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The CD's cheerful and conversational tone is being slowly withdrawn.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

The Decline of British Sea Power

These are just a few of the many historic events that have occurred since England last beat Australia at Lords 75 years ago. I have course not been waiting for that long but it hasn't stopped me enjoying it nonetheless. Everyone, including myself, did give themselves a little freak out. Looking back it was ridiculous to panic, thinking that we were going to lose, when we still had a lead of over 200; but such is the paranoia of an ashes series.

Since the next game isn't for a few days I have been forced out, blinking and shielding my eyes, into the daylight. We spent a lovely day on Tuesday destroying some of John's dearest child hood memories. Catherine has a new car and wanted to play with it so John suggested a trip to the seaside town of Broadstairs. John remembers playing with great glee and childish abandon on the glistening white sands of the Kentish Riveria but within ten minutes everyone came to the conclusion that it was shit. I think the problem was that it was too nice, it was small and lacked the usual tat and urban decay of the English seaside. This was soon rectified by the short drive to Margate, the very definition of decay. It's one of those towns that would just benefit from being knocked down and just starting again. The place seriously needs some love. It's sad to see everything boarded up, even the big arcades have closed, and right in the middle is Dreamland. Dreamland was a theme park that was closed for being unsafe which came as a surprise to no one. The fear was generated not from the rides but from wondering if this was the ride when those rusty supports would finally give up.

Other than that I have been trying to sort out getting to Pamplona. So far the plan is to fly to Bilbao and get the bus as flying to Pamplona direct is far too expensive. I've been told its easy but the Spanish bus website seems to be on a permanent siesta, much like myself. Once I have negotiated that I will feel a lot better. I have filled out a questionnaire about what sort of my housemate I am. Lie is a strong word, I prefer vague and selective. Fortunately there was no box "lazy twat".

Who is not a lazy twat is Gok Wan, or as we affectionately knew him at uni, Cock Wank. Real mature. I saw him in Bluewater where he was working it in an inflatable studio. It wouldn't happen on the BBC. He is absurdly thin, like a babies arm. Simmer on that.

love love love x

Jerusalem

As a man who always invests large amounts of emotion in the sporting exploits of other people over which he has no control, the Ashes has always been a particularly dangerous affair. One Ashes win that led to frankly inappropriate amounts of happiness punctuating twenty years of disappointment not seen since the Godfather III, which is to say pretty fucking disappointing. Over the past week and a bit I have drawn into my Ashes shell with few interruptions. I've pushed the 5-0 drubbing we took last time around out of my mind and convinced myself that there is not one single scenario in which we cannot win this time around. That belief was shaken pretty badly during the first test to be restored be the unlikely figure of Monty Panesar with his bat in hand.

After celebrating a draw like a win, only in England, the second test has been a lot more enjoyable. Theres been a healthy dose of schadenfreude in the Peirson house today. Watching Ricky Ponting's face today has been an absolute joy. Dad has spent the day claiming, West Indian, Michael Holding is putting on his accent and was furious at the end claiming that England have never been offered the light, ermmmm. Sure there is plenty of time for England to fuck it up but like fleeting lovers, we'll always have today.

It literally baffles me why anyone wouldn't like test cricket. It is after all what separates us from the animals. Anyone who disagrees runs the risk of being on the end of a rant from me about why they are wrong and how they represent everything that is wrong with modern Britain. Any game with lunch and tea inbuilt is a damn fine game. Yes it takes five days, thats how long it takes for the theater to unfold.

Now lets enjoy the limited success before we are chewed up and spat out to wait for another twenty years to win an Ashes series. The wait will make it all worth it. Ask a Charlton fan, we've been waiting for years for ... something, anything! It'll be good though.

love love love x

Raging Bull

news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/8143744.stm

Just when you thought it was safe to take to the streets. My dad's remains confident and enthusiastic. I need to be careful, I've already somehow stumbled into agreeing to throw myself out of a plane. "Extreme" sports indeed. I need to stop putting myself into what the guys who classify films would describe as, mild peril. The article does include the quite wonderful phrase 'rogue bull'. Rogue is one of those words that needs to be brought back in wider use. Other such words include scoundrel, rapscallion, harlot, jezzabell, and of course peril. People in them days knew how to insult a person.

Much love x

Glitter and Trauma

Hello! Since we last fluttered our eye lashes at each other via the medium of blogging, I have celebrated the 22nd anniversary of my birth. Oh yes, the big double 2. Though I have warmed to birthdays I am still not a huge celebrator for a mixture of reasons mainly, hating having my photograph taken, a complete inability to organise anything and years of people saying "oh July the 3rd, did you know that is the day before American independence day?" Why yes I did, thanks for asking. More interesting historic events that actually happened on the third include one of my top 5 battles (any history student should have such a list and many others) the Battle of Koniggratz, Minsk was liberated from the Nazis, Idaho became the 43rd state (and what a state) and the 3rd July 1994 was the deadliest day in Texas traffic history. It is also the birthday of Franz Kafka, Tom Cruise, Sebastian Vettel and Sian Lloyd. Illustrious company indeed.

Speaking of illustrious company a rag tag group of us headed to London for the big 22. We went for a night out which was a lot of fun. I met a Canadian man from whom I demanded to know which hockey team he supports only to be disgusted when he said the Ottawa Senators rather than the Montreal Canadiens. I know nothing of hockey but Emily told me to support Montreal and I now do, to the hilt, even against people who are one hundred percent more knowledgeable on the subject. The only thing worse than my singstar performance was my table football one. Thanks to everyone.

On Sunday, Sarah 'Wings' Gilbert kept her feet on the ground long enough to be kind enough to drive Hannah and myself down to Brighton. After an epic trawl for a parking space it was a proper day by the seaside. Walking on the pier, paddling, 99s and watching some rogue threaten to beat the hell out of someone on the beach. It had it all. Annoyingly, some little girls have been watching too much Sweet Valley High leading to Brighton resorting to hold "Future Cheer", a national cheerleading competition. They were everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. Ranging from 7 year olds, who shouldn't be dressed like that, to 18/19 year olds who really should know better. I know what I am, a former student of a Gravesend comprehensive. All the glitter in the world can't cover that shame.

After such a nice weekend it was a come down to have a day on Monday so crushingly dull I ended up wandering around New Ash Green at 10 at night. I don't know what I was hoping for, maybe to witness something that would require me to spend a night giving police statements. Now I know what reading this blog must feel like

My level of Spanish continues to fluctuate wildly. Some days I think I am getting to grips with it, others I descend into a pit of verb ending related despair. On the brighter side I have learnt a fairly impressive way of being bashfully dismissive of my Spanish. If I was trapped in a corner in Romania I would weep and mutter that I couldn't speak Romanian. In Spain, however, I can say "nu muy bien, pero hablo espanyol un poco". Which is "not very well, but I speak Spanish a little", which is more impressive, which is lucky as it will get frequent use. I imagine the person I'm talking too and I throwing back our heads laughing at my bashful modesty, before they get pissed off when they realise just how little Spanish I meant. My prediction of Mr Smith and Ms Gomes getting 'funky', which I believe is the parlance the kids are using, has become a little closer to reality. Mr Smith strutted into a shop in Venezuela in which Ms Gomes was working (she does get around), boasted about how much he wanted to buy and then asked her to dinner when she tried to get rid of him.

love love love x


ps In case you were wondering:

1. The Republican Defence of Madrid
2. The Defence of Sarajevo
3. The Battle of Britain
4. The Battle of Stalingrad
5. The Battle of Koniggratz