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