Post VI - 10 Things I (Love) about (Me)

Students,

As I recline on the couch today I would like to share some things about myself you may not already know. Perhaps doing so will give valuable insight into the quick and brilliant mind of your beloved teacher. I have somewhat of a penchant for lists, in fact I make them all the time, and so this blog will follow that format. It may also take some time so you might want to grab a snack…

· The greatness of Great Britain or ‘Lie back and think of England’. I am very proud to be British, and more specifically English. While my home nation is actually quite irritating should you have a home there, it is wonderful in many many ways and as a Brit abroad any mention of it inspires warm feelings and the need to wax lyrical for a bit. I suppose what I particularly enjoy and yearn for is the ‘classic’ Britain with all the trappings of ‘proper’ society. I do not mind a bit if dumb Americans think we all live in castles or talk in faux Hugh Grant-esque sloane accents as long as they also notice such joys as tennis at Wimbledon, the ritual of afternoon tea, HRH the Queen, our fine theatre actors, history and beautiful architecture everywhere, clipped vowels, and our cutting sense of humour. I plan to remain an English gentleman to the core because I put to you the world is a better and more civilized place because of us. This means that I will never be heard telling unnecessarily dirty jokes or (shudder) discussing bodily functions, specifically pooh. I remember times after sharing this information where irritating friends have began describing the messiest do-dos they have ever done done. My simple solution in these situations is to share back with some explicit descriptions of gay sex. Be warned!!!!
· Phobia of old persons. This all started a little while ago in Edinburgh with an unfortunate incident on a bus. One crisp dewy morning I was on the way to the theatre to partake in a tone meeting for a play I was directing. I was running late and Id/Ego/Superego were all bellowing in annoyance at people getting in my way. I had only been seated for a few moments when from behind me I heard some unhealthy wheezes then a loud sneeze. What followed was a sensation that still haunts me. A jet of cold sticky mucus hit the back of my neck with sickening force. I had the germs of an old person on my person. Ever since I have taken more note of the aged population and they continue to alarm me… Why do they wear heavy coats in summer?? Why oh why do they use the doctor’s surgery as a place to congregate and socialize?? Although the phobia – as my friend Rosie told me it was – has slightly abated, I still inform employers if any event arises that requires me to interact with someone who is 60+ I am not the right man for the job and this was made painfully clear when, also in Edinburgh, I gave a historical underground tour to a group from the WI (Womens Institute – another quaint British tradition of old biddies meeting weekly to bake and gossip). As we were underground and in the dark, several of the ladies required me to hold their hands (!) and talk to them IN A VERY LOUD VOICE so they could hear. Students I will just say that I can’t quite do justice to the violent thoughts of Id/Ego/Superego that day. Strange that (similarly to cats) even though I put out that I don’t like them, old people do like me… Let me be clear: old people (apart from my delightful grandparents) are unacceptable to me, they are not as dumb as they like to suggest, and they should not be in my personal space. Which leads to…
· Issues of personal space. It is a sad truth that people violate my personal space on a regular basis. These people are the type not to read my face or body gestures and so they must be stopped. The latest example of personal space violation was last night, and actually the incident not only combined this issue but also my aforementioned phobia. Let me explain. I was with some dear Lopburi friends and a not-so-dear old ‘exception’ / ‘penguin’ at a music gig when said old ‘exception’ informed me I was wearing a serious look on my face. Not realizing said look is reserved specifically for social interaction with him, the ‘exception’ then proceeded to enter my ‘intimacy’ zone. This zone is usually only reserved for occasional familial affection, affection from likeable dogs, and affection from agreeable members of the same sex. What happened next was shocking to say the least and I can only suggest was karmic revenge for my laughing at a Thai man who thought it ok to pick up and lift Brad so he could have more space to sit down. Anyway, the ‘exception’ took his chubby little shrunken hand and rubbed it across my face, pulling my features into a smile… My reaction to this is probably best summed up by the following smiley, since I have yet to find words to capture my true feelings: O_o Please now click on the diagram above for a handy guide but note that the distances displayed must be x3 for me. Easy. Now there are no excuses. However please also note for future reference that if you are someone who enjoys physical closeness with casual acquaintances and you try that shit on me then I am likely to use the same loud command I do on Thai dogs: “Back. It. Up.” That I did not use this command on the ‘exception’ or else connect my hand with his face (using a lot more force than he) is surprising. In the end all I was heard to mutter was “But I’m English…”
