Tuesday, October 31, 2006

The Week: In Pieces.





Have I Got News For You. It’s not a question, it’s an irrefutable statement.

The past week has been rather eventful, and this is the first chance I’ve had to write about it.

It’s been characterised by colonic abuse, verbal abuse, extreme fatigue, caffeine, beer, rapid mental arithmetic, diplomacy, bureaucracy and fond farewells.

So, as Ram-Man from He-Man might say – let me break it down for you. Go and get a cup of tea. Two sugars please.

Lets start at the beginning. You’ve started at the top again, haven’t you? Come on now. Scroll down to the bottom now there’s a good chap.

Read them in order otherwise you’ll be as confused as a blind lesbian at a fish stall.

I stole that joke by the way.

Safety: Helmut




A couple of days previously I called up Helmut and asked him if I could crash at his pad for a few days. He graciously offered me his spare room without quibble.

Monday morning I got up at 6.30am. I had to get to Helmut’s in Konosu for 9am, get installed, and then head back to head office to give instructions to the teachers covering my lessons and also to close my bank account.

So during rush hour I lugged my big red suitcase, laptop and rucksack across Central Tokyo. That was fun.

Helmut’s house is the real deal though. It’s so authentic; from the ultra-minimal emptiness of the living spaces to the tatami matting and very low tables, I keep expecting a ninja to come crashing through the screen doors at any moment.

I absolutely love it. And should I ever settle anywhere, and if I can do it without looking like a pretentious twat, I would like my house to look like this.
In one corner of the room he has a special alcove designed for displaying whatever is in season – whether that be a flower cutting, a branch or maybe an Oriental screen.

I said I thought he should put a big plasma screen TV in there. I don’t think he’s too keen.


Sunday Morning





Today I had to clean the flat in preparation for my moving out. Admittedly, it was in a bit of a state as I hadn’t really had the time or inclination to clean it.

Also I had to meet Eli for a fond farewell. Today was her 30th birthday. I had already met up with her and her brother Daichi (top bloke) a few nights earlier to break the news, but this was to be the final curtain.

Predictably, I spent the majority of the day in the internet café downloading podcasts and watching episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm on YouTube when I should have been scouring my Lilliputian kitchen.

Met up with Eli at Ueno at 3.00 and went for a walk around a big lake before nipping into a café for a pineapple milkshake and a plate of chips. Never let it be said that I don’t know how to treat a lady. Form an orderly queue, girls.

I hope I see Eli again. We’re only just getting to know each other and I’m off again, whilst she’s returning to England. I shall make every effort to keep in contact.

Back at the flat I started by scooping up all the crap from my floor and, as instructed by the big signs on my bin, separated it out into burnable and non-burnable piles. The Japanese government are very keen on the environment.

What do they do with the non-burnable rubbish? Burn it.

Brilliant.

Saturday Night





The next day, Saturday, was a real struggle. The week had been a bit hectic and I still had to think about closing my bank account, cancelling my phone and getting an airticket. Also I had to move out of my flat.

I had caffeined-up again – which is not me at all. I could feel the ebb and flow of aching tiredness underneath my coffee-jitters. “There’s going to be hell to pay when this all wears off” I thought.

I share my classes with Dave on a Saturday. He really is a top man. He was going to a Halloween party that night dressed as Harry Potter and had bought some specs and a red marker pen to draw the magic scar on to his forehead. Nevertheless, we resolved to go to the Izakaya for a few that night.

And so I embarked upon my last day of teaching with the Shane Corporation. Yusei (pictured) was as entertaining as usual and this time didn’t piss on my floor, Mrs Mouse was as ineffectual as ever and darkhorse-salaryman Jun said he would use the word “angry” to describe his wife before using his fingers to make the “horns” gesture.

All-in-all a pretty run-of-the-mill day, then, and by 6.30 I was with Dave, drinking pints of Nambam and ordering skewers of chicken bollocks covered in soy sauce.

Had a pretty entertaining conversation about the 90s - Britpop, Cool Britannia and TFI Friday - but in doing so both realised that we were getting very old. It’s depressing that I have now reached the age where I can talk nostalgically and authoritatively about bygone eras.

Next, it will be “When I were a lad, all I had for Christmas was an Acorn Electron. Only 32k, but I were happy”

After 3 beers I could feel the week catching up with me and Dave had to get to his Halloween party to cast some Cruciata Curses (the most deadly spell of all, non-Potter fans) and so we resolved to give each other loan of a sofa for the night whenever were in 50 miles of each other.

I’d like to keep in touch with Dave. He would have been a good mate. Not that he’s died or anything.

I got home. Tried to write a blog entry, failed, and so ate some chocolate digestives instead.

Friday Afternoon

So, Friday I was back over to head office to inform them of a revised plan.

I knew it wasn’t going to go down too well as Duncan had made me promise that I would work to the 18th. Also, the “ill-relative” excuse is the most common in the book. Two reasons: first, it means that you can leave almost immediately and second, people are reluctant to question you on such a sensitive subject.

But this was genuine. And I had to convince them that this was so.

There was no body really at head office so I left a message with Duncan. By the time I had got to Misato he had called.

“You have to understand, this does look like a bit of a coincidence…” he said. “Especially after you agreed to work until the 18th”

“To be honest, Duncan, I’m not bothered how it looks. My priority is now to get home” I replied.

“OK” He said. “Well I’ll be over your way at 3.30 for a Leaving Teacher meeting”.

He arrived on the dot and we sat down quickly to discuss what needed to be done.

“I’ve spoken to Nishi Kasai (Shane’s Bond Villain-HQ)…. and I have to say they don’t believe you” he said. “But, it doesn’t make any difference. I believe you, and I think you’re probably going to leave anyway, aren’t you?”

Again, he was very accommodating. He gave me a leaving questionnaire to fill in. It was in the shape of a grid. Down the side it had “Reasons For Leaving” and across the top “a very strong factor; a strong factor; a factor; possibly a factor; not a factor”.

The thing that interested me though, was that the “reasons for leaving” were all the things I’ve ever moaned about on this blog: standby/cover ; teaching children ; long hours ; teaching materials.

In short, it’s clear they know exactly what’s wrong with the company.

On reasons for leaving I ticked “not a factor” for “don’t like Japan” because I bloody love it. And also I ticked “possibly a factor” for “management” because Duncan and Neil have been great and are just as much pawns in this game as I.

“Don’t worry about that” he said “People have ticked ‘a very strong factor’ for management whilst sat right in front of me before now”

Resign O’ The Times

Today was a good day to resign. My Director Of Studies, Duncan, had already guessed as much after I had requested the meeting a few days earlier.

We sat down in an empty office, and I laid it out as I saw it. Namely, that Shane is a company that has delusions of competency: missing teaching materials, poorly photocopied maps, contradictory instructions, inadequate training. Furthermore, I added that though each incident seemed rather petty in isolation, each teacher experiences 50 such incidents a day.

I suggested had there been a map of all the Shane schools with a pin marking-up every daily cock-up, if you zoomed out you’d see a billion pins all making a big mosaic of Shane’s face.

Duncan was great. He even laughed at that joke. Really, he’s a decent bloke working for a shit company. He was very complimentary about my teaching, saying that feedback from parents and students alike had been very good and took no exception to my lambasting of Shane.

“I think you have high-standards” he said which, it occurred to me, by implication, suggested Shane had low-standards.

Additionally, he claimed I had joined at a bad time and that this was the worst shortage they’d had in two years. I accepted that this may be true but, really, it was too late. I was ill because I was tired and I was tired because I was ill.

I also found out that Lee, the tosser from yesterday, had been called in for a “special meeting” about his conduct. Good.

We agreed a final date: 18th November.

And that, I thought, was that.

But when I got home that night things changed again. I phoned The Midlands to let the folks know I was coming home but on speaking to my Dad, found out that my Grandpa was not only in hospital but also was very ill.

This was another reason for me to get home as soon as I could. My plans needed to change.

Arsehole

Out of the last 6 weeks, 4 of those weeks were spent working 6 days-a-week, 11 hours a day. Admittedly, my super-hardcore chef friend Andy could do this in a blink of an eye, but I think he likes pain.

I was knackered. I mean at a cellular level. I’ve never been as tired as this. I hope I never am again.

On the Tuesday I was exhausted and had a dicky tummy and so decided to phone in sick. However, because I had ummed and aahed about the ethics of this until about 9.45, all the sick-cover teachers had been used up.

“I’m sorry” said the bloke at Head Office “get through the day as best you can, and call your Director of Studies if you have any problems”

Er.....OK.

As it happened, my day wasn’t too bad. I loaded up on caffeine, and did my best. Highlight of my day was giving a lecture on the history of Bonfire Night to a load of housewives at only 30 minutes’ notice whilst off my tits on Nescafe and Coffee Mate.

