Get Off My Ghost Train

Greetings from a nervous Madrid. The thought of eating a chicken burger in Burger King at the airport for Christmas has frayed tempers. Teachers are sitting in front of computers, refreshing travel update pages, trying to get a much more detailed weather report than the BBC can offer and calling various airports cunts. To make it worse you have to go onto the Guardian report and listen to some self righteous tosser sitting in his house in Tooting saying things like "why do idiots try and travel at this time of year?" or "I'm reminded how happy I am that I made the decision to live simply, the rewards are clear". Pleased with yourself aren't you? *Bangs head against keyboard*

When not picking fights with people I don't know and I never met I've been getting into the Christmas spirit. I have some presents though as always my Mother's gift is going to go to the wire. I have been to a few Christmas markets, on of which was the busiest place I have ever been. The lights are up in the street, Church is all adventy and we had the office party. We pulled out all the stops to put on our Christmas shindig. It was held in the school cafeteria. I finished class, wandered down to be rammed into a cafeteria, looked at my feet and had some quiche. At one point we were press ganged into having some photographes taken with the ladies from the Spanish department. You know its bad when someone says as you are waiting for the flash that you should just pretend as if we were friends. There was a strict three drink limit (two alcoholic, one soft drink) which was enforced with vigour and IH King even said a few words. I'm being harsh it was fun, but going out after was a lot of fun. It ended at six in the morning so work the next day was a trial. Luckily the morning was all stuff like seminars where attendence is merely "expected" and not compulsory.

Sunday night football is soon becoming a highlight of the week. Such deftness and skill is hard to imagine. I was pretty terrible last time out so I'm hoping to up my game to 6/10 today and if I can't score I least want to take someone out with a hideous two footed challenge. Due to the snow Charlton have barely played in the last month, I have been like a recovering smack addict. I've been shivering, swinging between fever and cold and muttering Thierry Racon's name under my breath. Normal service has resumed in the cricket. It was my fault, the day before I gave Kevin some trash talk and cue a good old fashioned batting collapse.

School is great at this time of year. I get to read my book while students do the exam and then the last class is just listening to Christmas songs and looking at words like elf, north pole and reindeer. Michael Buble's version of Let It Snow works well as the students can get the words pretty quickly though mid way through the second listen through I want Michael Buble to be locked into a sound proof (airtight) box. It truly is a magical time of year.

See you soon for yuletide japes.

love love love x

Lips N' Stuff

Hello!

When I started teaching it was a little strange. Very strange in fact. Years and years of being a student switched on me and now I was that guy standing at the front trying to come across as calm and authorative or that I know the first thing about cleft sentences. I'm not sure when exactly happened but it has become normal. However it got weird again. It was my first ever parents evening, albeit a parents evening that took place on a Saturday morning. It was strange being on the other side of it.

Parents are crazy! There seemed to be two types. My favourite were the ones that came in and were there for about forty five seconds.

Do they behave? - Yes.
Are they improving? - Yes.
Fine, see you next term.

What heroes. Then there were the other ones. One girl got really good exam marks thats not surprising as her English is probably better than mine. She got the same mark for reading, speaking and listening, all high, but her writing was 0.2 lower but still very high. His face dropped. He assured me from now on she will be writing more at home. He said he'd set her some writing tasks for her to bring to me for check. I felt bad for her as clearly he had very high standards, but then maybe thats why she speaks such good English. That all passed away as soon as realised just what he said. WOAH! WOAH! WOAH! Don't get her to bring me more stuff to mark! You mark it. Some were thrown as normally the students have lower marks in the first report of this year than the last report from last year. I tried to explain that it was because they had gone up a level since then, its more difficult, but that didn't seem to matter. Well that and marks always get better as the year goes as a sly trick to make us look better. Shameful stuff.

The parents were all very nice. We just spoke through their reports. They probably noticed that I had completely forgotten exactly what it was I had written, though I'm pretty sure I managed not to directly contradict myself. I wonder if my teachers were winging it as much as I was? Probably. Luckily my class is lovely so I just got to say wonderful things about their kids which they all enjoyed.

There were a few added complications. It was hard not to giggle when one student was identical to his dad and his sister. One student is always late, his mum apologized saying they live far away so can be difficult so thats why he's always five minutes late. In that case I wonder where he is for the other half hour. I also knew that she is from Croydon and thus a c*****l p****e fan so whenever she was speaking I just had this running through my head

www.youtube.com/watch?v=acAYv8wBotk

Happy times, though how bad is the defending?

Its exam time again so I'm off to look through pages and pages of identical papers, shouting "I never said that!" Marking one classes exam will be easy as by some strange coincidence after I mentioned there was an exam last week only three of them showed up this week. It will be waiting for them. So far the marks have generally been good, I've been so lucky with students this year. It's not a bad way to make a living.

See you soon

love love love x

Skinny Love

Gather around, it's been a good twenty three years but I fear the end is not much further. Yes that's right I'm ill. Only a short post as I have been in bed for most of the last few days so I've got even less to say and have been boring than usual. Though it has given lots of excuses to have great fun with the word constupado which is the Spanish word for cold. It's only a short post but you may have guessed what it would be about:

YYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSS!!!!!!!

How good has the cricket been recently?! It's a long weekend here so I have been able to sit up all night watching internet streams. Some of it has been from Australian TV which normally would be dreadful but was an absolute joy! Greg Chapell is furious! My streams were perfect until the last day when they inevitiably struggled to keep up which caused me to swear loudly at the my lap top at three in the morning much to Julia's confusion. It didn't matter we were so much better than them! This is what it must have been like to be Australian for the last twenty five years. They now know how it feels to be be battered by a superior rival, well they would if any of them could be bothered to support their team. For years the Australians said they wanted a better England team to see some competition, they don't seem so interested now they've got it.

