A weekend of football awaits me. My bag is packed. Boots? Check. Kit? Check? “F**k you” stare? Check.

I thought I’d treat you all to another post. How come? Because I have a desperate desire to keep you informed and never let you linger in the dark about the goings on in my life for as long as last time ever again, of course. It may actually be because I have a b**ch of a cold, and I literally have nothing else left to do. I’ve exhausted all other appealing activities. Being beaten by Sunderland time and time again on FIFA was not exactly lifting my spirits…

This week, I promise I will not discuss the intricate technique of poo-ing . Rather, I will describe the effects to you of a Korean cold. This is my first Korean cold. I speak as though I’m somewhat endeared to it, like a first kiss or a first car. Or a first poo in a squat toilet. That doesn’t count- no techniques were mentioned.

Anyway, why am I calling it a ‘Korean cold’, rather than just a ‘cold’? Well, this particular cold displays all the traits of something Korean. I have mentioned before how Korea is a country of extremes: i.e. extremely rude vs. polite; extremely hot vs. cold. Well, my Korean cold boasts all the symptoms you’d expect, but much worse than anything I’ve ever experienced during the chilly season.

This past Monday, for example, I was reduced to sitting down and dismissing my middle school class early, due to the fact that my sentences were reduced to the coherency of a guest on the Jeremy Kyle show. This wasn’t due to a sudden abandonment of all grammar and the pronunciation of the letter ‘g’, but due to a cough that pretty erupted every time I opened my mouth. Or breathed.

Something about the night air in Korea seems to trigger my cough, and cause the contents of my lungs to evacuate my body through my mouth. What I cough up has led me to the accurate conclusion that I’ve not actually got a cold at all, but Slimer form Ghostbusters has decided to live in my lungs for a couple of weeks. When I started miming that I need a Proton Pack at the local pharmacy, they produced some Strepsils as a solution to my ghost infection. That’s not how I remember it in the movies…

There was a time, one week B.C. (before the cough), when I could actually have conversations with my students. Korean kids, when you ask them a question, will quite often respond with another question in your direction to avoid giving an answer. This is mostly along the lines of: “Teacher, do you know *insert generic K-Pop star’s name here*?” However, one little girl, didn’t actually proceed with a question but instead decided to offer her opinion on my sniffer. It went a little something like this:

Student- “Teacher. You have a big nose…”

Me- “Yeah, I know.”

Student- “I want one too. It’s good.”

Me “Errr… thanks…… Wait. Really?!?!”

I can’t help but think that, one day, she might just change her mind. I hardly think Lucy Liu would have made it in Hollywood with a pecker like mine. She’s Korean, right?

Now, on to part two of this week’s episode- girls, you can stop reading now and get back to the ironing/dinner. That’s right- it’s time to talk about football.

So, last weekend marked a return to our home pitch for my Saturday team. I know every team prefers playing at home- usually, it’s just because it’s closer to home. Well, that’s certainly not the case for me. An hour and a half’s bus/subway journey for yours truly.

However, my relief at a return to home artificial soil is based upon size. Size really does matter. In fact, artificial soil matters as well. The previous weekend involved playing on pint sized pitches that can have only been designed for children. The pitch on Saturday was artificial- the standard here in Korea- however, some genius decided dirt would be the perfect surface as opposed to artificial grass. This genius also seemed to forget the use of a ruler when designing his pitch. At some of the corners, he must have become confused and thought he was designing an athletics track, as they were a tad rounded. I can see why, as there actually was a tarmac running track around the edge of the pitch, which doubled as the touchline- he can check health and safety off the list then.

Pitch issues aside, it seems I’ve hit some form as I’ve managed two goals in consecutive games for my Saturday team. The cynical/jealous/everybody else I know, might suggest that luck has played its part upon my good fortune. However, I’m here to argue the exact opposite- luck has totally abandoned me. Instead, I was blessed with a referee who deemed every header I won a foul. He actually physically hated me- I’ve no idea why:

Me: Ref, that’s NOT a foul. You’re wrong.

Ref: Well… actually, it states that…

Me: YOU’RE WRONG!