I did it all from memory and I think I got most of it right: I told them Guy Fawkes lived on a houseboat in Leicester and invented the scone. That’s right, isn’t it?

So on Wednesday, still feeling like Guy Fawkes after a night on the rack, the cake rack that is, I thought I’d get my sick request in early.

The procedure is thus: you phone head office; they give you the number of the standby teacher; you phone the standby teacher and give them the details of your classes.

Except when I finally got in contact with the standby teacher, he abused me down the phone for having the audacity to call in sick.

“You better be fucking ill” he said in a tone which carried the snide pomposity of Paxman, but the dim-witted arrogant aggression of Liam Gallagher. “What’s the matter with you, anyway?” he added.

Who are you, The Evil Dr Finlay?

At this point I made the decision that I love my Wednesday classes so much I wasn’t going to have that twat teach my kids. So, indignant, I phoned back head office, told them that their standby teacher was an unspeakable dick, and that I was going in anyway.

20 minutes later I had a call from Jed, another Director of Studies:
“Yeah, how you doing, Phil? It’s Jed. I hear Lee’s been causing problems again”

Note the use of the word “again”. Turns out that I was right: he is really is an unspeakable dick, and one who is causing many problems for the Shane management team. Accordingly, I was asked to transcribe the conversation and fax it across to the head honchos.

So, no day-off Wednesday either, then.

“Gosh, this is fun isn’t it?” I thought.

Then I thought “No, it isn’t”

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Odaiba and Kamiyacho - need sound and broadband

Finished this one off yesterday. Only 2 minutes long.

Go on, you know you want to.
Tokyo Video no 1 - need sound and broadband

Posted on YouTube. I cobbled this together from photos and footage what I took.

This is couple of months old, now.

You do get a glimpse of my flat though.

The End Of The Beginning. And The Beginning Of The Next Bit

So that’s it. I think I’m about done.

Another country beckons and it’s the law of diminishing returns now in Japan.

What a fantastic country this is. What an amazing people. What an admirable culture.

But what a shit job. What a terrible organisation. What a punishing task.

I have questioned whether I’m doing the right thing, but usually by 9.00pm, 10 hours and 25 students later, if you offered me an airticket home, I would snatch it out your hand. Then I’d probably punch you because you had a better day than me.

(Paul, mate, back me up on this one: you’ve seen me come home from work at 10.30 as grumpy as hell. I’m not imagining this, am I? It is shit, isn’t it?)

I think my reasons for staying are outweighed by the reasons for leaving, and now my task is to extricate myself from this situation.

But this is not the end. In fact (wheels in two-tonne cast-iron cliché), it’s the beginning. Or, at the very least, the first third.

Truthfully, I’ve been bitten by the travel bug. Right before I swatted it with a rolled up copy of Total Film magazine.

Yes, this living away from home lark is rather good. There’s an almost child-like excitement to it - like reading your Whizzer and Chips annual by torchlight after your Mum has told you to put your light out.

I’m planning to return home to the Midlands for a short while, before heading off somewhere else. Candidate cities include:


* Sydney
* Auckland
* Vancouver
* Montreal
* Dubai
* Huddersfield


The reality is I know very little about any of the above cities, but then again I didn’t know that much about Tokyo before I came here.

Yes, it may turn out that Sydney is full of beer-swilling, cork-hatted twats, Auckland is as about as much fun as a mortuary, Vancouver is full of Bryan Adams fans and Dubai is a toilet. But at least I’ll have fun finding out. Huddersfield, however, will always be rock and roll capital of the world.

Oh and if anyone wants to suggest a city, they are most welcome to do so. I’m not really one for slumming it - ie living in a hut made from rice, poison darting my dinner or wiping my arse on moss – so really I am looking for a bit of civilisation, although that’s Australia out, I fear.

But if anyone knows of any particularly interesting cities, I would love to know.

Wherever I end up it may not be as exotic as Tokyo, but I would ask that you join me on this blog for the next instalment of my journey.

Go on. Please say you will.

Friday, October 20, 2006

This Is The News

Bit voyeuristic, this..... but I typed this email to my friend Andy and realised it made rather a good blog entry.

Kind of had to mention it was a email first, otherwise Andy, upon checking the site may start to think I had taken to replying by simply copying and pasting blog entries into return emails.

Which of course would have been very lazy.

Anyway, I have edited it down, removing all the private chat and compromising information and have left you with the important news:



This is a long email. Go and get a mint tea. Or a smoothie. Whatever you Londoners drink these days.

Apologies for lack of comm. Things at this end have been er...busy. More on that later. (Who Am I, Moira Stewart?)

Speaking of Kristy, I her emailed her to ask her if she remembered that one of the last things she ever said to us was that we could look her up anytime.

She was as sunny as ever and emailed back in 18 minutes.

"Hi Phil,Long time no hear. Glad to hear you made it to Tokyo. That is great news!!good on you! How is andy? Has someone else moved in after you left? Didyou finally find a replacement for me!! :)

I will probably still be in Sydney. You definately have to come and visit me if you make it over here. I now have an english guy living here, he just moved in. Cant seem to get away from them!! heheh just joking!!!"


This brings me on to my last point. I am handing in my notice. Number of reasons.

The hours are making me ill. I know, know. I am a gay, you are rock and roll etc.

But this 6 day a week malarkey is ridiculuous. Last month I had 3 six day weeks and two days holidays taken from me for "training".

This month was meant to be easy. And I've already had one of my days taken off me. I haven't had more than two days off in a row since the first weekof August. And 90pc of them have been floating isolated days.

Never mind, I thought. I'll book a week off in November. Literally, as I was thinking this, a fax was buzzing its way out of the machine. It said"no more days booked off until Christmas - by order of the management".

I can't tell you how knackered I was on Wednesday. Actually I can. I had to drink three cups of McDonald's rocket-fuel coffee just to function. Needless to say the next day (yesterday) I didn't know what day it was (soit might not have been yesterday after all).

Called in sick two days on the trot, legitimately I might add, because I was totally exhausted. Don't have time to do anything, or see anyone. Would like to get to meetsome local women, but too knackered, could only see them once, maybe a max of twice a week.

All this for 14k a year? No fucking thankyou. I know this wasn't meant to be a holiday, but I didn't think it would be the Burma Railway either. I could be earning 14k for doing far, far less.

As I see it, I've nearly done here. I've walked down their streets, eaten their food, watched their TV, spoke to countless people about their lives, been up some towers, travelled on some futuristic transport, visited some temples, seen Mt Fuji at sunset and learned one of their alphabets. The easy one obviously.

I've just dinged a bell and gone "OK. Next"

Am now going to extricate myself ASAP. Come back to England, recuperatefor about for a month. Then go to Oz, or NZ or Canada in the New Year.What do you know of Montreal or Vancouver?

On a completely different subject I have now seen three episodes of the new series of Extras on YouTube. I deem them to be of a very high quality.Much better than the first series. But a real big nod to Curb Your Enthusiasm with the whole self-referential, is-it-the-real-me-or-is-it-not type stuff.

That is all

Please reply.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

What’s Wrong With This Picture?




We are but soldiers in a war, and these are the weapons I have been given.

These are the SAC textbooks (Shane Advanced Course), helpfully colour coded via nonsensical spectrum: Green, Yellow, Orange, Red, Purple, Blue, Silver.

Coincidentally these are also the colours of the bruises sustained by my ego when I teach from them.




Here we see an excerpt from one of these enthralling tomes. This is the last unit of the top level textbook. If you look closely the unit is about Cornwall. The grey box at the bottom says:

Where is Cornwall? And why do people go there?

Two questions I’ve often asked myself.

I’m joking, obviously. I know where Cornwall is.




This picture is from one of the kids’ books.

Here we see an all-too common domestic situation: a dragon asking a chipmunk if there is a lemon in the fridge.

Take a look at the picture, because I have a few concerns about this:

First, though out of shot, I should tell you that the chipmunk is fully clothed. Presumably, then, it is accepted that this is a world where animals adopt human characteristics. But if that is so, this must mean the dragon is sat drinking his tea totally bollock naked.

Actually, I lie. He is wearing a tie. Either way I’m disgusted. I tell you, scratch the surface of suburbia and those no telling what you’ll find.

Second, all that appears to be in the fridge is five eggs, a melon and a fish fillet. What are they going to cook with that? Even contestants on Ready Steady Cook have access to basic provisions.


The dragon, realising with no lemon he’ll be having fish-melon omelette again tonight thinks “I’m pissed off. I know he’s OK with my being a naturist and everything, but this whole lemon incident is just typical. He hasn’t bought any bog roll for ages, either.”

Meanwhile back in the real world, I am meant to use this as a basis for two, 60 minute lessons. Let me make this clear. That is “Very Difficult”.

