In comparing the royal families of Britain and Japan, it has to be said that the differences are a lot more obvious than the similarities. One family are direct descendants of the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu Omikami; the other are the scions of dodgy 19th-century Germans. While young British royals chase posh totty and dress up as Nazis, their Japanese counterparts prefer birdwatching, rambling and the study of catfish. And never is the contrast between the two royal styles greater than at the new year.

The Windsors make full use of the holiday season, killing woodland creatures with powerful firearms. For Emperor Akihito's family, it is a time of preparation for the Imperial New Year's Poetry Reading. Next week, the Emperor, Empress and a hundred poets and dignitaries will gather to recite the poems known as waka, in which Japanese emperors have expressed their delicate sensibilities since the 13th century.

The Prince of Wales has watercolours, it's true, but it's hard to imagine him getting to grips with the waka, with its 31 syllables, strictly arranged into five lines in the 5-7-5-7-7 structure. Akihito and Empress Michiko knock out four waka apiece for New Year's Eve as well, reflecting on the year just gone by, and this year's offerings were helpfully put out in English by the Imperial Household Agency last week. Translating poetry is notoriously difficult and the waka usually come out sounding as poetic as the instruction manual for a vacuum cleaner.

To give an example: the Emperor went to the city of Uppsala to commemorate the scientist Linnaeus who established the system of binomial nomenclature for classifying living things. His poem on the subject runs thus: “Remembering Linnaeus/ And the binomial nomenclature/ He established,/ To this city I have come/ With the King of Sweden.”

That's the problem with 31 syllables: once you've packed in the facts there isn't a lot of room for the poetry. Indeed, the titles of the waka are almost as long as the poems - take the Empress's snappy offering, “The National Convention for the Development of an Abundantly Reproductive Sea, Shiga Prefecture”.

The imperial children take part in the poetry slam too and, as poets, they lay their position on the line: resolutely in favour of good things (full moons, motherhood, binomial nomenclature), and forcefully against bad things (earthquakes, wars). From time to time though, glimpses of something edgier flash between the lines, and experienced imperial watchers keep a vigilant watch for such moments.

There was Crown Prince Naruhito's 1993 poem about a flock of cranes and the fulfilment of his childhood dreams - a hint that he was about to announce his engagement. Then there was the Empress's waka about a visit to a Dutch war memorial in which she made reference to wreaths laid by anti-Japanese protesters. It doesn't sound like much, I know, but in British terms it would be like a Prince Charles watercolour of an unpleasant ginger toff in a Nazi uniform.

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