And I couldn't help thinking there wouldn't have been much correlation of content between the seemingly girl-oriented Oz magazine and the underground magazine of the same title that attracted more than its share of attention in the early seventies.
From there it was on to the very impressive food section at Daimaru, where Madam, as we entered, jokingly remarked that they'd be conducting a wine tasting downstairs.
At least I thought she was joking.
We were in the green tea section with what appeared to be the wine section barricaded off behind a temporary facade, so that, I thought, was it for the tasting department, but after a visit to the cookie counter I was steered towards another discrete wine display where, yes, there were tasting options available.
There were red and white versions of Burgundy, the red very obviously Pinot Noir and the white equally obviously Chardonnay, as well as a couple of Italian styles. Much of what had Ben available for sampling was gone since it was late on the second last day of the promotion, but the Frascati and Trebbiano I tried would both have been quite acceptable, with the Frascati being, to borrow a phrase I picked up at Rockford, the sort of wine that invites itself to lunch. I left with a bottle of the Pinot Noir as we left in search of dinner in Chinatown.
We'd walked down the particular street on the evening of our first full day of this trip without surrendering to the shills of the spruikers outside the various establishments then, largely because we were elsewhere bound as far severing meals were concerned, and we passed most of them by again this time around because, basically, neither of us was particularly hungry.
A decision, however, had to be made, and after repeated What do you eel like eatings from Madam we settled on a place where the spruiker (or, in this case, not that I want to appear sexist the spruikess) was marginally less pushy than her neighboring confreres. I settled for a sweet and sour pork and a pitcher of draught beer, which was just the right quantity and combination as far as I was concerned, while Madam opted for a small platter of dumplings that were rather tasty.
The sweet and sour, by the way, bore scant resemblance to the Australian version, largely duets a total absence of pineapple. It made for a rather welcome change.
Outside, making our way back to Sannomiya it was obvious winter had set in, with December weather coming a good three weeks early. The conditions forced us into the underground maze that sits under most Japanese transit centers, taking us through passages lined with eating options and other small businesses and delivering us to the bus station just in time to see the shuttle bus heading off.
It wasn't that much of a disaster, but the time we'd spent going up and down stairs was probably the difference between catching the bus and waiting twenty minutes for the next one.
Back at base, of course, Hughesy was ready for bed, while Madam indulged in what was more than likely the last opportunity to have a lengthy Japanese style bath this time around.