Posted 10:05 AM by Gobbler
?The imperialists are bullying us in such a way that we will have to deal with them seriously.? Chairman Mao Zedong, Interview with a Hsinhua News Agency correspondent (September 29, 1958).

Im being bullied by my crap computer. Errgh, sometimes it does frustrate me. Ive been trying for threequarters of an hour to download the messages. Have to go through haloscan itself, and ive lost connection about 10 times or more. Also trying to log onto messenger to see what peeps (I hear that that is the in phrase nowadays) are about. I get a string of error messages. Either im behind a firewall or there is no connection or there is some funny error or my password is rejected or the other computer doesn?t respond or some nonsense. Anyway, here now, for a brief one.

Thursday was my day off. Which meant that I had the class at no.1 middle school. Already it was my fourth week there, and as such my last week. Id promised one class that id sing a song, and id got organised. The Lumberjack Song by monty python, what could be better? The lyrics, formatted for class are below:

The Lumberjack Song

Me: I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK,
I sleep all night and I work all day.

All: He's a lumberjack and he's OK,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

Me: I cut down trees, I eat my lunch,
I go to the lavat'ry.
On Wednesdays I go shopping
And have buttered scones for tea.

All: He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch,
He goes to the lavat?ry.
On Wednesdays he goes shopping
And has buttered scones for tea.

He's a lumberjack and he's OK,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

Me: I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
I love to press wild flow'rs.
I put on women's clothing
And hang around in bars

All: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps,
He loves to press wild flow'rs.
He puts on women's clothing
And hang around in bars

He's a lumberjack and he's OK,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

Me: I cut down trees, I wear high heels,
Suspendies and a bra.
I wish I'd been a girlie
Just like my dear papa.

All: He cuts down trees, he wears high heels,
Suspendies and a bra.
He wishes he?d been a girlie
Just like his dear papa.

He's a lumberjack and he's OK,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

The singing of the song wasn?t all that great, but explaining the words was. ?What?s a lumberjack?? ?I?ll draw a picture.? So I did. It went on. ?Lavat?ry? means toilet! Oh hoh! Hilarity! Scones a small cake! Well I never! Skipping! Absolutely side-splitting! High heels! (accompanied by my picture of a pretty lady) Chuckle! Suspendies. Moving on. Bra. ?Does anyone know what a bra is?? A couple of girls nod, most look a little confused. ?Err,? I thought, ?move on or explain this one? Well children, a bra is, ah, is, a bra is, err, ah. Ok, would one of the girls come up here and demonstrate please?? I?d said this in the class before. I should point out that we were doing the lumberjack song in that lesson too, not because it was a class on ladies underwear or worse. Thing is, the class before understood less. Id thrown in the question ?can one of the girls show the class please? on the spur of the moment. As I expected, none of them understood what I had said so I just chuckled to myself. However, this time some of the girls understood and burst out laughing, perhaps nervously. Unexpectedly they then appeared to try to decided amongst themselves who would demonstrate. This was not in the script. They looked at me peculiarly. ?No no! it was a joke! I was not serious, don?t come up.? But the issue of what a bra was still needed to be explained. (you see it was crucial to a full understanding of the comedic qualities of the song. ?Tell you what,? I said, ?I?ll draw a picture.? And so I did.

This caused a commotion of quite an unprecedented scale. Widespread hysterics broke out. Not sure what happened to the embarrassed modesty of the students, but there you have it. But you know, I discovered an extraordinary fact that afternoon. If you draw a bra (try this at home so that you can see what I mean) with the straps going out the sides, it looks vaguely like a pair of glasses. Big thick glasses like the sort that some cartoon character might wear. So, realising that I couldn?t very well leave a picture of a bra on the board for the entire class - and realising with unease that, somehow, (how had it happened?) I was actually drawing a bra on the blackboard - I converted the bra into a face. Shoulder straps linking together like a forehead. Draw a nose between the cups, a broad chin, big toothy mouth, and you?ve got youself a comedic bra-man. ?This,? I said with relief amid roars of laughter, ?is not a bra.?

