So I find out the Big Star’s press conference is at 12 noon, and it’s 11.05am. I cross town, with a heavy bag, but with a spring in my step. On my way my trusty amigo Catalan-jin telephones, and says the code words “I’m in, but it’s Japanese press only”. Great.

I arrive at the Posh Hotel, straight up to the second floor in the elevator. Step out, snappers everywhere. And Black Suits, there’s always Black Suits. Official Black Suits. They stop me from enetering the room in which the snappers are sitting about making the place look messy, making it look like the aftermath of a bombing.

“Who do you work for ?” The Black Suits ask.

“Japanese Press” I say.

“Which press ?”

“Japanese magazines” I say.

They’re suspicious of me. They write things down. They look at me. They ask “Will you write anything?”

“No, only photos, and only for Japanese press” I say.

They tell me again, “You can’t send these pictures abroad”

“Wakarimashita” I say, “No problem, Japan only”.

The Black Suits give me a ticket with the number 44 on it, and ask me to come back at noon. I check my watch, it’s 4 minutes to, I tell the woman I’ll just wait. I go into to the room which looks like a battlefield, and find Catalan-jin, hiding in a corner, keeping a low profile, with his gypsy ponytail, unshaven chin and trilby hat. We discuss life and the big questions it holds.

A while later, they start to call the numbers from the tickets. “Movie cameras here, Stills here, Journalists here…”. Ticket holder No.1 goes up, No.2 goes up… We presume we will get our pass, and then go into the area where the photo call will take place. The tickets enure that those who arrived first, and got low numbers, will get in first and get the best positions for photographing The Big Star. It’s fair, it’s democratic. Logical really.

No. It’s not logical, not in Japan. We queue with our tickets, No’s 36 for Catalan-jin and me, No.44, and we wait to go to the desk behind which more Black Suits wait. Eventually it’s us, we have to hand over a second business card, showing our numbered tickets. In return we get a booklet, a sheet of paper with layout of the photocall as a diagram, and a sticky press pass. And we get told to join the queue to our right.

So we don’t enter the press call room. We join another queue. We mull around, we reminisce about other jobs, other Big Stars.

Then, a Black Suited Woman asks us to all look at our tickets and to form two orderly queues, a queue made up of Pink ticket holders, and a queue made up of Blue ticket holders. We’re Pink. We stay where we are. We bitch about there being no coffee’s, and remember fondly the beautiful china cups at the Peninsula.

Just as we’re discussing the finer idiosyncracies of this crazy Pink Blue numbers queues system, another photographer says to us “How do you say numbers which are not 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 ?” We look at him. We’re photographers, not mathematicians. “Eh, odd numbers ? ” we venture, looking at each other. “Yes, odd numbers” he says, “they want us to go in as odd numbers and even numbers”.

We look at each other. We’ve handed over a business card to get a Pink number, then waited, then another business card to be told to join this queue in a room we were already making look untidy, then they form two queues from the one queue for Pink and Blue, and now they want to divide us between evens and odds. It was all very odd I tell you.  Meanwhile somewhere in the building the Big Star was having a cup of coffee no doubt.

So, then the numbers get called, “2-ban” and a guy files past us, into the photo call room. Gone. He had the best position, stage centre, floor level no doubt. “4-ban”. “6-ban”. Guys are shuffling past dragging stepladders and big lenses. Me and ’36-Ban’ are looking at our tickets, doing the maths.

Then as 34-Ban goes in, we get exicited. 36-Ban goes up, shows his ticket, walks in. I wait. 38, 40, 42, I’m edging forward. “44-ban”. House ! I’m in.

And we’re in the large room we’ve been sitting beside for the last hour. It’s a room, big chandelier, two podiums facing two areas for photographers. No daylight, very orange. We’re all directed to stand on the left area facing the Big Star’s podium area. Within the left area we can choose our position at random, the right area remains empty, obviously for all the Odd Numbered Photographers of the World. I take back row, centre, small Japanese girl in front of me not tall enough to get in my way. The Big Star’s backdrop is shocking, but my position’s good.

Getting in -the hard bit, is over, now the easy bit comes- the shooting. But first we wait, whilst the Big Star finishes his coffee.