I think in this lesson I would invite the children to give me a postmodern critique of the picture page, asking them to consider the interplay between the dynamism of the anthropomorphic symbology and its juxtaposition within a contemporary environment.

They love all that stuff, don’t they, kids?

Desperate Dan

A couple of weeks back I went to a “Welcome To Shane” party.

2 and a half months late, but never mind. They would have thrown one sooner apparently but, such was the chronic shortage, there weren’t actually enough teachers to cobble together to make a party worthwhile. Hence they had waited 2 months and saved up enough new recruits to justify the expenditure.

It was held in an izakaya - a traditional Japanese inn – and was a proper-sit-cross-legged-at-a-very-low-table type affair. There was food and beer, and it was all good. Apart from the pork cheek kebab which like was chewing on a pig’s arse.

Any road, I met a brand new teacher called Dan that night and briefly exchanged a few pleasantries. His first lesson was the very next day and he was full of enthusiasm and couldn’t wait to get stuck in.

Fast forward 3 weeks. Tonight, I saw him on the train back from Takashimadaira.

I caught up with him on the platform and asked him how he was getting along. “Nightmare” he said, this time with no enthusiasm, before proceeding to unload his woes.

He’d had such a bad first day that he’d phoned second-in-command Neil at head office to say he’d had enough already. He’d also asked that Neil come down and give him a hand in the lessons, as the kids were apparently running amok.

Although I hadn’t resorted to phoning head office, his experiences were a carbon copy of my first week – the kids, the lessons, the set-up.

“Nobody is telling me what I should be doing. I just feel like there’s no support” he concluded.

As he told his tale, I could do nothing but nod sagely. He was right about everything. It’s so reassuring to hear someone reach the same conclusions.

So I decided to give him some Mr Miyagi-like advice:


* Don’t worry about the standard of the lessons to start with. Just concentrate on getting out alive.

* The Shane manual’s suggested lesson plans are often bollocks. If something doesn’t work, dump it. If it works, bank it and use week after week (young kids love repetition).

* You are pretty much unsackable. Shane is desperate for teachers. Unless you have done something unspeakably bad eg using classes to try out your new ultra-racist stand-up comedy routine, they cannot afford to lose you.

He seemed to find it all very useful. He thanked me as we parted company at Akabane station.

I feel like a ‘Nam veteran. Or rather a ‘Pan veteran. I might get a tattoo.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Safe As Houses



At 6.30am there was another earthquake. Had I been asleep, I may not have even noticed, but after drinking a litre of water just before I went to bed, I had just got up to have a tinkle.

I’d just dived back in to bed when there was a bang and the whole flat began to shake. In fact, wobble is probably more accurate or maybe very rapid swaying.

My flat is basically a tin can slotted into a huge Meccano shelving unit, and consequently all I could hear all around was the bell-like ting-ting-ting-ting-ting-ting-ting of the metal bolts, fixtures and fittings as they “tinged“ off each other.

By this point I was wide awake and contemplating my next move. The flat had been shimmying for about 30 seconds now, and my thoughts turned to the metal stairwell which zedded its way down to ground level from my third floor suspended walkway. If that falls off, I thought, I’m going to have to do a Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon-style wire-jump on to the neighbour’s roof.

But soon it had stopped. And I had gone back to sleep.

I Don’t Predict A Riot

I’m probably tempting fate, but Tokyo seems such a safe city.

In my many chats with the residents of this city, I have often asked if there are any areas of Tokyo which are dangerous or that I should stay away from. Usually they ponder this for a while, before saying “Oh yes…..do you know Kabuki-cho San-chome?”.

Now, I’ve been to Kabuki-cho San-chome and it’s about as dangerous as Royal Tunbridge Wells. The area, just behind Shinjuku station, is home to Japan’s “adult entertainment” district – strip bars, restaurants, knocking shops, DVD stores, curry houses and late-night hostess bars.

At night it’s populated by all and sundry – young kids with their big hairdos, dolled-up women in knee-high socks and Japanese businessmen diving surreptitiously into darkened doorways.

But really, it’s actually not that much different to Soho. And it certainly seems no more dangerous.

Scottish Dave and I put this to Kozue, our Sendagi school manager, last night over beer and Japanese Tapas (Japas). Predictably, and without prompting, she had named and shamed Kabuki-cho San-chome as an area to stay away from.

Pursuing the issue, Dave and I went on to tell her about problems on housing estates in Great Britain – drugs, joyriding, mugging etc – and cited examples such as Hackney, Peckham and The Gorbals in Glasgow. “These are places we would never go into” we added.

“Really?” she said, looking surprised “I can’t think of anywhere like this in Tokyo”.

And this does seem to be the case. There are no real housing estates in Tokyo, and what penury and poverty exists appears to be hidden. Only the occasional homeless person tips you off that all may not be well in this near-perfect society. And even he appears to have a better standard of clothes than your average London tramp.


Pardon?

As a footnote, I had asked the question about dangerous areas of Tokyo to a student I teaching for a one-off lesson yesterday.

“Oh, don’t go to Kabuki-Cho San Chome” she said “It’s very dangerous”

“Why?” I asked.

“The Gays” she said

At this point, I thought that she had maybe selected the wrong word. I looked at her in puzzlement in an attempt to her coax her in to explaining herself.

She took my signal and scrabbled for her little electronic translator, tapping at it for few seconds before saying:

“Ah....I mean. ..homosexuals”

Had I been drinking a cup of tea I might have spit out in a comedy style.

“Er “I said “Why could they possibly be dangerous?”

“They drink a lot” she said

“What?!” I said, not trying to disguise that I was a bit narked.

I did try to take her on and to argue her down, but you could see from the blank expression on her face she wasn’t really sure what was I trying to say.

Namely, there’s no sub-cultural group or community on Earth less dangerous than, as she puts it, “The Gays”. When was the last time you saw a gay riot?

Stupid cow. And this wasn’t some old fuddy-duddy either; it was a 30-year old nurse. Pity because she was actually quite attractive. And we all know what nurses get up to.

Later I recounted this tale to the school manager. “Hmm...people in Japan not as open-minded as London” she said with an almost defeatist tone.

Super, Tramp

Today, Jun came out with another rather baffling answer to a question I had posed.

If you remember Jun is the businessman who, although initially appearing rather repressed, revealed that he goes out after work and gets so drunk that if you mapped out his human genome it would spell ”blotto” in chromosomes.

I had prepared a lesson on horoscopes to help him practise describing personal traits, and thought as a nice lead-in we could brainstorm ways of predicting the future. Tucked underneath my textbook was small piece of paper where I had jotted some ideas: crystal ball, tarot cards, palm reading.

“So Jun” I said “What methods of predicting the future are there?”

“Tramps” he responded

“Tramps?” I said quizzically, hoping my tone and expression would force him to correct himself.

“Tramps. Yes” he said nodding sagely


Well obviously he’s just got the wrong word, I thought

But then those thoughts turned to Jun’s after-hours exploits and I wondered if that, after a heavy salaryman sauce session, he’d perhaps happened upon a magic tramp with the power to predict the future.

Then later when he got home, maybe he had told his wife all about the tramp that lived in the alley behind the karaoke bar, and she had made him sleep in the spare room. Just as the tramp had predicted.

Square Bashing


Akabane town square is home to some of the most piss-poor street performers I have ever seen. They make the “standing-very-still” twats in Covent Garden look like Cirque du Soleil.

My favourite was the man who was treating morning commuters to what I can only describe as a song and dance routine.

He was dressed in lemon dungarees and accompanied his indecipherable warbling with a series of dance moves based on a 1980s Soviet gymnastic routine - all robotic arm movements, star jumps and stiff-limbed “balances”. In his hand he held a small plastic maraca which fizzed noisily with each diagonal slash of his windmilling arm.

People ignored him. I think he was a bit special.

However, the week after, the town square was home to these Taiko drummers. And it was bloody fabulous.

You don’t realise how loud these thing are; you can feel it inside your chest. Without wanting to resort to sappy clichés, the almost primal beating and accompanying war-like roars from the drummers instantly conjure up images of invading oriental hordes, rain-soaked samurai battles and mystic temples showered by sheets of arrows. A real Akira Kurosawa moment.

These were only kids as well. I’d love to see this done properly.

Incidentally, that day, Dungaree Maraca Man was not in sight.

In Sickness And In Health I Said, “Yeah, Alright”


As I suspected, no Thursday off for me.

If you are on sick standby, between the hours of 9am and 10am you sit and stare at the phone very hard and concentrate on not making it ring.

My concentration obviously wavered around 9.45, when the shrill electronic tones of my mobile cut through the silence.

Damn. I answered it hoping it was the boss just ringing me up to say “...just thought I’d call to let you know we think you’re doing a super job and that you should have the week off”.

