Flowers and Football Shirts

Hello, I hope you have all had a wonderful Christmas and Father Christmas/The Three Kings/Olentzero was kind to you.

Christmas here was lovely, officially it was a white Christmas despite the distinct lack of snow but apparently ice will do and who am I to argue with the MET office? Few men dare, fewer still live to tell the tale. It's been a fairly normal Christmas. Nan and Grandad are here, and even my sisters boyfriend made a brief appearance for a few hours, Mum had even made him a little stocking. Due to that History degree business I normally get something History related, this time it was a World War 2 computer game thus I spent most of my Christmas day taking a pounding from the Nazis all over Northern France. Festive.

My Uncle flew in from Cincinnati on Boxing Day. Within the hour of him reaching the house he was in the car on the way to the Home of Football(TM). Despite the opposition being Swindon it was the right game to go to. Charlton went in at half time 1-0 up but with only nine men. Needless to say we went 2-1 down but fittingly the only Spaniard to ever play for Charlton dinked the keeper in the 94th minute and I completely lost it. Man Utd fans will never be able to understand the joy of a 2-2 draw with Swindon but games like that is why we put ourselves through it. My uncle is currently downstairs unwrapping a pair of thermal underwear, nan and grandad are nothing if not practical. Mum also managed to give him the exact same coat that she gave him last time he was here for Christmas.

Being home has been really good. Had a lovely meal with everyone who is home on Sunday we were almost like proper grown ups. The next day was spent playing board games, I taught Catherine, Alex and John a lesson at the Game of Life but came unstuck at Cluedo. If you don't know the Game of Life I'd recommend it, its ridiculous. John devised a strategy so complex at Cluedo it only managed to confuse him, bless.

I hope your Christmas was as lovely as puppies basking in sunbeams, talk soon

love love love x

Good Things

Merry Christmas!

Feliz Navidad!

Have a wonderful day, love love love x

Oh my Golly!

Despite the weather throwing everything it had at me, I just wouldn't be defeated, I made it home. The weather wasn't all bad, I missed my class at seven in the morning as the roads were too icy. The Spanish go to war when it snows, for a warm Mediterranean country they are damned prepared.

Managed to get the bus to Bilbao without too much difficulty but then did have to spend 6 hours in the airport. The time was filled with Soduku, which I am better at but still pretty terrible, and reading the Torygraph as it was the only newspaper in English. Apparently you get too choose how much tax you pay when you are rich, hmm. My flight was delayed for an hour and a half which was actually pretty good going. One flight to Santiago was facing a 23 hour delay, poor Chileans. My old next door neighbour gave us a lift as he has a 4x4 which I thought was excessive until I saw how much how snow there is in New Ash Green! It made me feel better about contributing to warming the planet after a flight and a ride in a 4x4. Doom. The neighbour enjoyed measuring out loud how many feet above sea level we were throughout the journey.

I'm really happy to be home, I've been looking forward to it all week and it was a relief to get home. As much as I like living in Spain and as much as sometimes England can utterly depress you I'm pretty sure it's where I'll settle in the long run.

Just a short post as it's now its quarter to three and I was up at six, somehow. Let's make plans!

love love love x

A Little Less Sixteen Candles

Hola, how are you? I've just noticed that at the top of the screen Google rates a page's importance. This page is deemed 1/10 in terms of importance, who died and made Google king of the internet? Bastards.

Pettiness aside, things are good. Battled through a three day week to reach the weekend. We had the school's christmas meal on Friday which was nice. On the bus in Maria complained that its always duck, we told her to be more optimistic, two duck courses later we had to concede what we already knew, she's always right. Without any advanced warning a few us were chosen to sing a TEFL version of the 12 days of Christmas, the only bit I remember was that partridge in a pear tree was replaced by communicative methodology, never let it be said that English teachers don't know how to have fun. Spanish bars have no idea of capacity so the rest of the evening was spent pressed against a wall at the Spanish version of a cheese night. It was packed and I got annoyed when some guy was pushing his way through demanding more space than was possible to give before realising he was in a wheel chair.

Last night two teachers from last year came back to visit. One of them lived in our flat and its strange talking to a virtual stranger about how bad the electrics are and how nice the care taker is. She found it strange that we still have her over sized get well soon card in the flat. We found out that on their last day there was a fire in the flat, a proper one with doors kicked down and that the building is the favorite choice for suicide in Pamplona. It's hard to imagine why the care taker is so happy. The other used to live in south London I asked where and she said it was a quiet part of London by "some crappy football team" where she complained that she could never park and it got busy and noisy. The "crappy" team she spoke of was Charlton so after hyperventilating I took the only sensible option and threw her over a bridge.

The hightlight of the evening was getting into a biney (thats not hows its spelt but its how it sounds). They are Basque social clubs but are very secretive. Its difficult to gain membership and can take ages to get off the waiting list but lucky someone got us in. It was weird. It was lucky a wedding reception/butlins disco mixed together. The music was one guy on a keyboard. He would use the set tunes already on the keyboard and play a sort of polka over the top while everyone else indulged in some heavily choreographed dance routines, like Basque line dancing.
We went to another bar whose big finisher was an epic 12 minute harvest song, played on a shriller version of the bag pipes.

This week is Christmas themed. Which means for adults watching some Christmas TV and listening to "Do They Know it's Christmas?" While for children it means colouring, its hard to explain the joy young children have colouring, until I saw this:
static.funnyjunk.com/pictures/fucking_love_coloring.jpg

Whenever I give a sheet to my young class, the first thing I hear regardless of what it is, is one of them in his nicest English voice, "Mark, Colour?" Saying no makes you feel like you've told him that Christmas is canceled or that theres no such thing as Spongebob.

Home on Friday, see you soon. love love love x

The Chemistry of Common Life

Holidays are good. Rather than spend this holiday the way I spent most of other holidays, sitting around in shorts watching diagnosis murder (which they show in Spain more than at home), I've actually been active! Now I need a sit down.

I woke up on Thursday, stumbled out off my room to be told to get myself sorted out. Within fifteen minutes I was showered, partly dressed, sitting in Cormacs car on the way to San Sebastian, not completely sure what was going on. I'm glad for the quick around. San Sebastian is a glamorous sea side resort. Everything is five star and all the normal Spanish shops are replaced with expensive Italian versions. Everyone is young, rich and beautiful. Obviously, these are my people, so I mingled with ease, dazzling with my wit and charm. The truth is that the only place we could afford to eat was cow themed. Sadly, weather wise it was a horrible day. It poured with rain, was foggy and cold so the city was quiet and it was a shame that the weather prevented justice being done to what is a clearly beautiful city. The drive there however is fantastic. It goes through proper, undisputed, Basque country. Its very mountainous and the road weaves through them high up and you can look down on tiny villages and farms below, it looks like Austria.

Today however was more successful. Marc, his lovely lady wife Kathryn, Cormac and myself ventured to Bilbao for a day of high-browed culture at the Guggenheim. I confess that art galleries aren't my thing, I know you aren't supposed to say that but they aren't. It's over my head and I veer between feeling stupid and angry that these pretentious people make me feel stupid. I did want to go though, and I CAME THIS CLOSE to understanding some of what I was looking at. I really enjoyed it so I now feel I have earned the right to be smug and arty, I'm thinking of buying a beret.

The thing I realized is that the Guggenheim only has a small part dedicated to paintings and when looking at these I reverted back to glazing over but the other stuff (use of the word stuff means I'm in no way arty) was much more enjoyable. The best bit were three video instillations. You went into a small dark corridor and as you walk down you can hear the sound of what awaits you at the end and you can't help feel this growing sense of anticipation until you turned into the room itself. The first one was Nirvana playing Negative Creep. It was loud and the film was jumping and frantic and standing in this small room felt like you were moving within a packed crowd. The other two were of Zidane, and of a Chinese factory. There was an exhibition on an architect Frank Lloyd Wright who came up with these amazing buildings full of bubbles, waterfalls and spiraling towers. Most of them looked like they had landed from an episode of the Jetsons. More of them got built than you might imagine to look at them. He was commissioned to redesign Baghdad in the 1950s, it didn't happen which is lucky as it wouldn't be there now. Despite there being lots of interesting things the best thing about the Guggenheim is the Guggenheim.

It's an amazing building. Bilbao has a reputation for being fun with a lot going on but also for being ugly and industrial. I thought that was very unfair.

One of the best things about Bilbao is that in Basque it is called Bilbo. Which gives me an excuse to post this.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2HQ1K7YyQM&feature=related

I don't think I could ever tire of that.

love love love x

The Ghost of Tom Joad

Spain has many wonderful things, the pintxo, that the Christmas decorations were up today, unreasonably attractive television presenters. However the best thing is the fact that the Spanish will do just about anything to avoid going to work. This week we finish on Wednesday. Thursday is Navarra day and Tuesday next week is a Saint's day and you can't possibly be expected to work on a Saint's day so whoever decides these things sat down and thought well you might as well have Friday and Monday off as well. This doesn't include last Monday which the schools had off for some reason known only to themselves so I didn't have to go to my kids classes. God bless Navarra and all who sail in her.

