I don’t mind rainy days, actually; I quite like the peace of sitting in silence and reading. It appears that a lot of people are holed up in the hotel today. Every now and then, someone walks to the window, sees that it is still raining, and then goes back to sit down. We are all waiting for the typhoon to pass.

At 3 p.m., I am allowed back into my room. As I use the hairdryer on my shoes, I keep an eye on the news. After a short while, I hear the words, ‘Nagoya Station.’

There on the news is the train station, with taxis parked outside and rain falling. The typhoon has moved north, but the backlash of rain still falls. The bullet trains have all been cancelled.

Japan’s biggest broadcaster NHK seems to love this sort of stuff; for the next two hours, all they talk about is the typhoon. Cut to: Windscreen wipers frantically moving back and forth. Cut to: Drains overflowing. Cut to: Businessmen trying to juggle briefcases and carry an umbrella, only for it to whoosh inside-out. Cut to: All the bicycles blown over by the wind. Cut to: Rivers overflowing. Cut to: Trees shaking in the wind. This is about all I see for twenty minutes, then the footage repeats, and then repeats.

Outside, the rain looks like a white sheet being hung over the skyline. The wind is stronger now, blowing the rain sideways, making it very difficult to see the buildings in the distance. The last super typhoon I experienced passed miserably through the night; I never really got to see the chaos that it caused. Sitting here, I realise just how gloomy and grey today has been.

Eventually, the rain stops, and the wind dies down. At 7 p.m., I head out to the twenty-four-hour supermarket. On the way, I pass a sign about littering: a ten million yen fine and five years’ imprisonment. Inside the supermarket, a digitally transposed version of ‘Dreams’ by the Cranberries is playing. I buy some cheese and a small bottle of wine. At the self-service checkout, I scan the wine; a message pops up, ‘Are you over twenty? Yes/No.’ I press ‘yes’ and then finish and pay. There’s no one around to check, just press ‘yes.’ Honesty is the best policy.

On the way back I pass a restaurant with a full set of Christmas lights. The full works.

Back at the hotel, I Skype with a friend from England. After that, I get deep into my reading until I finish my book. At 10 p.m., I head out to my nearest Family Mart to pick up some food. Inside Family Mart, that same Japanese song with the nice melody is playing. I can just make out a few words; hopefully, it will be enough to find out what it is.

When I return, I turn my attention to Japanese pop music. I listen to the top 30 songs in this week’s Billboard Japan Hot 100 chart. Oddly, Pharrell Williams with ‘Happy’ is at 29th. At 9th and 10th positions are two different songs from the same artist. A song from the anime Sailor Moon is in the top ten. AKB48 sister-band, SKE48, is number one. The song I am trying to find is nowhere to be heard.

Instead, I find myself staring at this sign in my hotel room:

I do eventually find out the name of the song I keep hearing. It turns out to be a cover version of the other song I’ve been hearing, the one from Disney’s Frozen: ‘Let it Go’. It’s a Japanese version played on the piano, sounding very different from the English version—and a lot better, too. I spend the rest of my evening listening to various Japanese versions of ‘Let it Go’ on YouTube but can’t find the particular version I like. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that, though. I cannot bear the responsibility.