*Runs away back to defence and shoots a look at the referee, with connotations of “F**k You!”*

This same referee then awarded me my first ever yellow card in twenty-two and a half years of being on this Earth- for an accidental handball on the halfway. This is most disappointing as I didn’t even get to put an annoying Scouse attacker on his arse, for my first yellow. That was always the dream. But it never looked like a likely prospect to be honest. This could be down to, as usual, two factors:

 

a)      A) I’m just too much of a fair play merchant and despise the Jamie Carragher style of defending.

b)      B) Scousers are always a bit too quick to bring down- a life of running from the Bill after bar/”you looked at me funny so I’m gonna start on you” brawls has made them all a bit nippy.

I also managed to hit the crossbar four times in two days from a variety of headers and shots. Luck, I tell you, is on holiday. Still, I’ll never figure out that ref’s beef with me…

The concluding segment will focus on teaching, for once.

Let’s set the scene- upon starting my day yesterday, one of the Korean teachers tip-toed into my classroom and uttered what has become to me perhaps the most irksome phrase in the world: “Hi Tom. Are you busy?”

Harmless enough, right? Except it isn’t. Through conditioning, I now know that these words are to be followed by information on some ridiculous, logic-defying decision, my school has made. Even if, as I have tried in past, I say that I AM busy- the information follows regardless. (I wasn’t ever actually busy, but I’ve had enough practice pretending to be busy ‘revising’ from my days as a student to fool anyone…)

So, the information was of a student complaint- the innocent as-can-be child had told his mummy that I’d told him to “Shut up” in class for no reason. He had, according to the teacher, found this ‘offensive and rude’.

In general, he’s spot on. They are two of my five words for describing myself. In this case though, like the referee, “YOU’RE WRONG!”

Let me paint a picture of the exchange:

Cue incredulous expression on my face…

Me- If I told him to shut up, what does that tell you about the child?

Her- Korean children think “shut up” is a rude expression.

Me- I think talking while I’m talking is rude.

Her- Maybe you should try saying “Be quiet?”

Me- Don’t you think I did? “Be quiet” didn’t work. “Shhhhhh” didn’t work. “Shut up” worked. Case closed.

Her- But I am worried that the child thinks it is offensive.

Me- It’s not. I could be offensive if I wanted to, trust me. I find it offensive that you think the child’s opinion is more valid than mine. He needs to learn right and wrong. What I do works- none of the other kids mind either…

Her- Korean children think “shut up” is a rude expression.

Me- Great. Well done to them.

It appears, then, that the power of talking is to be taken from teachers too. First, we weren’t allowed to put our hands on them (cue Paedophile jokes). Now, it seems that the power to speak to our kids is now diminishing. What are we going to be left with? Classrooms full of riotous children, doing as they please. If only the children had the same amount of respect as I do for referees

Only in Korea...

It’s been too long… Largely due to a combination of forgetting to sit down and write, not having the time to write, and remembering to write but deciding my Xbox was lonely. The amount of news has since backlogged itself to the point where I’ve considered doing a ‘Harry Potter’ and releasing this edition in two parts…

 Lucky you, though- I’ve persevered to fill you in on all that’s ‘happening’ in just one chunk of self-absorbed story telling. I guess this can be considered my comeback blog- can it live up to the hype?

Where to start? Well, a major change has occurred here in the weather. Gone are the Amazonian rainforest conditions. Welcome what I like to call ‘British spring-time weather’. Who would’ve thought I’d be pining for the British climate, ever?!?

Yet, I’m still somewhat of a freak here in Korea, (I never knew!?) as I’m still walking round in a t-shirt, while they’ve all begun wrapping up and shivering violently. I’d be a liar if I said this didn’t raise a smile to my face. After all the months of intense sweating, I feel I’m getting my own back! Saying that, Korea put me back in my place last night after a mosquito found its way into the apartment and proceeded to abuse me without my consent…

What to talk about next? Clearly, as a teacher, I should have lots of teaching stories about how I inspire kids daily. Well, I’m going to talk about holidays instead. What did you expect?

I’ve now experienced Korea’s biggest national holiday in the form of Chuseok (it was actually back in September). This is basically Korean Thanksgiving and, I was told, is the biggest holiday of the year and the equivalent of Christmas to them. Well, for it to be the biggest holiday of the year, there were certainly a lot of people milling about in Seoul and a hell of a lot of shops open. There weren’t even any sales the next day… 1-0 England.

Also, their gifts pale in comparison to Christmas- where we get chocolate selection boxes, they basically get cooking oil selection boxes. Mmmmmm...

St. Nick smashes it in the top corner for 2-0; no bias is involved here at all, obviously.