When you don't speak the language small, mundane tasks become very stressful. Panic when the person at the till asks you a question, rehearsing what you want to ask for at a counter only to fluff it under pressure, the all consuming vortex that is trying to deal with money. With serious things like when you lock horns with a certain Spanish bank, people go out of their way to help, there is also a much better chance of someone speaking English. With smaller things people are less concerned.

One of the scariest things is the hairdresser. A friend here just attempted to cut his own hair with a nasal hair trimmer, with unfortunate consequences. I braved a trip to a barber even though it did conjure up memories of the humiliation that I suffered in Romania when the middle aged women grouped around to take the piss in Romanian. This was slightly better. Bolting only crossed my mind once when I first noticed the guy was wearing a backwards baseball. He thought he was in the film Barbershop, surely Ice Cube's finest moment? My initial reaction was the same as anyone elses would be, it will be a cold day in hell before I let someone who thinks its acceptable to wear a backwards baseball cap touch my head, but I calmed myself and after a few hiccups we managed to get through. At first he shaved the back and sides and left the top completely alone and thought that was finished but with some Spanglish I got him to carry on. It took him an hour, including a TV break but its done. I'm dreading the next one already.

The exam period is coming to an end. The initial delight in ruining some teenagers day has been replaced with the bitterness and regret of a massive pile of marking. I hate marking, firstly its boring and repetitive. Secondly and worse of all is that I can't detach from it. Some teachers can just say oh well if their class gets bad marks, I feel personally responsible for every mistake. All I can think of is a saying which I don't know where I heard it but it goes: There's no such thing as a bad students, only bad teachers. That's not true but that's what marking will do to you.

It's been quiet. The biggest stir was yesterday when we had snow! It took me a while to get my head around that it wasn't big bits of rain. The weekend was good. A night out on Saturday followed by a day watching football on Sunday. You couldn't miss the fact that it was Barcelona vs Madrid, it has been the only thing on the news all week. Channels who weren't showing it previewed it all week and the build up on the actual channel started at 9 in the morning, kick off was 8 in the evening. As Charlton weren't playing it was the biggest game on the planet.

One more thing, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROMANIA! And you thought I had forgotten. To celebrate here is a short video of Romanians dancing. Happy days.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kf-RI62PFs

I miss them so

love love love x

The Art of American football

You may know me as Paddy O'Peirson.

I've dipped my toes into the murky waters of Gaelic football. As always with field sports I wasn't looking forward to it. I was worried about reliving my PE days of standing on a field, looking out of place with a cold sense of shame creeping over me after my latest failure in catching /throwing/ running/jumping. I went for the exercise and consoled myself with the thought that we are in Spain surely they can't be that good either (they were very good). It turned out to be great fun. I had no idea how gaelic football works, literally nothing. I have never played rugby but I know what it looks like, I have absolutely no idea how gaelic football looks let alone the rules. I have learnt many things about the game. You play on a rugby field and if you kick the ball over the rugby posts you get one point. You get three points for kicking the ball under the posts, theres a goalkeeper so it's harder. There's 15 on a team, you play with a football and the contact is halfway between football and rugby. Every four steps you have to either bounce the ball on the ground and catch it or drop the ball onto your foot and kick it back into your hand. Kicking the ball into your hand is tricky, but not as tricky as if the ball is on the floor, you have to touch the ball with your foot first before picking it up, its very hard not to fall on your face. The people were all lovely, I did manage to kick the ball square into the captains stomach from point blank range. I apologized again and again as he was bent double gasping for air and telling it was fine in broken English. I don't think it was.

My passing improved and I even scored a point in a sporting moment worthy of a Rocky film. In my mind there was a moving classical score and it went all black and white as the ball sailed majestically over the bar and between the posts. Though its fair to say I'm not the next insert name of gaelic football star here .

Though it was a lot of fun, let's be clear its not as good as proper football. Sunday was a proper football day. In the evening Marc (with a c!) and myself went down to watch Osasuna vs Valencia. We didn't have a ticket and picked one up from a less than official source, a fat dentist. He made me hold his stuff as he used his season ticket to get us in and then told us we didn't strictly have a seat and pointed to the steps. We sat down like naughty children on the cold stone steps waiting to be thrown out but instead we were joined on the steps by more people, we had a little group, we eat seeds and we laughed, oh how we laughed. If that wasn't strange enough the game was one of the most eventful games I have ever seen.

Before the game started David Villa was getting abuse so while everyone else went to get ready he stood alone on the pitch smashing balls into the crowd. The game started and within 15 minutes the Valencia goal keeper was booked for throwing things that had been thrown at him back into the crowd. After some critical comments in the week the Valencia manager was subject to an incredible amount of abuse. On the pitch Valencia are just a million times better than Osasuna in every way, as footballers, as lovers, as men. David Villa scored a great goal and by the 55th minute Valencia were 3-0 up. The Osasuna keeper got himself lobbed, twice. It was then that it all kicked off. Carlos Marchena, the cheat, went down like a whore and got Osasuna player Walter Pandiani sent off. The place went mental. The crowd started to whistle so loudly I honestly couldn't hear Marc next to me. Then everyone whipped out white handkerchiefs and started to wave them in the air. Hundreds and hundreds of white handkerchiefs were waved to protest the referee. In the next few minutes the linesman was showered from whatever the crowd had to hand. Osasuna still found time to get another player sent off and introduce a striker who may be so bad as to be on par with K Liz. However, the best was yet to come.

At the end of the game a young kid ran onto the pitch to David Villa to ask for his shirt. A steward started to chase the kid. This steward was massive he was out of breath just thinking about chasing the kid but he did his best. The kid outrun him and the next SEVEN stewards. It was like something from Home Alone, the crowd was 'oleing' with every spin, duck and weave. The eight of them eventually got him to the sound of thousands of people booing. I have the image of a father looking around "wheres Juan?" and then looking onto the pitch "shit".

Lessons are fine, it's exam time, nothing expresses hate like the look in a childs eyes when you tell them its time for an exam. I also have to write reports in Spanish..... muchas problemas.

I hope you are happy and dandy, tell me of your life. Looking forward to seeing you all at Christmas.

love love love x

My Very Own Flag

Opps

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/8371305.stm

x

Rival Schools

I've just had a terrible realization. I'm a teacher, like a real one. Being a teacher does funny things to you. I find myself sympathizing with my old teachers more and more. I find myself saying dreadful things like "if you don't want to learn thats fine but don't spoil it for everyone else!". It's really horrible repeating yourself over and over again, be quiet, speak in English, don't hit him, no one in this class has French porn or is a Nazi. I've taken to picking on kids who aren't paying attention and asking them to explain the instructions back to me with the saying that might be on my gravestone "what are you going to do?" One girl takes great delight in singing the theme from Cops whenever she hears me say it. Little sod. I'm worried that I will turn into the English Herr Zimmel, an Austrian German teacher we had at school that was the but of a lot of cruel jokes (Catherine ;-)) which he could never understand because he was foreign. Kids are tricky bastards. Their energy (in one case - especially when they have a broken foot) is amazing until you need them do something.

They are ALWAYS upto something.

One thing I'm sure you will be delighted to know is that text books aimed at teenagers are still as patronizing and cringe worthy as ever. These are some short extracts from English text books.

Emma: Hi Zac! Are you sad or angry? (two emotions for one, that is literally text book)
Zac: I'm angry!
Emma: Why?
Zac: Adam has five of my cd's!
Emma: Have you heard about Adam's Dad?
Zac: No?
Emma: He's in hospital, maybe you should be nicer (what a bitch!)
Zac: Oh I didn't know that.
Emma: I can lend you my Radiohead cd.... (of all the bands in all the world, why choose Radiohead?)

Lucy: Hi Mary, who is your friend?
Mary: This is Emily, she's my special friend (I thought that to but no)
Lucy: Oh!
Mary: She's my sister!
Emily That's what I call a special friend!! (the picture is now of the two sisters holding hands and looking into each other eyes in a deeply unsettling way.)

And maybe my favourite conversation ever:

Kate: Whose that?
Sue: Oh that's George.
Kate: He's proper tasty!
Sue: He's such a dish, but he goes out with Sarah.
Kate: Lucky beggar!
Sue: What about Tyler?
Kate: Oh no way! He's the pits and he does ballet!
Sue: Well let's hope George gives Sarah the boot!

Such a beautiful language ravaged before your very eyes. Text books are also the only surving remnants of shameful parts of British history like Hear'say and 5ive. I had to do some soul searching after realizing that in modern books they don't write letters, students blog. People like me are responsible for that. I refuse to teach the lesson where they have to convert sentences into text speak on principle. I wouldn't be able to look myself in the mirror.