· Pointed shit pointing at me. As revealed to close associates earlier last night I am not fond of inanimate objects pointing at right angles to me. If you are lucky enough to lie with me on my bed you will note that nothing in the room is angled directly at me. I know this suggests OCD or addiction but it is not quite as bad as my teenage troubles with plug sockets. When I used to enter rooms and see them switched ‘on’ but have no plugs in them believe me it used to send me over the edge. Now my only addictions involve excessive consumption of water, excessive consumption of BBC World News, and (since ending the happy pills) excessive compulsion for ‘A’.
· Doodle dandy. Another bit of compulsion is my fondness for doodling triangles and stars at every opportunity (usually in my office when you’re talking and I’m not listening.) As the committed teacher I am I have referred back to Sigmund, co-founder of ‘doodleology’ and can tell you that my doodles are very masculine (hardly surprising, right?) as men tend to doodle geometric shapes. If you doodle human figures and faces you are a girl. Apparently my triangles suggest a logical, analytical mind (WTF??!!) while stars suggest I was emotionally deprived as a child (haha). So there, now you can never say you don’t learn things from my blog. Oh and Brad if you are reading this, there is only one interpretation of your doodles and that is that you sir are sick and wrong.
· Syllable satisfaction. One final bit of obsessive compulsion I will share (for if we go into issues of my competitiveness, inability to walk along the street with someone else without walking diagonally into them, and crazy driving rituals then I won’t have any readership) is my compulsion to count syllables when listening to others speak. If you are talking to me and you notice my thumb tapping the fingers of my right hand you can be sure I am counting the vocal syllables in your every word. This crazy shit has taken over my life on many important occasions especially back in the dark past when I was a student and really should have been listening in class. My syllable hell pales however when compared to the weird compulsions of many of my favourite students in England…
· Toxic teens. As Brad already knows I am possessed of a cloying soft spot for maladjusted teenage tearaways and would happily adopt any filthy street kid who came my way (as long as they are not a chav.) Now now students don’t worry, I am no paed. What I mean is that where some folk coo over babies and kittens I cannot help but be charmed by snarky back-chatting kids with behavioural issues. As a teacher I find that the students whom others call “a bad egg”, “nuts”, and just plain “satanic” are the ones I identify with and enjoy to work with most. This may be because I still remember my time at school and the cool stuff me and my gang (secretly) did as opposed to the squares that did such stuff as Young Enterprise – yawn! Never mind the bookish swots (American: nerds) bring on the hoodlums!!
· Sweetcorn. Even saying the word sends shivers down my spine. It is simply evil, my arch enemy, and a foodstuff straight from the bowels of hell. What is to like? It smells AWFUL, has a weird taste and consistency, cannot be properly digested, and not even fish want to eat it when you chuck it in the water (not using your bare hands of course) because you’ve run out of maggots as bait. What concerns me most is how it seems to turn up everywhere. As you may know I regard tuna as the food of the gods so finding those heinous yellow things mixed in does not make me happy. In addition when first coming to Thailand I particularly enjoyed coconut milk for dessert. But one lunchtime at school I was heard to let out a horrified “WHAT??!!” upon noticing that also occupying the bowl were (yet again) those heinous yellow things. Now I know some Thai food does not make a lick of sense but I ask you whoever thought that sweetcorn be used for dessert??? As I said earlier sick and wrong.
· Shy bladder. Yes it is what it is. I admit my bladder is shy. I must say also I have no hang-ups about my body or social nudity so there are no problems with standing at urinals for that reason. But I have had countless incidents of social awkwardness while trying to go in company and being unable to produce the goods and the sound of piss hitting the porcelain that they expect. The worst was the pain I felt after attending an Edinburgh Hogmanay street party night. Facilities there were troughs populated by a mass of men standing so close as to be physically intimate – problem! It was an impossibility for my bladder to withstand it and the result was a severe guttural pain felt until I could get home and piss like a Russian racehorse so offloading the several boxes of wine I had downed. The whole business is especially tricky if my fellow man commits the cardinal sin of talking to me while I’m straining to go or (as Thai men do) check out the cock to ascertain size. Nowadays I find it safer to pop to the stalls and have a (hopefully) eyes-free experience in there.
· I LOVE the swinging 60s. I find that a lot of what I especially like in life (and what Id wants) actually comes from the 1960s. This has always been the case. As a young kid I had an obsession with 60s technicolour TV including Thunderbirds, Star Trek, Lost In Space (yes I am a sci-fi gay) and the Hanna Barbera cartoons. In addition the 60s gave us flower power, the moon landing, Carnaby Street fashion, (cool) hippies, and Elvis. It also produced such British notaries as The Beatles, Sean Connery and Roger Moore (James Bond’s), Lulu and Cilla (!), Julie Andrews, Twiggy, and Diana Rigg. I simply adore the colours, fashions, absurdist movement in theatre, and any collectable knick knacks from that era. I happen to slightly resent my parents for growing up at that time and have told them as much. Although I haven’t ever gone so far as to dress totally 60s (though I did do 50s with my James Dean phase) be warned it may still happen. You bet if I had a time machine, you wouldn’t see me for dust.