On to all things adventurous- last time, you may remember, I’ve indulged the inner daredevil in me and have been climbing/ falling off mountains since September. I’ve now completed the course and actually made it to the top of a mountain. Along the way, there was a lot of sweating and some blood. There were no tears, but plenty of girly squeals echoing in my head…

I must give a review of my climbing ability. The signature move in my climbing arsenal seemed to be getting stuck. You could argue the reason I became stuck quite often was because of a lack of flexibility or manliness but, to be honest, it was probably stubbornness.

I would frequently ask for advice on where to put my hands and feet and respond with “Errrr… I’m gonna try this instead. Will that work?” This was met with the exasperated response of “Sure… whatever works for you” by the poor bloke who was stuck belaying me. Of course, in climbing speak, this probably translates as “Whatever. Just hurry the f**k up!”

Add to this that, despite assurances of “trust your feet, they’ll stick” and “trust your harness,” I knew secretly that they were lying and revelling at the prospect of watching the giant fall off the rock.

The experience has also brought to light something previously unknown- I have trust issues. See, when you are climbing, you are being backed up by someone who is ‘belaying’ you from below. This basically means that, should you fall, you they’ve got hold of you via a rope to make sure that you don’t plunge to your death. Well, not death, but at least a sprained ankle or two.

While I never actually plunged to the ground, if I slipped, I nearly always fell about 50 feet through the air, due to me being quite a big unit.  This was quite an accomplishment, due to the fact that I was only about 20 feet up the rock… As I slipped, my weight would take whichever regular sized person by complete surprise, and would yank them forward a bit, dropping me in the process- a massive confidence booster.

Ultimately, if I was to sum up the experience in one sentence, it’d be this- I still don’t trust my harness.

Another gem from climbing I’ve perhaps omitted from my diaries on the mountain is the experience of using a squat toilet. This is due largely to the fact that they are not the first thing that pops into your head when up on the rocks.

But, when you’ve hiked up to the top of a mountain, unsurprisingly, there’s neither a state of the art plumbing system nor an Armitage Shanks in sight. Instead, when nature calls, you are greeted with a small hut which contains a hole in the floor in which you have to aim your excess baggage into. If this doesn’t sound uncomfortable enough for you, I must add that there is no Andrex ‘Puppy on a Roll’ available either- it’s the ‘bring your own’ situation I’ve mentioned before. Oh, and the smell. No amount of gum or fresh air can undo the punishment it inflicts upon your senses- you’d best make sure you have some extra T.P. to wipe the tears from your eyes.

Obviously, then, my biggest worry was none of these things. The biggest fear playing on my mind was, when squatting, that I would fall forwards or backwards and end up washing my shorts in number two.

So, after careful consideration, I came up with a cunning plan. I was going to use the one facility the ‘toilet’ actually had- the wall. I squatted down with my back against the wall and used the power of the mind to create an imaginary seat beneath my cheeks. As for aim, I’ll be honest with you, I was firing blind. But, while I was not to trust my feet or harness on the rocks, I was perfectly fine with trusting my instincts. But, did he score, I hear you ask?

Goooooooooooaaal! In off the post (most probably). I ran out the toilet doing my best Alan Shearer impression. The Korean crowd didn’t cheer- they must be Sunderland fans…

How was this relevant though? Well, it was a turning point in the mental battle of rock climbing. I thought, if I can drop rocks, I can most certainly climb them…

At this point, we should note that I’ve dedicated the same amount of space in this blog to the success of climbing and successful defecation…

Let’s switch focus to a more hygienic topic then- my hair.

So, since I’ve been in Korea (due to my limited grasp of Korean) I had been avoiding getting a haircut. I feared the obvious miscommunication that would ensue would result in my sporting a shaved head, a Mohawk, or some other hairstyle that may result in the Korean students to think twice before calling me “handsome teacher”…

Yet, about four weeks ago or so, I bravely ventured into the depths of the nearest hair dressers that I could find. This was during my climbing stint- my mind was adrenaline fuelled and willing to take risks. However, I was not to go in unprepared- I’d consulted my Korean phrase book and recited the words for short and trim many times over. What could go wrong?!

Well, as I confidently stepped in and unleashed a bout of Korean at the man in the shop, he responded with a confused face- the very same face I pull when any Korean talks to me. My heart sank immediately.