Another book defined a friend as someone who always has your favourite ice cream in the fridge, we need words...

who loves ya baby x

Heads Will Roll

Greetings. After my foray into the world of national politics I'm returning to much more comfortable territory, talking about myself.

Its been a tough Monday. I've gone back to work after the weekend more tired than when it started. I got to bed at 7 in the morning on Friday night, that isn't as wild as it may seem, for Spain that's pretty usual but for me, I don't like to be further from my bed for longer than six hours at anytime for any reason. The strangest incident was walking between a bar to a club. I was talking to Dan when suddenly a young lady threw herself into my arms. Now this may be hard to believe but women draping themselves over me is not a usual occurrence, in fact it's never happened before. I stood there not sure when and how I had slipped into this parallel universe but it all became clear. She was English and was just delighted to hear an English voice. She demanded to know where I was from, she was from Bromley, which is very close to Kent which made her extremely happy. She reached stratospheric level of happiness, close to becoming a part of the divine, when I told her my Dad actually works in Bromley. This was in the space of about 15 seconds, then her stern and dull looking friend (from Kent incidentally) took her away while glaring at me as if I was a pervert, trying to lead her back to my flat as if I was the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. You can tell the English, battered with her legs around a stranger. Strangely we met some more English students later. They are training to be doctors, despite not knowing Spanish, they are working in a hospital. Trying to top up my bus card with only hand gestures can be difficult let alone trying to work out what exactly is wrong with someone as they bleed on your shoes.

It was a sporting weekend. Charlton, England football and cricket, the Redskins and in our flat Ireland vs France taking on Viking Saga epicness. I spent the week furious with my beloved Charlton. A week yesterday, the annual humiliation that is the FA cup was even worse than normal as an amateur team knocked as out for the first time in our history, a bar man scoring the winning goal. Then on Tuesday we were knocked out of another trophy by our unbearable ex-manager, so I had a complete sulk on for the entire week, but then they go and spoil it all by doing something wonderful like smashing five past the franchise scum.

www.cafc.co.uk/newsview.ink?matchid=4602&type=m

Read it, love it, be it.

Unfortunately Cormac was not so lucky. The French beating Ireland in the first leg of their world cup qualifier. Despite feeling sorry for myself all Saturday with a terrible head, Cormac's disappointment pulled me out of the flat and back out on Saturday. It was rough and frankly undignified.

Another weekend when I managed to get cooked for by someone else. I'm yet to repay all these meals and my debts are growing. Sunday evening Lukash and Felicity hosted a very civil evening where I was expected to talk about grown up things and act my age which I managed to achieve with varying levels of success.

Lessons are going ok. Adult classes I like and feel generally ok, teaching teenagers and children I don't think I'm very good at. I feel guilty, people train for years, I remember watching Katie working like crazy, to become a primary school teacher. I've not had a minutes training and learning on your feet is one thing but it takes time and these kids shouldn't be guinea pigs. Though that is how TEFL works everywhere so I'm not alone.

My flights are booked, I'm back late on the 18th and I look forward to seeing you all. I'm preparing for scenes like these:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=pE9oPxofZ0E

... easy now

love love love x

The Queen is Dead (Take Me Back to Blighty)

Sorry for the lack of a post this week. The reason for this is simple, rain, an absolutely biblical amount of rain. It stopped raining today for the first time in about five days and we aren't talking a little drizzle. It led to me sitting around the flat with a wretched cold, feeling sorry for myself and looking for sympathy. It was like being a child again, sitting inside looking out the window at the rain wishing I could go outside, except it didn't end up with my sister stropping over Monopoly. To try and fill this void of inactivity I thought I'd post my ramblings on nationalism. I've been compiling this for a while, it's been difficult but this is the closest I'm going to get.

The reason for writing about this is that it keeps coming up, it doesn't go away, it makes you paranoid, and it pisses me off. Defining yourself in Spain is a difficult business. It gets to the point that there is debate about whether I'm not I'm currently sitting in Spain. Spain is a much more regional society than England. People from Spain often consider themselves to be of their region first and Spanish second. Pamplona is the region of Navarre and people are fiercely proud of it. When asked their nationality many students answer "Navarresse". Navarra isn't unique, Asturius, Galicia, Catalonia, Aragon, Leon, the Canary Islands all have strong regional loyalty and there are even independence movements in these regions. Sometimes you do wonder how Spain has managed to hold itself together until this point. Last years Spanish cup final was Athletic Bilbao vs Barcelona and it featured strange scenes of rival fans uniting together to boo the Spanish national anthem and the king.

However, they are all proud Spanish patriots compared to the Basques. Navarra is the centre of a tug of war. To the north is strongly Basque, the south is Spanish. It can cause a head ache. The education system is divided in two. You have the option to have your children educated in the Basque language, Euskara, or Spanish and the two don't mix. Many schools are divided in two, you go through the door and turn left to go to the Basque school and turn right to go into the Spanish school. It's to the point of having separate photocopiers which is ridiculous. At first this seemed horrible and surely damaging to children to be divided into us and them from such an early age. However, General Franco tried to eradicate Basque culture. Euskara was completely banned and its use dropped drastically. Now he's gone, why shouldn't they defend themselves? Why shouldn't they ensure their survival as a separate people with their own identity?

The Basques are different to the Spanish, very different. Euskara precedes Spanish (and any other European language for that matter) it has been independent before and has defended itself from all comers for centuries. My Dad if asked is English, not British, a fellow teacher here Marc is Welsh not British. We can do that, the Basques cannot. People treat the Basques as Spanish, its just a small petty difference, it's not.

Spaniards can find this threatening. A teacher from the south of Spain (much more Spanish than the north) when talking about last years cup final recommended the Basques could go and get intimately acquainted with their own mothers. ETA though much less active these days still commits the occasional attack. There is a graffiti war over the city and sometimes arguments can turn nasty. Nationalist Basque politicians have just been arrested by the Spanish state and this caused a lot of tension. Apparently a few years ago violence between Basques and Spanish was common. Most Basques are happy with the current arrangement and this ensures that most of the time it's fine. Basques can all speak Spanish and do without a problem it's not the West Bank.

My own nationalism swings widely. I am critical of Britain until a foreigner says something bad and then its "WOAH! WOAH! WOAH! Slow down there Johnny Foreigner, a little gratitude wouldn't go amiss from you, peasant." I found myself gloating over the demise of the Spanish armada last week. Some TEFL teachers, like Marc, become more nationalist the longer they are away from home, others go the other way and can't imagine a time when they would return home for good. I have neither. Britain isn't that bad! We need to cheer up, sometimes it seems like we compete about how bad our various home towns are. You can't change where you were born, hand in hand with Gravesend to the bitter end, so just find the good and cling on. Though the more I'm stuck inbetween Basques and Spanish and the more patriotic drivel you can read in the Sun, it's all just bollocks isn't it? Let's just meet people where they are and who they are for and put the flags away, lets not forget what can happen:

www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/oct/31/spain-franco-lorca-graves

love, love, love x

We Just Won't Be Defeated

Aren't words awesome? I think we would all concede that they are useful but they are amazing. English vocabulary is huge, much bigger than other language. It's one of its great strengths, if you have a good vocabulary you can be very precise. For example the French make no difference between house and home or brain and mind, I feel I might have typed that before. Spanish vocabulary in the grand scheme of things is quite small, they can't even be arsed to make the difference between toe and finger both are just dedo. This isn't much of a surprise coming from people who brought you the siesta. It can be a pain describing the difference between words which seem essentially the same. Students get very annoyed about the difference between watch/look/see, to them its the same. As the vocabulary is so big every now and again a student brings you an absolute hummer. For example:

Brickbats: Blunt criticism
Macadamize: To lay a path/road with macadam
Exoduster: An African American who fled to Kansas after rumours of the reinstitution of slavery
Oxter: The arm pit
Noodlethatcher: Someone who makes hats and wigs
Bettong: A small kangaroo
Screeve: To draw pictures on the pavement for money
Jargonelle: A pear that ripens early

Noodlethatcher has been obsolete for a very, very long time. I don't know where they come across these words but they do.

There's an excerise in one book that is about words that only exist in certain languages. We need to get these words in English.

Bakkushan (Japanese): A woman who is only attractive from behind
Lampadato (Italian): A person who is tanned too much from a sunbed
Seigneur-terrasse: (French) someone who spends a long time in a bar/cafe but doesn't spend much money
Drachenfutter (German): A gift from a guilty husband to his wife (literally Dragons Food)

The amount of words you have for something does give a small insight into the country, like the old one about the Eskimos having an obscene amount of words for snow. An Italian teacher at school told us about a friend who spent time in Norway and was ashamed to hear that Norwegian has one word for 'a fix' where as Italian has about twenty. Before we judge, do a rough count of all the ways in English we can say someone is drunk.

