And just when I thought I'd experienced everything

No matter where you work in the world, or what job you do, there is always a certain euphoria that surrounds a Friday afternoon. This has been the one constant since my first day of work in 1986 at an electronics factory in Lancashire, to my current job as a teacher in Korea. There have been a number of different ways that I have celebrated this Friday afternoon feeling. In Australia, it would be a beer on the back of the tractor as we trundled back to our shack after a hard day of picking grapes or melons. In Israel, it was straight from the orange orchards to the lawn in front of our room, to down a bottle of arrack or vodka. In Holland, the electronics company that I worked for would finish early and we would all go upstairs to the canteen to eat snacks and drink beer together - whilst we laughed about the weeks events. Whilst in Liverpool it would be straight to the pub to get ridiculously drunk with my colleagues. Oh, hold on a minute, I see a trend emerging here. Maybe it is the need for alcohol after a working week that binds the world together (if the Muslims would adopt such Friday afternoon practices, perhaps we would not feel the need to bomb the shit out of them).


Korea, is slightly different. Essentially I spend my afternoons alone -which is fine by me. I don my Ipod earphones and shut the world outside. This is a course of action I necessarily take to either shield my ears from the repetitive greetings of the kids "teacher hello", "teacher goodbye" (yes kids, you are irritating little fucks), or the equally repetitive inane conversation of my fellow teachers. This usually takes the form of "what will you do this weekend"? To which I reply "I'm going to Busan" or "I'm going to a party at the Irish bar", or some other such pastime. Which invariably seems to blow their stacks, "Oh really" comes their reply, as though it is the most amazing thing on Earth. I then feel obliged to ask them what they will be doing, although I know for sure that the answer will bore the shit out of me, "I'm going to the library to study English", is an old favourite - sometimes varied with such responses as "I am going to The City 7 (shopping mall) or "I'm going to have coffee with my friends". Whatever the answer, you can guarantee that their imagination has not featured in it. In fact, I would go as far as to say, that there is no such thing as an imagination in this country. Unless of course, you include spending 5 hours making the class look preposterously untypical, in preparation for an open class (this is when the parents come to watch you teach - but actually might as well have gone to the circus to watch the clowns perform).


and so the story goes.


It's Friday afternoon and after a week in the limelight I have said my 500th and last "hello -goodbye" of the day and I am heading to my girlfriend Lee's house on my scooter. As often I do, I am singing at the top of my voice as I ride a long. I'm not sure if "Like a bat out of hell, I'll be gone when the morning comes", is an appropriate tune, for my little red step through scooter (complete with basket) - but that's my riding song. I'm excited, the weekend is upon me and I have a trip to Gyeongju planned.


I arrive at Lee's some 25 minutes later, leap off my steed and positively bounce up to her apartment. Within minutes it becomes obvious that Lee is not instilled with the same euphoria that I am feeling. In the knowledge that she did not have to work today, she spent last night partying with her friend. It is very apparent that our trip to Gyeongju is a non-starter and a quick revision of the plans is made. Leaping back on my scooter, I head to the nearest supermarket to stock up on supplies, this time I'm singing "Go grease lightening, you're burnin up the quarter mile". I grab as many bottles of red, as my rucksack, basket and back box will take (around 7) and head back to Lee's - for what looks like a heavy weekend.


Often, when I drink, I get incredibly tired but tonight I have the raging horn. Our bottles of red are interspersed with incredibly good and noisy sex (of which I will spare you the details). You know those nights? When alcohol and libido perfectly intertwine and you can't get enough of your partners intimate parts. Well, this was one of those nights. Our night begins at 6 pm and we are still periodically hammering away, way after the cock has crowed (I know, that was poor). Although it is October, the outside temperature is still too warm to leave the windows closed, especially on a passionate night like tonight. Eventually, we run out of wine and our animal like impulses are forced into submission. We fall into a deep sleep, somewhere around 7 am.