 There wasn’t even a picture book for me to simply point at- I was out of ammo. Or was I? It was at that precise moment that I remembered the greatest weapon in my arsenal- my fluency in sign language. I was saved! About half an hour later, and after much imitation of shaving blades and scissors (complete with sound effects) I walked out with something relatively close to what I had intended to achieve. I’m now considering writing a book about improv sign language- much more useful than any of these “Learn Korean” books. It probably wouldn’t sell as well, though, due to the lack of an attractive Asian woman on the front cover…

However, with success comes failure. The latest failure to inflict itself upon my life involved being locked outside of my room a few weeks ago. This story begins after a gym session, when I thought I’d better pop in the shower before work. However, upon finishing my shower, I shuffled to my room, turned the handle and nothing happened. So, there I was, stuck outside the flat in just a towel- the only clothes at my disposal being my football shorts. One hour to work. Fantastic.

The events that followed involved phoning my director, having him call the repair man, a new door handle/lock being fitted and a £25 bill. How did it lock? I’m still not entirely sure, but hell, it’s Korea- anything can happen…

Other, than my exciting weekends, what occupies me in the week is far less glamorous. Mostly, it’s TV/Movie watching, Xbox and games of Pool. Last night saw me inflict a “Welcome to Korea” 6-1 slaughter of the new room-mate. However, I’m not one to gloat.

So, what TV programs do I watch/ shamelessly download? Well, I’ve finally finished working my way through all four seasons of Prison Break and would definitely recommend it to anyone who’s bored of watching whatever repeats E4 is showing these days. The reason I came to watch it was actually due to a comment from my Korean co-teachers, that I looked like “Prison Break” when I first cut my own hair when I got here. Great- two weeks in and I was already a criminal/fugitive.

Nevertheless, I was intrigued to watch and, in retrospect, thoroughly glad I looked like a convict!

However, on a hike up the mountains for climbing, the conversation topic turned to who Koreans all thought we looked like. This prompted one girl (code-name Demi Moore) to suggest I looked like some guy called “Finn” from the abomination that is “Glee.” I was informed he’s the (fake/American) Football jock and really popular. That may be, but for me to watch Glee, it would involve a major lifestyle change. I’d rather break out of Prison for the time being, thanks…

Let’s finish with some sporting news. Two weekends ago, my high flying (real) football team, travelled four hours south to a town called Ulsan to (alledgedly) dominate the Ulsan Cup. The journey there was treacherous for me, due to task of waking up at 3am to leave at 4am. However, I pity the driver, who couldn’t nod off in the back seat with a cushion but, instead, downed cans of coffee like they were vodka to keep us on the road.

 Arrival time- 8am. Kick off- 9am. First game: 1-0 to us. Sleep is for babies.

Well, judging by the rest of the days results, somebody had best get out the Pampers. Domination is best left to our current league-form. We proceeded to lose the rest of the day’s games. This prompted many players to drown their sorrows. Come the next morning, this drowned our hopes of any pride, as we lost to probably the oldest, fattest, ugliest, Russian-ist team in the competition and left the field with our heads hung.

Still, no weekend is fruitless in Korea. I managed to re-injure my big toe, as usual, and acquired a bandaged up left foot. Some may not view this as a ‘fruit’ as such, but it at least tells a story. Hell, maybe I’m becoming an optimist? Much more likely that I’m high on cold medicine at the minute, though.

Obviously, the best thing about the weekend for me was nothing to do with the beautiful game. In fact, it was the motel that we stayed- quintessential luxury. Double beds, a mini-bar, a computer and a sauna-equipped bathroom the size of my apartment- all for only £25. I’m pretty sure Lenny Henry and the guys at Premier Inn can’t even offer that kind of deal…

Furthermore, there was yet another priceless Korean moment that presented itself during the tournament’s opening ceremony. After all the inevitable monotony of various council and sports representatives delivering some typical cringe-worthy jokes/speeches, the final speaker then proceeded to call out the goal keeper from another team to the podium. At this point, it’s crucial to mention that this particular gentleman was of mixed race. That’s right folks, Korean racism strikes again.

The announcement went something like this:

“Ladies and Gentleman, we are very honoured to have a special celebrity for you today. Without further ado, may I present, TIGER WOODS!”

Cue stunned silence, followed by bouts of awkward laughter. For the rest of the tournament, I was really tempted to ask him how his many infidelities were in bed. This may sound insensitive, but my first instinct was to quip “Still, it’s better than OJ…”

Only in Korea.