Its been a good week so far. Yolanda the head of the young learners gave me lots of useful advice and games to play and I got to observe her giving a lesson. It turns out the way to get a class of children to do what you want is to keep them in teams, basically divide and conquer. Also rather than trying to hold back the horde of kids with only your trusty board marker and good old fashioned British grit, throw a ball at them and demand an answer, the terror on their young faces.

For adults it's monthly project time, which means they have to give me a guided tour of their place of work. I'm going on a tour of a car part factory three times this week, and a washing machine factory on Friday. I've had one tour so far where the student offered me coffee and cigars at half eight in the morning.

To put you (Kaylie) out of your misery:
1)In 1990, West and East Germany became Germany and North and South Yemen became the Yemen we know and love today.
2) 1918
3) Armin Tanzarian
4) Boxing


love love love x

Die, Die My Darling

I'm having one of those mornings when I wake up, look around and realise that it's true, I really am a dick head. No delusion or self defence can save me now.

I hope you enjoyed your Halloween. I was at a Halloween party and with a largely empty stomach it didn't end well. Despite knowing about it for two weeks we left buying our costume to the last minute. Spanish shops don't need much of an excuse to close, and it was the weekend, so once again the Chinese shops rode to our rescue. The Chinese shops NEVER shut, they also sell EVERYTHING. If you ask they will get you anything, drugs, illegal fireworks, a human hand, whatever you need. I was the campest devil there has ever been, Cormac was a vampire/dandy/man thing. Both of us were firmly put in our costume place by Marc who was a great Joker and Mauro who came as a gay farmer. Gay farmer wouldn't be at the fore front of my mind for Halloween but he had a costume mustache and was going to wear it, nothing was going to stop him. There was also an undead schoolgirl, the Bride of Frankenstein and Sally from the Nightmare Before Christmas, so it was a good effort all round.

Before the party we went to a bar to watch Osasuna play some bunch of nobodies who think they are special because they are "European Champions" or something. Just in case you are interested:
www.youtube.com/results?search_query=osasuna+vs+barcelona+2009&search_type=&aq=1&oq=osasuna+vs+ba
Osasuna were really really good and Barcelona were lucky to get a point. We were in costume and it turns out that the Spanish don't really go in for dressing up in public so there were lots of strange glances and words were exchanged with what the Daily Mail would describe as "youths". Being a strong Catholic country I did get hissed at at a taxi rank.

At the party I drunk a bit too much and ended up talking absolute shit to anyone who would listen and plenty of people who wouldn't. Now I have a headache and a deep sense of shame. One day I'll learn my lesson.

CLEN college holds a monthly pub quiz, the first of the year was on Thursday. Our team came second which normally would be pretty good going but there were only three teams, so whatever happened we were in medal position. I was told that Raquel, our Spanish teacher, was a force to be reckoned with. Get on her team if it's possible, her team always win. I was on her team and we came second to the team I was originally on, the irony, the irony. I did manage to contribute though. My weakest round by an absolute mile was history, I only got one question right. On the other hand, sadly, I was able to name the whole of S Club 7, which says a lot about my character.

Here in the ultimate test of knowledge are some of the questions for you:

In 1990, four countries merged into two new ones. East_____ and West______ became one country, and North _____ and South ______ became one country. What countries are they?

In which year did the Ottoman Empire collapse, Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia become independent and women under 30 gained the vote in Britain? (thats the history one I got right)

What is Principal Skinner's real name?

Whats the only sport when the participants and the fans don't know the score until after it's all finished?

I've learnt as teacher that if you use colours it fools everyone into thinking that what they are doing is interesting. I'll give the answers next time, hold on tight. I got in a bit of trouble in the week, I shouted at some kids and apparently that's not cool. I can't contain the raging hate that burns within me it seems.

I hope you are well, love love love x

King Eternal

Hello you. How the devil are you? Everything is quiet here. We don't get paid until a week today and money is tight so all the new teachers are scrimping and saving. We have have been trying to find things to do for cheap/free. The best way of doing this is to getting yourself a map and find the nearest big bit of blue and head there forth with, as nothing says fun like a lake.

Our nearest lake is in the fine town of Aoiz, the name is more unpronounceable than it first appears. It was lovely though eerily quiet which gave it a slight post-apocalyptic feel. The initial plan was to walk around the lake for out door activity, conversation and famous five-esque japes. However, while walking along a track a white land rover flew around the corner and politely informed us that we weren't allowed down here. My initial reaction to such confrontational and flagrant abuse of power is to go out shooting but we decided to meekly say yes sir and turn around. When he had left we turned the encounter into a brush with lake fascists. Fuck the police, y'all.

That was last Sunday, this weekend I've spent the weekend being cooked for. If you are struggling to think of something to do this weekend I would throughly recommend it. Dan made some beautiful canaloni while the rest of us helped him by sitting in the living room discussing such important matters as which song has the best intro (Gimme shelter by the Rolling Stones, obviously) and who would win in a fight between Bruce Lee and Mohammad Ali. Sunday was a lovely day in front of the football while Katharyn roasted a chicken. Marc had a horrendous footballing day, his Korean (he did live in Korea) team lost and thus missed the playoffs, Man Utd lost and Osasuna were denied by a last minute equalizer. Once we get paid we are planning a bit of a blow out.

I've also had to lay down some good old fashioned discipline. I've learned that slamming a door or threatening to phone call parents will reduce a child to doing your class recycling in a desperate bid to appease you. My teenagers can be a handful. Though my knowledge of Spanish swear words is increasing thanks to them. One told me he could swear in English, wrongly, I asked to hear them, they were very mild, crap and piss and he even included silly. I laughed and turned just to hear him shout "oh and CUNT!"

It transpires that Halloween is actually fairly important in Spain. My Spanish teacher has demanded our presence in costume on Saturday. I have no idea what to go as, so if any of you (not you Alex) has any ideas please let me know.

It's all pretty quiet. I am currently compiling a mammoth post on nationalism, so thats something to look forward to! Nationalism here can be awkward, I had a lesson on politics today and it was just a case of letting the Spanish and the Basques argue before just letting myself out after an hour and a half. Once I have my own mind sorted I'll subject you to my bout of naval gazing.

But I will lay down some Spanish on ya. My Spanish is still pretty basic and involves a lot of pictures, like so:

As you have made out through my artistic ability I have been trying to get body parts down. A few are:

Pelo: Hair
Ojo: Eye
Mano: Hand
Brazo: Arm
Cabeza: Head

I'm pretty good with adjectives:
Gordo - Fat
Delgado - Thin
Guapo/a - Beautiful (o for men , a for women)
Feo/a - Ugly
Estupido- Stupid
Gracioso - Funny
Fuerte - Strong
Debil - Weak
Rapido - Fast
Despacio - Slow

To describe people you need:

Soy ______ - I am ________
Tu eres ________ - You are _________
El/Ella es _________ - He/ She is _________
Nosotros somos ________ - We are ________
Vosotros sois ________ - You (plural) are _______
Ellos son - They are ________

So there you go you can describe people in Spanish! Congratulations, you know as much as I do. As you can see I don't stop teaching when I clock out, I just care too much.

Tu eres guapo/a - You are beautiful, go on, go and make someones day.

A few other choice words you need to know are:
Hijo de puda: Son of a whore - the worst thing you can say
Leggings: Leggings
Verde: Smutty
Juego de la pulga: Tiddly Winks

My Spanish isn't very good or functional but it's getting better, it's better than my Romanian got due to my shameful laziness. Knowledge is the bomb.

love love love x

A Postcard of a Painting

Shiny, shiny, shiny new home wifi connection. No more trooping to the internet cafe. As I left the internet cafe for the last time the African lady who owns it gave me a handful of jelly babies. Without words she knew it was our last meeting, the last time our eyes would meet over the chewing gum stand.

These are the small and winding streets of the old town. Easily my favourite part of the city. This is during siesta hours which is why its deserted. There 's lots of bars and cafes and wandering the streets especially in the evening is always worth it. In the evening unlike the Britain the streets are actually at their busiest as Spaniards like to do everything later, something which with my body clock think is the best idea since this: www.weirdthings.org.uk/hands-free-urinal-this-is-wrong-in-so-many-ways/

This is from the Japanese garden. No I don't know why they have one either, but they do, and its a better place for it.

This dark looking street is a perfectly normal shopping street except for the two weeks of the year when they let bulls tear arse up it stampeding and gorging as they go. Its strange walking down thinking that somewhere along here people have died. If you are so inclined you can youtube it, it's really not a nice way to go.

This is the view from the walls. It's hard to make out where the city ends and the hills/ridge/whatever begin. What you can see is that Pamplona is small, roughly Norwich size but with less kebab shops and more outrageous hand gestures.

So theres just a few pictures to show you a little glimpse of the place. I hope I've managed to do it a little bit of justice. Hope everything is good with you

love love love x

Pints of Guiness Make You Strong

Hello everyone, due to the internet installing fellow forgetting the router (the Mexican freaked out) we are still without internet. So apologies if I havent replied to any emails or facebooks or whatevers, I will do.