But no.

An admittedly very ill sounding girl came on the phone. “Hello. My name is Katie. Can you cover my lessons for me?”

So it was off to a random school for me for a day of teaching random students. 6 hours of lessons lay ahead of me. This was on top of the 6 I had done the day before, and the 5 and a half the day before that.

After luckily spotting a misprint in the Shane manual which would have sent me about 20 miles in the wrong direction, I set off. I was knackered before even I got there, so I spent the journey working on a very strongly worded internal monologue.

The day wasn’t bad. The school was nice and clean and the receptionist was gorgeous. She said she previously been a model. Obviously, I was intrigued to find out whether she had been a model, or a “model”.

Alas it was a model. Otherwise I could have used Gena’s chat-up line “Haven’t I seen you on the internet?”

Classes were fairly straightforward, if a little unrewarding. First up some housewives. Nowhere near as amiable or chatty as my regular lot.

The unofficial head of the group had a man’s haircut and wore huge, smoky Randolph Aviator shades, which she peered through with a steely gaze. She looked like a lesbian hitwoman.

Sat opposite her was a 60something woman with blue hair. And I don’t mean some light purplish rinse. We’re talking TARDIS blue here. Had her head been capable of an owl-like rotation, she could have doubled as a police siren. I resisted the urge to consider whether collar and cuffs matched.

Actually, I just did, when I typed that. Damn.

Then it was a class of 7 year-olds who took me by surprise on account of them being rather thick. Most kids of their age know the alphabet – my kids certainly do – but this lot knew next to nothing.

At first their wild guesses to my letter cards were amusing then, after a while, infuriating.

It went down something like this:

I had put down a card with a “b” on it. The “b” looked like a banana. This is because banana begins with a “b”. Come on, keep up. So….

Me: What letter?

Kid 1: er...F?

Me: No

Kid 2: K?

Me: No

Kid 1: F?

Me: No......not F. What letter?

Kid 3 (suddenly very loudly): Q!!!

Me: No

Kid 1: F?

Me: Right......stop saying F. It’s not F. OK? What letter?

Kid 4 (even louder): P!!!

Me: No

Kid 1: F?

Me (under breath): For fucks sake


More interesting, the class was headed up by the hilariously named Won-Suk. Draw your own conclusions.

Wearily, I made my way home, ready for another two days of teaching. My next day off is Sunday. They can’t take that off me.

At least I hope not.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Mount Fuji At Sunset From Observation Pod


...click to enlarge 

Observation Pod at Fuji TV

Escalator Up To Fuji TV.....


...it's like a set of stairs that go up.

And down

On The Rainbow Bridge....


.....Buck Rogers not in shot

Approaching The Rainbow Bridge....

....on the Yurikamome Line, a private railway with a swish futuristic train

Future Perfect

If you could have told my 7 year-old self that in 2006 I would be living in Tokyo, I would have wet my pants with excitement.

“Wow. Tokyo in 2006. Imagine that: there’ll be teleporting stations and everybody will be living in pods in the sky”

Well, not quite. But not far off.

Yesterday, I went to Odaiba. In Japanese, it means “fortification”, and is a kind of semi man-made island type-thing off the South West coast of Tokyo. Apologies for the inelegant phrasing, but to be honest I’m not exactly sure how it came into being.

Odaiba is, for the most part, a glimpse of the 21st Century as it was seen by people in 20th Century: gleaming skyscrapers; sleek criss-crossing transport networks; impossibly-wide concrete boulevards with obtuse modern art sculptures positioned at junctions of pedestrian walkways.

I bloody loved it. There’s something about the cold, clinical precision and antiseptic perfectionism that appeals.

Similarly, it puts you in a cinematic frame of mind. Indeed it’s reminiscent of those films whose vision of the future was not dystopian - eg Blade Runner - but rather utopian; a perfect, sleek, stylised future. Look at films like Gattaca, A.I and Equilibrium......and also have a good look at your iPod.

And to my 7 year-old self I would say this: there is indeed a place called The Teleport Station. I’m not sure what happens there, although I’m guessing it’s not teleporting in the real sense.

Also, although people don’t live in pods in the sky, they can get a great view over Odaiba and across Tokyo Bay from the brushed steel observation pod atop Fuji Television’s HQ.

Here are some lovely photos. They're above this post because as we all know, you read a blog from bottom to top.

I bet you've already looked at the photos, haven't you. Tsk.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Ian McGaskill


There’s a typhoon on the way. Shit.

Usually, it’s the Southern Japanese islands of Shikoku and Kyushu that get a right kicking, but this time boffins have said it may reach Tokyo. And we all know never to argue with boffins.

If it hits, it will be on Monday. My day off. Can’t work out whether this is a “good thing” or a “bad thing”.

By way of an overture, we’ve been having some good storms complete with hard core lightning. If you were out in it, it was not so much singing in the rain, as singeing in the rain.

Realising that we were in for a bit of a rough ride, I was overjoyed to find an old rain cape that Paul had left behind. I think he’d used it on a rafting trip in Thailand or something.

This morning I ventured out wearing 1 anorak (bought at Next in Burton on Trent), 1 rain cape (from a raft in Thailand), and sporting a ¥200 umbrella I found behind the washing machine in my flat. And I still got soaked.

Above is a picture of a brolly I found in the street. As you can see the wind has wrecked it. There was two other brollies strewn close by, both in the same condition.


So, yes, it’s raining. At least I hope it is. It could be that the world is ending. This apocalyptic torrent has already caused me grief tonight and the typhoon isn’t even here yet. Here’s why:



Rickmansworth

Misato school is in the arse-end of nowhere serviced by only one line; the Mushashino line. About 7 o’ clock school manager Hitomi peered out the window, through the hardcore downpour, and over to the station, and said:

Hitomi: I am watching to see if they shut down the Mushashino line. They always shut it down in bad weather

Me: Er.....OK....how do I get home then?

Hitomi: Hahahaha. Yes

Me: Yes what?

Hitomi: Yes. Good question.

Me (expectantly): Right.......so.........

(24 seconds of silence)

Me: Er....OK....can I take a bus?

Hitomi: No. No bus.

Me: Taxi?

Hitomi (wincing): Oooh no!

Me: Er......

(24 more seconds of silence)

This was a big problem. For those of you who live in London, this was a bit like being stuck in somewhere like Rickmansworth or Chorleywood and needing to get home to Clapham when the only overland line is down.

Luckily, I was rescued by one of my students.....



The Dynamic Duo

Enter Yoshinori. He’s 30 years - old and one cool mofo. He wears a baseball cap at a slightly jaunty “rap” angle and also sports a wicked, wispy Fu-Man-Chu beard.

I’ve recently started saying to him: “What’s the story, Yoshinori?”. He loves this and echoes it back with a double pointing of the fingers, like some kind of Oriental Fonzie.

He shares the class with one other lad – Takashi – who is poles apart from Yoshinori. Takashi is 20 years old, rather bookish and probably likes space or something. They are both sound as a pound and recently the lessons have become far more relaxed - a bit like mates sat round having a chat. I like that.

Seeing I was getting a bit agitated about how the chuffing hell I was going to get home, Yoshinori intervened.

“Fideep” he said “If train been cancelled come back to school. I will take you in my car”

I shook his hand firmly. Top man!

“How will I know if the train has been cancelled, though” I said

Takashi stepped in “I will check for you. Come with me to station”.

Minutes later we were out in the street getting battered by sheet rain. When we arrived in the station people were shaking their umbrellas and matting down their damp hair whilst craning to see the scrolling messages. Clearly the trains were on the blink.

“One minute, please” said Takashi and went over to talk to a rather burly man behind a little window. They jabbered for a bit, before Takashi came back and said “There is train at platform right now. But will travel slowly. Come quick”

He buzzed himself through the gates with his Penguin Card (their version of the Oyster Card) and we raced up the escalator. The train was at the platform and I dived on. Takashi waited at the platform to see me on the train, and even fired a quick “Minami-Urawa desu ka?” across to the train guard to confirm I was on the right train.

“See you next week” he shouted as the doors closed

“Ja matane li shu” I echoed back “and say thanks to Yoshinori”

What a pair of top blokes.


Bard Attitude

I tell you what though - the Japanese really know how to name their natural disasters.

Words like typhoon and tsunami are so much more menacing and effective than, say, twister - which sounds like an icelolly - or monsoon - which sounds like a posh dress shop. And in Australia, they have The Willy –Willies, so insert your own joke here.

I’ll try to keep you updated as the eye of the storm moves closer. And I thought I met end on a literary note:

Hey ho, the wind and the rain
For the rain it raineth every day

It’s the final rhyming couplet from Twelfth Night, you philistines.

It was written by some fella called William Shakespears.