The amount of gloating around, including from myself, is dangerous as its only 1-0 and there are three left to play but it was just so perfect. First time they have lost by an innings since 1993, they looked incapable of taking wickets and England compiling batting records for fun, it was crazy. The universe has shifted, as Mike says I have expect to wake up and realising it was all a beautiful dream.

Even if we lose the rest of the series 3-1, we'll always have Adelaide.

love love love x

POWER

Ahoy hoy.

I hope you haven't frozen to death yet. There has even been a flurry of snow here. It didn't settle which was lucky. I generally like snow but when you have a flight to catch every flake is like a dagger to my heart. I don't want to get stuck again and Mike has told me a horror story about being stuck in Newcastle airport for three days. Could you imagine?? He survived on cups of tea given to him by Easyjet.

Joining IH Madrid I knew was like joining the big leagues. I was a journey man in a provincial school before being drafted to the capital. A sign of this was last week I was actually observed! Observed! Someone came and sat in the corner, scribbling in a note book every time I said something or made even the slightest hand gesture. Observations are a normal and perfectly reasonable part of the job but in Pamplona they really didn't care. It made me really nervous. I was last observed in Romania and I was worried that I had picked up a years of bad habits and wasn't even aware of it. I had an image of being bundled into a car boot by a desperate manager to get me as far away as possible. I mildly threatened my students the class before. If you fuck me over in the next hour I will hunt you down and kill you, so help me God. They came through wonderfully. It was fine, I'm still employed so no complaints.

It has been the only thing that has taken my mind from the titanic, epic, garguntuan struggle that is the Ashes. The monster rears its ugly head again, a beast that demands your undivided attention. This one is in Australia and thus you have the added dielemma of the first ball being at one in the morning. Just settle down and watch a ball you say, maybe the first hour if I have a late start the next day but then blearly eyed and frantically nervous it consumes your early morning. The next morning you can tell who was watching it. The two Aussie girls at work can rely on a volley of abuse as they strut up into the staff room and wishing you a good morning as if they owned the place. I have been streaming it from the Australian coverage which was unbearable when they were on top but glorious as we batted and batted and batted and batted for the last two days. Alastair has now scored more runs at the Gabba than Don Bradman, this isn't the universe we were living in last week.

Despite only drawing it felt like winning so I feel good which is the exact opposite of how most of Madrid is feeling today. The classico was complete and utter humilation from start to finish. They and to be fair I thought they had a good chance of getting at least a point but Barcelona had their way with them. No kisses, no spooning just a good hard.. well you can finish the rest. The mood in the bar I was in turned very sour expect for a few delighted Atletico fans and Lukash and myself who hate the facist bastards, watching Ronaldo's face just didn't get old, how could it ever? Living in Madrid will not make me warm to Real and I think we can now say (as previously mentioned on facebook) that with the exception of the 97/98 and the 99/00 Charlton sides this Barcelona side is quite simply the best team to ever play football.

We all know that the sporting world is vastly superior to the real world. Without sport one may be forced to face real problems or spending more time preparing your observed class rather than wondering whether what ideas Big Phil has up his sleeve to solve the Pavel Abbot enigma. If anyone can solve that rubix cube its Big Phil.

Its another public holiday this week, Monday and Tuesday off, they really do hate, hate, hate to work. Spanish classes are going well, well apart from level of Spanish which is constantly disappointing. I have hit a bit of difficult stage, I really need to force myself to go any, I wish I was one of these happy go lucky types who hear a new word and are all chirpy but I can't remember the words I know. Fortunatley the cafeteria lady has changed her attitude from contempt to turning me into her pet project, demanding that I ask rather than anyone I may be with who speaks Spanish. It all started when I accidently asked for a glass rather than a bottle of water. She wasn't angry she just loathed me for my foreign ignorance of even simple things. This continued for a few weeks but then she just changed her mind and warmed to me and starts pointing at things and telling me what they are in Spanish and then testing me, which I never remember but she just perseveres, much like you guys have to. My other house mate has now started classes and they will both soon over take me, they are pretty amazing. I can't take credit, they just remember EVERYTHING. One of them asked me what a skank was the other day, I didn't ask where they had come across it. What goes on behind those doors is their business.

love love love x

Knock Back

Hey there, fancy meeting you here.

I'm only mildly following England's latest debacle, what's the point?

There has been no more dancing since we last spoke. Well only only in my room but that is my business. Instead this weekend was taken up by two mutually exclusive things, boxing and squatting. I don't know anything about boxing. I've always thought that it would be a good sport to get into but it seems pretty impenatrable to the outsider (Jay Boothroyd just came on FOR ENGLAND, English football is dead). So I was looking forward to watching David Haye vs Audley Harrison as a chance to understand a little more. As already noted I don't know very much about boxing but one thing I do know is that to win a boxing match throwing a punch punches is useful, NAY required. It was just watching a guy getting punched in the face constantly for five minutes. Audely Harrison just scrunched up and took a pounding for a lot of money. This led Neil to pose the question, how much money would you need to be offered to get in the ring and let David Haye turn you into mush? Air miles is all I ask. This question kept us busy for a while only to be trumped by one of the greatest questions I have ever been asked, what would your boxing nick name be and what would your ring entry music be? This kept us going for ages. The Queen song 'One Vision' was a popular choice for entry music. I went for 'Renegade Master' as both song and name, just imagine.

The rest of the evening was spent sort of squatting. I don't know how Neil knew it was there but we were led down a dark alley, he knocked on a boarded door and lo and behold we were in a squat that was being used as a bar. It was lovely! I had an image of sitting on the floor, with lots of plastic on the walls but it was much nicer than a lot of bars I have been. Art on the wall, table service, cake! Cake! It was great and everyone was so friendly.

