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.

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.

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.

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.

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.