He was like this man who like wrote plays ages ago and looked a bit like that actor Thingy Fiennes. You know - that bloke who keeps walking to the South Pole or something.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

A Nice Big Thank You

Just a note to say thank you to everyone who has been reading my blog. I didn’t realise when I started it that people would read so avidly or even bother posting comments.

I really do appreciate it. Teaching English out here is quite a solitary job, so it’s good to hear from my friends.


Keep reading and keep posting. Or I’ll get the hump.

The Wednesday Wonders

Wednesday is my longest day; about 6 hours of lessons and about 11 hours in school. Fortunately, Wednesday has some of my favourite classes.

First up we have The Housewife Cabal, a phalanx of five flirty 55 year-olds who treat the class as a kind of an unofficial WI meeting.

Nevertheless, they throw themselves into the exercises as if their lives depended on it, remember all the vocab I teach them and not only do their homework but the following week’s homework as well.

Next, we have the five year-olds, who are fantastic. They are excited, giggly, incredibly sharp and, best of all, well-behaved.

Finally, the rough-house that is the 8 year-olds. Full of energy, boisterous, loud and sometimes difficult to control, this class will do nothing but keep you alert.

Meet the stars of this class:







This is Yuseke (Use-Keh). He is a born comedian. Everything he does is funny. He could say: “Er” and it would be hilarious.







Here, we have from R-to-L, Yuseke, Yuki and Harafumi. Despite looking like a bulldog, Harafumi is the cleverest boy in the class. He’s so sweaty his Mum makes him wrap a towel round his neck.

He’s a lovely lad, but quite sensitive. Probably shouldn’t have implied he’s like a sweaty bulldog then, really. I take that back.

But yesterday I invented a game where everyone had a letter of the alphabet sellotaped to their back and when I called out, say, “k”, the class had to then try to rip it off the corresponding student’s back. Harafumi had protected his letter well and was the only one left in the game.

Now, he was facing the rest of the class with his back to the wall. For a moment, there was a pause before the entire class descended on him like a pack of wolves, ravaging him until they had levered over his large frame and torn the card from his back.

As he emerged from the melee he had a face like thunder. He mumbled something in Japanese, turned to face the wall and started sobbing into his forearm.

“Come on, mate. You won. Champion!” I said encouragingly, grabbing his hand and thrusting it in the air.

Nevertheless, he continued to bawl. Even Yuseke had a go at cheering him up, jabbering to him in Japanese. At least I hope he was cheering him up. He could have been saying: “Ha. You lost, you fat knacker”

After, I decided to take these photos and that cheered him up.

Spaghetti Burgernaise

In Japan, if you like burgers, you are not a bad man.

Out here I can be loud and proud. No longer do I have to meet people down dark alleys offering me a quick quarter pounder with cheese, or find special pubs where people crowd round a griddle in a back room.

You’ll find burgers on most menus here; from the café to the posher sit-down restaurant. They view it as genuine main course and it’s often accompanied by broccoli, cabbage and gravy. Just like a proper grown-up and everything.

You’ll also find some interesting variations: The Italian-style burger for instance comprises burger, spag bol sauce, spaghetti, potatoes, green beans, and carrots.

They’re a big fan of the combo platter too. I’ve seen many dishes here that feature a burger with a bloody great fried shrimp plonked on top.

And of course, they see nothing wrong with burger curry. And frankly, nor do I.

Save The Wales



Hiroshi is a 66 year-old ex-advertising director. He is probably a millionaire. His English is pretty poor but nevertheless he insists on “free conversation”, ie no text book, just chat. Difficult when he can’t understand a word you’re saying.

Today, in a bid to spice up the lesson, I decided to give him a bit of a UK geography lesson. He seemed unaware of the concept of Britain, and so I crudely drew a map of the British Isles on the whiteboard, dotting in all the borders.

“Where’s this?” I asked him, pointing at England

“England?” he replied

“Good. Where’s this?” I asked, pointing at Scotland

“Scotland?”

“Good. Where’s this?” I asked, pointing at Wales

“er......” he struggled

“Begins with W” I prompted

“Ah” he said in moment of realisation “West Scotland”


Close enough.

An Ill – Informed Cultural Commentary

It would be churlish to attempt to sum up an entire culture with a jarring buzzword word or meaningless slogan. But I thought might do it anyway.

So here it comes: the Japanese are what I would describe as “proud perfectionists”.

The creed by which the Japanese live their lives is so thoroughly laudable; if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing to perfection.

This permeates through every pore of its society: the streets are as clean as a whistle, the customer service is impeccable without being invasive, the people are immaculately turned out with collar nor cuff left unironed.

And of course, public transport is robotically efficient.

Of course, there does appear to be a downside on this quest to eschew the substandard. Namely, the Japanese work so bloody hard.

They really love working. And even those that don’t love working have to pretend they do.

I was speaking to Jun about this. He works six days a week and unwinds by getting royally whammoed on a Saturday night.

“When will you retire?” I asked him

“I am 54. In 20 years” he said.

“If you could give it up tomorrow, would you?” I said

“Of course” he said ”But working hard is Japanese style”

And of course, as my hardcore month demonstrated, English teachers too can do nothing but conform.

Alphabetti: I No Getti Yetti

Whilst in a spaghetti restaurant a few days ago, I realised that I really should make the effort to improve my Japanese.

I was poring through the menu, or rather looking at the pictures, when I realised I had actually managed to decipher one of the dishes. Namely, Spaghetti Meat Sauce with Cheese - Spag Bol to you and I.

I was inspired to push on.

What made this possible was Katakana. A quick explanation which I’ll try to make as absorbing as I can:

There are three alphabets in Japanese. The first is Kanji. Kanji borrows heavily from Chinese, has maybe 12,000 characters and is based on pictograms ie the character for river (kawa) looks (supposedly) like a river.

Since, in reality, the pictures bear little resemblance to word, this means you either know it, or you don’t. Place names are usually in Kanji, as are words or concepts which are age-old eg heart, tree, book, meat and the points of the compass.

This is “book” or “hon”.




The second is Hiragana. This alphabet is used mainly to write words of Japanese origin: sushi, karate, teriyaki. It uses lots of curvy lines and sweeping strokes.

This is the Hiragana character “meh”. It reminds of a pretzel.




The last is Katakana and thank God for this alphabet. It is a relatively recent invention and is used to spell out words new to the language eg Wesley Snipes, Belgium and Chicken McNuggets.

I’d love to see a pictogram for that last one. I’d also like to know of any other blog that has a sentence containing Wesley Snipes, Belgium and Chicken McNuggets.

The thing about Katakana is it’s phonetic. Learn the sounds for the symbol, read it out loud, and you’ve probably come reasonably close to saying the word.


For example:

Initially, when you look at a label such as this, you are dumbfounded.

But break it down into the sounds and you get this


Chi-Yor-Kor-Pah-Eee. Or Choco Pie.

These babies.



OK so the label is in English. And there’s a picture on the box, as well. But you get the point.

Mmm......yum yum.

Still there’s a long way to go, so I’m going to keep practising.




Analogy: Not The Study Of Arses

I’ve been trying to think of a word to describe the finicky, frustrating trickiness of teaching. Besides actually being quite hard work, there’s a fiddliness to it, a splintering unpredictably.

Though it has been said, largely by one man, that I have no talent for analogies, I have nevertheless concocted a series of them in order to overstate my point.

Teaching is like:

* Shovelling fog with a garden fork

* Juggling some bees

* Trying to send a text message whilst wearing boxing gloves

* Piling Ferrero Rocher into a pyramid in preparation for the Ambassadors Reception

* Knocking one out with your left hand (I’m talking about boxing, obviously)

* Transferring beer from a half-pint glass to pint glass whilst drunk

* Collecting up all your dirty socks in one big swooping armful, dropping one, bending down to pick it up, dropping another, bending down to pick that one up as well, dropping another etc


The kids provide the thrust of this randomness. They each have their own set of variables, their own motivations, their own characteristics. Put them all in a room together and it’s like a giant random number generator with infinite educational outcomes.

For example:

you have managed to get one kid to start exercise 2, but another one has gone for a wander

you get him sat down and looking at his book

then someone is tugging at your trouser leg saying “teacher, teacher, toilet”

then one of the girls hasn’t got a pink pencil

“doesn’t matter” I say and suggest colouring the pig orange

“no, I want pink” says the girl

“well, borrow hers when she’s finished with it” I say

two boys are swordfighting with their pencils

“stop that and get on with your work” I say

“teacher, teacher, toilet” says another girl

“where’s your homework?” I say to another boy

“no homework” he replies indignantly, as if I’m an idiot for even assuming he’d done it

teacher, no blue pencil” “

“well, colour the sky.....er......just borrow his”

“ teacher, bye bye time?” says a lad

“no, not yet...10 minutes” I reply

“teacher, teacher, toilet” says another girl


Anyway you get the general idea.