I had planned to tell the class that it was my last day at the start of the lesson but the chinese teacher lingering by the door put me off. I told them at the end of the class. They, for the most part, looked quite upset. It turned out that they had not been told. ?But who will teach us now?? One asked. ?Why are you leaving?? I didn?t know what to say to them. The truth didn?t seem to cut the mustard. ?Well guys, the fact is I never wanted to teach here in the first place. I was pushed into it and decided from the start to get out as soon as possible. Though im enjoying myself and you?ve all here at the school made me feel immensely welcome, im still leaving. I promised myself that I wouldn?t stay a day longer than four weeks and Im too proud and stubborn to reverse that decision. Tough luck. Well, good luck then!? I hung around for a while while they looked at my photos, and then it was goodbye.

Kat: I believe the monkey is straightjacketed or devices to that effect.

Laura: Blimey ouja sounds nasty. You?ve got to worry when the brains sound more tempting than the other thing offered!

Mum: About the small taks with immediate results. Good advice, thankyou. Nice to see there is some to be found in this sea of lewd and gibberishical comments!

TulsaHilton: I don?t know, giving up brain during lent would be a fairly painless sacrifice. I think I might have had dog the other day actually. I thought it was beef at the time?

Cheesemonger: Chef Schmeff. Im like you old boy with your primaeval soup. Chuck it all in a pan, turn up the heat, sort of play it by ear, make a wish and bingo!

Tinderstick: Hello Inga, how are you? What, pray, goes into a swedish meatball? Brain? Do your strange government approved mating games involve meatballs at all? Also, as you are the national if not international dish, I have a question for you. This goes to all Ingas everywhere actually. Is there a recipe book one might purchase so as to find out how you are best prepared? Or does one simlpy pop you into a pan or suitable container, turn up the heat and then just sort of play it by ear? Feel ones way along, so to speak. And about those photos, they would certainly stop cuthbert, matilda and galadriel at the back from talking for a while. And I might get fired. But you know tinders, as my pottery teacher knew full well, a teaching aid is a teaching aid is a teaching aid. Please send them. I like to think that my classes are an educational experience. And my photos arent interesting? I thought the one of me buggering a camel on an adverse camber in Las Vegas was pretty good. Ah well, shall try harder.

Evil Uncle: Always wondered why the chicken was going to the other side, now I know. He was running away from the pervert.

Football Rich: working on it mate, working on it. See how I cleverly brought suspenders and bras into the conversation? I wonder what song we?ll sing next week? Hows manc anyway?

Benjita: sounds extremely alarming but believable. At least you got a rollercoaster mate, even if if was screw-loose. Sounds marvellous. And you know, I might just be able to pop over to you before I get home. When are you there til? Could get the boat from beijing, or, even better, the TRAIN through the PRK and the DMZ. That?s good acrnymage.

Rach: you want bouncy dancefloor eh mister? Well I figure youre due a holiday. Why not pop over to cod and ill take the both of yous to bananas. And I?ll buy you an ice cream and take you for green tea. Deal? Ok, I?ll throw in lunch. Haa, now youre tempted, eh?

Posted 8:20 AM by Gobbler
“…The most disgusting and hateful thing about money is that it even endows people with talent. And it will do so until the end of the world….” - Danya, The Idiot, Dostoyevsky

Im not so sure about that, unless old Fyodor meant endowed with the talent of being excellent little turds.

I planned a cunning comeback for my worst class. This was the class that I had thrown a couple of people out of the week before for wrestling on the floor, and I was generally struggling with, so I figured that I had to do something to regain the initiative. I thought that Marilyn Manson could win me that initiative.

Here was the plan. The topic would be music. I would prepare on tape a selection of different genres. I would begin with hard rock and blast their eardrums with Mansons ‘Nobodies’ or whatever its called. They would be shocked into behaving and be good as gold. (The observant reader may observantly observe an oblique connection with Kubrick’s Clockwork Orange in my approach.) I played a bit of music in my morning college class, exploring different genres and it went well. I checked the tape. Marilyn was ready to (rock and) roll. I cycled to class.

My chief grief on arriving in the classroom was that there was no tape player. “Where the bejeepers is it” I thought. Furthermore, I thought “Bloody hell,” I thought, “That’s my class plan up the creek. Just what do I do now?” What had happened to the damned tape recorder? I asked a student and he told me that it was in the office; I posted him off to get it. He got it, I slipped the tape in.

