Notes from a Strange Island

Rachel gets interviewed before Man City vs FC Timisoara

2010-08-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

Richmond's Got Talent!

2009-10-21T04:41:00.000-07:00

Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iI8cJRTr-n8

Mount Chokai

2009-06-29T20:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I climbed Mount Chokai! Note enormousness, although there wasn't quite that much snow up there yesterday.

The enormous volcano that I can see from my desk at work everyday has now finally been conquered! I have to say I was rather chuffed with myself, though rather annoyed that despite liberally applying 2 coats of factor 30 suncream and most of the day being spent under cloud, I managed to become entirely strawberrified. Which hurts.

Anyway the best part of the climb was the part of the descent in this video! Enjoy!

Flags, Smurfs, and Worldy Revelations

2009-06-26T18:50:00.000-07:00

“Kukku Sensei, Jaaji wa takusu heben desu ne. Gyunyu oishii!”

For readers who ne parlez pas japonnais, the above roughly translates as “so Mr Cooke, Jersey is a tax haven huh? But the milk’s good!”. This is one of the more obscure cultural observations my colleagues have made. Some revelations regarding foreign culture hit home with great aplomb amongst students and teachers alike, as seemingly the most interesting thing they have ever learnt. Others which I have assumed will promote great interest have been met with zero enthusiasm.

It’s difficult to judge what aspects of my worldly knowledge to impart in order to elicit the best response. Last year I had a friend visit who was hugely into Japanese popular culture; she loved anime and manga, had a huge knowledge of all things “nippon a la mode”, had even organised Japanese cultural expositions in London. She had more in common with my students than I ever will, and yet my typically teenage students were totally unmoved by her tales of cosplay and knowledge of manga, anime and Studio Ghibli films. She showed pictures of herself dressed as various cartoon characters that the students knew, and yet bizarrely this failed to get any reaction. This is something of a stereotype, but Japanese fads or culture being exported abroad and being approved of by a global public is normally something of interest to the Japanese. And yet my students were bored rigid. (No offence Jessie, I found it interesting!)

Today I was teaching “names of countries” to students one year younger than those who had remained so indifferent to my friend’s tales of Japaneseness abroad. I was explaining to the students the definition of “United Kingdom” To aid in this tale I drew the flags of England, Scotland and Northern Ireland. I then explained that if you put all these flags together, a union flag appears! What happened next was, if you’ll pardon my french, un petit peu ****ing weird.

As enlightenment spread across their faces, as they realised that the Union flag was three flags in one, their jaws slowly dropped. There were gasps of astonishment, excited yelps and cries of delight, and then a student at the back rose to his feet and began to clap. Soon his friends followed his example, rising to their feet in spontaneous applause, the sheer wonder of three flags combined as one overwhelming them, as within 20 seconds 38 students were on their feet, hands clasping and unclasping rapidly in rapturous applause, some with jaws locked open in awestruck amazement. Twas almost enough to make a bitter expat feel rather patriotic.

YES! WE HAVE COMBINED THREE FLAGS AS ONE! NICE RED DOT JAPAN, REALLY IMAGINATIVE!

Or were they taking the piss? You decide.

Also if those bitter xenophobes in the SNP get their way and Scotland gains complete independence from Westminster, will the blue part of the union jack remain? Colours are a very significant part of the British flag; “there ain’t no black in the union jack” was a famous slogan of the racist national front. Remove the blue in the union jack and we all know what will happen. WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE SMURFS?! It’s up to you Scotland. I’ll be smurfing angry if it happens.

It begins again...

2009-04-07T19:13:00.000-07:00

A New School Year! And once more the strange large foreign man with the orange hair is sentenced to sitting at his desk for a month with (if you'll pardon my french) sweet fuck tous to do. The main points of interest for any budding JET surrounding the month of April are as follows:

1. You will have even less than usual to do. Occupying your time effectively is vital for one's sanity, and as such I would recommend either getting really good at online computer games (I've scored 556 on this!!) or applying your imagination to more relevant world problems. You may have heard that the Japanese navy was recently deployed to the seas neighbouring my prefecture to defend Japan by shooting down any debris/rockets from the North Korean "satellite launch". What actually happened was they realised I wasn't doing anything at work, so they sent me down to the beach with a tennis ball and a good throwing arm, and let's just say that the next day I had a slightly sore arm but you may have noticed World War III did not happen. You're all welcome.

2. Whilst having very little to do, it is very easy to miss the various end of year/start of year ceremonies at which your attendance is most certainly required. Be careful with dress code in this case; I was surprised with the timing of one such ceremony, and in front of 150 uniformed students, with some female teachers in kimonos and male teachers in their smartest suits, I somewhat stood out from the crowd in my eyecatching combo of adidas tracksuit trousers and ketchup stained Manchester City shirt.

3. One of the more unusual aspects of the Japanese education system takes place in April, whereby around a third of the school staff will be sent to different schools in the district, the idea being that teachers (over the length of their careers) will have a fair share of good/bad schools, and that by chopping and changing on an annual basis students will have a fair share of good/bad teachers. On a more personal note, this educational merry go round means you can lose some of your best/friendliest colleagues (as happened to me in my first year here), or equally it can result in the pruning of individuals who you may think less of (as happened this year, RESULT!)

The various ceremonies surrounding the leaving of new teachers (the ceremony I was wearing a man city shirt at) the arrival of new teachers, and finally the arrival of new students, are the very height of tedium. Speeches in a language I don't understand, (and the bits I do understand seem to be 5 minute discussions about the weather) followed by lots of bowing, the singing of various anthems, bowing at local city officials on the way in and out, and trying not to fall asleep because snoring would look bad.

The one ceremony that is entirely worth attending is the Primary School "Entrance Ceremony" at which all the new six year old pupils are welcomed to their new life, with plenty of fuss and much ado. Now I don't want to get excessively girly about this, but this is simply the cutest ceremony in the history of civilisation. They're just so SMALL! And the boys wear suits and the girls wear dresses and they look like big people like OMG it's sooooooooooo cute!!!!

It won't last obviously. Children have a tendency to grow up, and 7 years from now the wonderfully energetic 6 and 7 year olds I have taught this year will be quiet teenagers desperate not to stand out from the group. Equally while the little suits and dresses were undoubtedly adorable, it was very strange as someone who has taught this age group for nearly 18 months, to see pupils this age so well mannered, so perfectly quiet and behaved. No doubt though within a few weeks, this shyness will be overcome, and Cooke Sensei will once again become the human climbing frame we all know and love, and the little boys in suits who were so well behaved in front of parents and other teachers, will be trying to stick their fingers up my bottom. The circle of life continues.

Cracked Ribs and Friendly Nurses: Part Two

2009-03-31T20:49:00.000-07:00

Before I begin I would like to offer readers the chance to reaquaint yourself with the story so far, scroll down the page for part one! Apologies if any of the below is inaccurate, the pain slightly clouds my memory of events.

And now, the saga continues...

...and starts to get a bit silly.

I arrived at the hospital hunched in the car, my screams echoing around the inside of the vehicle as my ribs seemed to crack with the slightest bump in the road. The car drew to a halt in the ambulance bay outside the hospital's emergency entrance, and a wheelchair was pushed to the side of the car. I exhaled to reduce the risk of another crack, got out of the car and screamed again as my chest crunched. I shuffled into the entrance out of the cold, the door closed behind me, and I was now in the hands of the Japanese public healthcare system.

Waiting in the A&E department I was confronted with two nurses sympathetic to my plight. Now I haven't trained as a Japanese nurse (chances are I never will), but I'm fairly sure they had at least one class a week in which a lecturer stood at the front of the class and said "awwwwwww" in a very sympathetic manner, then encouraged the class to do the same. The first 15 minutes of my treatment consisted of one nurse (Nurse #1) saying "awwwwww" at me every time I winced, groaned, or screamed in agony. The other nurse (Nurse #2) was clearly more qualified, having taken her "awwwww"ing to another level completely. Every time I screamed she would precisely mimic the rhythm and pitch of my screams, so the dialogue would go something like this:

Me: ARRRRGH aaaaa aa aaa fuck
Nurse: awwwwww aww aw aww awww!!!!
Me: AAAAA GOD OWWW AAARRR
Nurse: awwww aww awww awwww!!!!
Me: ARE YOU TAKING THE FUCKING PISS
Nurse: aww aww awwwww aww awwwwww awww!

And so it continued for 15 minutes, me issuing bellows of fundamental agony, the nurse putting one hand on my shoulder and whimpering sympathetic echoes of every scream, my friends stifling giggles in the background.

Finally the doctor arrived, and the issue of pain relief could be addressed in a manner beyond soothing feminine whimpers. The nurse gestured a jabbing motion at her own bottom, which I assumed indicated a painkilling injection. There was nothing I wanted more, had I been physically able I would have bent over and proffered both cheeks for sweet sweet pain relief. After a brief discussion with the doctor a syringe was fetched, and pain relief was adminstered enthusiastically by Nurse #2, who then took a break from whimpering to massage my arse (supposedly with some cloth to stop the bleeding from the injection) for what seemed like an uneccessarily long amount of time. As this was happening the doctor told us we were waiting for the duty radiologist to come in, then while one nurse massaged my arse the other took over chief whimpering duties.

When the radiologist arrived I began a slow painful shuffle towards the x-ray room, escorted by Nurse#2, who by now had become hugely curious about what me and my friends were doing in Japan, gesturing towards me and asking Amelie "Is he your fiancé?". She was clearly impressed by my stoic attitude towards pain and was now after some phil loving. Not appropriate when I'm in crippling pain, but flattering nevertheless. After the x-ray I began one more shuffle back to A&E where despite my continued agony (the painkillers having had little to no effect) the conversation turned onto subjects that were more familiar. Owen's big foreign nose, my big foreign hair, and the shocking revelation that Alex was my little brother.

Nurse#2: But they can't be brothers, they have different hair colour!
Amelie: Yeh they're brothers, it's quite common for family members to have different coloured hair.
Nurse#2: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee * takes deep breath* eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Cultural exchanges aside, there was still the minor issue of my unbearable agony. I was given tablets that had no effect, the injection had barely dulled the pain, and there was no way I could get to sleep in this level of agony.

Nurse#2 then took me towards the corner of the room, pulled the curtains round to give us some privacy, and started taking my trousers down. Given by this point I was fairly sure she had the hots for me, someone who is familiar with the basic tenets of pornography would have this story ending in only one way "Oh, I'll give you pain relief..." etc. Happily (because I have a girlfriend who I love very much and complains about not being mentioned in blogs, hello Rachel) this was not what the nurse had in mind.

She snapped on some white medical gloves and started opening a small packet with a torpedo shaped object inside. My friends had realised what was happening a long time ago, and at this point had hidden in the corridor and were laughing their sympathetic little heads off, proving once and for all that anal suppositories are the funniest pain relief treatment in the world. Seconds later I was bent over and very much not enjoying the intimate attentions of a nurse who at one point during her exploratory examination actually uttered the words "where is it?". I might be foreign but everything is still in a perfectly normal place thankyou very much! Instructions to "rerax" were not easy to follow as the ridiculousness of the situation took hold, and laughing with broken ribs whilst being violated by a japanese nurse is not an experience I can recommend.

There was however one more horror that awaited that evening, and amazingly it was not directed towards me. I was given a supply of painkillers, naturally in the form of anal suppositories. However with my lack of flexibility I would obviously not be able to take these drugs myself. The doctor turned to my little brother who bravely refused to show in his face the horror of the task which had just been assigned to him, and accepted a handful of disposable gloves with admirable indifference.

We were given a proper send off as the staff expressed amazement that foreigners would drive a Japanese car, the radiologist pointing out that "hey the one with the broken ribs has got a big nose too!" and inspecting the tyres of owen's car with great interest for no apparent reason.

For everyone else, this trip to the hospital was a hilarious diversion from the routine of daily life, but I'm in no hurry to do it again. I missed out on 2 snowboarding holidays and 6 weeks of boarding at my local slopes, and couldn't get out of bed unaided for a fortnight, but I hope readers will be pleased to know I am now nearly fully recovered. My little brother was also very pleased to know that the next morning I managed to take the painkiller myself, and as discussed in the Fire and Ice entry, the holiday was awesome.

Philster Out.

Cracked Ribs and Friendly Nurses: Part One

2009-03-24T19:16:00.000-07:00

I paused before the jump. I'd done it 20 times before, yet was still a relative novice at flinging myself into the air while strapped to my snowboard. I adjusted my helmet, jumped to my feet, and twisted to point my board down the hill. The floodlights beaming down on my last run of the night, the adrenaline and nerves beginning to coarse through my veins, I set the board flat upon the ice for maximum speed. I hit the base of the jump at pace, the board hurtling upwards with the slope of the jump, before the ground disappeared beneath me, and board and rider were flung into the night air one last time.

The board came back down onto the icy surface at an angle. I compensated, and pressed my heels into the back of the board, my board now perpendicular to the slope, my front facing downhill. I can't be 100% sure about what occurred next. Maybe I hit a lump of ice. Maybe my muscles gave way, and couldn't keep enough pressure on the back of the board. Whatever happened, the result was emphatic. My board flipped from heel-edge to toe-edge, and my body was hurled forward. My speed had not abated from the pace at which I hurled myself off the jump, and there was no time to get my arms out to break my fall. My face and chest bore the entire impact as my body smashed into the ice, the air instantly forced from my lungs as my body rolled, bounced and thudded to a halt.

I screamed, and yet remained completely silent. My lungs were empty, and yet I kept screaming, my face an expression of fundamental agony, but still no sound escaped. After what felt like an age (but was probably mere seconds) my lungs filled with air again, and my screams were audible to anyone within a 5000 mile radius. My face burnt as I looked around for red blood on white snow.

Surprisingly quickly, I stood upright again and boarded carefully to the bottom of the hill. I dismounted the board and took a few minutes to compose myself. I got into the car with surprising ease, and drove home, the pain easing the whole time. I stepped out of the car and there came a sickening crack from within my own chest. This time I had no problems in screaming at the top of my voice, though the scream just seemed to elongate the pain.

Now I am not a man with a high pain threshold. I will readily admit this. Pain is rubbish, and in my opinion best avoided. But seriously, compared to what I went through that night, childbirth is like a nice walk in the park with pretty flowers and a picnic then an ice cream with sprinkles.

Convinced for some reason that the hospital was not open until the following morning, I put my efforts into working up the courage to get into bed. Every step around the apartment was taken gingerly, as seemingly at random intervals my chest would crack, there would be another huge scream, and the pain would take longer to subside each time. I knew the biggest most painful crack would come if I tried to lie down, and using all my courage I whined that "I need f***ing painkillers right f***ing now!" A few phonecalls enquiring after suitable drugs resulted in the discovery that Honjo Hospital did actually have provision for an out of hours service, and as Amelie and Owen arrived I bravely took 20 minutes getting into the passenger seat of Owen's car. A few minutes of slow careful driving later, and the car drew up at Honjo Hospital. And that's when the fun really started!

Tune in next week to find out why you if a pretty nurse guides you behind a curtain and takes your trousers down, the events that follow might not be as fun as mainstream pornography would have you believe...