Face Like A Bulldog Licking Piss Off A Thistle.....

Occasionally, things go well. Today I had a very good lesson with my 7 and 8 year olds. Everything was going according to plan.

But as the closing rhyming couplet from Dark Side Of The Moon suggests.....

Everything under the Sun is in tune
But the Sun is eclipsed by the Moon


.....someone will always spoil your fun. Namely, one particular girl. Why is she so chuffing miserable? I have spoken about her before http://philsjapanblog.blogspot.com/2006/09/hey-kids-im-groovy-teacher.html

By the look on her face, you’d think I’d personally executed Santa in front of the whole class, then spent the rest of the lesson sporting his bloodstained beard.

“No presents this year, kids; Santa has just died from his horrific injuries”

Actually, all I’ve asked her to do is run to the board and draw a picture. Not difficult.

I remember the first time I ever taught this class on my first day. Halfway through the lesson, she let out the most dejected sigh I’ve ever heard. I’ve never heard apathy sound so venomous. She just might as well have said “Go home, mate. You’re a waste of space”.

At the time, it cut me pretty deep what with it being my first day and all. But now I realise it’s just her way.

I have spoken to the School Manager about her, positioning it as concern over her lack of participation.

I resisted the urge to suggest that she “just cheer the f*** up”

Beam Me Up, Squatty

Today I had a revelation whilst in the toilet.

Note I said “in” the toilet and not “on” the toilet. This is because today I was putting the finishing touches to the perfect squat toilet technique. You may remember that one of my earliest posts was on this subject http://philsjapanblog.blogspot.com/2006/07/9th-july.html

It occurred to me that my experiences with Japanese squat toilets and my experiences as a teacher were identical: the first time you do it’s degrading, you’re unsure of the correct procedure, and hesitate and you’ll make a mess.

And, the corollary to that is, as my squatty technique improves so does my teaching.

Incidentally, on that subject, had a great one today. Everything went according to plan with no mistakes.

Taught a good lesson as well


(bum-tish)Thanks ladies and gentlemen, you’ve been a great audience.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Oh, Such A Perfect Day...You Just Keep Me Hanging On.

The second award for daft answers goes to Satoshi, the male half of a rather lovely married couple I teach privately on a Monday.

This time the exercise required that the students imagine their perfect day, one week from today, thus allowing them to construct sentences in the future continuous tense - eg this time next week I will be sailing a yacht across the Indian Ocean/ this time next week I will be shagging Keira Knightley etc

“So” I said after giving them thinking time “On your perfect day, what will you be doing at 10am”

Satoshi: I will be listening to a CD

Me: Erm....OK.

Maybe his perfect day hasn’t started yet, I thought. He’s relaxing in preparation for the tsunami of fun.

Me: So, what will you be doing at 2 o’ clock?

Satoshi: I will be watching TV

Me: OK......this is your perfect day, remember.....what will you be doing at 6 o’ clock?

Satoshi: I will be eating my dinner

Me: Righ.....interesting.....this is your perfect day, remember ....you can do anything you want .....what will you be doing at 11 o’clock ?

Satoshi: I will be sleeping


Brilliant. What an exciting day this man is going to have. I bet he can’t wait till next week when these untold pleasures and epicurean delights can be his.

The rest of us poor sods will just have to be content with listening to CDs and watching TV while we have a bit of dinner.

Dark Side Of The Jun



Occasionally, as you might imagine, I ask my students questions.

Occasionally, as you might imagine, the responses are quite funny. Most of the time unintentionally.

Enter Jun: a 54 year-old businessman who works 6-days a week as an accountant at a plastic packing firm. He likes jazz music and opera.

I’m not sure he’s suited to this school, however; Shane’s adult textbooks contain roleplays encouraging students to practise dialogue in conversational settings and Jun’s your quintessential “salaryman”; very serious and very rarely willing to enter into the spirit of the exercises.

In advance of Jun’s lesson, I usually flip through the textbook muttering to myself:

“No...he won’t do that....or that.....or this.....”

Or

“....and what’s this exercise? Ask the student to pretend to be a famous rock star while you pretend to be an interviewer asking questions in the present perfect tense? Not. A. Chance”

One on occasion, however, I did manage to prise out of him that he greatly admired opera singer Maria Callas. Great, I thought, there’s an exercise in this lesson about asking questions in the simple present - with a little adaptation this could work.

“So, Jun” I said “Think about the tense we’ve been discussing – the simple present. If you met your heroine, Maria Callas, at a party and had the opportunity to ask one question and one question only, what would it be?”

He stared off into the middle distance for a second, lost in thought. Then he said: “What is your favourite food?”

Brilliant. I bet she’d be bowled over by that. Imagine how that would play out:

Maria’s Friend: Maria, there is a man here who is a big fan of yours. You simply must meet him. This is Jun.

Maria: Hello Jun. It’s nice to meet you.

Jun: What is your favourite food?

Maria: Oh...I don’t know......fettuccine?

Jun: OK. Bye.


I did consider titling this post “Jun The Turd”, but despite it being a rather witty pun, I couldn’t bring myself to do it because I really have warmed to him.

Especially since today he confessed that after work he goes out, gets hammered, goes to a hostess bar, carries on drinking until he’s on Braille, then on to a karaoke bar where he treats “many, many beautiful girls” to a special rendition of New York, New York by “Flank Sinatra”.

The “Whether” Forecast



Schedules are out for next month and, as promised by Shane, mine looks a bit thinner this time. I have two sick cover days and providing no one is ill on those particular days, I have a fairly normal month.

It will be just my luck, however, that some untimely Shane-annigans will scupper the relative, potential peace and quiet of October.

I predict something will change; some subtle alteration, some imperceptible adjustment which, in the time it takes for The Language School Butterfly to flap its wings, will have become a Tropical Shit Storm for me.

Not much a “whether” forecast as a “when” forecast, I think.

Blog’s Spawn



Well that’s the end of my third six-day week this month. Today, I’m OK. Yesterday I was so, so tired. At irregular intervals my knees kept buckling ever-so-slightly as if legged over by an invisible dwarf.

Fatigue set in after two back-to-back classes of 9 and 10 year olds. The first class was a group of delinquent boys, not one of them with an IQ above a piece of toast.

One of them was so horrifyingly ugly he looked like a Mr Potato Head arranged in the dark. Another appeared to be growing a tache. Generally, they were rowdy, uncooperative and, when pressed for an answer, alarmingly dim.

However, for all their sins, they were rather entertaining. In contrast, the second class comprised a troupe of thoroughly dour, surly and downright rude 10 year-olds.

They moaned, griped, sighed, whined, whinged and harrumphed their way through the lesson. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – if you don’t want to be here, piss off.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Japan's Future : In Safe Hands


Please find enclosed Junnoseke, Yutaro and Shuntaro.

These are all 10 years old, and a think they are the dogs bollocks.

They are not. But I am.





Tuesday, September 26, 2006

My Classroom


The most exciting photo ever.

Yesterday I spent nine and a half hours in this room

Yugo and Shodai



Here are two of my students, Yugo (8) and Shodai (7).

You'll notice the "V" gesture here. This is not a reference to peace, nor is it a historical nod to Churchill's acknowledgement of victory in Europe.

Rather this is the Japanese equivalent of "cheeeeeese".

Don't really understand it, but wander round Tokyo and you will often catch people stood in front of temples and whatnot giving it the Vees while their other half does the snapping.

Yugo, on the left, is quite clearly very clever and is too advanced for this group. He scored 100% on his test and spends most of the lesson bored.

Shodai on the other hand spends most of the lesson pretending to be a robot.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

How To Read A Blog.


The techno-savvy amongst will already know you read a blog from bottom to top.

To read the entries in chronological order, scroll down to the bottom. Don’t just read the first entry. Why, that would just be foolhardy.

This latest lot of entries really need to be read in chronological order. Otherwise they won’t make sense.

Please obey these simple instructions. They are for your comfort and safety.

I Am The Law


Congrats to me Dad who has just been sworn in as a Magistrate. Sworn in does not involve them saying to him “you better put this f***ing daft wig on, then”

He doesn’t get to wear a wig. Although I might consider it if my current rate of follicular recession continues.

From now on I shall be calling him Judge Dredd and he will be dispensing his own brand of Derbyshire justice at an ABSO-infested court near you.

Good Luck Dad.

When I Was 7, All I Had To Worry About Was.....


I’ve been teaching kids for 2 months now. I’d had very little experience of them up until recently, but one thing I’ve realised is this: being a kid is wicked:


When I Was 7, All I Had To Worry About Was.......

