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The Suo-hanaoka fox festival is an old celebration. Tradition says that foxes would get married at this time, bringing good luck for the harvest all across southern Japan.I was told it was mainly for kids, this was evident by the cotton candy and stalls offer small toys as prizes. After sampling some of the festival food, and enjoying the atmosphere, I found the main stage. After a while, two regally dressed actors emerged. Their kimonos were made of the finest silk, beautiful embroidery stretched from their shoulders to their feet. They sat upon a throne, both wearing a fox masks. Expressionlessly, their fox masks looked out at the crowd. In Japanese culture foxes love the traditional rice cake dessert; mochi. mochi is made from pounding rice until it becomes a sticky paste, then tearing it into balls that harden. After being warmed up, these balls soften again. Part of the festival was to show the foxes love of mochi by passing it out to children in the crowd. Children came to the front of the crowd, each holding a bag to try and catch sweet in, like a net. It was cute and seemed like good fun, then the fox actors pulled out the mochi. The crowd all leapt to their feet. This was quite impressive as almost everyone around me was well over seventy years old. There was bobbing and weaving in attempts to get in the best position. I looked around, confused at the old people. Wasn’t this for kids? Then the bombardment started. The foxes started hurling mochi into the crowd, not just at the kids but to where I was standing too. A ball of mochi hit my sunglasses, knocking a lens loose. It was at this point I realised the mochi was uncooked. It was still hard. Rocks of mochi continued to rain down from the stage. They seemed to have bottomless bags and the arms of professional baseball players. As ball after ball struck me, with bruise making potential, I was also being attacked on all sides by people older than my grandparents. mochi was falling to the ground. Nobody was able to grab it because of the inescapable scrum. An old woman darted between my legs, grabbing every ball that she could. An old man elbowed me sharply in the ribs as he tried to catch mochi that continued to rain down. Another woman grabbed mochi that had fallen into my hood. It was absolute madness. Finally the bombardment stopped. The elderly Japanese returned to their polite, reserved selves. I had only caught two mochi.