Our man in Tokyo

I reckon a few vomit stories wouldn´t go astray. I do know a pretty good one about a pigs head...

But I admit that if you go too far in the other direction and write only anecdotes (ie. like me) then people tell you to shut the fuck up when you try and write something opinionated. I´ve thought about starting a second blog just to launch into political rants. Whaddya think?

Haha, what a fantastic email. I especially like the phrasing of the first line - "noticed on the internet that you have a blog". As if the internet was a little newsletter or something you can scan the entire contents of quite quickly.

I second the vomit in the gutter motion, though. That goes without saying. Or perhaps random photos of you doing things which people can make up their own stories to.

I thought that email was lovely and you should reply to it!

Been there, my friend. I just want a picture of a person chasing a monkey.

I hhaven't mentioned that I taught a class of yeaar 8s the other day using a prosthetic hand. I'd been over at a friend's place who owns a cat and, as I'm allergic, this little marmalade beast came straight over and started the rub-up. Well, a bottle of wine later I awoke to find that it was tomorrow and ddue to puss's attentions my left eye had swelled to the size of a squash ball. And it didn't go down for a week. Couldn't open the damn thing, and it kept on weeping. Chicken (the devil in question) was sitting in the corner when I woke up, licking herself and not sparing me a single glance. Done with me, the fickle creature.

So I front up to work looking like Quasimodo.

People do notice these things when you're a teacher, and kids tend to laugh. So do teachers. By Wednesday I was getting tired of the bugeye comments and colleagues appearing at yard duty and making a show of talking about urgent curriculum and student welfare matters while walking on my blind side.

I went to a three dollar shop (inflation hurts) and bought a plastic hand - you know, skin colour but cut off at the forearm. Fake blood, bones protruding at the cut. Kind of a horror classic you'd also find in magic shops.

Lesson six I rolled up my shirt and jumper and stuffed it up, then rolled the shirt back down and did up the cuff properly, and rolled the jumper back over so it looked neat and tidy. Because of the extra length I had to tuck my own elbow inside the shirt next to my torso. There was no other way to do it so that the sleeves would fit properly,; amd anyway I suppose it added to the whole deal, since I was left with a hunchback and a slight lean to go with the eye. The hand was a right hander, so I knew I was going to have to write with it and use the duster. I pracised jamming a pen and a whiteboard marker in between the fingers; the pen would only sit between the fore- and middle fiingers and it took a while to learn how to control it. The marker was bulkier and therefore easier, and the duster was a breeze - it had a raised back wirh a hole in it so you could just jam it on the thumb. I fiddled with it all for a bit, then the bell went, and I walked into class.

The kids started laughing straightaway. The eye, the hunch, a plastic hand. I kept the perfect deadpan. It was a computer session and I played it as normal.

"Come in. In the middle first so i can take the roll and set you up, then the computers. No Xhildo, what did I say? Take a seat."

"Sir: what's with the hand?" Andrew Zwarts.

"Whadda you mean?"

"Sir, your hand." He was laughing.

"What? I've got two, you've got two. Now sit down so we can get on with the class."

"Sir, you've got a plastic hand." They were all starting to crack now. But they were sitting down.

"You know we don't make personal comments in this class Andrew, Now let's get on with the work."

I started to mark the roll, using the hand. "Here"; "Here"; "Here". Got to Luke McCrory, who's an old student who was transferred (expelled) from another school I had worked at before. We'd always got along fine, though he was a bit of a toughie.

"Sir, you have a plastic hand. You're crazy."

"Look Luke. I don't think it's appropriate to focus on our individual difficulties. I don't do it to you, and i tell you off when you do it to each other. I'd appreciatee the same courtesy, thankyou. Now, we'v e all got work to do, so let's leave our differences alone and get on with the project. You all know what you have to do. You've only got a few lessons left; I've received a few drafts already and I'm going to start by going through those. If you're having trouble put your hand up or come up the front and I'll help you out in turn. You might have to be patient as there's a bit to do. But I'll do my best to get around to you all as you need it. Any questions"

No questions.

"Good. Then let's get on with it. Log on and get started."

It was one of the most productive lessons I've ever taught. From time to time I'd scratch my head or my other arm with the hand, but most of the time I was just moving around the room answering questions, helping with problems and pointing out areas for improvement. When a kid came up with a draft I'd hold it in my left hand and scan the lines with my artificial right. When I came to a mistake I'd pause over it with one of those stumpy fingers and go through it with them. I looked them in the eye and they never flinched.

Kids are so funny. You can be Richard III for all they care, as long as you're yourself.

How odd... I met Al Gore last night.