It is blossom time in Tokyo. An unruly pack of journalists, photographers and TV crews prowls the corridors of the Grand Prince Hotel Takanawa, where a world championship is taking place. Where’s the smart money going? Who’s looking good and who’s out of sorts? Who stayed out last night and who was tucked up in bed nice and early?
‘That’s Bruce, the coach of the Canadian team, he’ll know what’s cooking,’ mutters a colleague as an anxious looking guy scuttles past.

Disagree with half of it, enjoy reading all of it
TRY A MONTH FREE
Our magazine articles are for subscribers only. Try a month of Britain’s best writing, absolutely free.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate, free for a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first month free.
UNLOCK ACCESS Try a month freeAlready a subscriber? Log in