Getting Naked

2009-03-11T07:10:00.000-07:00

Nudity is a weird and wonderful thing. It inspires all sorts of extreme reactions across different times and cultures, and is a prerequisite for some of the most enjoyable activities within the human sphere of experience. These activities include:

1) Skinny Dipping. An ideal summers day naked activity. Find an isolated swimming spot, disrobe and hurl your naked self into the water. Enjoy the liberating nudity, free yourself from the tyranny of the wardrobe, and yet retain the comforting knowledge that the opaque water is still concealing your love vegetables.

Is love vegetables a sufficiently all encompassing euphemism for both genders genitals? A quick google search leads me to believe that there are nowhere near enough funny slang words for the female pudendum. The penis on the other hand is bestowed with many more amusing titles. Another brief google search has yielded some fabulous phallonyms, including mister goodwrench, shvontz, giggle stick and johnny one eye the bald headed champ. But before this entry descends into a list of funny words that mean penis, here is the number two naked activity.

2) Streaking at sporting events. In contrast to skinny dipping, this is a far more public naked activity. Erica Roe is probably the most famous British example, a 40 inch bust exposed to 70,000 presumably appreciative rugby fans back in 1982. The famous traditional British policeman's hat could only conceal one of the offending missiles as she was escorted from the field. For those of you who might want to give this naked activity a try, I recommend streaking at a sporting event where you could claim to be the first to have done it. Streaking during a table tennis game would be a first, and exposing your bishop during a televised chess tournament would certainly get you noticed. Formula one motor racing would be another good one, dodging in and out of the cars as you complete a lap of the track, or maybe even doing some naked skateboarding-whilst-holding-onto-the-back-of-a-car, back to the future style. My first thought was snooker, but amazingly this has been done several times, most notably during the 2004 world championships final, when a disrobing man ran down the steps of the arena and then tried to hide naked under the snooker table. Hero.

Which brings us on to the all time favourite...

3) Sexual intercourse. My mum reads this blog (Hi mum!) so I won't write in too much detail about this most popular of all naked activities. Chances are if you're reading this you are on this earth because two people did some intimate squelching together, so given its propensity to sustain the human race, it is probably the best naked activity there is. It doubles up as good exercise and is all round jolly good fun, so feel free to find a consenting partner and canoodle away! Best done within the confines of a loving longterm relationship, please shag responsibly.

All fabulous activites, but after my weekend adventurings I would like to finish with number four, a naked activity only available in certain parts of Japan during certain parts of the year.

4) Outdoor Onsen in the snow. Onsens, for readers who don't know, are naturally heated hot springs, common in Japan due to volcanic activity. These hot springs are of course not unique to Japan, Thermae Bath Spa in England shows you don't even need a hugely volcanically active area for these phenomena to exist, but the Japanese way of bathing in these springs is very much unique. There are plenty of articles online about body-conscious westerners feeling hugely awkward about stepping naked into the communal baths, about being unsure of onsen etiquette (get naked, shower, get in the baths, really not that complicated). A small towel to cover one's giggle stick is an acceptable nod towards modesty, and one that I prefer to do without. After that it's just a matter of finding the best onsen for you.

In the hot humid japanese summer the charm of these places can be somewhat lacking, just another place to be uncomfortably sweaty. For me it is winter when the onsen comes into its own, particularly in the snowy climate of Northern Japan. On saturday I visited Tsuronoyu Onsen. Situated in the mountains above Lake Tazawa, this is a truly secluded location, the forest floor covered in 6 feet of snow in places. The snow falling gave the world outside the car a perfectly white, Narnia-esque appearance. Arriving at the onsen itself, it was clear this is a world away from a "regular" onsen experience. Thatched buildings line a narrow alley to the entrance to the baths, the water an amazing shade of light blue. A small wooden hut constitutes a changing room, and where normally modern onsen would have rows of plastic chairs and shower heads, there was a bar of soap and a single wooden tap. A brief scrub later and I gingerly stepped out of the changing rooms into the arctic conditions outside, quickly immersing myself in the warm blue water. A frankly obscene level of relaxation was soon forthcoming as I caught snowflakes in my mouth and gazed upon my surroundings, the snow falling softly on the forest floor, huge banks of snow built up at the side of the onsen, the occasional icy breeze making the water seem all that more welcoming, the soft rounded pebbles a comfortable cushion beneath me.

I was just in the middle of seeing how many pebbles I could fit in my belly button (this happens when you go to the onsen by yourself) when from a door nearby three young, attractive and entirely naked women walked out. I want to make it clear I hadn't "accidentally" stumbled into the women's baths, rather I hadn't realised this was actually a mixed onsen. Equally I would like to make it clear that I totally didn't look, because as well as my mum my girlfriend reads this blog. But the point remains: snow, hot springs, naked women, it is an intoxicating combination and definitely my naked activity of the week.

For those of you who were curious I managed to fit THREE pebbles into my bellybutton, and you can find a list of funny words that mean penis here.

Oi San Nensei! Cheer the f*** up!

2009-03-09T23:33:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was graduation day at my only Junior High School, Yuri JHS. Firstly I would like to apologise for lack of pictures, unfortunately a hyperactive 8 year old at Yashima primary school has broken my camera.

These perfectly choreographed ceremonies are an elegantly poignant climax to three years of hard graft. They also make a lot of people cry. And I mean EVERYONE. Graduating students, their younger peers, parents, teachers, I even considered crying just to fit in better. I do wonder whether given the same level of ceremony a similar event at my secondary school would have elicited that many tears. Back home I remember feeling that the end to my five years at Saint Francis Xavier school was a bit of an anticlimax. I finished my last exam, left school to go home and play mario tennis with my friends, and that was it.

The japanese approach is the very antithesis of that. Yesterday, the san nensei (third year) graduating students filed in slowly to constant applause, walking through the younger students with intricately rehearsed precision. They sat, and one by one were called up to receive their certificate of graduation, again a slow march with each student taking an identical route through the crowd onto the stage. The headteacher gave a speech about dreams and ambitions, which had at least half of the graduating students crying. Then the older students turned around to face the two younger year groups, and sang goodbye songs to the younger students, the younger students responding with goodbye songs of their own. The tears were really flowing now, the girls in particular stuttering through words of their song as they fight back tears. A boy in the back row wept openly, but belted out the school song with unmatched gusto as the tears rolled down his cheeks. The graduates then slowly filed out of the hall, first year girls handing everyone of them a single rose. 15 minutes later staff and students formed a guard of honour outside for the departing students, and with constant applause ringing in their ears, tears running down their cheeks, they left the school building one last time.

I totally had more fun, mario tennis is f***ing awesome.

Akita in the news!!

2009-03-05T23:02:00.000-08:00

http://www.japantoday.com/category/national/view/high-school-teacher-forces-female-student-to-wear-maids-costume-in-akita

Essentially, teacher blackmails art club student with "cute smile" into dressing up in a maid uniform for pictures.

As a disciplinary response, the teacher in question has been temporarily suspended from officially managing the art club, but is still free to teach the club. I can't help but think in most developed nations the penalty would have been a tad more severe.

Weird country.

Fire and Ice

2009-02-28T20:52:00.000-08:00

I know there are many Strange Island readers who may be expecting a blog entry concerning my recent snowboarding accident. Unfortunately I find a holiday being ruined and the rest of my winter spoilt a rather depressing topic, and given my aversion to making myself miserable, that entry will wait until I’m back excercising again. Rest assured though, the tragicomedy of Phil breaking his ribs and the resultant medical “treatment” will not go unrecorded in these pages.

The accident and my resultant inability to snowboard in Hokkaido is of course best described as a bit rubbish. That said, my holiday with my brother through the snowy roads of Hokkaido was not an entirely ruined venture. In most western countries, a snowboarding holiday would be totally spoilt by a debilitating injury. In Japan however, the numerous winter festivals that take place in the northern rural snowscapes of these strange islands are entirely capable of making a holiday in themselves. Indeed I am already formulating rough plans for a short trip next year to take in as many of these fabulous events as possible. These festivals range from 20 local people gathered round a bonfire, to 2 million people coming from all over the world to see ice sculptures 25 feet high. I was fortunate enough to attend six winter festivals this year, with varying levels of audience participation. I shall now paint six glorious word pictures of each festival, painstakingly arranged in fabulously chronological order. I will write. You will read. The winner will be literature. Pictures courtesy of everyone else's facebook albums.

Sapporo Snow Festival

Sapporo is the largest City in northern Japan, situated on the northernmost island of Hokkaido. In winter it has a reputation for being nadger-freezingly cold, and indeed as me, my brother, an Irish vagrant we had picked up, and my ever reliable Mazda, drove off the ferry into the dark Hokkaidan night, it was pretty damn chilly. If one chose to, exposing one nipples to the outdoor temperature would have created chesticles you could chop carrots with. We ploughed on through temperatures of minus seventeen towards Sapporo, eventually arriving at our hotel shortly after dawn. The temperature was now a tropical minus eight, as we parked up and took the short walk from our Hotel towards Odori Park, the biggest of three areas that host the Sapporo Snow Festival.

The artistry that goes into creating these monoliths of ice is nothing short of jaw dropping. Around 12 of the sculptures towered over the crowds at 25 feet high or more. A depiction of japanese athletes advertised Tokyo’s 2016 Olympic Bid, opposite an even more impressive and intricately detailed tribute to Tokyo Disneyland’s 25th anniversary. Japanese Castles and Korean temples were present, as well as multiple depictions of Japanese cartoon characters. There were whales and turtles made from transparent ice, and the lack of early morning crowds made it all the more enjoyable. Later we ventured into the Susukino part of the festival, in an area of town famous for it’s nightlife (and bizarelly prominent brothel “menus”). Here were smaller statues that were no less impressive, being close enough to touch meant you could see every tiny detail perfectly.

After checking in to the hotel and taking a much needed nap, myself and my brother stumbled out to see the festival at night, where the lights add an extra dimension to the larger sculptures. After a brief trip to an Oirish pub to enjoy the pure unadulterated ecstasy that is watching Man City win while drinking proper English ale, we went to a brilliant Izakaya recommended by a friendly local. If you’re ever in Sapporo, “Hinode” above the mcdonalds in susukino provides a good value all you can eat and all you can drink; ask for a seat by the window for an excellent view of the bright lights of Sapporo. At 3am we stumbled out of the Izakaya and made a snowman before heading back to the hotel.

The following day (after accidentally ending up attending a medal award ceremony for a long distance cross country skiing race) we went to the “out of town” part of the festival, which boasts the snowmen featured in many iconic photos of the festival. A great place to take children, the sculptures here take a back seat to numerous ice slides and snowmobiles pulling rafts around a circuit. For the second day in a row we lunched on “Jengis Kaan” a lamb dish and a delicious Hokkaido specialty nearly impossible to obtain elsewhere in Japan. After my little brother had ridden a rubber ring down an ice slide (after calling me Billy Shit Ribs several times) we jumped into the philmobile and braved the blizzard towards Niseko, where I spent 5 days in a lodge feeling sorry for myself and eating lots of ham and cheese, until…

Otaru Lights Festival

This is a festival where one can truly feel the love. Coming annually just before Valentines Day, this festival comes complete with candles floating along the canal, small ice sculptures lit gently by hundreds of candles, with kissing snowmen (snowpeople? this is homophobic japan after all) resplendent in heart shaped hollows in the snow. The ultimate romantic date venue.

Unfortunately I was there with a romanian orphan who boasts patchy facial hair and a "turd-esque" appearance amongst his physical characteristics, aka my little brother Alex. But I tried to have a good time anyway.

This festival is a lot lower key than Sapporo, and you can see most of what it has to offer in under an hour. That said, it's just a short train ride away from the larger snow festival, and if you're in Sapporo for a couple of days it is well worth going to. It is less commercialised than it's big city counterpart, and while it cannot claim the grandiose attributes of the larger sculptures in Sapporo, the romance of the expertly crafted sculptures lit by so many candles could melt the stoniest of hearts. It's as painstakingly beautiful as anything in Sapporo, and given its relative lack of international renown often goes unseen by western tourists.

Two days and one choppy ferry crossing later, your hero of this tale and my romanian sidekick found ourselves taking in sunset on a cloudy day at Lake Tazawa.

After that it was just a short drive to the samurai town of Kakunodate, which every february 13th and 14th plays host to...

The Fire Swinging Festival

Yes it is as awesome as it sounds. A simple concept really. Bonfires are lit along the banks of the river, and bales of rice straw are tied to thin 5 foot long ropes. One then picks up aforementioned bale, sets it alight on a bonfire, and then swings the resultant fireball around one's head, while preferably at the same time screaming "GET SOME!!!!" at the top of your voice, or indeed "I AM THE GOD OF HELL AND FIRE!!!!". Both fine choices.

This festival could justifiably be described as somewhat limited. Activities include: A) swinging a fireball around and around your head and B) watching other idiots do exactly the same thing. That said, ask yourself the question "do I want to swing a fireball around my head while lots of excited japanese people take pictures of me?" If the answer isn't "F#!@ YEH I DO!" then frankly you disappoint me and should be ashamed of yourself.

We spent maybe half an hour at this festival, sharing 5 fireballs between us, and I would heartily recommend making the trip to anyone within 3 hours drive of Kakunodate. What this festival lacks in depth, it more than makes up for in fireball-swinging goodness.

Equally prevalent here was the dearth of japanese health and safety regulations, proven by this picture of a man holding something while he swings a fireball on a piece of string around his head. Is he holding a pineapple? Maybe a dog? No. He's holding a f***ing baby. To put it in context, there were other family members cheering the man on, as the youngest of their number screamed it's head off in primal terror with only centrifugal force between it's tiny frame and a enormous naked flame. No wonder these children then grow up to think kancho is an acceptable practical joke.

After a much needed lie in, Sunday brought around another three winter festivals. These winter festivals are the highlight of any Akitan winter, and yet while the number of festivals easily runs into double figures, the Akita Tourist Board has not spotted the oppurtunity to bring in revenue by having them at different times of winter, and thus one is left to pick and choose between the numerous festivals held on 14th and 16th of February every year. And so on the 15th february thee carloads of enthusiastic festival attendees left Honjo in the early afternoon, to enjoy the delights of the Yuzawa Inukko (dog) Festival, The Yokote Kamakura (igloo) Festival, and the Rokugo Takeuchi (bamboo fight) Festival.

The Yuzawa Dog Festival

After the previous night's fire swinging (an activity exceptionally pleasing to avid pyromaniac such as myself and surely enjoyable even for the most hardened pyrosceptic) the more sedate Inukko festival was a welcome contrast. For about half an hour until "oooo look it's a dog made of snow next to a house made of snow how very lovely" became a tad repetitive. Maybe we had been spoilt by the Sapporo snow festival, but this does not strike me as a festival worth travelling for, even though the food poisoning inducing meat on stick was delicious. That said, if you like dogs made of snow next to houses made of snow, and you like nothing more than these objects poorly maintained and covered with tiny japanese children, then frankly this is Mecca.