Everything is good apart from that it is absoutely freezing! This is not what any of us signed up for. The sun is shining only for you to step out in a shirt before the cold hits you and you scamper defeated to go and get a coat. This hasn´t been helped by being given a new class which is half an hour out of the city. It means getting up in the dark and cold and trudging to the car to be emasculated by Cormac´s sat nav, which is a lonely and bitter piece of equipment. The class is a washing machine factory in the middle of the countryside, and everyone seems a bit ´Norfolk´. It also smells terrible beyond belief. Its so bad it makes you physically wretch. This has been counterbalanced by a lovely class of one man, who is a football fanatic, history nerd, who speaks fantastic English, so what´s not to like? He almost hugged me like I was his long lost son when he found out I did a history degree. We had one lesson on appeasement, it was bliss.

Last night was also the big CLEN college dinner. A chance for us all to get together and make awkward small talk with our employers. It was really nice though apart from feeling sick after eating my own (considerable) body weight in pasta. In excess not seen since 1970s cock rock Spain doesn´t do starters, it does two main courses, I was taken completley by surprise by this so had already eaten a load of bread. It was a marathon and proof that those guys in America who eat 90 hotdogs in 3 minutes deserve to be considered among the greatest athletes alive. The night continued the way all good nights should do with Worlds Strongest Man, Terry Hollands was doing England proud. It was a multinational evening. I met a German who helped to reverse some of the suspicion gained from a book entitled ¨The Germans Will Try It Again" and a Mexican waitor who lived in London so littered his speech with mates, sons and al´wights. I felt bad for him when two collegues laid into his resturaunt for a good while, he took it well. There was also a Spanish guy whose favourite past time is to stand at the start line of the bull run and tell drunk foriegners that they are going to die. Good clean fun. It ended crawling into bed at five and I have spent today feeling sorry for myself.

Somehow I´ve managed to get recruited into a football team, a pub quiz team and even, for the love of God, a Gaelic football team. I youtubed it (using the word youtube as a verb, whatever next?) to find this brief explanation. Treat yourselves to a little look.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=K4GKlbk2J_o?

Not being much of a sportsman, with the exception of sock football and Mario Kart (some people don´t think of these as sports but I do) I imagine after ten minutes I´ll probably be flat on my back, completely out of breath, out my depth and maybe even weeping a little. I did say I would try though and in true warm and fuzzy sentiment thats the best anyone can do.

Theres also been a surprising amount of coverage of Stephen Gatleys death, I hope you are all coping. It replaced the news story that the prime ministers daughters are goths which had been on TV for ages.

apologies again, a return to proper blogging soon.

love to your mothers x

House of Cards

Greetings. Sorry about the lack of proper blogging, with pictures n that, but the internet is still not installed in our flat. As with most things in Spain they will do it when they are damn well ready and not a moment before. The internet lady was VERY clear when she said there was to be no putting off photos onto her computers. Theres a little girl next to me watching the Jonas brothers on Youtube. When will they just stamp ´Property of the Disney Corporation´on their heads and end the chriade? The sooner I can stop coming here, the better.

I thought I would thus use this lull to treat you all to a little history lesson about Pamplona. I realise now that this won´t be too comprehensive as when researching (typing into Google) the history of Pamplona there are more results for the history of Pampers. Why does the world need over 600,000 pages about the history of Pampers? Nonetheless...

Pamplona ¡s named after the Roman general Pompey the Great. The article also helpful informs me that the Roman empire didn´t last forever, no one told me. The original people of the area were the Vascons who despite being conquered never stopped asserting their independence. The number of Basque flags and banners for Basque independence around the city demonstrate that that independent streak is still very much alive. Charlemange paid a visit and like any bad guest just hung around before smashing your city walls and leaving. This makes me feel like I may have misjudged CAN, they are clearly still scarred by this and that is why my account is contributing to paying for the upkeep of the things. Rest assured if Charlemange tries it again I´ll be ready with a group of angry townsfolk. Being dead for over a thousand years hasn´t lessened my suspicion of him.

Pamplona´s golden age was the 11th century, so I´ve just missed it´s peak. It became the independent kingdom of Navarre. Navarre is still the name of the region and the people are still fiercly proud of it, some of the kids I teach write their nationality as Navarese. Pilgrims travelling on the Way of St. James to Santiago de Compostela travelled through Pamplona which led to a boom that only Catholic walkers can provide. To this very day there are still loads of pilgrims walking through the city on the same route. They all have huge bags and more than one walking stick. Not much of it is religous these days just people in the 60´s whose kids are out of the door, the mortage is paid off and they have nothing better to do than walk the length of Northern Spain. Their grown kids sitting at home head in hands crying over just how much of their inheritance has been spent.

It became a part of Spain in 1512 and was used as a fortress town to keep out the French. It did so until Napeleon strutted in as he did throughout most of the rest of Europe. Being a fortress town it wasn´t allowed to expand beyond the walls so it only started to grow in 1915 when they finally cottoned on that the days of citadels had passed. This accounts for its small size.

The running of the bulls comes started in the 14th century when people tried to speed the bulls going to market by offering themselves as bait. Maybe I could use the same tactics with the internet people? It became competitive and before you know it there are over 1.5 million drunk tourists sleeping in your bus stops.

As you can see it isn´t a hive of historical activity, but its not bad.

Other than that I live to lesson plan. I forgot how busy you can be. TEFL not the doss you might believe, I never thought of it as a proper job until I started. I finally met our new house mate, he claims to be doing masters but all I´ve seen him do is watch TV and eat pork burgers. He´s nice though. Other than that I´ve been developing an addiction to flavoured milk (some have crack I have milk, each to their own), rediscovered a love for CNN and finally found a shop that sells mince. Oh and I spend a lot of time defending Charlton to Spaniards, who know nothing about football, with sentiments along the lines of "Just because you´ve never heard of them..." and "Have Osasuna just beaten Barnet in the Johnson Paint Trophy? No, I didn´t think so."

I hope I´ve not bored you, I probably have.

love love love x

Phil Neville

Hello! The internet place is very lively today, theres a Chinese woman behind me chatting away into skype, in fact now she is singing, theres a man watching soft porn to my right and the Nigerian woman who owns it even smiled at me. Heady days indeed.

So ends my first proper teaching week at CLEN college (it transpires it has its own name) and overall its been good. The lessons were fun, my students are lovely and I´m getting back in the swing. One lesson was great as the subject was the media and the textbook, a mainstream English textbook, taught that the Daily Mail is a racist newspaper so I got paid to lay into the Daily Mail for an hour and a half. Every now and again you get a lesson that just goes horribly wrong. I had one of those on Wednesday. You know they just don´t understand and you try and try but they still don´t understand and you want the ground to swallow you and drag you to the circle of hell reserved for teachers who can´t explain the concept of a hero to some 11 year olds.

My timetable is being settled and they took away all my teenage classes. I was pretty happy until I met the replacements. A class of six eight year olds whose only words in English are ´teacher´ and ´why´ at a private Catholic school. It´s strange teaching under a picture of a Saint, I´m not sure which one. Being paranoid it did cross my mind whether they would ask me if I was a Catholic or they´d be suspicous of my Protestant ways, "what do you mean you don´t accept transubstantiation?!?!?" but so far so good. After the class I actually wanted my teenage classes back. It´s not that they are bad kids, quite the opposite, its that they are kids. School has finished and rather than going home and doing whatever the devil it is that Spanish kids do, they have to stay and do an hour of English. They want to run around, sit on the desk, punch each other and throw each others stuff around the class. I´m sure it will soon become normal, at least I hope so or next time you see me I might be rocking back and forth slowly muttering "Ignacio put the compass down" over and over again.

Life outside of school is good as well. Went to Osasuna at the weekend. The ground is about the size of the Valley but they stands are much steeper so you feel really close. The front row is incrediably close to the pitch as the linesman found out when fans actually reached over and tapped him on the shoulder so they could politley inform him that they disagreed with his desicion to his face. Osasuna aren´t bad and beat Sporting Gijon 1-0. I do need to learn how to whistle. Been out a few nights. One ended with Mauro playing harmonica (where is there always a harmonica?) while the rest of us tried to make up blues lyrics on the spot, the best I came up with was "oh I wish it was me, but she left me for a man called Steve". That sort of rhymes. The record contract is probably in the post.

We´ve acquired two house mates, a Mexican called Daniel and a Spanish guy who none of us have actually set eyes on. Stuff appeared in the spare bedroom and a note was left on the table that worringly read "Hi there boys!!" and not a trace of him since.