So there students. How privileged you are. Now you can step back a bit.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Do a little dance. Make a little love. Get down tonight.


X Teacher

Post IV – The Good and the Bad (no uglies) of Thailand

Students,

I am often asked “Teacher, do you miss England?” The short answer is “Yes, you twit.” But to answer the question as thoroughly as you’ve come to expect, I will forego id/ego/superego this blog and instead employ a simple technique known as 'Pros and Cons'. I myself am a pro but a con is a person of dubious character and lifestyle. I’d like to tell you I have never encountered such persons. But I can’t. Another time we will use a top psychiatrical technique known as 'I Have Never' and information on con artists (read: a certain former live-in lover) will no doubt be recollected. But not this blog. The 'Pros and Cons' today regard the land of the Thai and my good/bad experiences therein. Probing psycho-anal-ysis is sure to find a hard answer as to why I miss England but am very happy Thailand is my home from home.

Pros: Mental health is taken care of here through sun, sun, and more sun plus ego is stroked through celebrity status of being one of the few young (and therefore attractive) whiteys in town. Lopburi is a rural area surrounded by mountains and sunflower fields where if one were feeling adventurous one could straddle and ride a throbbing motorbike yonder… Or a trip to 7/11 for more Sangsom liquor and an exciting Queer as Folk marathon with soul brother Brad could also do the trick. The tedious work of the house is done through hotel home staff, and the never-ending work of the teacher is made easier by (similarly) hard-working students whose (sometime) guttural minds mirror my own* My Thai students, and the people in general, are beyond gracious and kind. Though they think me ‘serious’ for not smiling quite as much as they, I have a lot to thank them for. And the men are pretty darn hot too. I would suggest that the Thai’s penchant for tight uniforms on soldiers, police officers, and doctors be shared in every nation.