The philmobile was loaded with Mimi and Jez for this day of the trip, aka the Chimp Murderer and the Puerto Rican (Jez is called the puerto rican because of her ancestral heritage, Mimi is known as the chimp murderer because she drowns chimps for her own sick perverted entertainment, FACT). After admiring the Pachinko gnome in the car park, we departed for Yokote, and after Jez had bought some nice new wellies to keep her tootsies all nice and dry, we arrived at...

The Yokote Kamakura Festival

Essentially, get a load of igloos, few ice sculptures, stick a few candles around town and ボブは　あなたの　おじさん　です。　As well as bob being one's uncle, another side effect of that is a snow festival with an originality and beauty of it's own that is easily the equal of the efforts of Sapporo and Otaru in Hokkaido. For a start, igloos are cool. Pingu (the ultimate role model) lived in one, so they must be. And Yokote Kamakura festival is all about da iglooz.

Otaru lights festival has certainly cornered the market in terms of snow/candle combinations, but the best I've seen this done is actually at the kamakura festival. On the flood plain of the river that runs through the town, the primary school students of Yokote build lots of mini kamakura's, inside each a single candle. It's difficult to capture on camera the wow factor of the resultant display, but I hope some of these shots do it justice.

Kamakura is my favourite non violent Akita winter festival. However the overall winner has to be the festival that followed, as the philmobile ploughed onwards towards...

The Takeuchi Festival

Snow on the ground. Fire blazing. Coloured ribbons soar aflame into the cold night air. And in the middle of this scene 150 men stand either side of the fire, holding 20 foot high poles of bamboo, waiting. A siren wails, a primal roar is heard, and the poles are brought down towards the opposition. Some miss their target and thud into the icy ground. Some narrowly deflect off shoulders. Some crunch and break over helmets. Those with the strength in their arms heave their poles up, their only purpose to bring them once again smashing into the opposing hordes. Some abandon their poles, and throw themselves at the oppositon fists flailing, the burning backdrop illuminating the carnage, as men trapped under poles throw their hands over their heads to defend themselves from every repetitive bone crunching blow. This is the Takeuchi Festival.

Apologies for the overly flowery prose in the preceding paragraph, I got a bit carried away, but if the image you have in your head now is akin to a medieval battle scene, you're on the right track. Firstly a bit of background. Last year I was unable to attend this festival due to illness/being unaware of exactly how awesome it is. Since hearing of the carnage at that year's festival, I was obviously itching to get a pole in my hand and get stuck in.

Basically the event is as described above. Two teams of between 50-100 men line up either side of an enormous bonfire, crucial helmets atop their bonces, and then each man receives a 20 foot bamboo pole and when a siren goes one does one's best to crush the opposition with your mighty stick of justice. This happens three times, the third round being notorious as a bloodbath.

The festival welcomes foreigners who wish to participate, just bring a helmet and get stuck in. Last year a few of those who answered that call got what in common parlance would be referred to as "a right good kicking", involving broken limbs and stitches in faces. Add to this my colleague's warning that "every year, someone dies", and you get a picture of just how fabulously dangerous this event is.

Unfortunately 10 days before this year's festival I had my snowboarding accident, and couldn't participate. The same could not be said for my little brother, who turned up helmet in tow ready to beat up some japanese people with a big stick. With jealousy and a teensy bit of concern (mum would so tell me off like loads if he had died) I watched him walk into the southern side of the battle to receive his weapon.

If I'm honest, after all the build up, the reality was always going to be something of a let down. I am reliably informed by people who attended both that last year's event was a much bloodier affair than this year's relatively tame offering. That said, after two rounds of watching my little brother being totally rubbish at beating people with a stick, in the third round the little man got much more stuck in. He hurled a pole javelin-esque into the opposing "army", and (after retrieving a bamboo pole from the burning bonfire in the middle of the battlefield) cracked a burning bamboo pole over someone's head. I've never been prouder.

For anyone who stumbles across this blog researching a potential winter holiday in Japan, the Hokkaido festivals are longer affairs lasting 5 days or more, usually centred around the 2nd week of february. The Akita winter festivals are often shorter events, and most take place a bit later, between the 11th-17th of february.

Sausage Rolls, Steak Bakes, and a man in a red hat

2009-02-28T03:29:00.000-08:00

Right now, I can see a snow capped volcano from my desk. I just spent 15 minutes playing outside in the snow with energetic 8 year olds. I’ve been instructed by my superiors that in future classes at this school I should incorporate more inflatable fruit.

All of these are fabulous reasons why my time in Japan has been one of the happiest periods of my life. I’ve never had a job with such substantial renumeration for doing so very little, which agrees very much with my enjoyment of all things lazy, But…

Sometimes it would be nice if I could understand anything that was said. It would be nice if the beer tasted of something, and if sausages wasn’t just a funny word that Mr Cooke taught us. It would be nice to be able to watch football, or just to talk about it with people who aren’t 11 years old. It would be nice to be able to see my family every now and again. It would be nice to have my girlfriend closer than 8000 miles away.

This is why I chose to go home in August, and then just 4 weeks later, this is why I bought my ticket to go home for Christmas. Christmas in Japan last year was not an altogether pleasant experience. My alarm woke me at 6:30 on Christmas Day. I put on my suit, got in the car, and went to work. The only marked difference in Christmas day compared to any other (despite the impressive amount of decorations adorning shop windows in the month running up to Christmas day), was that instead of “Good Morning Everyone”, I started each class with “Merry Christmas Everyone”. And that was it. My favourite day of the year amounted to two changed words to a class of bored 13 year olds. Admittedly it did improve, although I don’t remember much of the staff party beyond a whisky drinking contest. I was then told the following day (through the medium of mime) that I had in fact repeatedly informed the school secretary (a woman of 55 whose grandchildren I teach) that I loved her very much, and then licked her on the cheek. But I don’t remember it so it didn’t happen. Arguably this is more interesting than a more predictable Christmas of tree/presents/drinking/food, but for me (and Jesus would agree with me here) in some ways Christmas is not about licking old Japanese ladies.

And so homewards! Unknown to my family (who believed me to be in Hong Kong) I boarded a Virgin Atlantic VS900 flight to London Heathrow on December 18th. I took the underground from Heathrow to London Euston, and then (34 hours after leaving my front door in Honjo) I boarded the 2 hour 14 minutes service from London to Liverpool Lime Street. I collapsed shattered into my girlfriends arms and bid weary greetings to the merry band of friends who had gathered to greet me. I have never felt so tired in my life, yet the wonderful familiarity of my surroundings perked me up a bit. I would also like to note at this point that Rachel (aforementioned girlfriend) proved herself to be the best girlfriend in the history of awesome girlfriends by greeting me at the station with a Steak Bake from Greggs the Bakers. If I said I only love her for her pastry bringing abilities I’d be lying, she has a very nice bottom too.
A few glorious alcohol fuelled days followed, during which I reaquainted myself with some of the things I love so much about living in England. I spoke to people in a language I was fluent in, and was able to engage strangers in a conversation beyond “hi I’m from England. I don’t like fish. Bye!”. I drank beers that had a variety of flavour and depth. I ate crisps that weren’t seaweed flavour, and I ate a fish deep fried in batter, as god intended. I went to the cinema with a beautiful lady and watched the new Bond film. Just to complete the weekend I managed to get to a pub to watch Manchester City lose a game they were expected to win, completing the perfect example of a boozy weekend in an English city.

After a sublime weekend that was a feast for all the senses, I boarded a train at Liverpool Lime Street that would take me to York, where I would change for Darlington. I had been pondering for months the best way to make my entrance. My family were entirely convinced that I was in Hong Kong, I’d even researched a potential itinerary to tell them about. I liked the idea of climbing down the chimney santa style, but this solution was not entirely pragmatic. I toyed with the idea of rigging up 100 fireworks around the house and then letting them off to announce my arrival, even considered hiring enormous speakers to play “The Boys are Back in Town” as I burst through the front door. Ultimately though my solution was much more low key.
I donned a santa suit (to give the arrival a christmassy/slightly surreal mood) in the toilets of the train to Darlington. I then sat down at my chair and started going through my wallet to get the change for the bus, before an aggressive voice from behind me said “that’s not yours mate, put it back”. I turned round to face my accuser, saw in his face a flash of recognition, and then he apologised profusely. It was a tad bizarre, but I have to admire the man for standing up to a potentially dangerous thief, and having the cynicism to think that a man would dress up as santa claus to go pickpocketing.

35 minutes at the bus stop. 30 minutes on the bus. 2 minutes walk. An 8000 mile journey had been completed. And being the sentimental prat I am, I had to pause before I opened the front door, just enjoying the moment, the anticipation. I swung open the front door, and bedecked in my father christmas finery, declared loudly “HO HO HO, MERRY CHRISTMAS” and walked into the living room.

My sister and my parents were watching TV. As I walked in I raised my arms aloft in greeting, and as I did my parents jaws hit the floor. My sister smiled a huge smile, as I went over to hug my mum and dad. I pushed the table out of the way, something hitting the floor as I did, and flung my arms around my mum, who barely returned the hug. My dad carried on looking at me with same stunned look on his face. Their facial expressions did not change for at least twenty seconds as they stared amazed. And then my dad spoke. After I’d travelled 8000 miles, spent days on trains planes and buses, the first words my dad said to me were “you spilt my beer!”. Charming.

Over the next few days I fed from the trough of English awesomeness. I went to the pub and drank Richmond Station Ale, I had bacon butties for breakfast. On Boxing Day I watched Man City knock 5 goals past Hull, and finally saw the team I’d been unable to watch for nearly 2 years. I went to the local farm shop (where for some reason they have a camel and lots of llamas) and cooked the best sirloin steak in the world. On Christmas day we went to richmond waterfall in the morning for bucks fizz and hot chocolate, and a Christmas dinner of fine wines, a big roast ham and roast potatoes soon followed. I think I can safely conclude that Christmas Dinner tastes a lot better than Japanese Old Lady.

Snow

2008-11-20T15:28:00.000-08:00

Winter arrived today. As usual this was announced with the whole of Akita turning white overnight. And in an equally predictable fashion, my reaction was akin to that of a particularly excitable puppy being thrown the squeakiest of all the colourful toys in the pet shop. My Junior High School kids, retaining a consistently cynical teenage attitude, seemed somewhat bemused by the huge grin on my face as I crunched fresh footsteps through the first snowfall of the winter. The next day however, my Primary School students seemed simply delighted that Mr Cooke had had the good sense to get into the playground 5 minutes before they did to start making a snowman. They were equally delighted when Mr Cooke threw the first snowball, which seemed to justify a snowball fight of me vs 50 seven year olds. There was only ever going to be one winner there.

I did have some help though. An utterly adorable 6 year old girl chose to fight on the side of the underdog, helping me by supplying me with snowball ammunition to hurl at her aggressing classmates. Unfortunately she took an average of 5 minutes sculpting each snowball into a perfect sphere, before reaching up to hand it to me with an adorably high pitched “here you are Mr Cooke”. I almost felt guilty throwing such an immaculate snowball, but her happy chuckle indicated she approved when the snowball found its target, as she then patiently set about sourcing the perfect snow for her next flawless snow missile. However given the sodden state of my clothing whilst teaching in third period, I think it is safe to say that the seven year olds were victorious.

As I write this I have just finished my school lunch, and can see the hordes massing outside the staffroom, dressing themselves in their battle uniforms of wooly hats and gloves, with coats thick enough to absorb any snowball impact. I shall face them on the playground battlefield, armed with nought but snowballs and a cute little girl (who I may use as a human shield this time).

Let Battle Commence.

Back!

I really need something a bit more waterproof. That was a whitewash of epic proportions, during which both my dignity and my hat was taken from me. Admittedly the hat was a loaned contribution to a snowman, so I did get that back, but my dignity is now officially the property of Class 1A at Yashima Primary School.

After the Yukigassen (snowball fight) we made a snowman the size of a small house, and I lifted small children up to decorate the head. Then a little girl decided the best place to launch a snowball fight from was the top of Mr Cooke’s head, so she promptly climbed on and ordered me to supply her with snowballs to hurl at her friends.

I honestly don’t remember if I ever had this much fun at breaktime when I was little. Maybe at that age you can’t fully appreciate it, but playing for half an hour in the snow, chucking snowballs and making snowmen, is still my overly childish idea of perfection.

Life is so much fun.

Obama

2008-11-09T19:03:00.000-08:00

If the reaction of the world media to recent events is an accurate measure of public opinion, then right now we are the happiest species to roam this planet since the dinosaurs discovered recreational roaring and/or ping pong. The reason behind this happiness? A very nice man from America who now has the fabulously quinsyllabic title of President Elect.

I would love to share with you tales of my unbridled joy at this result, but the internet is already awash with millions of these happy anecdotes, so I thought I'd use the medium of this hard hitting blog to voice some pessimism and cynicism that most columnists in major newspapers have found so hard to come by in the last week. Maybe it's that I just enjoy complaining. Maybe I've been made too cynical in my short years to recognise immense positive change when it happens. Maybe I'm just a contrary bastard who enjoys disagreeing with everyone else. Regardless, here are some of the reasons why this change may not be all it's cracked up to be.

I'm not denying that Obama was the best candidate; the spectre of another republican administration was an utterly terrifying one, and he has the potential to be a great president. However there are many factors that lead me to believe this result is nothing more than a small step in the right direction. Obama believes in the death penalty, and showed himself willing on certain issues to opt for a more electable centrist viewpoint (offshore drilling, anti terror surveillance legislation). He could be a breath of fresh air if he chooses to use the power that the democrat majority could now wield to implement genuine change, but if he panders to the right (as he showed at least signs of doing in the above examples) then could be just as big a let down as New Labour in 1997.

The election of Obama is potentially a fantastic thing, and will inevitably be an improvement on the Bush years. That said, I can't help but think that a lot of the jubilation surrounding this is as a result of the election of the first black president of the USA, which (while obviously a hugely important milestone), won't have any bearing on policy in the next four years. There is also the "anyone but Bush" factor; getting rid of that unpopular fellow was always going to be a moment of unbridled joy, and after the neoliberal economic model failed quite spectacularly during the last months of the election campaign, a republican victory was always very unlikely. The oncoming recession essentially equates to the failure of republican economic policy, more than it demonstrates the merits of the democrats economic policy. This is a good example of how it may not be merely the election of Obama that is creating this relentless tide of optimism, more the election of the candidate that was furthest from the Bush regime. Cynical, maybe, but it's sensible to be wary that this euphoria and hope may be based on less substance than the headlines suggest.

He's going to have the longest honeymoon period of any president in recent times, I just hope he uses it to implement radical change rather than petering out with a series of centrist compromises. I'd love to be proved wrong, but I suspect the latter may be the case.

And they say it's a tough time to be a pessimist! Take THAT optimism!

World Championships in Yurihonjo

2008-10-23T05:09:00.000-07:00

During the week of October 5th to October 11th, Yurihonjo played host to a sporting world championships. For those of you with some comprehension of the size and utter irrelevance of this inconsequential municipality, hearing this news for the first time must be fairly mindblowing. Treat yourself to a bit of a sit down if you need one. Make a cup of tea, and maybe try to guess the sport which will be awarding its ultimate honour in the Yurihonjo Gym this Saturday. Guessed?