I´m beginning to like Pamplona more and more. The old town is fantastic, the buildings are colourful and unique and they tower above you but you don´t feel trapped in. Theres always a good chance of coming across something as well, today there were guys playing the trumpet, accordian, saxaphone and a massive drum while people were dancing and singing in the street. There´s a lot of statues which I always appreachiate. Theres lots of green space, its clean and safe and I´m now able to leave the map at home. Which is great as it turns out map reading is not something I excel in. So get yourself on a plane.

love love love x

Home Banker

Thank you Mark Jonathan Peirson for choosing CAN for all your Spanish banking needs. We pride ourselves on our service and our ability to occupy every third building in Pamplona. Thank you for supplying us with your passport, national insurance number, NIE number, your inside leg measurement, a quart of your own blood and for making a sacrifice of a small goat.

This is just a short 2,395,234 paged document entitled ¨Let us count the ways that CAN loves you¨. It is enclosed in a folder on which we have put a confused face on the front cover. Don´t say we didn´t warn you. This document is what we expect from you, unfilincing loyalty and devotion, and what you can expect from us, a nice new shiny bank card.

You can expect your bank card within the next 6-8 working months. When purchasing something on your new card you must produce a copy of your passport or identity number, failing do to so will result in a diplomatic incident and a possible nuclear attack on Dorset. Further details can be found on page 3,493, under the sub heading GT-34-DU-830T.

You will have noticed that each and every page (even the many blank ones) have been copied twice or sometimes even thrice! This is not a mistake for CAN do not make mistakes, see page 59,684, sub heading HV-78-OL-924M. The reason for this is not to break your spirit so you just sign the damn thing, it is that many people need a copy. Your signature is only required on soeme of these copies, signing the wrong copy will lead to restarting the whole process from scratch and the removal of your thumbs.

To acquire your new credit card please see Appendix G6. If you do not wish to receive your new credit card please sign and return the document headed HF-small picture of a dog-IL8-love heart-Ñ, which we have failed to provide.

CAN is an ethical bank. Each new customer is assigned a cause that we truly believe in. Causes range from the replacing a mere fraction of the rain forest which was destroyed to make this document to African children to orphanages in Eastern Europe. You have been assigned:

THE UPKEEP OF PAMPLONA´S CITY WALLS.

You will receive regular updates about the walls, pictures of the walls and a Christmas and birthday card from the walls. If you wish to change your cause from the mundane task of reducing the local government´s costs to something that make a fraction more difference, please go to sheet YSH-9347-K which is locked in a safe in a vault somewhere of the coast of Chile.

If you haven´t passed out yet then we arrive at document bfh34fd45D45QDBV790B8T (a personal favourite). You will notice the word Titular written vertically in tiny letters in the bottom left hand corner. Please refrain from giggling at the word Titular, CAN punishs laughter with paper cuts to the gentials. Despite the fact that on each other copy you had to sign the one with Officinar written on and leave Titular, this time for reasons clearly written in Wing Dings on page 7,353, you must sign Titular and leave Officinar well alone. Signing the wrong copy will lead to the process starting again and the assassination of a family member/beloved family pet.

Trying to leave CAN is not advisable. When your time to leave Spain arrives we ask for every documentation about you that has ever been written, among a few other small requests. Including pictures from that family holiday to the Isle of Wight you had when you were eight. Please refrain from even attempting to read the other pages which consist of information about how we can get out of any responsibility we have for your money, written in type so small it appears to the naked eye as a line.

I hope you have found this document to be enlightening as well as a enjoyable. Once you sign copy after copy, including one that looks worryingly like a cheque please hand over your ten euros. You will receive your very own copy to take home! We suggest framing it.

The Duck Worth Lewis Method

I hope all is good in your particuliar hood. Things here are beginning to pick up pace. I received my timetable today a document with more codes than America´s nuclear arsenal. So puzzling is it that we have to have indivdual sessions tomorrow morning to make sense of it all. What I do know is that I´m back with the business men with the added terror of a few classes of teenagers.

I´ve also had the chance to meet everyone. Cormac and I managed to find our way to the building to be shuffled into a room by the finance guy, a man by the name of Alfonso who by the look of his underarms was a lot more nervous than we were. The building is incredible. It´s actually a Doctor´s college, its a beautiful old building that looks like its got lost on the way to Paris. We were told no to get used to it, the normal building is a much more modest affair. Everyone is lovely, I would feel a little bad listing them all as they dont know their names would be appearing on a tenth rate blog. However one guy does deserve a mentoin, the teaching, tour guiding, financial advising, career planning, contract supervising, technology loving, Spanish translating, bus getting, lady pulling wingman machine that is Nick. He has a vocabulary like nothing you have ever heard, he also bears resemblence to the guy who used to present the crystal maze, you know the one.

We spent our first days filling out paper work which is as tedious here as it is at home. We were taken to get our NIE numbers which is like the national insurance number. We were sat in a cafe while Alfonso locked horns with the bureaucratic jugguarnaut, thats how paperwork should be done.

However the best thing was next. In Spain they have the funny notion that to be employed in Spain first you must have been unemployed in Spain. So we were taken to sign on. So until the grand contract signing (which I´m imagining to be like Bismarck signing a peace treaty at Versailles) on Friday, I´m on the Spanish dole. The Spanish tabloids will be furious. Needless to say the job office in Pamplona is a lot nicer than Dartford. They also called me Don Peirson which made me reach levels of happiness that I hadn´t reached since they announced that Atomic Kitten had broken up.

We then had "a little tour" which knackered everyone, but give us all a chance to move around and talk to everyone. We were then back at the Doctors school where they revealed there was a resturaunt downstairs. Not my usual sort of resturaunt, the sort where the menu is encased in plastic on the wall or is in a service station, but a good one. We were again told not to get used to it, it was a concession to the school. We weren´t paying so we all cashed in. Topic of conversation ranged from the feasibility of an independent Basque state, the Euro, Spanish culture and that Des Walker was actually class for Sampdoria in the 1990s. I also had to ride to the defence of the noble art form that is Test cricket, Spaniards just don´t understand, cretins.

After lunch we were free to go, we had some drinks in a bar obsessed with Pearl Jam We managed to attract some singing attention from a gypsy, who got annoyed and shouting at a few of us who tried to join in. We learnt about each others interests some of which include an absurd amount of football trivia (who is the only man to play in the Milan, Mersyside, North London and North East derbies? answers on a postcard), the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, is Cat Stevens really Youseff Islam and fantasy roleplaying. Pretending to fight dressed as eleves and dwarves, not what you were thinking.

Once the internet in the flat is up and running I´ll put some pictures up. Buenas noches.

love love love x

The Equestrian

Hola! Despite the doubt, the jokes and the scorn, I made it in one piece without too much difficulty. The biggest problem was the disgrace that only wearing a bum bag can bring. After leaving New Ash Green at half four in the morning it was such a relief to finally get through the front door at half five in the afternoon.

Stanstead was easy enough. Other than queing to check in when I noticed there was a fellow New Ash Greener directly behind me. Not usually a problem but this particuliar girl thinks (rightly) that I´m a dickhead after some drink related incidents and a friend wreaking havoc with my mobile when I was asleep. So I stood still and upright and tried not to draw any attention to myself which I think I managed and then like any real man I went and his myself in a corner. The flight itself was easy and my bag arrived without a problem! They should invent a new word that describes the joy and relief that you feel when you see your bag come through on the conveyer belt. Mind you dragging the bastard around almost killed me. Thats right ladies imagine those guns.

That left me with a few hours to spend in Bilbao. Bilbao is described as one of the roughier and uglier of Spanish cities, if that is the case Britain may be in more trouble than we think, because these people have clearly never been to Dartford. Though not stunning, I didn´t see the problem. The Guggenheim gallery they have there is absoultely amazing. When not back in an internet cafe (no rap in this one, just a Spanish legal drama) I will put some photos of it up. It looked great, like it landed here rather than being built. While waiting at the bus station I also learnt I can get the bus all the way to Bucharest!

The bus journey itself was also fine, other than the man who was sitting next to me decided he had enough with five minutes and went and sat somewhere else, what a prick. The drive gave me a chance to see some country and it was beautiful. Lots of forests, mountains and small towns all with the red tiled roofs.

When you arrive in Pamplona the bus pulls into an undeground complex. It´s all dark marble and the driver has to punch in a code. It was all very Bond, I half expected a man called Yuri to meet us when we got off and tell us we are actually in the base of a volcano. Maybe that is how they recruit all those foot soldiers.

The flat is great, I´m really surprised how nice it is. There are only two of us living there for now as there had to be some jigging around. Picked myself a room, then changed to another at 1 in the morning. I did have one nightmare, I turned on the kitchen tap only to for it fall off and spew water everywhere. While panicing and preparing to go down with the ship to a watery grave I was told that it has been doing that for a while. It was a massive relief, I didn´t want my first action in Spain to be handing the land lady her kitchen tap. Spent the first night getting to know Cormac who moved in earlier in the week. We spent an evening with Spanish television which is utterly ridicilous. I´ll go into that more at a later time, but they had people blacked up. There was also some classic wrestling, they just don´t make them like Ravishing Rick Rude anymore.