There is however one more pro I will note and that is Bangkok. Though polluted, crowded, full of old ugly balding fat cartoon-bodied westerners, and frigging expensive, one night in Bangkok is a sinful delight. While there with friend Jamie (a man whose sexual drive surpasses my own) and Lee (a man who does ‘rabbit in headlights’ to a T before delivering a quip so cutting it draws blood) we ventured into the night on Jamie’s assertions that the good stuff would come our way through an (endlessly repeated) instruction to a cabbie of “No bom bom no pay!” For I to recall and accurately convey the sights of Bangkok’s dark underbelly that night would require a five-drink minimum. Suffice to say that each visit to the city has brought much reliable ‘A’ action and its innuendo-inducing name is not for nothing.

Cons: Aside from missing family and friends the last 7+ months have been relatively con-free. That is save for two western teacher ‘exceptions’ (now thankfully buggered off.) One important matter that I have said and said again is that yellow just does not suit me. In their devotion to the King many Thais wear his colour all day. I’d love to myself but all three of id/ego/superego would first have to be unconscious. As would I. The Dean may mutter but on this issue I won’t budge. Call me vain… but don’t call me fat. And if other Thai teachers would take that on-board too (perhaps by noticing the rage cross my face as they make that particular statement) I would be as happy and gay and light of step as they.

* As example, a whole blog could be devoted to Creative Writing student Chen. His ‘creative’ responses to tasks usually involve some obsecenely entertaining interpretation of his sex life. That is except for last week when in response to a fictional postcard writing task he explained his dream holiday as being a trip to the moon with his best bud to see how far they could shoot their body juices in the low gravity… In addition there have been some classic sexually-charged quotations purred by my ladyboy students, my favourite so far being “Teacher, do you have big boy?”

So you see what riles me about life here is far outnumbered by the delights of living in a country so unique and special. I am English so do have episodes of unimpressed-ness such as when forced to wait an age in check-out queues, but Miss Winter, if you are reading, you will be amused to hear of a reduction in slacker tendencies due to my working alongside colleagues whose own ‘relaxed’ approach often borders on inertia. My mind here is refreshingly clear, and students you will be pleased to hear that teaching is once more a real passion and reason to get me going each morning...

But one more thing to end, besides family and friends and f_ _ k _ _ g (more) what do I miss about England? In brief: food like lasagne, potatoes, good cereals, Dad’s fajitas and Mum’s roast dinner, hanging out and milling about shops like Topman, British music and music channels, British TV, Saturday nights with Morrell, long laugh-out-loud phone calls with Zoë, getting told off by Sister for not being her suitably brotherly role model, going to the cinema, red wine, hearing rain while I fall asleep, my books and DVDs, being able to teach more Drama, and… dogs that are well-adjusted and don’t want to jump out with their whole ‘all bark no bite’ schtick.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Take a long hard look at yourself.

x Teacher

Post III - The Pleasures and Horrors of New Year

Students,

In a (rare) insight into my personal life I am going to give you a blow-by-blow account of my New Year. If you need the toilet go now. So it was all planned and would be very different from previous New Year’s with my beloved wife in Jersey. This time Khon Kaen in north Thailand. No crowds, few foreigners, and for Brad and myself lots of fun to be had with the natives. While Natalie, ever the sport, was happy in her role as Social Director (this meant her id had food and booze and sleep in pleasingly large quantities.) Looking back, I can say that we had a total blast and a lot of fun. With some exceptions. This blog is of course above personal attacks so the main ‘exception’ (read: old git) will not be discussed. So let’s be terribly Freudian and British and focus on the positives, shall we?

The city was very nice but the best thing was the weather. We were not treated to rain but it was cooler than a furnace for once. This meant I could bring out of the closet my new DKNY jacket that id and butch ego had had such a fight over buying in Bangkok (obviously id won.) In addition the locals were very friendly (Brad certainly found so…) I would like to tell you that during our time there we saw many tourist sights, but unless (hot) gay hustlers and one gap-toothed old dyke hooping and hollering after us count, all we really did was eat, sleep, drink, laugh lots, gossip, avoid the ‘exception’ already mentioned, and drink some more. In fact Social Director and I were so spirited with our spirits that after a while our bodies would not physically allow us to get wasted anymore and we had to move on to dancing instead.