I've kept up the football playing, if Jay Boothroyd can play for England theres still hope. Sunday was fine, however Tuesday was humilating. I got a call and asked whether I wanted to play with Neil's girlfriend Dad and his friends. Mike and myself were told to wait by a roundabout for a man we have never met to pick us up in a car we had never seen. It was filthy and seedy but in a nice way. We though playing against mainly middle aged men would be fine but they gave us a hammering. They tore me apart. At one point, while I was being dominated in midfield, a squat fat man came over and told me it was ok. The same man gave me a lift home and I had to sit between the baby seats in the back of his car and that was a pretty good methaphor for how the game had gone. It's how England must be feeling right about now.

My twitter adventure continues. I was pretty nonplussed by it, I didn't get the point, until I started to follow Chris Gayle, who is brilliant. I quote:

"If I only did get permission to use my private I would reach long time,but they said its a team thing so no argument-I had fis chic rice. Oh"

What does it mean? What does it mean?? Its all like that! Also my dream of being followed by Labour MP Diane Abbot has come true, just not in the way I had in mind.

love love love x
love love love x

The Forbidden Dance

I am dancer. Yeah, thats right, you heard. Every now again someone comes up with a request that you didn't see coming. I had one of those moments on Saturday night when Jon rang me to go salsa dancing. He had his reasons, that won't be discussed here, needless to say she was very pretty. I went along for moral support and despite my complete failure to even grasp the basic steps had a good time.

On the way there I was thinking that it was going to be some kind of beginners, not too serious sort of arrangement. It was clear within moments that this was very serious, these boys weren't playing. Someone demonstrated the basic steps which sounded and looked very simple. You step forward on your left food while slightly raising your stationery right foot, then you move the left foot back and move your right foot back while slightly raising your now stationary left foot. Doesn't sound too bad but it's really difficult! Or at least its difficult at any sort of speed, and thats before you add spins and anything that maybe in vague time with the music. A very nice girl helped show me and I repayed her by stepping on her feet, kicking her in the shins and at one point virtually kneeing her in the stomach. It was difficult! Then you have to negioiate the minefield of salsa ettiquette. As a man you lead which gives the beginner a whole new headache as the woman, even if a pro, is dependent on you to call the shots like a 1950s dad. Its bad form to turn down any dance and it has to be at least one song even if they are shit, though there seemed to be no rules on looking completely disgusted while enduring it. After Jon and I received these lessons we were ready to salsa it up.

A salsa dance floor is a jungle. Couples literally slam into you, they fling each other and if you are in the way you are going down. They really let themselves go in a way that I have never seen before. Dancing is something I have never done in any form, and based on Saturday's performance I still can't say I have, its something I have always found uncomfortable and awkward. Just what are you supposed to do with the arms? It's something I have never really seen the point of but it was incrediable to see so many people move anyway they wanted, completely unfazed by what others thought. I wasn't able to do the same, you want me to do what with my hips?! I'm not entirely convinced I even have hips. I don't think I'll ever manage it, it couldn't be further from my personality. I managed a few awkward exchanges where in true British style I spent most of the time apologizing. I'm awfully sorry but I seem to have my hand on your waist, oh and I kicked you in the shin again. And again. Sorry.

There were even stranger bits. Three guys on stage doing a sort of raunchy Butlins show. They danced around, grabbing each others balls, fake spanking each other and a general situation of grinding which an enthuastic crowd copied. This was the downside of the whole thing as it was fairly easy to be pretty sleazy. Lots of greasy pony tails and some healthy thrusting. There were some old guys doing the rounds with girls that wouldn't go near them normally, but its rude to decline an offer. I wonder which sex came up with that rule? They were a clear minorty however.

It was fun, I'd recommend it. Though I probably won't be rushing back to perfect my twirls. I'm glad I tried and I'd do it again.

In other news I've joined twitter, what does one do on Twitter? So far I've learnt that Shane Warne eats cake for breakfast (not that much of a surprise looking at him), Floyd Mayweather likes money (don't we all) and the guy who announces the team at Charlton has a head ache. A brave new world indeed. The news in Madrid is there was a near fatal crush at the MTV Awards concert, seeing 30 Seconds to Mars, Linkin Park and Katy Perry will do funny things to anyone. I missed it as I was wathcing a film (in Spanish!), I didn't understand what was going on. The main part involved a horse getting smashed in the face with a sledge hammer. Heavy. I have no idea why but it was harrowing stuff.

love love love x

Say Anything

Hello, how are you? I hope you are well. It's been noted here that one of the best things about Spain is the number of public holidays. Today is a public for All Saints Day, there is one next week which no one knows of any reason why there is one, there just is. What a country. I'm hoping to make more use of the next one as today I have just been sitting around feeling sorry for myself. It was all halloweens fault. The Spanish have the same attitude to halloween as we do, its not really a big deal other than it is a good excuse to drink while dressed as a zombie. I made the poorest attempt at a costume yet, merely one of those fake knive things that you stick on your head that vaguely resembles being stabbed in the head. Jappery. Seeing some people out and about last night and going on Facebook today there seems to have been some great efforts, so well done. My favourites from last night were a full set of power rangers, Slipknot and a guy on roller skates dressed as a skiier. I thought he was fun at first but in a bar roller skates in a bar get really annoying for everyone else and within ten minutes everyone wanted to push him down some stairs. Most people in the group from work were in things that they could pretty much do with things they already have, cowboy, pirate etc. But for Neil things lying around the house became a convincing Mexican wrestler, I'm not sure what that says about his home life. Fine effort. My highlight however was Felicity lighting a cigarette with a five euro note. It wasn't real, it had been handed to her by a taxi driver and she hadn't realised in her less than sober state but we weren't aware of that at first.