Wrong!

It’s the 9th Women’s Roller Hockey World Championships! That’s right, if you like athletic women wearing shoes with wheels, wielding big sticks and sometimes shouting a bit, then right now, Yurihonjo is Mecca.

If I’m honest, (which I am), I was not overly excited by the prospect of the world championships of women’s roller hockey coming to a town near me. A sport I’d never heard of, played by a gender that had never truly accepted me as one of them, did not do much to kindle my interest. That said, the entertainment options in Honjo consist of A) drinking, B) getting naked at the onsen, and C) getting drunk and licking the school secretary on the cheek; so having explored all those avenues, a trip to see some world class women’s roller hockey was in order!

This was a somewhat surreal experience. Diverging slightly, in previous entries I may have touched on the fact that being a foreigner in Japan does get you noticed somewhat, particularly in the rural backwaters that constitute my prefecture. Children may scream and run away terrified, or stroll confidently up to you and shout “HELLO” as loud as they can. Adults will often stare entirely brazenly with a confused look on their face while I pick up fruit and veg at the supermarket, as if I was a well trained monkey doing an impressively accurate impression of a real person. There is however a very strange moment when, as a foreigner living in Japan, you realise that you are just as guilty of “gaijin spotting” as the locals. “Another foreigner, a foreigner I don’t know, in MY town?? えええええええええ？？？？ What travesty of nature is this??”

The roller hockey world championships were therefore a very strange taste of a multicultural world that had never before been visited upon Yurihonjo. 12 different countries from 5 different continents were represented, and we joined fans (unless Japan were playing this was mostly the friends and families) in the stands on most days of the competition. Japanese sporting crowds are very different from British ones, electing for repetitively chanting “Nihon! Nihon!” as opposed to baiting the Portuguese team with shouts of “who the fucking hell are you?!” I assume most of the crowd mirrored the attitude of my former headteacher towards me singing God Save The Queen at the top of my voice, as he asked in a concerned voice “are you drunk?”

My expectations were low but I have to say roller hockey is actually an excellent sport! Fast paced, violent enough to give even the odd dull game a touch of spice, and a good game is always gripping. It helped of course that during the course of the week I alleviated Owen’s wallet of 2500 yen due to the famous Irish trait of being rubbish at predicting women’s roller hockey results. During the course of the tournament the main points of interest were as follows. The sexiest ladies were the Portugal Number 8 and the Spanish number 7, The best legs on display were the fine efforts of the South African and Macau team, while the award for most needlessly tight uniforms (an award crucial at any women’s sporting event) goes to Chile!! Chauvinism aside, an inexperienced English team finished a respectable 8th, with Spain coming back from a goal down against Portugal in the final to claim a deserved victory, and crucially lift yet another 1000 yen note from Owen’s pocket. Victory is so sweet.

Get in my belleh!

2008-10-23T04:23:00.000-07:00

Before I begin I’d like to apologise for what is a slightly self indulgent blog entry, one definitely written more for my benefit than to entertain and inform an audience.

Rotund individual. Stout gentleman. Corpulent fellow. I prefer the last one, but whichever way you look at it, these words basically mean ‘fat fuck’. And unfortunately, all of these descriptions apply in some regard to my current physique.

Japan is not a great country to suffer from ‘metabo’ (as obesity has been cheerfully termed in recent years on this strange island). Aside from cultural differences between Japan and Britain, there are genetic differences that mean those of Caucasian persuasion will be predisposed to putting on weight with greater ease than our Japanese brethren. This may be proffered as an excuse by fat gaijin, but in multicultural areas of Britain doctors surgeries will often feature charts depicting what waist sizes can be indicative of a health risk for different ethnic groups, so these differences are there. The amount of prodding my increasingly substantial belly receives from cheeky students is frankly irritating, and while it should be water off a duck’s back in reality it is exceptionally annoying, and if I‘m honest rather humiliating.

I may be wrong in asserting this (please feel free to correct me), but as an indicator of how important staying thin is in Japan, this semantic nuance seems appropriate. The Japanese language uses the same word for “slim” and “smart”, thereby implying that if one is not slim that would automatically disqualify you from being smart. I’m possibly reading a bit too much into semantics here, but the fetishising of slenderness in Japan is I would contest more prevalent than in western (certainly Anglophone) culture. This is purely anecdotal evidence, but during one primary school class, while I was asking a fairly big lad to repeat the word hungry, the rest of the class started laughing, and then unbelievably, the teacher stepped in, rubbed the student’s belly and said ‘yes! he is very hungry!’. The fact that this would appear to be acceptable says a lot about the attitude towards obesity in Japan.

In Britain (and I would suggest many other western countries) Japanese cuisine is held in extraordinarily high esteem as supremely healthy fare. This is often the case, sushi being wonderfully healthy food, and an onigiri or two for lunch certainly beats a greasy Cornish pasty from Greggs. Equally though, a chicken sandwich on granary bread is much healthier than tonkatsu curry, and a bowl of ramen noodles is as laden with carbohydrates as it is with pure unadulterated deliciousness. So while Japanese food CAN be extremely healthy, it can equally be exceptionally bad for you, just like British cuisine. The problem arises in that the healthy foods I enjoy in Britain are not as freely (or as economically) available in Japan. Fruit and Veg add yen I can ill afford to the cost of creating a meal, and meats available in supermarkets are rarely the lean relatively fatless cuts I buy in England. This and my typical fat man’s lack of self discipline has led me to pile on the pounds in Japan. I’ve gone from a very physically active job back home to 14 months of sitting behind a desk for most of the day, with most of the local healthy food being beyond the comprehension of my uncivilised Yorkshire palette.

This situation needs remedying, and it shall be done. I have given myself the deadline of the Christmas holidays to get myself healthy again and have given up alcohol until then. I am also taking up running again, with the ultimate goal of running in next year’s Great North Run (a half marathon race in Newcastle for non British readers). Additionally, for all I may complain, there are enough healthy meal options in my local supermarket to keep up a healthy diet (albeit not one strewn with variety). A rice ball and some vegetable juice for breakfast is the value breakfast of champions, I can live on that! School lunch normally consists of seaweed with rice and a side of extra seaweed with seaweed milkshake and some chocolate coated seaweed for dessert; while rarely threatening the realms of deliciousness, it cannot be said to be unhealthy. And then pasta/stir fry/egg on toast for dinner! Sorted.

And so into the breach of vegetables and exercise I go! Wish me luck world!

I thought I’d let readers know, the above was written a week ago, whereupon I have been resolutely keeping to the diet described above. And results have been instantaneous! Before I reveal the facts and figures, I should tell you that the results are more likely the result of the change from just how completely obscene my diet was beforehand, rather than me consuming anorexic amounts of sustenance. From eating a reasonably healthy 2000 calories a day diet, I have in a week lost nine pounds! 4kg for metric readers! This has to be placed in the context of my initial weigh in being straight after a hefty meal and the comparison being made with me on an empty stomach, but its definitely working!

More news as phil unfats himself to come!

The Battle of Yotei

2008-10-02T02:27:00.000-07:00

The title of this blog entry caused me some concern. The Scaling of Mount Yotei is probably a more technically accurate description of events, but it lacks oomph. And oomph is required. The Conquering of Mount Yotei has a nice ring to it, and is not entirely devoid of oomph, but it leaves room in one’s mind to imagine a walkover. While we did actually walk all over the mountain, these words do not lend the appropriate tone of gravitas to this Herculean feat. This was a Battle.

We had been in Hokkaido for 2 days, just into the third week of the holiday. The weather forecast dictated that if we wanted a sunny day’s climbing, we would have to sacrifice the watching of some high quality Olympic Badminton, and get out of bed at a fiendishly early 5:30am. The ascent began at 7am, through dense forest at the foot of the volcano. Within an hour we had realised just how different this was to anything we had climbed before. Climbing in the glaciated scenery of the British Isles often involves long flat sections, scenic stops by corrie lakes for a picnic, and generally a reasonably well maintained path beneath your feet. Climbing a composite cone volcano involves PAIN. The gradient is relentless, and due to the dense vegetation covering the volcano to within a hundred yards of the crater the views which can often give one a motivating indicator of progress are frustratingly absent.

Hour after hour this continued. Every step onward, upward, and pushing every muscle out of its comfort zone. The pain started to run up the backs of my legs, and as the summit came closer the shoulder straps on my rucksack seemed to dig deeper. Three quarters of the way up my lungs decided that I was clearly mocking them by putting them through this, and took their revenge by lazily switching to half capacity. We had to take more breaks as the thinner air struggled to fuel our muscles, but every time we sat down it became that much harder to rise to our feet and continue the ascent.

The hiking map in Niseko had indicated it would be sensible to allow 4 hours to reach the summit. 7 hours later three shattered foreigners stumbled around the volcano’s crater rim, desperately asking passers by in distinctly garbled Japanese ‘most high is where?’ The pain numbed by the closeness of our goal, we saw a post just one hundred metres away, marking the summit of this colossal feat of nature. The final ascent up a few jagged rocks was blissfully pain free, and on reaching the top, for a few sweet moments the sense of achievement washed away every bit of pain.

On most mountains I have climbed, the sense of achievement is primarily in reaching the top. There is the view, the sense of being on top of everything, and the sense that the difficult bit is over. In the case of Mount Yotei, it was just the beginning.

The descent of Yotei burned the energy from every muscle that had retained the temerity to keep functioning. The path was rocky, at times dangerously steep, and with drops that occasionally necessitated swinging off tree branches to fling oneself to the lower part of the path. Time was catching up with us, and as we left the summit we knew that if we took more than a few minutes break on the way down we’d be risking finishing the walk in pitch blackness. We just kept walking, glancing at our watches as muscles gave way with loose rocks beneath our feet, stumbling occasionally, conversation limited to what was aerobically feasible.

The path became clearer as we came within two hours of the finish line, with even the occasional flat section, greeted by sarcastic cheering from three very weary walkers. At the approach to the summit the proximity of our goal had numbed the pain, but there was to be no such respite now. We began to recognise parts of the walk where (during the ascent) pain had been completely absent, but now markers that had seemed separated by mere minutes on the ascent felt like hours apart.

Everything was hurting. Lunch and regular water stops meant our bags now weighed less, but as the pain increased it felt like body parts (that were once part of the effort) had given up, and were now heavy passengers carried along by legs that just wanted it to stop. My dad slipped on a loose rock, injuring his leg, just before the forest floor flattened out. This last leg was the most interminable. With every bend in the path we expected the gate marking the finish line to hove into view. The gate resolutely refused to appear, and as my legs buckled I stumbled, not from some loose rock, but from the impossible task I was asking of my leg muscles. It took a genuine effort of concentration to keep them working, as force of will, rather than mere chemical energy, kept me putting one foot in front of another.

Minutes after sunset, the gate appeared, fifty yards ahead, and wanting to finish with style, I sprinted those last few painful metres. A time zone away, 100m runners were preparing for the Olympics 100m final. My final flourish probably looked more like a very slow pained jog, but in my head I was bursting through the tape like Linford Christie.

My Summer Holiday, by Philip Cooke (23), Part Two: Kyoto

2008-09-25T01:58:00.000-07:00

Japan is not filled with beautiful cities. In fact, the identikit nature of the larger towns and smaller cities can be downright depressing. Obviously the same charge could easily be levelled at the other strange island I call home, and maybe it is just my familiarity with Britain that stops this sameness becoming grinding, but there is something indescribably dismal about the homogenous parts of Japanese towns.

Obviously, just like England, charms unique to each area can usually be found with sufficient endeavour. However, the heritage and character of comparable areas of Britain always seems to be more immediately obvious. Maybe it’s the longer lasting building materials used in Britain, or the amount of bombing raids suffered in Japan during WWII. Maybe my thinking this says more about the shallowness of my immersion in Japanese culture than I would like. But the fact remains I struggle to discern the unique traits of small cities like Akita, Aomori or Yamagata. These places are worth visiting, but often only for the festivals that define these areas, rather than any uniqueness inherent in their ambience.

Kyoto, a surprisingly small city, stands out a mile in this regard. It is easy to descend into clichés when describing the way a bicycle tour round Kyoto can reveal new delights round every corner, or to invent new and silly words to depict just how amazingly shrinetastic this place is. But trust me, just round the corner those delights are there, and the shrineyness of the shrines is certainly shrinetastic. I would also proffer Shrinemazing in this description, or possibly Templiffic. In the immortal words of Bill and Ted, it was most tranquil.

The best way to see this beautiful city is definitely by bike. Even in late July, when the weather is thigh chaffingly hot, a pootle around the enjoyably flat roads of Kyoto on a two wheeled steed is certainly the best way to go. I won’t go into the tedious specifics of me and my brother pedalling through kyoto, but there really is a WOW moment around every corner, and more shrines and temples than you could shake a stick at unless you shook that stick with a dangerous amount of vigour and pointed it at a lot of shrines and temples. We saw geishas in Gion and turtles at Kiyomizu Dera. I also had a fairly (i.e. very) stupid moment when near an enormous Buddha statue I wanted to get a closer sniff of the incense stick I was holding. One very burnt nostril and two watering eyes later I told my brother of my mistake (which anyone could have made). Naturally he was an unsympathetic little bastard.

Fushimi Inari Shrine is probably my favourite piece of traditional Japan. A tunnel of orange torii gates stretching through the mountainside forest for a 2 hour walk, and while we there, a temporary water slide induced by a thunderstorm louder than Armageddon (assuming the apocalypse will be really rather noisy). The torii gate tunnel is I believe the only one of it’s kind, and while kyoto’s pagodas and temples are fantastic, Fushimi Inari is the one thing that makes it a must see.

There’s also a must eat place in Kyoto, but this has more to do with the insistence of the owner that you MUST eat as opposed to the merits of the food. After having a ramen restaurant recommended to us by the hostel staff we strode confidently in and were instantly told the word PORK in a loud insistent voice by the good lady who was so evidently running this establishment. The words ‘menu’ and ‘miso ramen’ were met simply with a slightly louder shouting of the word PORK, until eventually we decided that having the pork was probably the best option. We assumed that this was standard treatment for tourists, that to prevent any linguistic barrier foreigners would just be shouted at until they agreed to eat whatever was put in front of them. Then we realised that to her credit this woman was actually just shouting the word PORK at customers indiscriminately, and some admittedly less startled locals were perfectly happy to acquiesce.

There are also MONKEYS. Monkeys make a fine addition to any holiday. Actually monkeys make a fine addition to almost anything, but especially holidays. The monkeys of Kyoto can be found in the hills of Arashiyama, and are best described as ape like. Incidentally these monkeys can easily become aggressive, so customers are warned not to look them in the eye. Having made that mistake once, the resultant tense face off showed that this is in fact very good advice. Monkeys do tend to augment the awesomeness of Holidays, but I bet en masse they could do someone a fair injury. That said, ‘I went to Kyoto and fought a monkey’ would be a good story to tell the grandchildren… maybe next time. And for the record, I could totally beat that monkey in a fight. I just didn’t wanna.

