Until 1987, they were so few that they didn't even have a name. But in that year the furita - young, job-hopping part-time workers - were christened by an employment magazine. There are now an estimated 2-3 million furita in Japan, rejecting the schoolcompany-retirement path followed by their parents. The government reckons that this year, an estimated one in five university graduates became furita.

The term, a linguistic cocktail of the English word "free" and the German arbeiter (worker) adapted to local pronunciation, is a fine example of the adaptability of the Japanese language. But many regard the furita themselves as anything but a fine example. Surveys show that while the romanticism of their freewheeling lifestyle appeals to young people, the furitas' studious avoidance of full-time employment irks an older generation steeped in the work ethic.

"They do it because it's easy," grumbles Tokyo businessman Koji Ueda (56). They flit around; one day they are drivers, the next they are waiters.

"They will never become specialists," he says. "They can only exist in rich countries, not in places like Afghanistan or Colombia."

Seasoned furita Hatsuhiko Takeshima (25) acknowledges that his lifestyle is widely frowned upon. "Society would trust me more if I got a job," says Takeshima, who attended an elite high school and shocked his parents by rejecting the presumed path to university in favour of becoming a song-writing guitarist. Though his parents have still not come to terms with his decision, Takeshima is entertaining no thoughts of reversing course.

"I don't want to be a salaryman," he says, "because the company consumes you."

His and other furitas' unwillingness to enter the corporate rat race is understandable. In recent years, corporate Japan has lost most of its social shine. Recovering from what is often referred to as the "lost decade" of economic stagnancy, many businesses have ended seniority-based pay, job security and other typical benefits.

But if the current lot of a "salaryman" has its pitfalls, so does that chosen by furita. One of them is poverty. The pay for part-time employment is notoriously low. Toshikazu Tanaka (28) works a 24-hour week as a waiter, earning a fairly standard £6.50 an hour, about enough to buy a beer in pricey Tokyo.

Formerly a full-time office worker at a clothes manufacturer, Tanaka gave it all up when he was 23. "I got tired of the commute and the stress and wanted time for my music," he says, "now I am satisfied, but I have no money." He also has no girlfriend. And though he claims he is not looking for a mate, he acknowledges that most females would find the attractions of an aspiring musician living in penury somewhat limited.

Part-time piano teacher Kayo Wakao (29) concurs. She says poverty poses problems for furita when it comes to omiai - formal introductions to potential marriage partners.

But there are also wider economic issues at stake. With a rapidly ageing population, Japan needs its young people to knuckle down, if only to pay into its disastrously under-funded public pension system.