* If Street Hawk was on tonight. Or Dempsey and Makepeace

* If Martin’s Newsagent would deliver my Transformers comic on time

* If I was having Waffles or Alphabites with me fishburgers for tea

* When my Dad would fit that siren to my BMX

* Where the missing card from my pack of Top Trumps was (it was under the beanbag)

* When it would next snow

* Whether this programme I wrote would work:

10 Print “I Am Skill”
20 Goto Line 10



Here Are Some Things Of Which I Was Blissfully Unaware:

* Kebab-induced diarrhoea

* Call centre hold music

* Call centres

* Women

* Delays on the Northern Line

* Staff appraisals

* Morning hangovers and ensuing mid-afternoon slump

* Mortgages/rent/stakeholder pensions/mini-cash ISAs/tracker funds

* My prostate gland


Comment leavers, I feel we haven’t scratched the surface here. Please feel free to add to these lists. The responses will form the basis of an exciting exhibition hosted in Uttoxeter Town Hall from 5th-7th October 2006.

The best response in either category might receive a thing.

Please mark your entries: When I Was 7, All I Had To Worry About Was………

Child’s Play


I’ve had two kids cry on me on this week.

The first one was during class tests. She clearly didn’t know the answers and, in turns, sat staring blankly at her paper or scrubbing her teary eyes on her forearm whilst sobbing inaudibly.

I also found out later that her mother had complained to the receptionist that the follow-up homework I had set had had no bearing on the lesson I taught. What bollocks. I did teach it. Everyone else managed to do it. Your kid is just not particularly bright. Sorry.

The second bucket of tears came two days later in response to a ball game I dreamt up. This game has been my saviour of late. The kids love it and it eats up minutes like some kind of minute-eating ballgame

The rules are thus: I recite the alphabet out loud, whilst attempting to chuck and hit the kids with a beachball. If I manage to hit one (the kids are pretty nimble), he/she has to say what letter I have reached and what the next letter is.


However, this game has its pitfalls; namely the kids go hyper - running around like they’re high on a diet of Opal Fruits and undiluted Kia-Ora. And of course this leads to accidents.

When you are 5, everything is at a dangerous height and whilst running round in an impossibly tight turning circle little Yuka smacked her chin off the table. I had just thrown the ball at her, and bravely she decided to answer the question first before, then, bursting into tears.

It’s difficult to describe but it’s actually quite upsetting to see kids crying. It sets something off inside you. It seems that you’re so aware they are to encounter so much unhappiness in life, you’re determined they don’t spend a second longer than they have to being miserable.
For a moment, I came over all paternal

I Am The Invigilator



This week was Mid Term Tests and I was invigilator.

Shh. Turn over your papers now. No talking. Pens down......and all that lot. It's so much fun being on the "other side" for a change.

As anticipated some of my kids have done very well. Others haven’t got a hope in hell.

Great quote from Neil from the Young Ones on the subject of exams:

It was horrible. I sat in the big hall and put my pocket of Polos on the desk. And my spare pencil and my support gonk. And my chewing gum and my extra pen. And my extra Polos and my lucky gonk. And my pencil sharpener shaped like a cream cracker. And more gonks with a packet of Polos in each. And lead for my retractable pencil. And my retractable pencil. And spare lead for my retractable pencil. And chewing gum and pencils and pens and more gonks, and the guy says "Stop writing, please."

Book Off









Spent the majority of last Sunday wandering round like a complete prat.

I have been on a quest for a decent bookshop for a while now, and Dave told me of a second-hand English bookstore in Ebisu called Good Day Books.

He also gave me a map another teacher had drawn for him. The map had been scratched angrily into the page with one of those black, ultra-thin Pentel efforts. Buildings were heavily shaded with black cross hatchings and roads were scored with the great ferocity - this was clearly a Shane teacher.

However, it was to later transpire that the map was utter bollocks.

I set off, arrived at the station, followed the instructions and within 15 minutes realised that I was way, way out of position. Using my male intuition, instead of reversing my direction, I decided it might be a good idea to take what I considered to be short cut back to the station.

1 hour later it was lashing it down with rain. I couldn’t see the book shop. Or the station. Or any people. And my surroundings were starting to resemble the map – dark, angry, angular buildings. Also the rain was soaking through the page forming a large grey splodge making the chance of finding this bloody shop very slim.

Finally found my way back my start point and decided I would have one last go. This time I ignored the map and decided to let the ley lines guide me. And lo and behold within minutes I had found it. It was 100 yards from the station all along.

Why I walked down that street and took that particular turning I’ll never know because it was completely contrary to what the map suggested. But luckily I did.

The shop is great. It has a wonderful fusty page smell and the owner, whose accent seemed to contain traces of Oz, American, South African and Solihull, is clearly madder than a van of badgers.

I picked up some battered copies of Asimov’s I, Robot printed a bit pissed up and Hard Times by Mr C Dickens. I’m well sofistikated and that.

Should you be in the Ebisu area of Tokyo, I thoroughly recommend it:

http://www.gooddaybooks.com/

SHAME School Of English

So this training, then. Well, it wasn’t bad.

However, it did open up a whole new can of worms right into the hornets nest.

Here’s why:

Shane teachers very rarely meet each other. They are often the only teacher in the school all day, open up in the morning, lock up at night and aside from a quick chinwag with the reception staff, have little contact with the outside world.

Like some covert splinter cell everyone’s identities are kept secret from one another lest they meet and compromise security. On the rare occasions teachers do meet, the results can be potent. Because teachers all deal in one currency - The Horror Story.

For any Shane lawyers, I stress that this is purely hearsay and I could not verify any of the individual accounts.

But, shitting crikey, I’ve been regaled with some great tales. Highlights include:

* An entire school shut down after the teachers and receptionist staff were so pissed off that they just walked out.

* Aforementioned July resignations were in response to Shane’s altering of the employment status its teachers; we now are classed as part time and, accordingly, receive fewer benefits.

* Shane charges way above the going rate for our apartments – it’s simply seen as a source of income.

* A teacher hospitalised through mental illness was badgered until she came back to work, such was the seriousness of their shortage.

*Shane, the man, now lives in a Scottish Castle which he bought for £6 million

Again, I stress that with all these cases, a good old campfire story does tend to take on a life of its own.

Before too long, the story will have no doubt morphed into:

“Did you know the company is actually run by a super-computer powered by Shane’s brain floating in solution? Also he can see all your thoughts. Oh, and he has access to an evil time machine”

Nevertheless, I get the distinct impression that I am working for a shit company.

But then I already knew that.

The Week In Bulletpoints

At the risk of seeming predictable, it’s not been a great week. Here’s why:


Man Flu

I’ve had an extra strength dose of man flu and, in all seriousness, it’s been pretty harsh.

I coughed so hard I wrenched my left side. I didn’t get much kip as it was so painful to lie down and was also sporting a shocking headband headache which was making me dizzy.

Lessons were a struggle. Felt like I was doing cross-country in concrete boots

However, just on the horizon lurked my four day holiday. Keep going, I thought, you’re nearly there. Then, if I want to lie on my bed doing sudoku or idly juggling my bollocks, I can do just that.

Aaah, four days.Yes!

Which brings me to my second point:


10 Green Bottles

Four days had soon become three. Turned out that I was down to teach in a teacherless school twice that month. Not, as I thought, once. Never mind I thought - 3 days is still enough time for serious juggling. Number juggling obviously.

Which brings me to my third point.


Just The Fax, Ma’am.

Neil, one of the SHANE management bods, phoned me on the Monday

Neil : Yeah............just wanted to check you’re OK for training on Friday and Saturday

Me: er..............what?

Neil: Have you not received the fax?

Me: Received a fax? What year is this -1987? No I haven’t received a fax.

Neil: Ok....sorry about that. Well, yes there’s follow-up training on the Friday and Saturday.

Me (now getting angry): Neil, are you aware that this month I will have worked three 6-day weeks AND given up two days of my holidays for “training”?

Neil: Really? Yeah.......really sorry about that..... not ideal, is it? So see you Friday?

Grrrrrrrrrrr


Neil: Before Me.

As it happened, I was meeting Neil the next day to discuss my lessons.

Actually, Neil is a thoroughly decent chap and getting stroppy with him would have been counter-productive. I get the feeling despite his loftier management position, he has just as much chance of influencing the SHANE “policy makers” as I do.

In fairness he listened to what I had to say and claimed that July and August were some of the worst months he could remember for workload - 7 teachers had done the off in July, leaving them with a chronic shortage.

Consequently, new teachers (eg me) had been given a few rounds of ammunition and a tin hat and pushed straight out into the warzone.

“Don’t worry” he said “We have a load of new teachers arriving next month. It’ll get easier”.

The message was clear: sit tight and wait for reinforcements.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Happy Birthday Mum


Please will everyone wish my Mum a Happy Birthday. If you’re reading this Mum, I have got you something although I haven’t worked out how the postal system in this country works yet.