My Summer Holiday, by Philip Cooke (23), Part One: Sumo

2008-09-16T19:29:00.000-07:00

Sporting arenas are strange places.

I watched the final day of The Ashes test match at Old Trafford, Manchester, and saw some of the most amazing cricket that ground had ever witnessed. The wall of noise created to intimidate the Australian batsmen was something I have never seen replicated, as the alcohol fuelled crowd sought to contribute everything they could towards an England victory. 20,000 people, mere spectators, but entirely convinced that if they shouted loud enough, Aussie wickets would tumble. Call it mass delusion, but it creates a sense of togetherness that not much else can acheive.

While on holiday in Croatia I watched Hajduk Split play a Champions League fixture against Debrecen of Hungary. The match was nothing to write home about, Split were awful, but once again the aura of the place made it something to behold. That aura was largely created by the home fans willingness to set fire to their own stadium midway through the first half. Arson does tend to add a bit of spice to an atmosphere. The reaction of the fans who realised the stadium was on fire behind them was almost as incredible as the initial wilful act of destruction. They just picked up their stuff, moved 5 rows away from the fire and carried on watching the game. They then warmed their hands on the fire at half time. Oh those wacky Croatians.

These two would probably be the highlights of the sporting events at which I have been an enthralled spectator. However the "tingle factor" of walking into Maine Road (the old Manchester City stadium for global readers) was something else. The sense of unity, of pride in your heritage, the colour, the noise, the pies, all of it comes together in a spine tingling moment even before you reach your seat. And then the game: that single moment of unadulterated ecstasy as the ball hits the back of the net. Every weekend this is felt by millions around the globe, no matter if it's Chelsea or Chesterfield, no matter how many people are watching, when the ball hits the back of the net, you go absolutely bonkers.

All of this creates what I thought, for me at least, would be the only sporting arena that could give me goosebumps as I enter.

July 26th, 2008: I'd spent the day visiting the various charms of Nagoya with my family. These were two in number, no more, no less: the fabulously grand Nagoya castle, and a fertility shrine, WHICH HAD LOTS OF WOODEN PENISES EVERYWHERE AND IT WAS DEAD FUNNY COS WILLY'S ARE FUNNY HAHAHAHA.

My reaction at the time was certainly around that level of maturity. But hey, it was a big wooden dick. And there were lots of them, even one with enormous stone testicles. I challenge anyone not to at least raise the tiniest of smirks, possibly with a "huh huh, penis. huh huh" under their breath. For 400 yen you could buy a tiny wooden penis to write a prayer on, and in inspecting those that had already been hung up around the shrine we found a wooden penis that said in big, confident writing: "HELLO TO ALL MY FRIENDS ON MYSPACE.COM!!!!" Quite.

After the hilarity of the penis shrine we visited the rebuilt Nagoya castle, which, (although perhaps losing something in charm due to its status as essentially a purpose built museum) was still a mightily impressive feature of the Nagoyan skyline.

After lunch we made our way to the Aichi Prefectural Gym, the venue for the Nagoya Grand Sumo Tournament. The crowds were thronging in the way that only crowds do (if you can think of anything else that throngs, and does it well, please tell me), and after a spot of deliberation we made our way round to the entrance. I was excited, of course I was. I had watched these enormous tributes to what man can acheive (if man eats a dangerous quantity of noodles and beer) wrestling each other on television for the best part of a year.

We picked up the fight schedule list for the day and moseyed round the concourse trying to find the right entrance to the arena. We climbed the stairs, and it hit me. The colour, the noise. The ornate roof above a clay mound in the centre, and in the middle of that mound, the wrestlers. All eyes focused on these two men mountains. I've watched a crowd applaud Tiger Woods at St Andrews, I've seen Ronaldinho enrapt a stadium with a stepover, but I've never seen two people dominate a place like the two men in the centre of the arena.

The ceremony of sumo had always bored me rigid while watching it on television, but seeing it in context it makes a lot more sense. There is an innate elegance to the performance that at times is more like watching a bizarre ballet. Infact the flexibility levels demonstrated by some of these 26 stone men were truly astounding. One lower division wrestler lifted his leg above his head to such a degree that he was essentially doing the splits whilst stood up. Salt flew, slaps echoed around the arena and the audience gazed in rapt wonder at the gladitorial contests within the ring.

Ultimately, it was the simplicity of the sport that made it such an amazing spectacle. Two men, despite an arguably comical appearance often mocked in western culture, with their bodies perfectly honed for the job ahead. Fighting machines to entertain a crowd, a theme arising continually through sport since the days of Rome's colloseum. So wonderfully primitive, and yet with a level of sophistication in the ceremony to make the air tingle before each fight.

At the end Hakuho saw off the challenge of Kotooshu, and despite a yokozuna victory, purple cushions were hurled into the air by people who had paid good money to hurl those cushions. The good news for those reading this in Britain is that in October 2009 professional sumo is coming to london! I'll be there! Fighto!

You're going to get full marks on your WHAT?!

2008-07-03T22:18:00.000-07:00

Japanese people say the darndest things. This we know to be true, because somewhere on the internet it says so. However, the darndiosity of their comments does seem in direct positive correlation to how much English is used.

I have recently given all my students projects, whereby they must give me some form of creative writing every week. These are just some of the sentences my students have created this week:

Year 8 boy: 'I like MANCHESTER CITY, but I don't like MANCHESTER UNITED. I like ELANO, but I don't like Cristiano RONALDO. See you Mr Philip.'

Best student, total genius that boy. I'm teaching them well!

Year 8 boy: 'I am Taku. Not ken. Now I am ken. Hello everyone.'

Hello Ken. It continues.

'I play guitar. I want new Taku. Specimen!'

Ken, Taku, whoever you are, sort yourself out.

Year 8 girl: 'This is my friend Yui. PRETTY PRETTY. Shi is BEAUTIFUL. Shi is best best best! friend!'

awwwwwwww. Although she has previously claimed 'my best friend is angry lion', so don't know if she can be trusted.

All stirling entries.

but THE WINNER BY THIRD ROUND KNOCKOUT.....

Year 9 boy (English Diary): Wednesday: teste! I'm going to get full marks on my testes.

I shouldn't really laugh though. I once (by accident) told a pretty japanese girl she had a big penis, and have on more than one occasion gone up to the counter of the supermarket and said 'I don't need an owl'. oops

The Tohoku Cricket Cup Final

2008-05-29T22:51:00.000-07:00

Victories in amateur team sports are a beautiful thing. It doesn’t matter what sport you’re playing, or even if you’ve got any talent for it. The only thing that matters is that you care, ideally too much, and have a ruthless competitive streak in you that means if you lose you will genuinely break down in tears and cry like a little girl.

At the start of the day our team celebrated getting one wicket like we had just won the World Cup, the Champions League, the Superbowl, and become President of the United States, all in one sweet second. We didn’t expect anything from the tournament, in fact we thoroughly expected to be the team everyone beat and we’d have a bloody good laugh doing it. But now we were in the final, one win away from being champions of Tohoku, and my god it mattered.

Once again Akita lost the toss but this time Morioka decided to bat first. As the field were set Akita we were a confident team, a 100% record as a team giving them a confident assuredness that victory was within their grasp. After a tight first over from Thomson the Morioka star batsman started cutting loose, with runs coming thick and fast in the second over. Thankfully this cameo was shortened by the pace of Mandal, as the batsman mistimed a shot and Eiji caught a high ball near the boundary. The next over from Cooke saw just 2 runs from the over and a run out thanks to superb fielding from Tatsuya.

With both dangerous opening batsmen gone Cunningham and Eiji both claimed scalps in the middle order, and while scoring remained steady for Morioka, the consistently fast and accurate bowling from the Akitan men saw the rate of scoring restricted. Yoko's slower paced unconvential technique was impossible for the Moriokan batsmen to live with, and as the wickets tumbled so their desperation increased.

The efforts of Jeff Nadeau, fielding close to the batsmen, in distracting the Moriokans with constant taunting, were superb, and he can indeed claim credit for at least one wicket, by timing to perfection the sentence ‘do you know what sport I love? Monster Trucks!’ He also said something rather distasteful regarding a female deer and his genitals, the cad.

3 overs from the end Cooke put behind him some erratic bowling earlier in the day to post a double wicket maiden over. With Morioka reduced to their last wicket only 5 runs were scored of the last two overs, and the Akita bowlers had given their batsmen a fighting chance with a target of 54 to reach.

The Akita assault on this total did not start well. A lightning quick bowler took the wickets of both Cunningham and Thomson in quick succession, with Cooke following in the next over. With one run scored of a target of 54, Akita had lost nearly half their batsmen. Morioka were now definite favourites, as the whole of Akita Cricket Club gathered by the boundary to watch proceedings.

Some superb attacking strokes from Hui meant he quickly reached 20 runs (at which point a batsmen is forced to retire). After Hui had forced retirement Akita were still well short of the required total, as Ebdon, Eiji and Tatsuya all tried to steady the ship with limited success, and ultimately it was down to Hui to return to the pitch to partner Mandal with one wicket remaining. No chances for error. One slip up, one slightly mishit shot and it was all over. It needed two clear heads in the middle, and with the free hitting Hui and the assured Mandal, Akita had the batsmen who could hit the required runs. With sixes and fours flying off Hui’s bat, and Mandal’s composure serving him well as he clipped balls away to similar effect. Akita had one wicket remaining with 23 runs to score. Slowly this was wittled down, until a wide ball from the Morioka bowling attack ran behind the wicketkeeper for four runs, and Akita needed three runs to win the tournament and claim the Tohoku trophy. As a ball slipped down Mandal’s leg side, the slightest clip with the bat saw it sail towards the boundary for four runs.

The team flooded the pitch, the tension replaced by sheer ecstasy as Mandal ran off celebrating. A huge inflatable banana was brought out to join in the celebrations as the beer flowed, and the trophy was presented to a jubilant captain Cooke.

Akita Cricket Club, the team who had practised with rubbish bins and tennis balls, watched only by confused eight year olds and their even more confused tiny rabbits, were champions of Tohoku. And my god it felt good.

For those interested in playing for Akita Cricket Club we're trying to arrange a friendly in July, and will defend the Tohoku Cup in the second tournament of the year in September.

An apology, pastries and Cricket

2008-05-29T22:47:00.000-07:00

This blog needs kickstarting. I am going to do this by not being so damn fussy about what I put in. There’ll be short entries, longer ones, toilet humour and recycled jokes about raw fish, all peppered with the fevered diatribes of a man who has to live in a culture without sausage rolls. Throughout history the most entertaining rants have all been produced by people suffering from a pastry deficiency, you only have to ask me and I will confirm this to you by saying yes. I’ll email Greggs tonight to enquire about the possibility of opening a new branch in rural Japan.

My life has generally been a respectably successful combination of happy accidents. These words can also now apply to Akita Cricket Club. Allow me to tell you in an unnecessarily long winded and overtly self aggrandising fashion, the story of Akita Cricket Club.

It began, as all tales of sporting rags to riches do, with a bin. A rubbish bin with a blue lid. Armed with this bin, 3 tennis balls, and a pair of irish hurling sticks, Akita Cricket Club took to their Honjo training camp amid much confusion from locals. Our members were an international mix of misfits, and given the amount of tennis balls that either went sailing over the batsman’s head or failed to reach the batsman at all, our chances did not look good for the tournament.

We did however reach out to the local community, with a very enthusiastic gaggle of 8 year old girls joining in at one of our practises. It is testament to our incompetence that having watched us for 45 minutes, they didn’t realise we were aiming for the wicket.

And so to Sendai! After 6 weeks of a gruelling training schedule of little girls bringing their inexplicably tiny rabbits to watch us hurling tennis balls at each others heads, 4 cars left Akita on Saturday 24^th of May. These cars took with them the hopes and dreams of an entire prefecture, all resting on the shoulders of 11 daring sportsmen (and women). In the run up to the tournament Akita had suffered a blow to the strength of the team, as opening batsman Jon Hui suffered an ankle injury, and we realised his partner Owen Cunningham was Irish and therefore shit. But we ploughed on regardless, past the endless rice fields of Akita, to the bright lights of Sendai.

The day before the game was marked with most of the team being shown a cricket bat for the first time. An important milestone in the history of any cricket club. A booze filled practise session in central Sendai was hastily arranged, with a plethora of dropped catches due to fielders having one hand occupied with beer.

A chance to know thine enemy followed, an all you can drink party with the other teams. The teams from Sendai and Morioka, along with a mix of cricket enthusiasts from around the region making up the Tohoku team, all seemed very friendly and blissfully unaware of the TONKING they were about to receive. The night was punctuated with a visit to Lawson and McDonalds, and for some reason I thought it a good idea to tell some Japanese girls that Jeff has a big penis. Shitsureshimashita.

I awoke on match day with a craving for hash browns, and after I had stepped over the vomit of our opening Bowler, breakfast was consumed with much talk of what the winning formula for today might be. Having spent six weeks practising with the wrong equipment and doing it badly, the odds were not good, but spirit in the camp remained high.

Leaving the hotel to find a ground in the tree covered hills around Sendai was done with relative ease, and as we inspected a rain sodden pitch we prepared mentally for Akita Cricket Club’s first ever game, against a Tohoku Select VIII.

Losing the toss Akita were put into bat, and after respectable knocks from Jon Hui (19) Owen Cunningham (11) and captain Philip Cooke (10), Akita posted a score of 58/5 on an unpredictable pitch. Whether this would prove enough against a Tohoku side that were very much an unknown quantity was in doubt, but as early as the second over Akita Cricket Club took their first wicket thanks to a direct at a run out, a sharp piece of fielding from Cooke. The wickets continued to tumble as the Akita bowlers used their pace and accuracy to torment the Tohoku team, and when their best batsmen was bowled by a mean piece of medium pace accuracy from David Ebdon, the game was up. Akita saw the ten overs out with some tight bowling from Yoko Ihara and Scotsman David Thomson, who appeared to have recovered from the earlier vomiting incideint. Tohoku eventually finished on 28/6, and at no point looked like threatening Akitan supremacy. The team who had practised by throwing tennis balls at a rubbish bin for six weeks had their first win under their belt.

Confidence growing, their next opponents were the more than able Sendai, who boasted players who had represented University teams around the world. Now I can’t actually claim to have been present at this game, my cricket knowledge being required to umpire the Morioka vs Tohoku clash happening on the other pitch. However I can say that on a much better pitch consistently tight bowling from vice captain Tapo Mandal as well as Cunningham and Thomson kept a talented Sendai side restricted to 53 runs. The batting exhibition that followed was a masterclass in aggressive cricket shots, with Cunningham and Hui running riot with some of the tournament’s best batting. Both rattled off a lightning fast 20 runs before tournament rules forced them to retire. Thomson and the surprisingly old Tatsuya then saw the game home with calm collected batting performances. The game was won by 7 wickets with 4 overs remaining, and amazingly with Morioka triumphing against Tohoku, a place in the final was now assured.