My favourite things about Khon Kaen were of course sampling the local delicacies including ‘McChicken Sandwiches’, and the exciting bars we toured. The supposed gay bar was little more than a dark techno trash room with neon lights (yes I know what else is a homo disco?) but this one suffered due to no class (guys were huffing paint in the toilets) and no actual queers in sight. Much better was the Harem club where a near-nude lady gave me a lap dance and Brad a look of horror. But on New Years Day morning no less, our intrepid trio visited a bar populated only by police that had a bathroom our Social Director succinctly described as “looking like a dead body has been thrown around and bounced off each wall.” This bar was. Very. Exciting. At the time I felt like zzzzzzzzzzz. Kidding. No, it wasn’t a favourite highlight and at this point I would like to ask id / ego / superego to briefly explain why on New Years morning I had what Brad describes as “a deteriorating mood”:

Id.
No hoochie koochie, honey. One motherf***ing year older. Not “mow” (English: intoxication).
Ego.
The combination of being a quarter of a century old as of a few days earlier, and the ‘exception’ who does not obey the rules AND being peni deprived (read: depraved) led to the bad ‘A’ word: angst. I should know I’m a muncher.
Superego.
Knowing what was wrong who was right? As you know I go both ways. I had no right to be moody (apologies), it was right of y’all to leave me be, and it was wrong wrong wrong that ‘exceptional’ circumstances made us leave the boogie club and head to the grim reaper’s karaoke bar. Be a man, rise above it.

But back to business. What was the least fun and not favourite thing about our trip? (Though amusing nonetheless). Answer: the trip itself. Getting there was fine save for the near-death minibus collision but that was nothing compared to the purgatory of the trip back. There we were perched on a shelf at the back of a crowded bus with a never-ending TV ‘variety’ concert that had more panpipe musical numbers than Ireland has ever heard in its history. However. This trip took 8 HOURS. And it didn’t end there…

When we reached Saraburi, half an hour from Lopburi, we had to leave the first bus to catch a local one back home. But there wasn’t one. Unless we wanted to sleep on a bench with some monks and teenage prostitutes we had to check into the local hotel. This hotel was described by Natalie as “The Bates Motel”, by me as “Hell Hotel”, and Brad could only nervously giggle before regaining composure and informing us - and showing me - our neighbours in the next cell’s Nazi flags and describing how he believed our cell’s ceiling panels (one of which had a hook hanging from it) would be removed after-dark so that disfigured mutants could climb down and snatch us and fillet our corpses. As well as (aptly) having only a show about a mortician to watch on TV, we had to bear the many strange noises, suspicious stains on almost every surface, and the shower. We were afraid to use this after Brad (again being helpful) suggested should we peer down the plug hole we may hear the whimpers of a small child imprisoned at the bottom of a well. Thankfully we all made it out alive and intact after having been woken from our ten-minute slumber by a family of pigeons socializing on the window grills above our heads. It was a huge relief to get back to my hotel home where Natalie and I closed the trip in style by drinking beer in the pool and generally getting a bit rowdy.

So now the New Year is here and I have described our adventures, we will end the blog by hearing from id / ego/ superego once more with resolutions for the year ahead:

Id.
Another ‘A’ word to go with the others: Addiction. Think with brain not c*ck says a wise friend. I says keep ‘em coming. Honey.
Ego.
It’s 2008 not 2000 and ‘ate’. Cut the carbs. Keep at the gym. Do those lunges. Inclince those flys. Perv those pecs. And the fit man inside will out. Inner->outer. Healthy body, healthy mind.
Superego.
As you know I go both ways. Keep on top of the ‘addiction’ situation and don’t bottom out. As a teacher you are a moral centre. So be a man’s man.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Fill me with your love.

Answer to homework from Post I = #3 is the one who came through in the end. Teacher got A*

x Teacher