I checked to see that I had the right side. I pushed the volume up to full, and suddenly this supposedly satanist wierdo from backwater america was shouting and screaming to the class that we were all nobodies. Regrettably maximum volume wasn’t especially high, but it was fairly good. I stopped the tape shortly before the end, I planned to use it later. They were at first quite quiet.

I began to ask them questions. What sort of music was it, what intruments were in it, did they like it, had they heard it before? Someone shouted out linkin park, there was general commotion. No satisfactory answer to the question. I asked someone, a girl, to describe the music, what she thought of it. She didn’t understand the word describe. I described describe. She nodded that she now understood. I repeated the question over and over, I wrote it on the board. She stood there like a mute for two minutes while the rest heckled their way into mindless shouting and general uproar. I told her to sit down, I tried someone else; no joy there either. I requietened the class, half of it anyway, I explained it myself, they didn’t listen, and the volume raised again. I played a few seconds more to show what I meant. They werent listening. I contemplated changing the genre of music to show them the difference. They continued to shout and throw things and stand up and generally do things that I consider not cricket at all. I gave up.

Plan B. Plan B was to do another classes lesson plan. I handed out as many photos as there were groups. (I split them into groups; they understood this) I wrote on the board something along the lines of ‘You will write a dialogue/conversation of what the people in the picture are saying. You will hand it in.’ I asked if everyone understood. From what I could hear they said yes. I asked if they understood the word ‘dialogue’. They said ‘no’. I spent the next minutes explaining the word. I asked if they now understood. They said ‘yes’. I told them to do it now. They set about it. Apart from the ones who were standing up and moving about to look at the photos or throwing things etc of course. At least the two whom I had thrown out for wrestling on the floor the week before were sitting almost quietly.

I moved around the groups to make sure that everyone had it. The first interruption was a kid playing with a knife which had a five inch blade. He had just impaled one of his books with it. I confiscated it. Considerately he gave me the sheath in which to store it. One of the better kids as well…

Some minutes later it was apparent that all groups bar two had written nothing, and most had far better things to talk about. No-one had written anything vaguely relating to a dialogue. The first group I went up and talked to consisted of four fairly good girls. They didn’t understand. Not a sign of a pen or paper let alone any written dialogue. I knelt down to be on eye level with them and explained it all again to the four of them, with three other students sticking their curious heads in. (Meanwhile the other kids, seeing an absence of teacher, became rowdier.) “I – want – you – to – write, to – write, To – W-rite, a di-a-logue. I – want – you – to – write – a – dialogue. Do – you - understand - the - word - dialogue?” “Yes” “I want you to write a dialogue - of – what – is – happening – in – the – photo. In – the – photo. Do you understand the word ‘photo’?” “yes.” “I – want – you – to – write - a - dialogue - of – what – is – happening – in – the – photo. Do you understand the word ‘happening’?” “Yes.” “Ok, excellent, well done. So do you understand – what – it – is – that – I – want – you – to – do?” “Yes. Thank you Teacher, thank you.” I did a similar thing with the other 11 or 12 groups…

Twenty minutes later I came back round to the same group of four girls as mentioned in the previous paragraph. . Not a sign of a pen or paper let alone any written dialogue. I knelt down to be on eye level with them and I asked them: “Where is your dialogue?” Blank stares. “Have – you – written – a – di – a – logue?” “Yes.” “Where – is – it?” Blank stares. “Have – you – written – something?” “No.” “Why – the – fuck – not?”
Blank stares. I got frustrated, very. I took a breath. I explained it again. They got it finally.

Some minutes later the bell went. I received two dialogues. One excellent effort from the group of interested boys on the left. One desperate effort from the kid from whom I had confiscated the knife. He wanted the knife back desperately, tho not for him. You see blogreaders, at the tender age of 13 he had committed a terrible Crime Of Passion. The knife belonged to a girl, he had grabbed it off her to play with it. I had taken it from him. The girl saw the knife disappear into my pocket and figured she’d never see it again. She burst into tears and cried for the whole lesson (which demanded 7 people to console her, tho twas past hope). Although I had no intention of keeping the knife (tho ive kept things before), and tried to tell him so, he was desperate to hand in good work to get the knife back. He got it back and look mighty relieved. Can it be that he already understands that there is no wrath like a woman's scorn?