The next match against Morioka was very much a friendly, a precursor for the fireworks to follow in the final itself. Nevertheless after once more being put into bat, the Akita team set about the Morioka bowlers with sadistic intent. Yoko Ihara and Amelie Girard opened the batting for Akita on this occasion, and were unlucky to be dismissed as they were getting into a rhythm. With the cavalry called for, Thomson and Hui set about dispatching the ball to all corners of the ground with an obvious contempt for the bowlers’ efforts. Morioka opened with weaker batsmen playing defensive strokes, and did not score quickly enough to be competitive with Akita’s total of 78/6. However there were warning signs when Morioka’s better batsmen came out towards the end of the game and started hitting huge shots over the boundary ropes. Ultimately an easy 30 run victory for Akita, but we knew the final would be a whole new, if slightly similar, ball game.

Niseko, Part 2

2008-03-06T22:50:00.000-08:00

Now because Trish and numerous others been whining at me I have decided to furnish loyal brog readers with further readings in reference to my sojourn to the wintry wastes of Hokkaido. We left Sapporo in the gaijinmobile, and ploughed on through the slush of the Sapporovian suburbs into the mountains on the way to Niseko. As light snow began to fall and we headed further into the mountains, the trees that covered the volcanic scenery became a pristine white. Beautiful, but not really that different from Akita.

However, the road to Niseko had a definite moment where the curtains are pulled back and Hokkaido says ‘daa daa!’ After driving through a long tunnel for quite some time, the exit came into view, and we were immersed in a total and absolute white landscape. Given that the dominant feature of stunning landscapes is often colour, it is difficult to lend apt words to describe exactly why this whiteness was such a ‘wow’ moment. Imagine driving a car through Japan, entering a tunnel and emerging again in Narnia. Awesome.

Anyway after a bit of help from JPS (the Jeff Positioning System) and none from the GPS on my phone (which thought we were driving through the middle of a rice field) we successfully arrived in Niseko, which amazingly has a higher percentage of Australia born inhabitants than Sydney! Obviously that fact is entirely made up, but there could accurately described to be a metric fuckton of Aussies in this remarkably western town. Niseko is even spelt ニセコ in Japanese on road signs, using the Katakana alphabet principally reserved for foreign words.

The experience of being genuinely immersed in western culture in the middle of rural Japan was rather bizarre. In some ways this was fabulously liberating. I could get advice on buying a new snowboard in English, I could chat to strangers in bars in conversations not limited to ‘I am English Teacher. I like Japan. I do not like Natto’, and I could have beans on toast for breakfast. The latter was probably the greatest culinary sensation I’ve had since arriving in Japan. Another bonus of this Australian colony in Hokkaido was the preferential treatment we received from local Japanese people, purely through our ability to communicate in Japanese beyond please and thank you. Naturally I still went around butchering the language as I am wont, but the efforts were definitely more appreciated than they are in Akita.

No more so was this the case than on my third night, where, after struggling for a few days on sub standard equipment, I got on a chair lift with Yuka, a Japanese girl from Sapporo. On the way up we struck up conversation in Japanese, and after 5 minutes of exhausting every single phrase I knew in Japanese she started talking perfect English to me in a slight Australian accent. She had the ‘alroit moit’ down to a tee!

The following is one of the many reasons I love Japanese people. After seeing me struggle to get off the lift she asked if it was my first time, and told me that she was a snowboard instructor if I needed a lesson. She then spent 40 (FORTY!!) minutes helping me become what I can best describe as ‘slightly less shit’. Awesome.

So after this little victory snatched from the jaws of sporting incompetence it was time for New Years Eve! Usually the worst night out of most years, and while this was fun, it was nothing to write home about. Rob woke up lying naked in a pool of his own vomit in the toilets though, which as ways to welcome in 2008 is definitely up there.

Once I had become a bit more familiar with my board I came to realise that powdery days on the slopes at Niseko are the winter sports equivalent of rolling down Mount Everest in one of those big inflatable hamster ball thingies. Most fun ever. The feeling of snowboarding on powder snow is like surfing on a cloud, and when you’re doing this through thick trees, ducking branches and falling waist deep in the big fluffy stuff, it is one of the greatest sensations on earth. Although I really do want to roll down Everest in that hamster ball.

But Australia, like possessions, is fleeting, and since Japan is where my house is I decided to go back there. I snapped up £10 worth of tins of baked beans and the philmobile ventured forward into a much sunnier Hokkaido. The view of Yotei San, the friendly niseko volcano was fairly fantastic, but I’m typing this now with a view of my local friendly volcano out the window, and mine is totally better.

Next year I would definitely like to try to get to another big Japanese ski resort. The western nature of Niseko had its plus and minus points as regards the general experience, and for tourists looking for a Japanese experience there are resorts out there (Furano for example) which I am assured (by a friendly Belgian café owner) retain a much more Japanese ambience. However, when you’re waist deep in powder, feeling like you’re floating on clouds through trees, the fact that the onsen is full of drunken Australians doesn’t seem so bad.

New Year in Australia: Part One

2008-01-15T21:15:00.000-08:00

For those of you who may be labouring under the delusion that Australia is in fact solely in the southern hemisphere, allow me to introduce you to Australia’s one and only colony. That’s right, the colonies have started colionalising. Something very wrong about that. But for the sake of informing phil phans, your favourite blogista ventured into enemy territory armed only with his English accent and oodles of gentlemanly charm.

Our story starts one wintry morn in the industrial port of Akita City. I left Honjo at 3.30am, boarded the ferry and anxiously tapped away at my mobile for news of Manchester City’s fortunes against Blackburn Rovers. Blackburn scored a last minute equaliser to rob city of a crucial three points. Even from my vantage point aboard a Japanese ferry 6000 miles away I could tell the Blackburn goal was totally offside. Feeling justifiably hard done by I did my best to catch up on some sleep, failed and ventured outside to brave the sea air. 30 seconds later I returned inside with substantially bluer nipples, and spent the rest of the voyage watching 24 on my laptop in the warmth of a café serving karray raisu. Curreh to those wot know.

A largely uneventful crossing brought me to the port of Tomakomai, where a relatively stress free drive brought me to northern Japan’s biggest city, Sapporo. I needed directions to my hotel, so thought I’d try asking a friendly native. My first attempt at interaction with the locals was not altogether successful. Obviously the following dialogue was actually conducted in Japanese.

Me: Excuse me?
Japanese woman (thinks): OH HOLY FUCK IT’S A GAIJIN AND HE’S GOT RED HAIR HE’S DEFINITELY GOING TO KILL ME AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don’t know exactly why she saw the need to run across the street to get away from me. I even dothed my cap to appear less threatening.

Thankfully the next person I asked was more helpful, and I found friends, food, and drink! Lots of drink. All you can drink for £7 in fact. My god that was dangerous. Drinking contests with barmaids ensued. Naturally I emerged victorious. These are very short sentences.

A friendly Kiwi who had lived in Sapporo for 4 years was our guide, taking us to a number of small friendly establishments that would have no doubt remained unseen by our gaijin tourist eyes. Naturally the red light district was part of the tour, and I have to say the brothels were remarkably well advertised. Zero subtlety in this, just a big poster of a girl with a price list. Also for a foreign customer it was 5000 yen more expensive! Naturally my outrage made me hungry, so I went to get some grilled chicken on a stick. Right tasty it was too.

My memory of the evening is patchy, and I woke up with a hangover that felt a bit like I had slept with a small elephant on my head. A morning stroll through Sapporo took us to an intriguing charming little local coffee shop called "Starbucks", where a ‘ratte’ and a muffin were consumed. Feeling suitably refreshed, me and my three travelling companions piled into my mazda with much excitement and indeed, plenty of ado.

Captain Cooke and the good ship mazda sailed on in search of this mysterious australian colony...

More news when I can be bothered!

Lawson

2008-01-15T20:45:00.000-08:00

Lawson is a Japanese institution. This is a doubly impressive achievement given it is actually unpronounceable to Japanese people. Essentially these are small identikit shops found on national roads selling most things a reasonable size newsagent would back home. They sell a variety of “food” and a vast selection of equally edible cartoon pornography. And today I made a discovery in my local Lawson that will both shock and amaze. Lawson has started selling…

Wait for it…

Strawberries and whipped cream SANDWICHES.

Tokyo may have the most Michelin starred restaurants of any city in the world, but this single discovery entirely negates all that good work, proving once and for all that the Japanese should not be allowed kitchens. I now intend to apply for the job of school chef, and provide these children with a hearty diet of Lancashire hotpot, bangers and mash, toad in the hole, with fish and chips on Fridays.

And if I mess things up I can just rustle up a tuna and jelly sundae which I fully expect them to chow down gratefully.

Edit: also who the fuck is buying those cherry blossom flavoured kitkats???

Christmas in Japan

2007-12-26T23:38:00.001-08:00

I’m not going to lie, I found this very difficult. This is maybe the second time I’ve felt the pain of homesickness, and it’s not nice. Working on Christmas day, getting up, putting a suit on, no presents, no church, it all felt very odd. I made Christmas cards for the year 5 and year 6 children who didn’t receive one from Britain; I have to say it was nice to be able to give someone a card on Christmas day. I would have liked to have spent the evening with some English speaking mates who could possibly understand why Christmas is so important, but the end of year staff party got in the way.

I don’t dread these affairs as I did on first arriving. At first these were horribly difficult, wanting to make an impression but linguistically limited, wanting to be my normal overly boisterous self but confined by wariness of cultural differences.

However on Christmas day I solved both these problems by getting SERIOUSLY drunk.

If I could remember what happened I’m sure it would make fantastic reading, but sadly my memory only goes as far as a whisky drinking competition, that I seem to remember winning. I may have won that battle, but Suntory pure malt 10 year old won the war. I was informed the next day that apparently I had been ruffling people’s hair, kissing them on the cheek and assuring them that I did in fact love them. Which was jolly nice of me.

After waking up at 4.30am on Boxing day I was able to exchange presents with people at home over skype, which along with the 50 Christmas cards my kids had made me adorning my wall, gave me a generous injection of Christmas spirit. I got a man city away shirt with cooke sensei written on the back!

All in all then, a pretty good Christmas. I would say it was one I’d never forget but I’m already down by 9 hours as it is.

Hic.

Snowboarding and Japanese Penises (or penii)

2007-12-26T23:37:00.000-08:00

Now this is why I came to Japan. Not the penises, snowboarding. Yashima skijo isn’t the biggest ski area ever, but its local and one is able to strap oneself to bits of wood and go down a hill very fast. Fabulous.

Twas the Saturday before Christmas, and Yashima skijo opened its doors for the first time! Myself and Dougras ventured onto the foothills of Mount Chokai and had a time that could best be described as ‘just lovely’. As anticipated, I was by far the most incompetent participant, but at the end emerged with bones intact, a few bruises and mountain rescue were only called out after me once.

Naturally a day’s snowboarding took its toll on my muscles, and I needed a hot bath to get them working again. My apartment bath is not big enough, but happily there is a geothermally heated hot spring about 5 minutes walk from my apartment! Perfect. Also by cheerful coincidence nudity is compulsory, so I get to expose my genitals to Japanese men with no legal repercussions.

Modesty is obviously an issue here. For those unaccustomed to parading their love vegetables in front of strangers it can be a daunting prospect, regardless of how cucumberesque your phallus may be. The key is to strut. Easier for some than others, but waggle your sex sausage in the face of a judging Japanese crowd and all is right with the world.

A Cultural Observation

2007-12-16T23:34:00.001-08:00

Now because it's funny, and no one can understand me anyway so there's no harm, I am occasionally prone to walking into classrooms and stating loudly something along the lines of: 'I am Mr Cooke thy lord and master, bow before my muscular knowledge of English Grammar'.

Thing is though being bowed at all the time does strange things to your ego. Imagine being a teacher in a british school, and as you walk along the corridor a student bowing and saying 'thank you for your hard work'. While this is obviously normal in Japan, I can't help but think that it's fkin awesome, and actually yeh, I do deserve thanks for the 5 hours I spent on facebook today. If you think that was tough you should have seen the hard graft I put in browsing youtube earlier.

Another example of the fabulous levels of politeness to which I am witness when a student enters the staffroom they have to bow before saying 'I am being rude', then when they leave they say 'I have been rude'.

Yeh damn right you have! Now get out of my face, I'm playing online scrabble.

Poisoning, snow, and the kitchen bitch

2007-12-16T18:17:00.000-08:00

There's something quite satisfying about sitting in a toasty office and watching snow cover the world outside. However I was not entirely reassured when my question 'is this gas heating safe? there's a funny smell', was answered with 'maybe not safe, but... very cheap!'. Oh well that's just fine then. We're all going to die and I haven't even taught my awesome cheese rolling lesson to every class yet.

Those who speak to me on a regular basis will be well aware of my over excitabilty regarding snow, and in particular snowboarding. I don't have a huge amount of experience but I remain confident that bucketfuls of enthusiasm and a healthy disregard for my own wellbeing will see me racing down the slopes in no time. However the ephemeral nature of the snowfall around Honjo thus far has meant that the opening of my local piste has been delayed! Something which I am naturally PHUMING about.

Since my last entry my controversial teaching methods have yielded yet more success. All students at Yashima primary school now know the English for 'big banana'. They also now know the location of a variety of international cities, and whenever they didnt know their ignorance was punished by their peers striking a big inflatable banana on their head. What Cooke Sensei's lessons lack in educational value, they make up for in the quantity of inflatable fruit used.

At Yuri primary school I was an enthusiastic participant in cookery class, and a group of year 5 students taught me to make miso soup. Essentially it was just me being bossed around a kitchen by 8 year olds (well drilled in the instructions in english) telling me to PUT THE WATER IN THE PAN!' BOIL THE WATER!' CHOP THE RADISH!' CHOP THE TOFU!' PUT IT IN THE PAN!' HOW'S THE TASTE?!'.

Derishus actually. And I had to wear a denim bandana for some reason. I think they were just trying to make me look silly while I became the 8 year olds kitchen bitch.

Aphter a good snowphall look phorward to pictures of phil's many snowboarding pitphalls and misadphentures!

Laters

Snow, snowballs, and inflatable bananas

2007-12-05T18:48:00.000-08:00

Snow in the quantities I've been enjoying in akita seems to provoke different reactions from different people. Some of my colleagues assume an air of annoyance, emitting groans of disappointment when they see that fluffy white stuff falling from the sky, ruining their drive home. The friendly local North Americans used to this weather approach it in a nonchalant manner indicative of their familiarity with it. Owen the irishman complains about the cold cos he's just a total pansy. British children confronted with this amount of powdery white stuff would be an uncontrollable 4 foot tall blob of excitement. I am a 6 foot tall blob of excitement. Japanese children do not respond with that level of enthusiasm, obviously due to the huge amounts of snowfall every year in akita.

So basically the most childish reaction to akitan snowfall is probably mine. At my primary schools I sit at my desk slowly becoming insanely jealous of the 7 year olds making snowmen in the playground. So much so that one week ago after finishing a stuttering conversation in japanese with the year 2 teacher at Yashima Primary school, I put on my coat, gloves, and a wooly hat (my mum says it'll keep me warm), ran outside and threw a snowball at a 6 year old's head. I have never been chased so fast by so many 6 year olds in my life. By sheer weight of numbers I was defeated, but I swear I took at least some down with me. A noble fight.