Hopefully, I may be able to get it to you before too long.

Can’t really find any suitable Birthday Cards, so you may have forgo that pleasure this year.

Elvis Doesn’t Live

After impressing me greatly last week by telling me she had been playing a Deep Purple medley with her school band, Ikumi has really let herself down.

One of the questions in her text book asked her to choose an adjective describing how she would react to a number of scenarios.

The examples included: you have been robbed; you have won the lottery; you are in a haunted house etc. And of course, she was meant to say: happy; surprised; scared etc.

Except I noticed the last one had been left blank. The scenario was : you saw Elvis.

“Who’s Elvis?” she said looking at me blankly

“Who’s Elvis?” I said back, probably a little too much venom “You’ve never heard of Elvis Presley?”

“No”

So, it’s come to this. That a man born in 1977, the year Elvis died, is now so old that a girl he teaches is young enough to have never heard of Elvis.

I’ll be 30 soon. Then it will all be over.

Piddling In A Stream Of Consciousness


Fans of pithy, witty comments may want to look away now. This post is a bit of a rant and does go on a bit. But I was feeling a bit blue and was on a roll.

Actually, if you’re a fan of pithy, witty comments you may want to try a different website.


So, it’s nearly two months on. How am I faring? Alright, I suppose. As usual, in my head there are two columns: one for pluses and one for minuses.

The Pluses:

As a country, Japan is fantastic. Once you’ve got past the initial whole “wow I’m in living the future” thing, you find a country that is polite, efficient, tidy, welcoming and exciting.

Also, like the moment you find a really nice sleeping position after tossing and turning, I have found a series of routines with which I am now comfortable:

I know my school timetable inside out, I have a handful of restaurants which cater for my tastes and I have learned the usual stock phrases: how much, can you speak English and Chicken McNuggets, please.

I will continue to push myself, but for now I am in a safe holding pattern.

The other thing I am glad about is that the temperature has fallen dramatically. Monday was a shirt sticking to your back day. Wednesday was a get under the duvet day. There has been no transitional period; it’s gone from mid 30s to high teens overnight.



The Minuses:

Teaching is getting easier (I managed to prepare all my lessons in one and a half hours yesterday) but the job is still unrelenting.

This splitting up your weekend malarkey is harder than you think. One day off doesn’t seem enough somehow. Knackered, you wake up late, potter about all day then fail to get to sleep at night. Then you have to do it all again.

A 57-hour week is tough. A 65-hour week is very tough.

More important, I am still not really enjoying it yet. That’s not to say I hate it, (although I used to), but there have been precious few times when I have really been pleased with a lesson.

Kids’ lessons are blighted by the fact that no matter how dedicated or studious, they are still learning under protest. It’s very disheartening to see a row of glum faces staring back at you whilst you try to lever knowledge into their brains.

Adults’ lessons are OK, because you know they are there to learn. However, there is the added difficulty of you being under constant assessment; the student is bound to have an opinion on whether you are value for money.



The Verdict

Looking back over previous posts I may have been overly negative towards SHANE and the job itself. However, at the time, I was very angry with my predicament.

The point at which you need the most support from SHANE and for them to be at their most efficient is at the very start. And that’s when they are so very lacking.

Now I’ve become accustomed to their quirks, I’ve worked out ways of getting round its foibles and inefficiencies, sidestepping their inadequacies.

So now I am less critical of SHANE. Not because they have improved in any way but because, through experience, I have managed to work out my solutions to their problems.

However, I do have more respect for teachers than I had before. It requires completely different set of skills from my previous job.

With respect, teaching doesn’t actually require much intelligence. Instead, it requires stamina. It’s just a slog. You can’t really have any off days - you have to be on top form all the time.

We’ve all had a job where you can waltz in 10-minutes late, maybe with a hangover, check your emails for another 10 minutes and then think about getting down to some work.

But the point is, as long as you delivered the right result, it didn’t matter. If you did all those things and completely ballsed up a presentation, then you’d be in trouble.

Conversely, teaching is a horrendously inflexible job both in terms of time and task. Not only is your timetable set in stone, but the actual subject matter is too.

For example, I have been looking through all my text books and have now realised that nothing is going to change. This time next year I will still be teaching kids to point at Leo the Dragon and say “he is big” and still be really over-enunciating the question “so…what…did…you (point) … do…at…the…weekend?” to the adult learners.

That’s going to get boring. I just hope it gets easier before it gets boring.


The Future

Ultimately, I could consider this experience the first leg on a bit of World Tour.

I have been mulling over the idea of giving it another month or two before heading off to Oz or NZ. Maybe I can call in at South America on the way back.

Paul informs me that no one really gives a shit about anything in Oz, but that this can be a blessing and a curse. On one hand everything is so easy but on the other, everyone lacks drive and ambition. For people who are accustomed to the cut and thrust of London, or even in my case London and Tokyo, that could prove interesting.

Hey Kids, I’m A Groovy Teacher.



Secretly I always thought to myself that, should I ever become a teacher, I would be a trendy one.

You know - the one the kids thought was cool, wore shades to class, knew more about music than they did and threw text books out of the window saying “Rubbish. We’ll do it my way”.

However, it is apparent that that if you are a) older than them and b) a teacher you’re already irredeemably uncool in their eyes.

Why? I don’t have leather patches on my elbows. I don’t have a slightly suspect tache. I don’t listen to Chris Rea. Apart from Road To Hell, obviously, because that’s actually quite good.

My problem at the moment is that I’m running out of fun stuff to do. The emphasis at SHANE is on making the lessons fun for kids. And that’s fair enough; the last thing they want after coming straight from school is more straight-laced instruction.

But I am finding out that paper, scissors, stone, find the pairs and blind man’s bluff really have a shelf life and increasingly the children are beginning to look fed-up.

One girl in particularly has never once smiled in my lesson, and last week responded to the question “Are you happy?” with a flat “No”.

“No?” I said cheerfully, before re-prompting the correct answer “Yes I am happy”.

I thought she’d caught on, so I tried again: “So, are you happy?”

“No” she said.

Don’t know why she looks so miserable. We do play a lot of games in that class.

Still, such is her mood, I suspect I could dress up as a robot clown from the future and spend the lesson shitting out Twixes and Tizer and she still wouldn’t be happy.

Alternatively, in an extension to a previous post on the subject of indoctrinating the Japanese with Midlands dialect, I could always introduce “Supwiyo?” into the classroom. And they could always respond “Note”

Southerners should consult a valid copy of Phoenix Nights for translation.

The Yuki Strikes Back

You may have seen Yuki mentioned in a previous post. He is the boy who has problems understanding snowmen.

He is unintentionally hilarious, however, as this brief excerpt from today’s lesson demonstrates:

Me: Yuki, which colour is missing?

Yuki: February

The Blitish Are Coming


Saw a SHANE advert in one of my schools raving about a UK-themed, Japanese tourist attraction entitled “Blitish Hills”.

A surprising spelling error from SHANE there. Especially since we are, first, a language school and second, a British language school.

A low blow, but it made me laugh.

You take pot luck with pronunciation over here. At first, I was pooh-poohing the traditional Western view that all Japanese people say “flied lice”.

They usually they opt for a very soft “d” sound called a “flap”, instead of the “l “or “r”. Hence my name is pronounced: Fidip Doordi

But I have since met people who really do say “childlen”, “Engrish” and one guy who, when he was listing the months of the year, wrote “Aplil”.

The Japanese have their difficult words too. Take the ubiquitous but rather tricky “desu” - a multi-purpose word for is/be/are/. The word is not pronounced “desoooo”, but more like “des *hu*!”.

The trick with “desu” is to stop somewhere between the “s” and the “u” and dramatically cut the word short by tightening your chest like you’ve just stubbed your toe on the bed.

We’ve all done it; instead of screaming, you kind of go “hup!” and bite your lip silently for about a minute while you attempt to absorb the pain back into your body.

Also in Japanese, there are no strings of consonants. Consequently they often need to insert random vowels to make the word more palatable.

Here are some translations:

Next....................................Knicker Setter

Scrambled Egg.................. Soccer Am Bullet Air Go

Stereo................................. Soot Hairy You


Mrs Mouse (mentioned in a previous entry) is also the finest purveyor of this “Irritable Vowel Syndrome”. She is incapable of saying a word without putting a PISSING VOWEL ON THE END.

Me: What do we call this tense?

Mouse: Whatto do we callo thisso tenso?

Me: No I said that....You don’t understando a bloody wordo I’mo sayingo do you?”

All this Consonant Kerfuffle means that Roy Walker’s Catchphrase is unlikely to take off over here as, fact fans, the word “catchphrase” has the longest string of consonants in the English language.

Unless they call it “Cat A Chair Fur Air Sir”.