Stars of sumo hoist and dump each other on the royal stage

A delighted, excited crowd gathered in London to see 'not only a sporting event, but a sacred ceremony'

- Andy Bull

At 6pm exactly, the first, and only, professional sumo dohyo anywhere outside Japan was finally ready.

The clay, shipped up from Kettering, where, the experts said, the ground had just the right consistency, had been shaped into a stage, the six-tonne wooden canopy, designed to replicate the roof of a Shinto temple, had been joined and hung from the roof, the rice-straw bales had been beaten into shape with empty beer bottles and laid in a circle around the ring, and the arena had been blessed by three priests, doused with saki, and strewn with salt.

Outside, the crowd was gathering underneath the streaming nobori banners, watching taiko drummers beat a welcome. There were corporate sorts charging their bar bills to company expenses, the diplomatic brigade, going to glad hand the Japanese ambassador at a VIP reception, and an awful lot of sumo super fans, some of them big men with beards who first fell in love with it when it was on Channel 4 in the early 90s, back when the station used to screen all sorts of exotic sports to fill the early mornings, some of them young women holding fans decorated with pictures of their favourite rikishi, some of them east London hipsters. Every one delighted, every one excited.