The class will be repeating the same exercise next week until and again and again until they get it right. The rest of the day continued topsy turvy. And shortly I will ascend to the fairies. Not usually difficult for me but last night I could hardly sleep at all, it was quite bizarre. I cannot comfortably account for it at all.

My apologies for poor comment commenting. I can now read comments again, but it is not tonights job. Sorry, hope all are well.

Posted 8:23 AM by Gobbler
“Do you want a receipt with that?” – The Mighty Tim, Guatemala

Thursday night ended up being a large gathering. The usual band plus the aussies plus the americans plus Bill and Mrs Bill. Mrs Bill is not actually called Mrs Bill, but I call her that and she doesn’t seem to object too much. Why, just last week I tell you, she spoke to me. Her real name is Fu, which I had forgotten. The only way I can think of remembering it is to recall the phrase in the A-Team, “I pity the fool”, as it sounds vaguely like the word ‘fool’. But I rather like Mrs Bill. And now, on this subject of names and fools and such, let us have a-

Brief Interlude

“I pity the fool” – B.A. Baracas, The A-Team

Why it is that this particular class should be so full of ridiculous names in comparison to other classes I cannot fathom. Yet gradually, over the weeks, the more extraordinary names are being weeded out. Sure, we’ve still go Purple, September, Shadow, Coffee, Ice, Keyes, King, Ice Cream, Snow and Sea, not to mention Blue Sky, but some of the old classics have gone. A couple of weeks ago Toy declared that she was now called Amy. Mann, a delightful girl as I mentioned, became Stella. Evening became Evelny, and though I have tried to convince her that the book was wrong and it was supposed to be written Evelyn she would not be stopped. There was hope when one girl called Leittina became Phil last week, but I made her Phillipa.

This week I was thrown when, halfway through the class it emerged that Winter, one of my brighter and more attentive students, declared that she was now called Stephen and that there was nothing more to be said about it. Trouble is that if I say “don’t you know that’s a boys name?” the class erupts into laughter, as one or other of them will work out what im saying even if I whisper it or write it down. It looked as though Stephen was going to be with us for keeps. But then, out of the blue, she changes again to Ivy, as if she had meant that all along. Ivy. Its no Winter, and its definitely no Stephen.

All this in a class of 38. Unfortunately my other 600 odd kids arent so imaginative in the name department, though I can boast of teaching a Gwendolyn. There was one last bitter sweet twist of irony today when Lucy changed her name to Lemon. For making this disastrous change we can only say that shes a bit of a lemon.

End of Brief Interlude

While we waited for Jon to turn up we decided to go to the newly named Boris Restaurant. This was the one Boris (The Czech Australian whos a hitman and married 6 times and very keen on cigarettes, alcohol, and prescription drugs) came to the restaurant with us a few weeks ago. Bill and Mrs Bill came too. Poor Boris must have been on the bottle for several hours as he was particularly vocal and obnoxious. He wasn’t trying to be, he just didn’t realise I think. But one can say he overstepped the mark when he told Bill that Mao Zedong was just like Stalin and Hitler, if not worse.

But on the evening of our present tale, Boris wasn’t coming. At least he wasn’t until jon rang up shortly before time to relay the information that Boris would be pleased to join us.

I don’t know what was wrong with him but on this occasion Boris was quite well behaved. Of far greater interest were the American girls who, it emerged, were quite incapable of eating most of the dishes. Beth and thingy refused to eat anything with bones in, anything with skin or, or shells, or anything that hadnt been processed to the point where it resembled a cube or cylinder or rectangle or some comic breadcrumb coated animal shape. Anything as long it was processed away from any resemblance to any living creature. They didn’t like the soup, werent keen on the veg. they liked the sweetcorn well enough but then, of course, didn’t really like it on its own and even if they did couldn’t manage much of it as they didn’t really do chopsticks. This was the most peculiar part of the dinner. In my book they roundly championed Boris for bizarre comedy value that night. I think Kristin, the eldest of the three, fared a little better, but she was quick to join the other two when they went to a different restaurant straight after the meal…

But enough about food. Its not a bad topic in its way, but how about

Merry-Go-Rounds and ROLLERCOASTERS! Huh?