I had my first Spanish class. It was three hours but I want you to know I that didn't cry. It was really hard. My listening is my weakest part, as it was with French and German at school, and having the teacher talk for three hours was tough. I think I'm at the weaker end of the class as there were times when the rest of the class laughed at something that was said and I was completely confused, was there a joke?! It's a little strange being a student again, especially as he does some of the things I do. I see you! I know what you are doing! I know the English equivilant excerise and I know that its main virtue is that its very time consuming. Unlike me though he knew what he was talking about and it was an enjoyable class but by the end of it my head was swimming. Afterwards I teach a three hour class and knowing how they must feel, I felt like going in and hugging them all and we could weep together.

As you all know manliness is something I do particularly well. I once again got to prove this when buying a moderately expensive electrical item. I bought a TV. In the shop I was trying to ask lots of manly questions about wires and specifications and other such stuff. Alas my Spanish was not up to it so instead I tried the tatcic of standing arms folded, nodding and making agreeing noises in an attempt to look like a compotent human being. He saw straight through me. He demonstrated a few things with some pretty out there hand gestures, but it came down to the simple question, "and which of these is the cheapest?" Fortunatley not wanting to watch Spanish TV means I didn't have to humilate myself in an attempt to tune the damn thing, its for a console you see.

love love love x

Pacific Theatre

Football. Oh football. This week has reminded me what is so great about football. Last weekend, in football terms, was awful as Charlton got battered. I stormed around the flat, grumbling and compiling a list of available managers in my head. Yesterday we played Carlisle away. Carlisle are playing well and at home are very good, only conceding two goals all season, I was not hopeful. Well imagine my surprise after 55 minutes when we were 3-0 up. I was happy, all was right in the world and I felt bad for doubting Phil. When Carlisle scored I got worried but berated myself for my paranoia, its nothing more than a consoliation I said. Well 12 minutes later I had descended into a deep chasm of despair, I don't think thats exaggerating, after Carlisle made it 3-3. I can't really explain how I felt but it was something like this:

But then in the 92nd minute, despite being under huge pressure, we bundled one over the line and snatched a 4-3 win, again I can't really explain but it felt something like this

Sure throwing a three goal lead is incredibly amateur but who cares now? If you can't enjoy a win like that then I wonder why you would watch football in the first place. A degree of incompotence does make for more exciting matches.

My football debut was solid. I managed to score one a half goals. The first was greatly helped by the goalkeeper so I feel I can't claim it as a full goal. The second was Andy Hunt-esque, don't look just hit it and hope for the best, and fortunately it went in. There were elements that more typical, falling over my own feet, blazing an easy chance wide and a complete inability to tackle. But oh well. Some Venezuelan guys came over and asked to join in. With the general fitness, great touch and spatial awareness they soon were giving me the run around. They really were good, in the end a guy from Liverpool clattered one of them, well to British football, if you can't beat them, kick them. Football, football, football.

I successfully negotiated some official work drinks without embarrassing myself. One of my director of studies came over to me in the staff room to tell me about them, with the words IH are paying for the drinks! That's great, let's get trashed! They then clarifed, for the first drink. We formed an orderly line to collect a drink coupon like something from Oliver. I was briefly scoulded by a Dutch girl who thought I had been stood in the same place for too long, but the person I was speaking to was standing there! Work is good, my perfect timetable has taken a bit of a hit but it could never have lasted. The guy knew what he was doing and felt a little bad so he gave me a ruler to try and placate me. It worked. Now it's just waiting for pay day, which really can't come soon enough, much like my passport, which still hasn't arrived! For the money I paid for it I want David Cameron to deliver it by hand. Sorry I'm complaining.

I'm drinking a cup of tea, and I've just read what is on the cup, it's a woman on a mechanical bull and underneath in English it says "You should see the stud that bucked me on Saturday night", no point to this, I'm just shocked!

love love love x

Solid Gold Telephone

Zidane, Figo, Beckham, the fat Ronaldo, Kaka, the pouting Ronaldo, in a mere few hours the next in the long line of big name, Galactico, Madrid debuts will occur. Yeah, that's right I'm lacing up the boots and promptly putting the boot in. Mind you saying "lacing up" and "boots" is a little misleading. I managed after a search that was more difficult than it should have been to get some pretty rubbish white trainers with some less than charming velcro bits. It seems that Spanish man have the tiny feet of dancers. I however do not, and you know what they say about people with big feet, thats right... big shoes. Old ones are the best and all that. Watching from the sideline is my natural position and dabbles into actually playing are rare. Theres been some trash talking this week, getting into footballs natural mental state, despite not having teams decided. Got to get it in early just in case. A lot of the guys playing are Irish and I have said if I get the chance I will try to Henry the ball past one of them which was met with the threat that I will be De Jonged. If anyone is unfamiliar with these two latest verb additions to the English language, to Henry is to commit a shameless and brazen handball and to De Jong someone is to kick them squarely in the chest, see above. Neil has already informed me that he has an elbow first policy, it could get out of hand. At least whatever happens it can't be worse than whats happening at Charlton, though based on the last few years I wouldn't bet that it will stay that bad at Charlton for long, theres always the possibility it will get much worse.

In the real world, school has been good. I like my groups more and more, especially my teenagers. They seem to be the only group of teenagers, certinanly at our school, and possibly in the world that don't seem to mind being in class on Saturday mornings. At least they can keep their contempt to themselves. The main thing I've been doing with them is watching part of TV programme. The text book has an article about the show 7-up, the one when they come back every 7 years to the same group of people to talk about the life lessons they have learnt. The books talks about Neil so I thought we could watch some, I realised that his life wasn't completely happy but I wasn't ready and neither were the students for the turn it took half way through into homelessness, mental instability and even a few thoughts of suicide. It just got dark in here. Though the thing the students were disturbed by was the sight of a local pantomine, "does that actually happen?". Unfortunately yes it does. I just looked up what happened to Neil next, fortunately it gets better, he's healthy and just ran to be the Lib Dem MP for Carlisle, so there you go. I'll leave any political jokes to your good selves, with the exception of Phil Parkinson, I try not to kick someone when they are down.

