The End Is Nigh

Or an alternative title: Shitty Fingers, Thailand’s Number One Man, Proper Grub, and FIIIIIIGHT!

School is winding down towards the end of term. The kids are restless and deep in exams. The third year, the poor blighters, have another set of exams following their national exams. These current exams are set by the school and are seemingly pointless. The third years can choose to leave for another school after this school year; many have already secured their places in their chosen schools and a mighty 14 have applied to stay at St. John’s. That’s 14 from 72. I’m told the poor take up is due to St. John’s ‘majoring’ in English, which is evidently unpopular. So their exams now seem to be for the sheer hell of sending them off with fond memories of their time at St. John’s.

Last week there was a small leaving ceremony for the 3rd years, or rather, a ceremony of atonement. It culminated in them writing down on a slip of paper all those students and teachers they want to apologise to, or the names of people they feel have wronged them in some way. These pieces of paper were then ripped up and placed in a jar in front of a small figure of Mother Mary. In its way it was quite touching. All the teachers were then invited in to the room and asked to sit in the centre of the third years (whilst the rest of the school got torn to bits by unsupervised kids) and the kids worked their way around each of us, saying thank you, saying sorry, saying goodbye. Naturally, a room 50% full of 15 year girls quickly found itself suffering a deluge of tears, and I also very nearly succumbed. Nearly. There were some in there that I have got to know well; girls who shared their som tam with me; lads who asked me to play football and takraw; the class scamps that usually felt the sharp end of a flying bit of chalk; the lasses who were actually good at English. I say now that I’ll remember most of them, but I’m sure over the course of time those faces will fade, and only those that made a real impact will still glimmer. So thanks Pop and Toon for taking me to the waterfall (and the rest of their gang); thanks Oil (?!), Toey and Gus for being bloody good at English and feeding me lava-like som tam; thanks Kyu and Tek for being actually very funny in class. Thanks to all of you. Not that you’ll ever see this on here. And if you did you probably wouldn’t understand it. Sorry to the rest for never learning your names. You didn’t make it easy though by all looking the same with your brown skin and black hair…

OK, less of the soppy shite, more of DRUNKEN ANTICS! More of WEIRD FOOD! More of WIPING MY OWN SHITTY ARSE WITH MY OWN FINGERS!

Let’s get the latter out of the way first. Come on, it has been a while since I talked toilet habits – largely because they’ve settled down – but you know you’ve missed it really. You also now already know the punchline. I had asked Tony more or less on my first day to clear something up for me; something that would I was absolutely sure prove to be a useful piece of knowledge. The lack of shit tickets, bog roll, call it what you will, in Thai bogs had been bothering me. I was aware that the water jet besides most toilets was there for a purpose and put two and two together. I think my exact words to Tony were “Let’s get this straight, if there’s no bog roll I have to squirt the shit away and then use my own bare hands to cleave away any stubborn shit from my own arse, yes?”. “Yes”. Luckily for the first three and a half months of my stay I have never had to resort to this. All this changed last week; the house was all out of Andrex and I was in dire need of waving Mr. Brown and his friends off to the coast. I sat down and thought of England. Time came. I squirted. It felt alright actually. I had a delicate fumble with my fingers and did the deed. Job done. Proud, in a way. It was about three steps out of the bathroom that it didn’t quite feel ‘right’ in the way bog roll does. I had visions of Olympic skidmarks. These didn’t materialise.

Now fast-forward a couple of nights. We’ve been on the whiskey and had a good feed, but all day my bowels have been working against me. It’s late. We’re in a bar that Kae’s husband Pi Ti has taken us to. A traditional Thai bar. With a traditional Thai shitter. Traditional Thai shitters don’t even have the water jet. They have a tub of water to one side with a scoop in it, that you use to sling water in the general direction of your shit-smeared arsehole. Not good. Realising that we wouldn’t be leaving any time soon for the comfort of the house bog, I trotted off, dropped me keks, squatted and pebble-dashed the ceramic. Then came the fun part. Have you ever tried to throw water at your bum accurately, whilst trying to keep your shorts and boxers dry, and also scrape excrement from tha’s bum? No? Neither had I. So I stumbled out looking like I’d fallen in the bastard water tub; piss wet through from the waist down and waddling like I was carrying a load in my boxers rather than just having made a deposit at ‘Rhoids Bank (big in Japan I hear…).

A touch miffed at my abject failure I then spotted napkins. Napkins on every single table. I watched. I had an idea. My idea was proven right. Everyone else that headed to the bog (all of whom also happened to be Thai) took a good wad of napkins. The little bastards had never told me that trick. So now I tell ALL OF YOU so in future you know. Make a mental note. Do it.

That’s shit out of the way. What next? Hmmm…WEIRD FOOD? Ok, this is a quickie. We’d sat down for tea one night with Pi Kuan and her sister Pen. The usual fine spread was put out before us, and then a dish was handed to Pi Kuan. “One season” she says. “Huh?”. “This food is only available for one season” she says. “Oh right. What is it?”. “Caterpillar”. “Caterpillar?”. “Yes! Caterpillar without hair”. “…”. “Caterpillar from the ground”. “Back up a minute their love…without hair?”. “Yes. They become insects!”. Cue glances between me and Adam. “You mean grubs?”. “Yes. Grubs. Caterpillars without hair, from ground, become insects. Want to try?”. “Yes? I do?”. In for a penny and all that. I fished one out, asking specifically for a “juicy one please”. They had been bashed about a bit in the cooking, but yup, there was the fairly unmistakable body of a grub. Pale and bald (bit like Gollum). And now I’m putting it in my mouth. And now I’m tasting it. It’s tasting a lot of soil and phlegm. Not wholly unpleasant but I can’t see Odeon stocking them any time soon. I passed on further grubs.