It's now 3 pm the following day, and we are trying to ease ourselves gently into Saturday evening. We lie in bed bedraggled, not wishing to become a part of the outside world and ignoring any texts or phone calls that we receive. Today we are out of commission and totally unprepared for what is about to happen. Suddenly the room is brought to life by the blurting of a strange alarm, the likes of which I have never heard before. Thinking that it comes from the sreet via the open window, I am not too concerned (Lee is more concerned because she recognises this as her own doorbell). Within seconds there comes a bang on the door, which sends shivers down both out spines. In Korea, the only people that ever bang on your door, are sales people or Jehovah's witnesses (one and the same thing actually). Of course, we are not in the mood for any of these charlatans (I mean, whoever is)? We choose to ignore the initial bangs, but the person on the other side is in no mood for our ignorance. The banging gets increasingly louder until the door is practically being kicked in. Being the gentleman I am, I inform Lee that she better answer the door and I retire under the sheets unable to face our predators.


From my vantage point on the left hand side of the bed, I can see Lee as she opens the door but the person on the other side of the door can neither see me, nor can I see them. The look on Lee's face alerts me to the fact that something untoward is going on. I hear a babbling of Korean tongue and detect a serious tone to the conversation. Well, I say conversation, it's more of a one sided affair, with Lee gettin vocally pounded by what I suspect is some Korean weirdo. Enveloped by curiousity and more than a little concern, I crane my neck forward and am shocked to see that there are a group of people standing in the doorway, headed by 2 uniformed police officers. Quickly, I dart back under the covers.


This scene is played out for at least the next half hour, during which time poor Lee has to stand and endure the vocal bombardment. Not wanting to add further impetus to the whole event, I remain under the covers (the fact that I am a complete coward, does not feature into it). At one point Lee comes back into the bedroom and gets her mobile. Returning to the police officer she relays a number to him. Eventually, the police officers and their entourage are satisfied enough to leave. However, they remain outside in a heated discussion for the best part of the next hour.


Lee returns to bed and we try to piece together what our eyes have just witnessed. She informs me that inbetween ranting and raving, the policeman has been playing a game of charades with her. The ESL teacher being well versed in the communication of charades, she has deduced from the devils horn gestures of the policeman, that the neighbours have been angered by our nocturnal groanings. What I didn't realise, is that the neighbours had been so annoyed that they had called on the landlady of the appartment block, who had in turn called the po po. That's right, the police had been brought in because we were too noisy having sex. Now call me a showoff, but I will add that too my repetoire of near arrests with little hesitation.


The only way Lee was ever going to get rid of the po po and posse of angry neighbours, was to let them know which school she taught at and to give the number of her co teacher. For the rest of the weekend Lee fears for that she will be released from her teaching position for being too vocal in bed.


As it turns out, the police don't get in touch with the school, although the landlady speaks to Lee's co teacher to inform her of the situation. It seems that there were complaints from all of the neighbours who demanded action from the landlady. Having no idea how to approach the situation, the police were brought in.


And just when I thought I'd experienced everything.

The teacher just took a shit

I have encountered many a strange thing on my travels of the past 22 years. Gazelles that jumped higher than houses, snake charmers that sat in the middle of the desert miles from human existence, dj's that played from army tanks at raves that lasted for weeks, a lawyer that lived in a flying saucer, 5 homosexual hounds humping in a train like formation, and a family of 8 people, none of which were wearing a crash helmet, on a motorcycle driving the wrong way down a one way street on the pavement, are just some of the events that immediately spring to mind. However, no matter how long I live, or how far I travel, I will never get my head around the squat toilet.

It is difficult to recall when I first encountered this most primitive of devices. If I cast my mind back to the countries that I've visited, I guess that it was Egypt in 1989. Since that time I have visited far too many countries that rely on the squat toilet as their only aid to bodily relief. In Nepal, the squat toilet was taken one step further. Housed within a hastily thrown together bamboo shelter was a hole in the ground. In the darkness that the shelter provided, it was hard to see what was down the hole, but when I heard a strange grunting noise and felt a snout encircling my arse hole, I was out of there before my load hit the pig in the face.

Anyway, I mustn't digress. Fast forward 22 years and I find myself teaching elementary school kids in Korea. Now, I am sure that if you cast your minds back to your time at school you will remember that it was not, under any circumstances OK to take a dump in the school toilet. Personally speaking I only ever recall doing this once. Upon this occasion, I excused myself from class, ran off down the corridor at top speed, gripped with fear, a turtles head pushing through to my underpants. I offloaded quicker than a B52 bomber and was back in class so fast that any suspicions that I had just performed the unspeakable were not aroused.