Julia managed another class well, switching from future to past as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I think she has a new boyfriend otherwise I don't have any idea who the guy with green trousers in the front room has been for the last few days. Though maybe Julia looks at him and thinks he's my new boyfriend as she doesn't seem to be around most of the time. Coloured trousers are something I can neither forgive nor forget, but he's nice so even if he is just a stranger it could be a lot worse.

I really like Madrid but Madrid might not like me as some hilarious prankster threw an egg at me from a moving car. Strangely it broke but I got no egg on me which I couldn't work out. I wanted to be more annoyed but more annoyingly I found myself admiring the shot, it was a fair distance and right on the neck and from a moving car must have been tricky. Fair play you bastard.

love love love x

A More Perfect Union

Some questions come back to you again and again and some never really go away, why won't they give me a new passport? Why won't someone tell Formula 1 to stop, just stop. Or what's the point of Flo Rida?

The question we were posed this week was, what exactly is a "duotang"?

Can you eat it? Or wear it? Maybe, it's a small dog. We were posed this question by a Canadian, who was able to have some revenge. She has often been wrong footed by our delightful British patter while due to TV we were all aware of Americanisms/Canadianisms, until she said duotang. The problem is she don't spoke proper guvnor. It turns out that its a folder! A folder! In particular the thin ones with a see through plastic cover. This is what happens when you are from America's hat. We have agreed in the spirit of cultural awareness and friendship that she will speak more British/correctly and I will try to speak more Canadian. I need you to ensure that if I'm home and I say the word eraser, as I did yesterday, you will stamp it our roughly.

I was given a chance to formally evaluate how my Spanish is with a level test. A very jolly woman chatted to me and was very nice and then she whacks a mark on the paper and leaves. But I thought we were friends? Annoyingly another woman came over and without talking to me lowered my mark, what a bitch. I had a little grammar quiz which started well but got harder and ended with a tear stained paper. The final conclusion was A1+. A1+ sounds really good, its sounds like it might be the best, but it isnt, it's rubbish. I'm pretty sure the plus is a sympathy plus. Its still elementry and nearer beginner than intermediate. It was pretty disappointing but not because I feel I should be higher but because its where I belong and after a year I should be higher. It really motivated me for 10 to 15 minutes but then it stopped, but then that's the problem.

Someone who is motivated is my housemate Julia, who as part of her course needs to learn English. She asked for lessons and we just finished the first one. She treated the differences between will and going to with contemptous ease.

The first week was good, I don't even mind working on Saturdays. I'm getting to know people a little better. One girl went to the same school as my mum, which my grand mother throughly approves of. I'm beginning to like Madrid more and more, come and see!

love love love x

I Am Connecting Flight

Hello everyone! Its been a good and eventful week. The school is amazing. I knew Pamplona was far from well organised but this puts it to shame. IH Madrid is a huge school, six big centres, 20 public schools, hundreds of businesses (including big institutions like the Bank of Spain), thousands of students and hundred of teachers, and so far it has run like clock work. I've been given some training withg kids rather than given a group of kids and told to work it out, theres a support system and a management structure! It's nice to be back in a school that takes learning English seriously. I was very happy with anything, then I was given my timetable, which is exactly what I wanted, blocked hours in one centre! To make things better everyone is lovely. Remember last post when I said I would pay later for my good journey? This good start also added to my suspicions, my mother called me paranoid but lo and behold, I have had my set back.

Some thieving bastard took my bag. For one of the few times in my life I put down my bag and then thought that it wasn't safe so moved it next to my knees. I was surronded by other teachers and some still had it away. He must have been millimetres from me and four others and yet no one saw anything. Later in the afternoon I was told Madrid bag snatching and pickpocketing is sadly common. My flatmate used the example as one more demonstration of the superiority of the Northern Spainards. Fortunately there was only one valuable thing it, but it unfortunately it was very valuable, my passport.

Today I headed up to the embassy, which is very swanky, to apply for a new one. What can I say? British bureaucracy, best in the world. I was told (by a Spanish woman) that being born after 1982 means I'm not sufficently British enough to warrant automatic citizenship. Thatcher is to blame for that law, the bitch. I have to jump through hoops, fill in a lot of paperwork and get people to vouch for me that I truly am British. After that maybe I'll have to sing the other four verses of the anthem, kiss a picture of the queen, make a cup of tea and stand in a perfect queue.

I have to get the picture signed by someone I have known for two years to say the picture is an accurate likeness. Only someone who has known me for two years can see that the picture is me, it's not like they trust airport security to do that job in 2 seconds. I also need to get all the paper work signed by someone I have known for two years, is a British citizen, not in my family and strangely from a list of accepted professions. When I told them that I haven't known anyone in Madrid for two years, she told me I should have lied because they have no way of knowing that you've known them for two years. Then she (the same Spanish woman) proceeded to give me a little lecture on British culture. She said we British are a trusting people, happy to take people at their word (apparently thats why we don't have ID cards) and they would have taken my word if I said I knew them for two years. I'll leave you to come to your own conclusions. I asked if she could take my word that the form is correct so I didn't need the signature but that didn't go down well.