Last Friday I got a taste for booze. After getting back from school I took a wander out to town to pick up a new toothbrush and some more mozzie ‘repellant’ (I may as well throw water at my legs and hope they don’t like damp). On the way back I fancied an ice cold beer, so I got a small can of Leo. I headed to the market, which was on the way home. I’d finished that beer by the time I got to the market, so picked another small can up. Between the market and home I had bumped in to Adam and also picked a third small can up.

Pi Nu and Pi Tai had a friend up from southern Thailand; I had anticipated a heavy session and I was not disappointed. We cracked on with a bottle of whiskey, ate, and cracked on with a second bottle whiskey. Now quite merry Pi Nu, Pi Tai, Chai (their mate), Adam and me found ourselves wandering towards the karaoke bar. Previously we had been in when drunk and I was given Hotel California to sing, because it was the only English language sing they had. It came on again. I didn’t sing, again. But I did drink. Another bottle of whiskey came along and was sunk. It was only heading up to about 11.15pm and the others were looking at heading home. I didn’t fancy it and I knew there was another bar open further up the road. I managed to get Adam to come along too and we went for a wander. A couple of wonky-faced hostesses came and tended to our drinks and we tried to make conversation with them but it wasn’t easy – we didn’t have much Thai, they didn’t have much English, nor for that matter Thai as they had come from Laos to work. The place was empty too, so we did one and stumbled back towards the house.
Very much drunk at this point, we made it through the gate only to find the house doors locked. Oh shit. I rang Pi Nu but no answer. I rang Pi Tai but no answer. As any drunk will testify, anything can look comfortable when under the influence. I was influenced enough just to lay down on the porch, close my eyes and sleep. I woke up in my bed. I have no recollection of getting in to the house. Indeed I didn’t have any recollection of going to sleep on the porch until Adam relayed it to me the next day. It turns out that one of Pi Nu’s police colleagues had driven past and seen me prone on the porch. He had then radioed Pi Nu on his police radio (Pi Nu as Police Chief has it on, always) to tell him of a particularly lethargic intruder on his doorstep. Pi Nu had knocked up one of Pi Kuan’s sons who was back from Uni for the weekend and had told him to fetch/drag me in. In the mean time, Adam had found a way in to the shed outside and was kipping there, missing the chance to get in the house.

I woke up feeling rough as fuck at 8.30am. I shat and went back to sleep, eventually resurfacing at 12.20pm. My appearance downstairs was greeted with a cheer and much laughter from Pi Kuan and Mam Tur. They then began to fill me in on what I’ve just told you.

Anyhow, a couple of nights later, walking back home from a quick milkshake, me and Adam happen across Kae and Pi Ti (a copper also) eating outside the house of another copper, Pi Dit. Clearly word had got round the Police in town, further laughter was had. Then a bottle of lao khao appeared and we were offered three shots of it…mixed with brandy. After necking those, a neat brandy was offered. After that, more laughing at my Friday night hi-jinx…and the proclamation from Pi Dit that I was “The Number One Man in Thailand”. Pi Ti seemed to agree. I took it gracefully and headed home.

And finally…

School this week is a bit of a write-off. Exams have decimated the timetable, I have two lessons all week. And even they’re just a maybe. The kids have one eye on holidays and none of them want to be in class. Today it was announced there would be an impromptu exam for everyone on St. John’s, Christianity, the relationship status of the teachers and the names of the cooks (I’m not joking!). As I went along to a class to offer some exam assistance (as it had been told to us), I was then told I’d be sitting the bloody thing. I sat down and scanned the questions: What is the name of the new Bishop of Udon Thani? (Jeff. Jeff the Bishop); Name the teachers who are single; What is the symbol of St. John? (I avoided ‘crashing disorganisation’ and instead plumped for ‘a tiny fluffy kitten’).

After setting the 4th year classroom up like an exam hall it took all of ten minutes for it to turn into a group session. Tables were quickly shuffled back and even the teacher in charge started giving answers (it turns everyone had to sit it, including the teachers). I was sat with some of the 4th year lads when I suddenly became aware of noise. Not usual classroom banter noise but more the noise of fist against skull and cheek. I turned round to see two lads full at it; I took a quick look around found a place to put my glasses and piled in to separate them. By the time that happened the punches had stopped and it was more like a vigorous cuddle. I got one in a headlock and put my leg behind his to bring him down, than sat on him for good measure. I looked up and both neighbouring classes had gathered to peer through the windows; the military instructor was there; the PE teacher had arrived; and Gene was manhandling the other lad away to the other side of the classroom.

I’m sure Sister Deanna will be overjoyed to hear that her idea for a lighthearted bit of end-of-term fun turned to violence. Not the first time Christianity’s had that effect I suppose. Nor the last, I‘m sure.

Right, that’s your lot.