Japan, James May informs us at the beginning of his travelogue, is “about the most abroad place you can be” if you are from England. He has been there many times as a regular Joe before he got this commission from Amazon Prime Video, and his love for and fascination with the place shows. At least until he remembers who he is and what his brand requires, and lunges for an effortful joke about an automatic translator gadget. There’s a moment early on in the opening episode, when May has mastered the basics of dogsledding in the beautiful snow of Hokkaido and, after speeding smoothly through the silent majesty, forgets himself enough to make a reference to feeling like Prokofiev. We then labour through a fourth-wall break in which he tells us the crew are worried that line will make him look pompous and intellectual. They chat, wonder if Raymond Briggs or Elsa would work better, until the danger of seeming thoughtful or moved has passed. It must be exhausting.

But the travelogue itself is charming. Over three episodes, May moves from Hokkaido to Tokyo, taking in a day with one of the few samurai sword-makers left in the country, an octopus fishing expedition in Sapporo, a cat cafe, a parkful of the revered sakura (cherry blossom trees) in Tokyo and a penis festival in Kawasaki City. This last event is exactly what it sounds like: an honouring of the god of fertility by erecting and carrying around phalluses of various sizes and colours, if not shapes. May asks one of the overseers if there is any sense of embarrassment attached to the day. “Carrying a huge penis is embarrassing but necessary,” he is told unsmilingly. A penis festival is no place for jokes.

May assures us this will not be the usual travelogue about Japan. He finds under-publicised aspects of the culture, including the snowball fighting tournaments (yukigassen) and the yatai – food and drink huts which seat a handful of people, like a tiny pub. He keeps the pointing-and-goggling to a minimum (at least in the series’ first and final episodes, which were available for review – he may go nuts for manga boobs and used-knicker vending machines in the rest). But he nevertheless manages to find a deeply eccentric guide who insists on calling him “master”; to inspect the bum-warming, jet-washing toilet seats in the local department store; and join a group of salarymen doing karaoke after a hard day’s work.

I look forward to the day when May can relax and just be his own, non-Clarksonesque, non-Top Gear-affiliated man. When strenuously jocular interactions with the crew can be done away with, when he can refer to Prokofiev and penises without having to resile from either. When he can enjoy himself without having to stay on-brand and can let the jokes fall where they may. He seems to edge a little closer to freedom with every solo venture. Come on, James. You can do it.