My first class is in a few hours, a three hour epic on the topic of change. Its going to be special.

love love love x

Dollars and Cents

Hola! I made it! The journey went smoothly which makes me paranoid as I will have to pay for that later but so far so good. I emerged from the metro onto street for the first time and was in a great mood. It was lovely and sunny and there was a man playing an accordion, which I now already know is a common occurance. My good was unaltered by the fact that I saw a huge billboard from my school within thirty seconds. I met my new flat mate Antonio who is very nice. My Spanish was tested to its feeble limits but I was pleased with how much I understood and how much I could say, but as I got more tired it fell off a cliff and it became more a struggle. I'm hoping I'll learn a lot.

It turned out to be a strange day. Antonio is a keen amateur photographer. He said he and some friends were going to Toledo to photograph an event and asked me if I wanted to come along. I couldn't quite catch what was going on in Toledo, something to do with a war. I was thinking of maybe a civil war memorial, or maybe something to do with the medieval wars in which Toledo was an important part. Then I heard that it was to mark a 30th anniversary which kept me wondering as to what war it could possibly be. Star Wars. It was Star Wars. Around 30 guys descended on Toledo to march and display their light sabre prowress. I don't know why they choose Toledo but then what do I know? I can't even quote the entire script of the Empire Strikes Back. A marching band played the Star Wars theme and nerds dressed as storm troopers marched through the medieval streets. There was then a light sabre fight but they were being careful, despite the sabres being the cheap plastic ones, so it had the effect of it being in slow motion, which in my mind at least made it much better. I had fun but I don't think I can say the same about the guys involved, but they were taking it very VERY seriously. It just does prove that even if I do manage to understand most of what someone says in Spanish it the small parts can make a big difference! Possibly a controversial point, but I don't understand the fuss about Star Wars, I like Star Wars but why anyone would dress as a bounty hunter thirty years later beats me.

It's already very different to Pamplona. No signs of anything Basque, lots more Spanish flags. I've been constantly reminded that apparently Spain have recently won some type of international football tournament. Lots more people but fortunately it doesn't feel to crowded. Somethings are similiar, banks are backwards and most things are still shut on a Sunday which I still find really frustrating.

I have my first of two inductions on Tuesday, it's a full day and involves something called a 'webinar'. It's time like this I become a grumpy old man. Fortunately I'll have day to recover from my grumpiness as there is a general strike on the 29th. By default I'm striking in solidarity, in your face 'the man'. I'm still nervous, especially when I got sent a copy of the code of conduct today, apparently this school doesn't stand for sexual harrassment... drat.

I miss you already

love love love x

Sofa Core

Hola! Sorry for the sporadic posting this summer hopefully by Saturday it will have picked up again. As by Saturday the long summer will be over and it will be time to be a constructive, motivated young go getter once again / for the first time. I can't wait to be honest. I like summer as much as the next man but its time for this one to end. It seems to be a recurring theme but it doesn't seem real that on Saturday I'll be back living abroad. Everyone asks whether I'm excited, I always say yes but whenever do I think about it I just get nervous. It's a big school, hundreds of teachers, an army of students and I'm sure they will be much more aware of what I'm doing. In Pamplona they were pretty laid back, leaving you to get on with things but Madrid have already made it clear that they will be much more omnipresent. THERE WILL BE WORKSHOPS. I'm a little nervous that the laid back attitude of Pamplona may come back to bite me. My nerves got greater when I realised that the woman who interviewed me literally wrote the book on business teaching. Someone I already know has started work today, so hopfully interogate them and find out more. What's the worst that could happen?

I've been getting about a bit this week, not like that, I was treated to a trip to Hatfield on Friday. It's not as bad as it was made out! We did have to spend a while in a bad boy pimpers garage reading OK magazine as tires were fitted. They didn't even offer us anything from the espresso bar, a garage with an espresso bar, the times they are a changing. Over the weekend it was off to St Neots to see Shiner. A night out there is eventful. Two groups of guys kicked off and we had a pretty serious disagreement with a ginger guy who thinks that its ok to racially slur people and then gets upset when people object to it. Should have seen Shiner, what a trooper. I need him in Spain in case someone tells me to go back to my own country. I would probably deserve it though.

I had a novel experience on Sunday of watching Real Madrid on TV and supporting them. I got to the seventh minute and couldn't go on. There' something just so inheriently unlikable about them. The hair gel, the pouting, the supreme over-arching arrogance and sense of entitlement. The NINE European Championships. NINE! Thats obscence! Any Charlton will tell you, winning and even goal scoring is a vulgar pursuit. Wouldn't find us lowering ourselves to such a level, we transcend. I don't think I'll be able to warm to them and this could be a problem as I don't like any of the Madrid teams and last time I was there within 20 minutes I had already had two conversations about Real and Atletico. I'm alienating myself already.

In other news, my mum passed an exam about poo (sadly not joking), friends have been hurting themselves constantly (please be careful I don't want you to be next) and according to this wrapper a catfish has 250,000 taste buds... tasty.

love love love x

I Wanna Be An NY Ranger

What ever happened to the ordinary boys? Weren't they popular once? I ask because I was flicking through TV when Big Brother appeared (I was flicking through, honest!) and that one that was married to the blonde one was on.

Anyway, I'm being distracted.

Things have moved on since we last spoke. I'm officially back off to Spain on the 25th. I'm moving to Madrid! I'm hoping the Basques I know and the honourary Catalans of this here blog will not disown me. It's very exciting. I treaded water for a long time about what to do next year, indecisive as ever. The masterplan now is one more year of TEFL before a PGCE and having to be a like a proper grown up type. Ask me again in ten to fifteen minutes and I'm sure it will be entirely different. No excuses about visting this time!

The flat hunt is over, thank God, but it was not without one last sting in the tail. For once I was organised and rang the bank to ask what I needed to transfer money abroad. A very nice man (or so I thought!) told me all I needed is this special number. I walked confidently into the branch with my special number and all the landlords detail. The women at the desk, I'll call her Beryl, looked at me with confusion. Beryl had no idea what this number was and told me I didn't I have the Iban number. This was the deadline day so I ran home worked out what the hell and Iban number is ran back, for their fucking printer not to to work. It took twenty minutes before they had the brain wave of using the other printer. I didn't even know they had another printer!