The ongoing violence between me and the students then leaked into the classroom, where I had the brilliant idea of bringing an inflatable banana into a classroom setting. These children are excitable enough at the best of times but inflatable fruit tipped them over the edge.

"Janken" is the japanese name for rock scissors paper. After showing them how to play the game with english words I pitted the kids against each other in a deadly janken battle. I say deadly, basically the game consisted of the winner being allowed to hit the loser with an inflatable banana.

Then Cooke sensei got in on the act. I challenged a few students to beat me at rock paper scissors. My tournament started well, 3 consecutive wins, but coming up against the bounciest 8 year old I have ever seen I knew I was in for a battle (seriously he just wouldn't stop jumping, was a bit like teaching a kangaroo who's had a bit too much ice cream). To rapturous applause from his peers Cooke sensei was defeated. The bouncy marsupial then took up the banana with due gusto but I wasnt just going to accept a beating from my own banana. As I ran around the classroom hiding behind desks this haagen dazs fuelled infant pursued me seemingly energised by the immense volume of his own screams.

There are moments teaching as an ALT that you really wonder if you're having an impact. When yet another class of bizarrely world weary 15 year olds greets your every english sentence with confused glances to their friends, when your role in a classroom is reduced to little more than a human tape recorder, it can be difficult. Every now and again though, I see some real progress that I know I was responsible for, and that makes it worthwhile.

And when you hear 40 laughing children as a screaming 8 year old pursues you armed with an inflatable banana, you know your life went seriously right somewhere.

Oh no, my cola!

2007-12-05T18:29:00.000-08:00

The brief I am given to teach varies hugely from school to school. At my main primary school I'm given lesson plans and teaching materials, all very easy. At my other primary school I feel my main duty is to entertain, so as to maybe engender an enthusiasm for learning english when they start lessons at Junior High School.

At my Junior High School I am teaching from an arguably unfit for purpose textbook. Take this dialogue for instance, and try to work out what specific target language it's trying to teach.

Let's have lunch.
All right.
Oh no, my cola! I don't have any tissues. Do you have any?
No, but I have a handkerchief. Here, use this.

Believe it or not the students are actually supposed to grasp from this duologue a decent concept of 'let's...' (followed by the verb). Absolute joke.

Having said that if they go to an english speaking country and they have lunch and their cola falls over and they don't have any tissues but they're with a friend and the friend has a handkerchief, they will know EXACTLY what to say.

Basically my main message here would be next time you see a Japanese person having a picnic, run over and push their drink over. Watch in wonder as education becomes relevant. They'll thank you for it.

Stay Phragrant.

Snow #1

2007-12-05T18:16:00.001-08:00

2 weeks since the last update! A travesty for which I can only apologise.

Firstly I would like to express my love for a machine that has made my introduction to an akitan winter much more comfortable. My kerosene heater is possibly the sexiest machine on the planet.

Winter in akita arrived very suddenly. From a comfortable 10 degrees two days later I could see my own breath as I lay in bed, trying to guess the exact time of night my nipples would just give up and fall off. However I still have nipples, and after a bit of kerosene magic my bedroom reaches a temperature that could reasonably be described as 'RIGHT TOASTEH'.

There are issues with the whole carbon monoxide poisoning thing. That would be bad. But a life without nipples? Too horrible to contemplate? I'll leave you with that quandry brog readers.

Stay Phabulous.

Omiyage

2007-11-18T22:47:00.000-08:00

This is a japanese custom whereby if you go somewhere, if just for the weekend, it is polite to return bearing gifts of small overwrapped snacks for your colleagues. I have so far chowed down gratefully on seaweed, all types of bizarre biscuits that all seem to taste like bad fish, and an infite amount of cakes filled with a sweet 'red bean paste'. Admittedly the snacks are not usually suited to my western palate, but I do believe this to be a good tradition. To ingratiate myself with the staff upon arrival I presented each with some shortbread from tesco. I have definitely received more than I have given, and this kindness and altruism can only ever be a good thing. Equally it's quite nice to know that despite their being many teachers here who I have not had a conversation with, we have at least exchanged gifts.

But seriously why on earth did the japanese teacher sat across from me just give me a tissue and a sugarlump.

Now I'm going to put you in the moment with what a commentary of the event. Imagine this done with a John Motson voice, or alternatively subsitute your own favourite sports commentators voice into this monologue:

Commentator: Well here comes the omiyage, and oh here's a turn up for the books, it's a tissue and a sugarlump! Now it's early stages but with this surprise offering this surely means the form books been thrown out the window! Obviously the young foreigner is all smiles but could the sugarlump and tissue approach exploit his lack of first team experience? Well he's going for the tentative first bite, now this is where the game is won and lost and oh he looks to be handling the sugar pretty well! No facial expression as yet but as we know it's a game of two halves. Now this is just astonishing from the youngster, he's now eating the entire sugarlump and can he... yes, there's the grateful smile! And the japanese teacher walks away satisfied! That has to be a textbook example of how to deal with strange omiyage, and a fine example to youngsters looking to get involved in English teaching in Japan!

Just marking a students paper, they're learning the word 'who' so have to describe people for others to guess 'who is he/she?'. One girl has just written 'She is my friend. She is short. She is a monkey.' Quite refreshing after all the other ones were about everyones favourite baseball player. She gets an A.

Phollow their example and phurnish your phriends with giphts! Later Phil phans.

SNOW!

2007-11-18T21:38:00.000-08:00

There's something about snow that's just good. I could wax lyrical about the beauty of a frozen landscape, the aesthetic magic of turning an ugly town beautiful with a blanket of pristine whiteness. I also acknowledge that it can be a right pain in the arse, as anyone who saw me 'driving' to work this morning would testify. It's just so much fun though! You can't make footprints in sunshine, or throw rainballs, or make fogmen. Snow angels yes. Sand Angels and you'd be finding grit in orifices for weeks. And as a self confessed fan of grit free orifices, that's bad.

This was the sight that greeted me as I looked out my window this morning:

There's something that the 8 year old phil inside me finds irresistably exciting about waking up to a snow covered landscape. And given that my inner 8 year old is responsible for most of my decisions, 22 year old phil got excited too. I can't help grinning like an idiot when I see snow. I need to buy wellies. Even at school I was still happily gazing out the window as the snow blanketed the valley.

Having said that, maybe a winter in akita will dampen my enthusiasm. It's cold. Very cold. And my apartment is somehow colder than outside. Honest.

Basically for all their technological advancements the japanese on the whole have not yet grasped the concept of insulation in their houses. I'm 90% sure my walls are made of a combination of plywood and rice cakes. As such I have been getting into bed with my enormous winter coat on, then waiting til my bodyheat warms the duvet up before disrobing. Tonight I will purchase kerosene for my two kerosene heaters, and if I die of carbon monoxide poisoning, I'm really sorry but it was proper nippy!

This is rephrigerated phil signing ophph! More news as it happens.

Sockgate

2007-11-14T22:58:00.000-08:00

It was a day like any other. I showered, shaved, put on a suit and was looking my usual fabulous self. There could be no way I could anticipate the HORROR that lay before me. As I drove to work, past paddy fields and temples, I should have felt the clammy hand of fate on my shoulder. For this was to be the day I accidentally flushed my sock down a toilet.

I had just finished teaching year 2, and basically this had involved a lot of making funny faces to amuse 7 year olds and persuade them that counting to 10 in english was in fact a really good idea, and that we can't spend every lesson doing a conga behind cooke sensei (although that was one of the funniest 10 minutes of my life). Naturally upon leaving the classroom I had to high five or shake hands with every student, and being hugged by 12 japanese 7 year olds is just one of those things that cooke sensei has to deal with.

But after the controlled anarchy of the classroom, I felt a need. I could attempt some beautiful turn of phrase to sum up this need, some clever metaphor like 'i was totally prarie dogging' but basically I just really needed a poo.

And yet time was short. This would have to be a shit and run operation. I had forgotten my indoor shoes that day, so was scuttling around school wearing slippers that kept falling off due to them being tiny with no back to them. My scuttling led me succesfully from the staffroom and towards the toilets, whereupon I encountered my first obstacle. No lights, just a dark room lit by one solitary small window at the far side of the room. And it got worse, as the door of the toilet cubicle swung open to reveal a Japanese squat toilet. Checking the other cubicles, I knew this was a neccessary evil I must survive.

I shut the cubicle door, immersing myself in a disorientating darkness. To speed the process up I took one leg out of my trousers, swung my trousers round, took aim and fired. For a debut performance my aim was pretty good, and all in all I was feeling justifiably pleased with myself, so I stood up, zipped up and cast a glance at the floor for my now curiously absent right sock. Maybe 5 seconds passed before the horrible realisation hit me. I had flushed my sock down the toilet in a fit of premature pride.

The ensuing walk of shame was like no other. I have struggled to communicate many messages to colleagues with no English. A few examples would be 'what time is school lunch', 'do I have to come to school for the festival' or even just expressing thanks for a cup of green tea. But I never thought I'd have to explain 'the reason I'm only wearing one sock is because I flushed the other one down the toilet, duh!'. Checked the phrasebook, wasnt there, obviously I bought a substandard phrasebook. After my intial attempts at explaining the situation in Japanese fell on deaf ears, I had to communicate the story through the medium of MIME.

The staff gazed quizically upon the strange foreign man who was squatting with a slightly pained look on his face and pointing manically at his foot. And then it dawned. And I think it was possibly the funniest thing they had ever heard in the history of everything.

Hopephully there'll be no more phunny phil and phaeces adphentures but brog readers will be the phirst to know!

School Festivals, Engrish Crub, and 'Phil Cooke and The Pickpockets'

2007-11-14T21:52:00.000-08:00

Cuddly trees. 5 foot wide drums. Pikachu. Weird blue cat things that I'm told is called 'Doraemon'. Cross dressing. Me.

Just some of the weird and wonderful things in attendance at both school festivals I was fortunate enough to witness in the last month!

The Junior High School festival was a strange affair. Big Taiko drums I expected, and given the amount of practise that had been going on in the previous weeks, a confident performance by the brass band was always on the cards.

When I came back in the afternoon however and walked in to see a 3rd year student in his baseball kit pretending to pitch into the crowd, I knew it was about to get weird. 15 minutes later, when the whole crowd was shouting at him and he was STILL just pretending to pitch, my suspicions were confirmed. Then came MC Pikachu accompanied by a weird dancing blue cat thing. Then a girl did a dance, and a boy wearing a girl's uniform attempted to copy it REALLY badly. And then at the end there were girls in the crowd crying. I left thoroughly bewildered and in need of a beer.

The primary school festival was slightly less bizarre, and frankly TEEMED with quality given that I was the headline act. It also included a production from my English Club of Hansel and Gretel! As announced at the beginning, written and directed by Mr Cooke. Can't help but think that the Grimm Brothers might deserve a bit more credit but there you go. Anyway their performance was nothing short of MAGNIFICENT, and naturally a video recording has been sent for consideration at next year's academy awards.

This is the bear and the lion, and obviously they are the bear and the lion that were in the original book and not at all just put it in to make sure all the kids had something to say.

Futa and Mayuko aka Hansel and Gretel! Note the empty fridge, nice touch. Although don't know why the Hansel costume involved a baseball cap. Have to say I was really proud of these kids when they were up there performing, I've definitely got more of an idea why people would want to teach in primary schools now. Naturally after that the main event followed, with a stirring rendition of 'norman the lonely bird' and an unncessarily long guitar solo from yours truly.

Never have I performed with a manlier background.

Incidentally pictured is my new Les Paul guitar! And here is my awesome band in full flow!

Working titles include 'Phil Cooke and The Pickpockets', 'The Papples' and 'Foreign Rock Band'.

Awesome.

Phor Phurther musical Ophpherings look out for a Phoreign Rock Band coming to a school phestival near you! Later Phil phans

Phil does culture. Cos I iz sofistikated innit.

2007-11-14T21:14:00.001-08:00

During my English Club at my primary school 2 weeks ago I was invited by the 'tea ceremony club', to join a tea ceremony! Hooray. Phil does culture and he doesn't have to go to any effort to find it. This is my kind of travelling. First picture above is the girls (I think they were years 4 and 5 in british equivalent) being taught how to mix the tea by an old lady in a kimono. Next we were given little sweets to munch (picture blow). Naturally I ate the sweets in the wrong order and got laughed at. I mean I wouldn't laugh at someone for eating custard creams without dunking them in tea! I'd hate them on the inside though.

Next a bit of the ol' bowing! I think this was ami serving my tea, friendly year 5 girl. Note my knelt down position. This is called sitting in 'seiza', and it bloody hurts if you do it for 15 minutes non stop! As such I couldn't really bow properly cos I'd fall over and get laughed at even more.

Tea drinking time! After having the tea presented to me I had to pick it up with my right hand, hold it in my left, turn the cup twice anti clockwise then drink all the tea in three swigs, then put the cup down, twisting once with your right in a clockwise direction after you've finished. Then I had to rub my belly and pat my head and balance a spoon on my nose while humming the match of the day theme tune. Well ok I didn't really have to do that last bit. But seriously, how much easier is it just to have a cuppa with a hobnob! Tastier too.

After all that pomp and ceremony (15 minutes to drink three swigs of tea ffs) I was finally allowed to stop kneeling! I tried to stand up, then realised given blood flow issues that this might be a bit ambitious. So I settled for writhing in pain on the floor.

So there you have it people, Phil does culture. Verdict? A painful and inefficient way to drink a small amount of rather odd tasting tea. Still, would recommend it to anyone, I had fun and the kids seemed to like me taking part. Interestingly this episode did somewhat highlight the size difference between me and Japanese women.

Sometimes I really do feel like fkin Gulliver.

More of Phil's Phlummoxing Phorays into Japanese culture to phollow!

Nihon no Tabemono (or in Engrish, Japanese Food)

2007-11-08T19:51:00.000-08:00

Now it would be safe to say that Japanese food is enjoying a somewhat fashionable status in the UK. You can buy sushi at tesco, cities as uncivilised as LEEDS boast eateries selling fine sashimi and teppanyaki restaurants are sprouting up all over the place.However, as a fully fledged card holding resident of these strange islands, I believe myself better qualified to comment on japanese food than anyone who has ever chowed down the polonium 210 at a london sushi restaurant.

Ramen is a dish of noodles served in broth, topped with meat and vegetables. Originally a chinese dish, it has been adopted heavily within Japan. The modern dish eaten across these islands however, is quintessentially Japanese, particularly the miso ramen of Hokkaido. Best ramen in Honjo is obtained via the medium of 'eeny meeny miney mo'. This is due to the system of ordering food involves pushing a button on a vending machine to get a ticket. These buttons are covered in squiggles which I'm told is writing. So push a random squiggle, get a bowl of derishus ramen! Sorted.
Phil's Judgement: DERISHUS

Tempura is deep fried anything. Originally a portuguese dish, introduced in the sixteenth century seafood and vegetable tempura are the most common. And dipped in soy sauce and maybe with a little bit of wasabi, it can be safely described as 'oishii'.
Phil's Judgement: DERISHUS

Japanese Curry is usually thicker and sweeter than its Indian counterpart, and is always a safe bet. Introduced to Japan by the British East India Company it is seen as a western dish, although rarely comes with the spice one might anticipate encoutering in the curry houses of Rusholme. My favourite culinary discovery since arrival on this island is in fact Cheeseburger Curry, which is basically curry with a hamburger thrown on the top and then covered liberally in cheese. Awesome.
Phil's Judgement: DERISHUS

Sushi is raw fish.