Ms. Chief, Ms. Heather Alcock herself, carried out a tour of Yangzhou COD last weekend. Friday night consisted of going to a restaurant then a bar then banana disco where we drank beer and bounced about on the boucing dancefloor, then went to another bar. This was all good, but it wasn’t a rollercoaster was it?

On our cycles around town rubers and I have noticed a merry-go-round, that some of you bleeding foreigners out there probably call a carousel, that seemed to be in the main park. We went there with Heathoid on sat. I told a couple of people it was my fifth trip to the park. It was only my fourth. What a bizarre thing to lie about. Anyway, onward. In one corner five of us did a bit of Tai Chi in what we now call Tai Chi Square. The locals thought it was funny, some foreigners laughed. Yes I did say foreigners. Foreigners that we didn’t know. A rare sight. One of them had ginger hair; they were definitely foreign. We had a quick conference to discuss these strange foreigners. It was decided that I should go over and say hello. However, as I didn’t decide on this, nothing happened. Later, in the course of our walkabout, we bumped into them. “Excuse me.” I said in a loud and somewhat artificial voice, “Are you foreign?”. I like to get straight to the crux of the issue on such occassions. One of them, the ginger one no less, ballshily claimed – in English - that they werent, but I saw through the pathetic subterfuge. “Do you live in Yangzhou or are you visiting?” I continued. “Just visiting.” They returned in a roundabout way. “Oh.” I replied, “Ok thanks, bye then.” They looked a little stupefied by the strange and abrupt conversation. I felt quite pleased.

“But the rollercoaster, the rollercoaster! What about the damned rollercoaster! Couldn’t give a crap about some foreigners you were rude to! WE want tales of the rollercoaster you arse!” I hear you cry. Well allright then.

The six of us headed towards the carousel. Rubers and I had a fair idea where it was. Not only had I promised myself a sausage that day, like I had had from the stall in the corner (almost said the bloke in the corner but evil unc and his protegee Football Rich would have ripped me apart for it (a bit like the bloke who gave me the sausage, oh mercy) the week before, but we were also going to get a boat ride and And a go on the merry-go-round. It was to be an action packed day. As we walked along the path we saw a sign. We looked at it. It had the merry-go-round (I keep typing carousel but then stubbornly deleting it and writing merry-go-round, it is a bore but I wont be taken in by this foreign chit chat) marked, but not with a merry-go-round. With a cotton-pickin’, Hot Dog, I gonna get me some poontang Rollercoaster. With cars tearing down the track at some dangerous 45 degree angle, full of screaming people. We were sceptical. Who wouldn’t be? This park’s theme was definitely in the lake, big rock, nice bridge kind of department not in the Disney World Thunder Mountain kind of zone. But as we approached the merry-go-round, we realised that indeed there was a little park with various rides. And we saw a rollercoaster track, unmistakably, half hidden behind a screen…

Rarely is it the case that the Merry-Go-Round is more entertaining than the rollercoaster, but in the city of dreams anything is possible. It looked wholly rbbish but we had to try it out. we climbed into the seats. I reched for the seatbelt. The matey told be not to bother, just to hold me on to the handles, one of which was fitted with a break… I have several principle complaints about Yangzhou’s idea of a rollercoaster, or at least the closest thing they have to one, and they are as follows:

1) It is pedal power only. It is DIY. It is manual. Speed limits do not get broken. You each have your own car, two to a car.
2) It has an unimaginative track. It goes in an 0 shape. That’s it.
3) You get traffic jams. As the set off one by one and go at your own speed, you can catch up with people infront of you. There was a queue of about six cars in our case. You can alleviate the boredom by ramming the people in front of you, in our case chris and caroline, but it doesn’t make a huge amount of excitement happen.
4) It is boring. It is dull. The highlight is the fact that, if yo were totally off your face, you might fall out, falling the colossal 20 feet or so to the ground There were what looked like large dents in the ground, however, so perhaps it does happen. It didn’t when I was on it.
5) It is flat. Completely flat. Its not a blooming rollercoaster is it? Its some kind of nonsense where you pedal round a flat track 20 feet off the ground and 200 metres long at a snails pace. Ggggg-reat.

After that the merry-go-round seemed rather racy. Actually I lie. It was before the rollercoaster. But still it was much better. And on that note im going to bed. Talkbacks later. And there is still much to tell…