As you all know I'm an uncultured sport lout. However, the great civilizer (Alex as he is more widely known) has introduced me to the theatre. I've seen two plays within a week, I enjoyed both and I think I was the only one! Maybe like my nan I just enjoyed being out of the house. I really enjoyed the whole experience, the sets and seeing actual people rather than a screen was really enjoyable. My favourite bit though was the man next to me at the second who I suspect maybe an actor himself. He gasped in horror, laughed at points where no one else did and at the dramatic climax held his hands high above his head, he was deeply, deeply worried. He spoke to me at the end and was lovely as well as highly dramatic.

Off the point again, I fucking love News Night.

I hope I find you well

love love love x

Steve Bull

There has been a little flury of Spanish activity, and as it's not about its failing economy it must be about animal cruelty!

www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/aug/30/catalan-fire-bulls-face-ban


Some may they deserve it

www.guardian.co.uk/world/video/2010/aug/19/bull-escapes-ring-spain-video

love love love x

It Started with a Mixxx

It's still raining. Looking out of my window this morning I thought to myself that it couldn't last long, that was ten hours ago. Come home Mark, it's lovely here Mark, don't need to be in Spain for nice weather Mark. Fuckers. The weather has put me in a bad mood, its August! Normally it doesn't bother me but the last few days the rain has seemed to be waiting for me to go outside to do it worst.

It was Grandads birthday, he was given the choice of whatever he wanted to do and as anyone else would have done he choose Dover castle, obviously. Any trip to Dover Castle is brought down by needing to go through Dover which is something to be avoided like cancer. I learnt many things about medieval history of which I now can't remember any. Something to do with kings, knights and the French, always the French. That nots quite true as I do remember what a lovely young lady dressed as a lovely young medieval lady, told me. The castle was used by the military right up until 1958, how a medieval lady knew that I don't know, but its stuck in my mind which is something I will remember if I ever have exams to revise for again. When the time comes I'm still thinking of doing a PGCE and walking around the castle made me think that one day I might have to do this again with 100 bratty kids.

The theme continued yesterday. Another day another castle with some friends we that I used to work with at Waitrose. Nothing says excitement like a small castle tour of Kent. This time it was Rochester which reverses the situation of being a boring castle but a town that doesn't make you want to kill yourself. Rochester is nice, full of vintage shops which being with two girls meant I spend a lot of time in looking at flowery dresses from 1936 and debating whether buying fur from decades ago is ok. The real question is why would anyone wear a fur coat real or fake?

The rain is getting heavier, least I'm inside this time, bastards.

Matt was back and it was so nice to see him. I finally got to meet his lovley girlfriend Hannah. Going back out in Gravesend was truly lovely. A young English rose challenging a fellow to fisticuffs for looking at her chips was my personal highlight.

The search for a flat grinds on and on and ever on, help me relieve the tedium!

love love love x

The Theme from Cheers

Hello!

I've just returned from Cambridge. It really is a lovely place. I've never been to Oxford but after this weekend as far as I'm concerned it's shit. It was lovely to catch up with people, it does seem that most people I know are moving/have moved to Cambridge. Sophie and Kelvin's new house is lovely even without furtniture which made everyone walking past think we were squatting. Mark showed as the tourist sights, of which there are many, including a medieval armoury (my highlight being the armoured man pouches), a church tower which destroyed my legs (so much for the gym)and a clock that looks a dragon innit. I daresay there was some ale consumed.

My landlord flirting has reached whole new levels. After finding a new site it's reduced me to be being a shameless hussey. On this site one must flutter your eyelashes by using the "Register your Interest" button and to contact that person they must recipricate. If they have a little look at your profile and don't like it they can ignore you and your left to sit on the side of the virtual dancefloor looking at your feet and burning with self loathing. But then maybe I look too much into these things. I've had a few young things look back at me but as yet no deals have been sealed. The lingering suspicion remains and is proably not the best start to any potential relationship. If you register your interest it shows on your profile and so does anyone else. Well some of the same characters keep appearing, Irene, if that is in fact her real name, Sergio and Tomas. It's on, we'll see won't we? Remember if you do get it ahead of me, I do know where you live! Thats not the sort of sentence that comes back to bite you.

Other than that life is normal I spend a lot of time listening to my sister argue with her boyfriend and have taken to listening to politics lectures in order to gain some opinions that I can try and pass off as my own. It will also outbalance the football watching. While writing this I've been supporting Young Boys (real name) against Spurs, I found myself encouraging them with a "come on Young Boys!" again not the sort of sentence that could ever come back and bite you.

This weekend will be much better as theres a top of the table clash between the mighty undefeated (in games that count) Charlton against some team from Oldham. That's followed by Matt making his glorious re-entry home from that rural bit of England on the Welsh border which no one knows a damn thing about. And thats not it, oh no, its Grandads birthday on Sunday which could get off the hook if hes back on the gin in the afternoon. I'm really looking forward to it.

love love love x

Maggie's Farm

I have been chatting to potential landlords. It's a teensy weensy little bit frustrating. The biggest problem is that we blantly don't trust each other. I think they are some one sitting in a room somewhere showing me pictures of his sisters flat in an attempt to get me to send them some money. They think I'm a timewaster, destroyer of flats. One of them is really rather strange so I thought I'd put some of his insights here.