Phil's Judgement: IF I WANTED RAW FISH I'D BE DOWN THE PETSHOP DRINKING PINTS OF GOLDFISH BUT OH LOOK I'M NOT.

Raw fish, honestly. And they don't have beans on toast, worcestershire sauce, or bacon butties. Savages.

VERDICT: MUST TRY HARDER.

More of phil's phoodie phortunes later!

My Primary Schools: Yuri and Yashima

2007-11-05T18:05:00.000-08:00

In comparison with my Junior High School, these are a totally different kettle of fish. In fact they’re so far apart I’d say they were a different kettle of camels. First the basics:

Yuri Primary is the sole feeder school to Yuri Junior High School, and is in the same part of Yuri, about 10 minutes walk away. The building is only 4 years old, and as such the school is equipped with all the modern conveniences one could possibly desire, including heated toilet seats! delightful.

Yashima Primary is the main primary school in the larger town of Yashima, a 35 minute drive from my apartment into the mountainous countryside of Akita. Yuri Primary, (which is a specialist English school) has students and teachers with a much better grasp of English than at Yashima, however this does mean I feel I am contributing more at this school than I could do at Yuri. Yashima was the location for ‘the sock story’, hereafter known as ‘sockgate’, which I feel deserves a blog entry of its own.

Teaching in primary schools could not be more different from the quiet blank faces that oft gaze up at me from the desks of Yuri Junior High. As I walk into the school I am typically greeted with whispers of ‘cooke sensei *insert Japanese jibberish* cooke sensei’ and then a brave/over confident child will shout a loud ‘GOOD MORNING’ that would probably be audible in Pyongyang. As I leave classrooms it is not uncommon for group hugs of 12 japanese 8 year olds to occur with me at the centre, and it is obviously compulsory for me to high five/shake the hand of every student before I dare return to the staffroom. At Yashima I have grown accustomed to rapturous applause upon entering a room, or at the very least gasps of delight. Damn right. I am Cooke Sensei, thy lord and master. Students will learn to say ‘Come on Man City’, or surely they will perish by my hand.

More ediphying updates will be phorthcoming phil phans!

Yuri Junior High School

2007-11-05T01:26:00.000-08:00

This is my base school. I spend most of my week pottering around within these walls making myself look busy. My first lessons with every class were ‘self introduction classes’, where the students guessed from multiple choice on a powerpoint presentation as to whether I'm from Richmond or Birmingham, whether my favourite sport is football or croquet, and if my father is Sean Connery or Sven Goran Eriksson.

The language barrier (between me and the rest of the school, bar the two English teachers) can at times be akin to the Berlin wall, and like the Berlin wall, it is best brought down by slapstick comedy and funny voices. These students, particularly the older ones, are fairly typical of Japanese schools in that they are the quietest teenagers in the history of civilisation. To British teachers reading this, it might sound like heaven, but at times I may as well be teaching the present continuous tense to 30 comatose hedgehogs.

That said, there are enough characters amongst the younger years to make some lessons very entertaining, particularly when I’m given a bit of flexibility to teach British culture. The fact that most students now believe the British National Sport is Cheese Rolling and that every man in Scotland has a legal obligation to wear a kilt on Thursdays can only be for the best.

Still to come: primary schools, ‘the sock story’, and songs about floating faeces!

Phor phil news phlashes pheel phree to email!

FESTIVAL! gozaimas

2007-11-01T04:43:00.000-07:00

Up until now my entries have been a day by day account of my first four days in Japan. If I were to continue this trend there would be some fairly dull days where Phil sat around in his pants for most of the day eating biscuits and then watched a man city game streamed over the internet. Thankfully however after three months I can still count such days on one hand. There’s always something to do, somewhere that needs exploring, a party or a festival that requires an added dose of vitamin Phil.

In my first month I attended 3 utterly amazing festivals. In all three cases I felt that had I been on holiday or even backpacking around Japan would not have rewarded me with the same depth of cultural immersion. The first was Zao Rock, a rock festival near Zao Onsen, a famous hot spring and ski resort in Yamagata, a 3 hour drive from Honjo. I spent the weekend camping and being the king of the Japanese moshpit, at one point I was walking round with a random Japanese man on my shoulders. And they had kebabs! Derishus.

Secondly me and the Honjo MASSIVE ventured east to take in the national fireworks competition at omagari. 750,000 people had come from all over Japan to watch stuff explode. And explode it did. In fact I got so wrapped up in the whole event that I purchased a strange round firework for £40, and a smaller one for £10, and then a bag of them for £15. I love explosions me. Kaboom.

Exhibit 3 is a trip to Kakunodate, a historic samurai town just over an hour from Honjo. This is where I really began to appreciate just how lucky I was to be on the JET programme. I pitched up at about 5pm, and my friend (the local ALT) Maggie gave me a Hanten, a jacket uniform that each member of each different neighbourhood in Kakunodate wore.

Each neighbourhood was towing a wooden float around the streets of the town, using ropes and pulling in unison to move what must have weighed several tons. As I arrived in the jacket of this neighbourhood a man wearing the same came up to me and said ‘HELLO! I am Jari! Have beer!’ whereupon a beer was thrown to me out of the cooler being pushed behind the float.

I was invited to help pull the float round town, and set about doing exactly that. I had drinking contests with the other lads pulling the floats, I nearly got crushed when one of the floats crashed into ours, everyone kept plying me with free beer, chicken and sake, and eventually we parked the float at 4am and stayed up drinking beer with locals until 5. I’ve never been made to feel so welcome as an outsider participating in a native tradition. I love this country.

Stay tuned phor more news phrom the phar east phil phanatics!

First Night: Izikaya, beer, and sushi

2007-11-01T04:16:00.000-07:00

The first night me and my fellow ALTS (assistant language teachers; there are six in my town) attended a welcome reception at the izakaya. Izikayas are like Japanese pubs, with some differences. In groups larger than a few people you are generally shown to your own private room, which will typically have low tables and tatami mats on the floor to sit cross legged on, and you either press a buzzer or shout ‘sumimasen’ to gain attention of the staff, who will typically provide you various delicious (in Japanese, derishus) beverages. Which is just fabulous.

On our first night our employers provided us with as much beer and weird Japanese food as we could consume. Which was a lot. Well a lot of beer anyway, I wasn’t so keen on the prawn heads and I’m sorry but plums were never made to be pickled. Still there was something that resembled pizza, and I tried raw fish. It tasted like fish that hadn’t been cooked. True story.

Free food and drink! I like this Japan place. They always said that first night away from global tokyo, where you lie down in your new bed 6000 miles from home, in a country where you don’t speak the language, and when you know you’re stuck there for a year, can be very tough. And yes, I was expecting it to be, you can’t just emigrate with no teething problems or a bit of homesickness.

That first night I got back to my apartment, I lay down on my bed, and smiled. The biggest grin you can imagine. I was 6000 miles away from home, I didn’t speak a word of the language, and I was stuck here for a year. Awesome.

The End of the Road: Tokyo to Honjo

2007-11-01T04:03:00.000-07:00

The day after my night in the British Embassy I awoke minus both 3 hours memory and one eminently stylish manbag. I had acquired an enormous jug with “BIG” written on it though, so all’s well that ends well.

I moseyed down to the foyer to get on the coach to narita airport, whereupon I boarded a flight to the prefecture of Japan I would be calling home for at least a year, Akita. As I walked through the arrivals gate I was greeted by the sight of a middle aged Japanese man waving a sign saying ‘Mr Cooke Philip’ and jumping up and down energetically. This was Kinouchi, my supervisor, and he seemed a thoroughly friendly chap.

The drive to Honjo, my new town, took 45 minutes driving through mountains covered in cedar, paddy fields that spread endlessly across the valley floors. Now for all tokyo was amazing, it was still a global city with plenty of English, and no one would think to stare at you. This last leg of the journey, to a small nondescript seaside town where road signs are written in weird squiggles and the mcdonalds serves octopus burgers, this was what I really came here for.

The first sign that we had entered Honjo was a sign that read ‘We love Honjo, Joy and Joy’. Good start.

More Phil Phun to Phollow!

The British Embassy and other peculiar events

2007-10-31T00:26:00.000-07:00

The second time I woke up in japan I was feeling rather unintelligent due to the imbibing of vast quantities of low quality beer, but regardless, I ventured down to the 5th floor to enjoy an exquisite breakfast of chips, ham and grapefruit juice, then chose which workshops we wanted to go to. In the end we ended up sat at the back of a fairly tedious lecture on lesson planning giggling whenever one of us said “tittybar”. Yup, classy English gents abroad. We also did a sketch about gay men seducing each other in a bar to teach how to tell the time in English. It was deemed humourous, but ill advised.

After marching around the hotel and the workshops accusing every other countries participants of being ‘damnable colonials’ (which they were, apart from Lyle the american who gets an exemption for knowing what the word 'cunt' was in japanese), it was time for a bit of good old British hospitality at the Embassy. The embassy compound was huge, must be worth millions in central Tokyo. However compared to the hospitality the Japanese Embassy in London gave us (sushi and as much champagne as you can drink) the British Embassy was rubbish! We strolled in, they gave us CANS OF HEINEKEN and served us trays of onion rings and fishfingers with a big bowl of ketchup in the middle. Rest assured your taxes are not being spent frivolously here! Would it have been that hard to at least provide us with some newcastle brown ale? Where were the gravy drinking contests, burberry clad scallies and morris dancers?

Phil was pheelin phairly phurious at this point phil phans!

Next: Honjo

P.S Cunt = Manko (the gospel according to Lyle)

Tokyo

2007-10-30T23:41:00.000-07:00

After the initial mirth created by an overly aggressive toilet, we set out on our first night in Tokyo.

We found a restaurant and I had ‘sea urchin in a wooden box’. My god it was utterly disgusting. We had warm sake, pointed at pictures and said ‘gozaimas’ to get food, and our heroic linguistic efforts were rewarded with karaoke and all you can drink for 3 hours for £8. Maybe these prices aren’t designed for English consumption. But success! We had found food drink and entertainment.

The next day I walked to the main ballroom in a manner which can best be described as 'meandering'. Then came the speeches. And more speeches. Then in Japanese. Then in English. And on and on and on and on.

Then it finished! Right, more high quality boozing to do now. We ventured out into the streets of Tokyo once more, and dazzled by the bright lights we could think of no better way to pick a restaurant than go with the prettiest Japanese woman who asked us to enter her eatery. Not a euphemism.

I didn’t go for the sea urchin in a box this time, but instead went for deep fried chicken gristle. Results were disappointing.

After eating we took the opportunity to look around a bit more, trying to find a bar maybe. At one point I looked at the entrance to a building with no obvious sign as to what it was, and a scary old woman shouted at me ‘NO SEX! ONLY MASSAGE!’ Have to say I didn’t think I looked like a sex tourist, but there you have it.

Next we found a place called ‘BATTLE ARENA’ with lots of flashing lights and noise so logically had to go inside. After playing mariokart in an arcade for half an hour and spending about £50 trying to get a snoopy doll on a grabbing machine, we hit a whisky bar, and the evening descended into a tribute to decadent revelry as the Great British 'cultural ambassadors' continued to offend most americans we came in contact with. Her majesty would have been proud.

In the next instalment, the cultural ambassadors visit the British Embassy! What delights wait in store...

Pharewell phor now phervent phil phans!

19 Aske Avenue to Tokyo, and the greatest invention in the history of everything

2007-10-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

First, an apology. I have spent 3 months in Japan at the time of writing, and my endeavourings to create a blog have only now born fruit, due to what you might call laziness. That and I've been having far too much fun. Last night we played with guns!

However I believe this chronicle should cater for the chronologically conscious (nice alliteration there), and as such this entry will concern my initial sojourn into the fine nation of Japan.

I woke up early on the morning of August 4th, ate what I now know would be my last bacon butty in years, and after hugging goodbyes to my brother, my sister, and the guinea pigs, I got in the car and set off on the 6 hour drive to Heathrow with my mum and dad. We listened to BBC Radio 5 on the way down. We stopped for a coffee at leicester services. We ate pizza in the terminal. God it was all so normal. Apart from the fact that when I hugged my mum and dad and said goodbye it would be a bloody long time before I could do that again. I'm not a man afraid of emotion, and will happily admit to the tears that trickled down my cheek that day.

I don't think anything could ever match how I felt as England disappeared beneath the clouds. Exhileration, trepidation, every emotion under the sun coursing through my veins. Up until now this whole adventure had been held in a few lecture theatres in east london, an interview in an embassy near harrods, and giggling at the rude words in a japanese phrasebook. 24 hours after hugging my brother and sister goodbye, as the skyscrapers of tokyo filled every field of vision, everything became a lot more real. Home comforts, friends, family, my every day routine, it all disappeared in one 10 hour flight. And my god it was awesome.

As we entered the 5 star hotel (god bless the japanese taxpayer) we found our room, and upon entering found the coolest thing in the history of the world ever.

There are numerous inventions, theories, that can all lay a reasonable claim to being the most impressive of our species' creations. Fire, the wheel, electricity, have all helped to make the human race a more prosperous society. However the true champion of human ingenuity does not reside within the intellects of Newton, Einstein or Da Vinci. It resides inside the brain of whichever GENIUS thought of making a toilet with a bidet SO powerful it could squirt a jet of water out of a hotel bathroom and into a wardrobe 8 yards away!

Seriously, how have we survived without toilets with buttons at the side that do stuff. First thing we did when we got into the room was start pressing buttons on the toilet and giggling like schoolgirls. Oh yes, truly, we were cultural ambassadors of Her Majesty. Mum and dad would've been proud.

Keep readin phil phollowers! More tokyo adventures to follow!

Philster out.

Herro Cooke Sensai!

2007-10-30T19:12:00.000-07:00

Ok first entry. I am finally responding to the CLAMOUR OF THE MASSES and writing a blog. This is the first attempt at a blog that I hope will be remembered in the history of literature as the worthy peer of the works of William Shakespeare, Charles Dickens and Tom Clancy. 3 months ago I emigrated to Japan, and now live in a small town on the Sea of Japan, in the rural north of these peculiar islands.

This blog (or in japanese, brog) will provide readers with a window into Japanese culture that will serve to illuminate a country and a culture that I can best describe as a bit odd. For instance, they don't have beans on toast. Savages. These are the kinds of insightful and pertinent observations that I hope will help in my wider aim of forging better understanding between nations, and will eventually THRUST the readership of this blog into double figures.

Right lesson time, nearly time for me to do what I can best describe as SOME SUPER AWESOME MEGA HAPPY EDUCATING.

So for now farewell. Coming up next, phil will tell a funny story about me, my sock, and a japanese toilet.

Later Phil Phans.