Pamplona is lovely. It actually hasn´t stopped raining but it looks great nonetheless. I´ve had a quick look around but nothing to serious yet. I´ve had a few broken Spanish conversations in which I haven´t covered myself in glory. I did tell someone I only speak Spanish a little, she just wandered off and I beamed with pride. I start teaching on Wednesday which seems pretty scary right now. A class of Spanish teenagers could eat me alive.

I hope you are all well

love love love x

Quarter to Eight

This will be the last post from sunny Kent, and for once it is sunny, its gone to our heads I saw a man in shorts OUTSIDE IN PUBLIC. Its the last days of Rome. The next we speak I'll finally have left. The gibbering and filler will finally come to an end. Things are beginning to wind up now, most things I do these days are the last time I do things for a while.

A brave group of us went out in Gravesend on Saturday night, only one person got punched so we didn't do bad. Well most of us didn't do bad, one person who shall remain nameless has a lot of jokes to face upto. At one point he drew a crowd. The bigger shame was the next morning. After sleeping innocently on John's front room floor I had to walk to the bus stop in last nights clothes. People were judging. It was the walk of shame without the fun part, just the shame. It also meant I missed Church, the last one before I go. It turns out on the newsletter they had written me a nice goodbye and not wanting me to miss it the nice man from up the street knocked on my door to give me a copy. I answered the door in my lounging shorts, any self respecting man has a pair, and a scruffy t-shirt and not having showered yet it was not a pretty sight. There was no hiding it, I didn't miss it through packing or a family engagement I had just been in Gravesend acting like a dickhead. I sensed his disappointment, he expected better, now I know how Derren Brown must be feeling.

Before leaving I've been ticking things off my to do list. I went down to Wiltshire to stay with my grandparents which was... tranquil. There was a lot reading, staring out of the window and a shit load of the weakest link. Whose job is it to gather that much trivia?? Devizes is a strange town. People go on holiday there, if you can call cramming into a canal boat a holiday, what do they do? Drinking to forget seems to be the common thread. My nan works in the towns tourist office and even she says that she struggles to think of anything to suggest if they have "more than about an hour and half to kill". They have a brewery, the canal, a market, the canal, flats in the shape of a castle, the canal and a "lovely" book shop. It was good to see nan and grandad though.

Despite leaving VERY early on Thursday morning I've not even thought about packing. My mum has left a case outside my bedroom door as a not so subtle hint but I'm not raising to that bait. My packing is dreadful, I'm hoping if I leave it it will just do itself.

I have to confess to not being terribly excited about it all, more relieved. I've been facebooking (should I poke him?! oh facebook etiquette!) one my future house mates who is much more excited about the drive than actually being there. These last few months feel like a waste though after working for a bit I will probably miss them. I'll miss everyone more, make sure you keep me informed!

Anyone who needs a holiday (not you Dizzee Rascal) get yourself on a plane.

Days to go: 2
Level of Spanish (it still sounds like this to me):
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ctaszjeaDK0
Level of English: Still dropping, I blame society
Packing: None

love love love x

Donde es platanos?

Life is quiet, it mainly involves the unstoppable football machine that is Charlton Athletic. Inbetween each glorious victory against titans like Walsall, Hartlepool and Wycombe my feeble attempts to learn Spanish continue.

The lessons tend to be the same. I come in make some awkward conversation, she asks if I've been partying (I haven't) and then comments on how much paper I have, she should know she gave it to me. Sometimes I feel like its going well and I'm retaining all this but then I think of even if thats true I still know approximately 0.00000173% of the Spanish language.

For example, verb endings. Just like the Romanians the Spanish mess around with verb endings, call me paranoid but I'm beginning to feel tinges of conspiracy. Just because you're paranoid it doesn't mean they aren't after you. In English the ends of verb change to indicate (among other things) time, talk in the past changes to talked. In Spanish its different, the verb ending changes to indicate who you are talking about. Like this:

The Spanish verb to talk, is Hablar. You knock the last two letters off and stick a new ending onto the end depending on what you are talking about.

Yo (I) hablO
Tu (You) hablAS
El/Ella (He/She) hablA
Nosotros (We) hablAMOS
Vosotros (You plural) hablAIS
Ellos (They) hablAN

With the exception of every single slight I have ever suffered, no matter however petty, I don't have a very good memory. I've been clearing out my room and my memory is being severely tested as I can't remember so much of the stuff I found. The only one I have managed to remember is why I was keeping a stone in the bottom of my wardrobe. Siobhan had brought it back for me all the way from the Norfolk seaside, I couldn't throw it away after that. So remembering all the different endings is proving a bitch. To make it worse not all verbs are the same. It won't have escaped you eagle eyes that hablar ends in ar, but other verbs end in -er and -ir and they have different endings. Though in fairness they aren't a millions miles apart. Sometimes I fluke remembering the different endings and begin to feel smug and happy with myself and then remember that once this is down that this is only one tense. Bugger.

I've been taught how to order food, very generally. Things like "I'll have the meat". Also any food that my teacher doesn't like is strictly off the menu. I also spend a lot of my time translating sentence after sentence. My room has become a Spanish bunker. There are bits of paper stuck everywhere, things like the clock, colours, prepositions, verbs, adjectives and days of the week.

lunes = monday
martes = tuesday
miercules = wednesday
jueves = thursday
viernes = friday
sabado = saturday
domingo = sunday

naranja = orange
rojo = red
azul = blue
verde = green
amarillo = yellow
purpura = purple
rosa = pink
blanco = white
negro = black (hmm)

10 days to go. 10 days until something hopefully worth reading. I hope you are all well.

love love love x

Team Meat / Salad Days

www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/aug/30/frank-evens-bullfighter-salford-spain

On the basis of this article the Spanish really need to spend some more time thinking up nicknames. I'm not sure whether I admire this guy or just think he's crazy. To do what you love for as long as possible is what we should all aim to do but nonetheless dancing with bulls isn't something I'd be doing at 67 with a wife, kids and grandkids. Then you have the question of whether stabbing an already weakened bull for 15 minutes is anything anyone should be doing.

Sitting here I don't really see the point. It does just seem an over elaborate way to kill a bull slowly and painfully. I say this as an avowed meat eater who isn't particularly squeamish when it comes to animal rights, but it does seem cruel. It's only purpose is for entertainment. It is a very old tradition but then so was bear baiting and cock fighting. It is also a tradition that we as foreigners don't understand, it's not a part of our culture and history, but there are practices we are critical of all over the world. Just because something bad happens in a different country doesn't mean everyone else just has to shut up. British culture gets criticized by others and just saying your foreign and don't understand is a cop out. The only thing is, I haven't seen a bullfight. I hope to see one and hear some Spanish defences of it and then I can say I'm fully informed. Though apparently the Spanish aren't as big fans of the bull fight as you might think.

Theres some light weight debate for you. I might have a crack at Israel Palestine next time, get that settled by teatime Thursday.

love love love x

Same Boy You've Always Known

"The moment the Ashes were won"- Picture may not be one hundred percent accurate

Rupert Murdoch, Skippy, AC/DC, Kylie Minogue, Shelia's Wheels, Russel Crowe, Germaine Greer, Rolf Harris, Pat Rafter, Crocodile Dundee, the entire cast of neighbours, that fella that dresses up as Edna Everage, your boys took one hell of a beating.

It was bloody good. After getting quite annoyed when Ponting and Hussey bedded in for the afternoon it was all worth it. Despite not scoring as many runs and not taking as many wickets we won! Our house greeted as we greet all sporting triumph, Dad exploded in a storm of xenophobic joy, my sister squealed, I acted as if I had batted at 4, Mum couldn't care less, it was beautiful.

I'm actually a little giddy from sporting success, like a child that has eaten too much pick and (I refuse to use 'n') mix Charlton have won 4 league games out of 4! 100% record! Wycombe, CONQUERED, Hartlepool, OVERPOWERED, Leyton Orient, HUMBLED, Walsall, ROUTED. I really don't know whats happening, I need to lie down in a darkened room. Sure we don't have a squad and soon as we pick up some injuries it will slip away but that makes it more important to enjoy it now. League 1 is a strange experience. I went to Leyton Orient, which is a dump, where Charlton fans were close to if not outnumbering the home fans and the game after, Walsall, brought less than 100 fans to the home of football. Its because they were so resigned to defeat.

I took a visiting Dutchman to the football. His name is Jochem/Jochan/Jockan. He's friends with family friends and for some reason always enjoys a trip to watch Charlton. I was blown away by his car which has more technology than the early space shuttles.