Call me presumptuous, but I would have expected that as a teacher, I would have had the luxury of a teacher's toilet. A place where I could go to escape the mayhem that is the native English teacher's life in Korea. For anybody reading this who has never worked in a Korean public school, you couldn't even imagine the adulation that comes with the position. Over the 2 years that I've been here I have got used to being mobbed by kids wherever I go in the school. There is no steady amble down the school corridors, no eating your lunch at a leisurely pace, no quiet rest between classes, and certainly no relaxing time on the Thomas Crapper, newspaper in hand, and mind at ease. That is to say, we are permanently on display. Every move I make is at lightening pace. Where possible, I time my walks down the corridors to those times when the kids are in class. Even then, they spot me and wave at me whilst they are supposed to be concentrating on the teacher (it may just be in my mind, but I'm sure that I see a twitch of hatred in the teachers's eye, when this occurs). I eat my dinner at record pace, every mouthful shovelled in, whilst trying to avoid the gaze of the kids. My ears deafened by their cries of "teacher Andy", "teacher Andy", my mind in meltdown as I fight to remain calm.

It gets worse, believe me it gets worse. I only ever teach in the mornings, which means that I am free in the afternoons. During this time I try to remove myself from prying eyes as much as I can, which is never easy when the windows are only half frosted. There always seems to be an eye peering over the top of the frosted part. Outside my safe haven the sounds of the kids' screams, giggles and yells pollute the air. Much worse than this, the whistles of a hundred recorders blasting at once are a sound that are going to feature in my nightmares for the rest of my life.

All distractions aside, I generally manage to achieve some sort of comfort level, as I shut my eyes and relax in my swivel chair. But today is different, my relaxation is halted by a low rumble from deep within. Maybe it is the relative relaxation that forces my bowels into submission, or maybe it is the fear of the squat toilet that creates a movement in my lower intestine. Whatever it is, I can fight it, but I can't make it go away.

Eventually, I give in, grab myself a handful of tissues, empty my trouser pockets in preparation, and with my head hung low I head to the squat toilet. As always happens the kids follow me down the corridor, tugging at my trousers and wanting to speak. My mission has failed, the little monsters have spotted the toilet paper hanging out of my pocket and I have to return to base.

I wait for for 5 minutes before trying again.

The toilet blocks are on every floor, pink tiles for the girls and blue tiles for the boys. They're easy to locate because they are surrounded by an overwhelming stench of urine and kiddie poo (god, is there any worse smell than kiddy poo?). Upon entering the toilet block, I stealthily check to make sure none of the little fuckers are lurking behind the doors - which I kick open to avoid hand contact. And there it is, in all it's non glory - the ubiquitous squat toilet. Hastily, I lock the door and prepare myself for the ghastly experience.

There is a reason why Asians squat at any given opportunity - bus stops, shops, or sometimes even in the middle of the street. And the reason is - the squat toilet. Over many years of practising, these people could squat as an Olympic event. Their centre of gravity is so low that their arses almost touch the ground, their balance perfectly poised. As for myself, my balance is awful and preparation to perform my ablutions is key to my success.

And this is how it goes......

Standing on one leg, I take off one sandal with both hands. I then balance precariously on the sandal as I attempt to take off my trousers. On at least one occasion this has failed miserably and I have submerged my foot, complete with sock, into the squat toilet. With trousers successfully off, I remove my underpants, which I place on my head for want of a better place to put them. With these actions complete, I'm ready to release the turtle, which I do with haste before I fall over. I do however stumble backwards and forwards, and side to side, but fortunately the toilet cubicle is so small and narrow that I'm able to do successfully regain my balance. Rather like a pinball bouncing around a table.

I'm ever aware of any stirrings outside the cubicle because the fact that the native teacher is taking a shit is a source of amusement to the kids. I've had kids peeping both under and over, which is never great when you're sat with your underpants on your head. I can't even begin to imagine how I would have reacted if I'd seen Mr Bell, my English teacher balanced on a squatter with his pants on his head.

The wiping of my arse warrants a story all of it's own and takes almost as many attempts as flushing the offending article away afterwards does. As it makes it's journey into the over-congested, ill functioning Korean sewerage system, I sidle off down the corridor, attempting to blend in with the surroundings. As a 6ft bald English man in a school full of 4 ft Korean kids I fail miserably and my secret is out. The message is passed down the corridor "The teacher just took a shit".