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