What John's car (Lucinda) lacks in technology (including some really basic car things) she makes up for in character. John drove us upto London to keep Alex company as Smith was away, we know our place. We played the longest game of Articulate ever. If you don't know the aim of Articulate you have a card and you have to describe the word without using it. So for example you might have "Yorkshire" and you would describe it without saying Yorkshire. Neither team was amazing though John and me did lose, it didn't help with John shouting "THE RIVER JESUS WAS BAPTIZED IN!!!" and then being disappointed when I didn't get the answer, sacred to Hindus, the River Gangees. RE teachers need to up their game.

I managed to catch up with fellow former Waitrosers Kaylie and Jess. It is much better now I get to see them without having to pretend to be working. For the record Kaylie and Jess are to the world of selling baked items what Usain Bolt is to the world of running really really fucking fast, I was the shitty one. They would also write better blogs, what with trips to Peru and love triangles.

I thought the blog needed a kick up the arse. My first thought was to get involved in a love triangle of my own and then write the car crash that followed but that would be beyond what I could achieve with my looks and charm so instead, a countdown is being started! Everyone knows countdowns are fun, just ask Vordeman.

25 days to Spain
Accommodation: None
Level of Spanish: Zero to Very Poor
Level of English: Dropping Steadily. I said writed the other day, I was almost sick.

Flashback #2

Flashback 2, the spotty and unpleasant younger brother of flashback 1, will not be as long. I don't remember as much and I don't want to bore you all with more introspection and lists of details.

However there was a wedding, hurrah! It was a lovely day, Rachel and Russ looked appropriately happy and I'm sure they new McKays will be very happy together for a long time. We stayed in a barn with scousers which wasn't as weird as it sounds. I managed to lock myself out within the first hour to be rescued by a colonial. The wedding itself was good. There was a free bar, I danced like a had a stroke and was a little too keen at the buffet.

Other than that, Sophie and Kelvins hospitality remains as good as ever. Mark took Norwich's first match humiliation well and it was great to see him. It was a very good weekend indeed.

Since then Patrick rode back into Kent like a conquering hero, raping and pillaging as he went. It has been Catherine's birthday. We went upto London and sat in Hyde park. We were entertained by roleplayers. Not nurses, secretaries, firemen etc, but people dressed as elves pretending to be from some magical realm rather than Basildon or wherever. I wonder when reading fantasy books, playing warhammer and other such behavior becomes insufficient for satisfying your magical needs and you take to running around a busy park dressed as a ninja, wrestling and pretending to summon creatures. I want in. I had to leave early to go to a bbq where I ate my own body weight in red meat, cancer ahoy.

I have started to have proper grown up Spanish lessons. A slip came through the door offering lessons in New Ash Green and there is only so much the CD can do. I don't have the book that goes with the CD so as it gets more complicated theres more and more that I need explaining and the angry Spaniard is in no mood for explanation or mercy. So I went to her flat and was given sheets and it felt like being in school. Except that, at my school at least, there wasn't a copy of the encyclopedia of erotica on the shelf; it's off putting. I can't pronounce her name which is awkward and I can envisage becoming a problem in Spain. I'll be a rude English man calling everyone Pedro. According to her people in the north talk 'proper' Spanish.

Things are quiet, I hope you are well

love love love x

Flashback #1

In recalling last week's brief flurry of activity I will try to recreate the Godfather part 2 with a series of flashbacks, but without the drama/interest/murder.

We'll begin on Wednesday where Hannah suffered my company for longer than is considered medically healthy. We went to Laanndddann tawwwnn.

I was quickly informed without her needing to say anything that the British History Museum and the Imperial War Museum were not options so we started in Camden.

Our intrepid tourist Hannah had her first visit brush with the monarchy with our visit to Buckingham Palace. Viewing the palace in the sun with the guards outside is enough to raise interest levels from absolute zero coupled with scorn to just cold indifference. Though the legions of tourists seemed to enjoy it. Liz and Phil were alas not in, probably out pretending to be the head of a huge empire rather than a small island. Liz was probably shooting small animals or down the horse track (I reckon she has a problem) and Phil was probably insulting a proud and ancient people and their culture.

It was swelteringly hot and the walk to the south bank from the palace nearly destroyed me. I have no idea how the tourists manage it. However I did witness this:

A sign for our humble village in the very centre of London. New Ash Green has made it! Consider the doubters silenced.

After this mini and pointless burst of excitement, we visited the Tate modern. It was completely over my head. I was relying on Hannah and her A level in art to explain to me what a rope on the floor tells me about the universe, the human condition or my life but I am a philistine so I suppose it was always a losing battle. My favorite things were both videos. One of a naked man punching himself in the head while a naked woman next to him put plaster all over her chest while she waved a dildo with gay abandon. The other video was of a naked man sitting next to a naked woman on a sofa while passing a big white orb to each other. Deep. Keep your paintings, sculptures and prints give me nudity, sex toys and orbs, I know what I like.

After a quick whisk around Harrods which made me feel like scum we met our resident wanky Londoner Alex. He decided that I'm a bisexual and I got him to agree to come with me to Leyton for an epic London derby on a Tuesday night, thats football glamour. He has since wimped out.

Here is something to pass the time

www.miniclip.com/games/extreme-pamplona/en/

I wonder how much Pamplona tat on the internet can be reposted here?

love love love x

Drive Carefully, Dear

HALT!

HUNT FOR HAGI WOULD LIKE TO PUBLISH A RETRACTION OF AN EARLIER COMMENT.

Dr. John Laurence Whittaker has NEVER broken any of this nation's speed limits. He knows that they are set for the safety of all and there is nothing that he takes more seriously than road safety. For the record he has also never raced fellow students on the Gravesend A2 slip road. He has never made me hold the wheel while he got a pound out of his pocket for the toll. He has never had to drive very fast around Gravesend trying to escape chavs after he flipped them off. He has never let me, an unlicensed driver, drive his car. He certainly never undercuts people on roundabouts in an outraged sense of revenge. Hypothetically speaking if these things had happened I would clarify things by saying that I have always felt safe in John's capable hands as he is undoubtedly a fine driver. Hunt for Hagi offers unreserved apologies to Mr Whittaker and his family for the shame and slander which was brought upon him.

There hasn't been any posts recently as for the first time in a long time I have been busy! I will bore you with it over the next few days when I can write it down at a more social hour. Hope you are well out there in cyberspace.

love love love x

We Are All Accelerated Readers

It turns out that el Spanish is proper hard, innit. Crafty Spaniards. As with most European languages you get male and female words, something which has always irritated me; a bathroom isn't male or female is it?! More annoyingly the words' "gender" changes the words around it. I often mix genders throughout the sentence ending in some orgy of hermaphroditic vagueness. The worst being the equivalent of the verb to be which can be es/este/esta/estoy/estamos etc etc etc.

Verbs generally are just awkward bastards. In English it would be - I run, you run, she runs, he runs, they run. The only change is the possible addition of an s. In Spanish, like Romanian, the verb itself changes rather than the I, you, she, it or whatever.

For example:

The Spanish verb to eat is comer. But:

Como demaciado - I eat too much
Comay demaciado - You eat too much (an upward inflection makes it a question)
Comemos demaciado - We eat too much
Compran demaciado - They eat too much.

So when you learn a verb, you actually have to remember loads. This is their vengeance for the long list of irregular verbs that they have to learn in English. Also you tend not to add words like I/you/we as if you hear como you know that the person is talking about themselves.

Other select words that I can remember of the top of my head are

dinero - money
enfermo - ill
tarde - late
temprano - early
rapido - quickly
despacio - slowly
direccion - address
tambien - also
grande - big
perqueno - small

You will have to excuse the spelling. In theory I can also count to 999, though I haven't actually tried as yet. Add in some directions, ordering stuff, general niceties and explaining that my wife is in Bolivia things are coming along nicely. The next plan is to find long lists of vocabulary of things like food and the names of buildings. Hopefully I can find a website for kids with pictures and bright colours. It has crossed my mind that maybe Nickelodeon's resident Spanish teacher Dora the Explorer could help but its too colourful and cheerful for me; its the sort of thing that only children and drug users could sit through.

The CD's cheerful and conversational tone is being slowly withdrawn. Smith and Gomes are a thing of the past, now a Spaniard demands to know how to say "Is the restaurant near or far?" when he clearly already knows.

So far I'm still not sure how much of it is Mexican Spanish but it seems to correspond so I'm not too worried. Mexico (sort of) is a fair part of my life at the moment, thanks to my favourite band deciding that they can out mariachi any Mexican you care to mention.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRzsAXdJE_0

In Spain proper ETA have reared their ugly heads: www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/jul/26/basque-eta-independence-female-fighters

Otherwise life remains quiet. Sport wise theres been good news. Despair at Charlton was lifted after we VANQUISHED the tractor boys at the Valley. Kent OBLITERATED Durham to reach finals day in the twenty twenty. Huzzah! I need to get a life. The good Dr. John has injected some danger by driving down country lanes at 90 and then informing us that his exhust was in danger of falling out, the engine is questionable and the breaks work "most of the time".

love love love x