Dear Dear,

it is me, who you wish to rent flat from. i and my family were delighted to hear that you wish to live in our flat. we spend much money to get it a good look and we hope and we pray that you are the one. i say we sell the flat but my wife said NO! (she's stern yet fair) she said to hope and pray to God that someone would come. you are the answer to pray. i move to London to work for the church of God, i prayed that good man and family will come my way. we put it all in God's hands. (no pressure there then)

i must know these things:
full name:
age:
address:
age:
children:
age:
pets:
smoker:
job:
age:
date of birth:

am working on a sea (I thought you worked in a church in London?) so am a very busy person and also since you are in Uk it will be easy (what will be easy?)

We work on trust and if you do wish to rent this flat I would appreachiate a months depoist sent in advance, preffably the end of the week. (his English suddenly improved)

Worringly, thats copied and pasted. This is what I've been dealing with for the last week and its making me a little pissy. I'm thinking of applying for a pgce and starting looking into that is also head ache inducing but I shouldn't complain as it has given me a project. A very dull one but still.

love love love x

Swing and a Miss

Hola chicos

I have just been sitting smugly thinking how good my Spanish is as I conversed with a miserable sounding Spaniard banker. Thats right I phoned a Spanish bank. I need to close it and move the money to my English one as it turns out I can't check my balance here and its very frustrating. I rang up started talking and you could actually hear her deflate in the knowledge that this was going to be a difficult conversation and she really can't be doing with it. I can't understand banks in English (along with gym instructors and history) so I was dreading it in Spanish but it was ok. I said what I needed to say (Did I mention it was in Spanish!) and she understood! She understood! Sure, she couldn't help me further but small victories.

When not basking in the glow of my feebly low level of Spanish, I've been basking in the glow of the little black box that now lives in my room. I've been morally and fiancially irresponsible and bought an xbox. There goes any chance of my Spanish improving. There I was reading, excerising and socializing, but that all stops now. Now starts hours of sititng in a dark room, bashing a key pad and weeping gently.

Apart from that my poor sister is in hospital. She's had a small operation on her nose. I've just been to visit. She was surprisingly chirpy before crashing. Hospitals are weird places. The old women across from Claire spent the whole visit time talking about how bad these times are in comparison to a time when we were at war with the Nazis while the woman next to Claire was staring at a bed pan in disgust/wonder. Hospitals are also the best response to Daily Mail anti-immigrant types. If immigrants go away the NHS will collapse within fifteen minutes.

Other than that we visited Alex to spend time being cool in London and witnessed a great Kentish batting collapse. Still won it! Have it Essex!

love love love x

Ginger Beer

Its been lovely being home. It's been lovely to see everyone. I've started back at the gym. Its still an inheritinely degrading experience. We've had some excursions to the seaside, walks in the countryside, its all been very famous five.

The highlight was todays trips. Aren't animals amazing? After months of increasingly less obvious suggestions a hardy group of us made the epic trawl across the great plains of the South to Longleat. It was a proper little day trip. At six in the morning the car was not the cheeriest of places, especially when caravans rear their ugly heads. Why do people do it to themselves? But after a filthy roadside breakfast, you're ready to go.

At the start I'm usually not bothered about animals but by the end I end up chooing and clucking like an idiot, speaking in a stupid voice. Meerkats normally bring this unpleasant side out of me the most and they did again.

Though the my favourite animal today may have been a gorrilla. He is 47 which apparently for a gorilla is like being 100 for a human. He sits on an island by himself and apparently if you try to introduce other animals to the island he will throw whatever he has to hand at them until they are taken away. He has a TV on which he likes to watch Sponge Bob. He is my hero, when I'm old thats what I hope I'm going to be like. Its worrying when the ranger described the gorilla as liking bright colours, moving pictures and sleep, but thats what I like.

An animal I swear I'm never going to be like is the fucking Pelican. We were driving around minding our own business when a pelican stepped into the middle of the road and refused to move. John edged forward sure he would just pop out of the way, but he was not to be moved. He then took out his beef on the front of John's car and a ranger had to move the miserable bastard on. Lions? Tigers? Wolves? No, we were rescued from a pelican, but it was a pelican with a bad attitude and a point to prove.

Other activitites of day included John and myself demonstarting just how bad a pair of losers we can be when beaten to the centre of hedge maze, feeding some deer and fighting over ipods.

Hope you are all well, I'd let you on my island to watch Sponge Bob

love love love x

Well Quite

A bit delayed but here a few pictures from San Fermin. I didn't take many as I don't want to be one of those people who can't remember actually being there as they were too busy taking photographs. But these photos do demonstrate the main theme of San Fermin, people everywhere! Everywhere!

Pamplona's population is around 200,000 but for 9 days it becomes 1,200,000. Tent villages are put up around the city but its not enough and you find people asleep everywhere. Parks, bus stops, benches, anything surronding a tree. The streets are full everywhere and the bars are rammed. The biggest foreign groups were the Americans and the Australians and it was strange to walk around Pamplona and hear English everywhere.

What I really liked about it was that there was little organised entertainment. With the exception of fireworks, a few processions and some local bands people were left to entertain themselves. This means people mingle together and can enjoy the company of friends. Some people invent more creative ways of keeping themselves busy, my favourite example being jumping of a 15ft statue and relying on the crowd to catch you. From what I saw they always did. It is probably the greatest credit to the whole event that everyone is just there to have fun with everyone. I didn't see any trouble or hassle, everyone was so relaxed. There was room for the hard drinkers and there was room for families to stroll with young children.

Due to the circumstances I couldn't get to close to the bull run. You need to be pretty dedicated! Normally there are nine occasions but unfortunately I had to fly, so next time. I was pretty disappointed but you realise that actually its only quite a small part of the entire festival. Next time.

My highlight was the opening when people cram into the square outside the town hall and lift the red neckerchief into the air, screaming and shouting to fire the fireworks to signify the start of the festival. The balconies above were crammed and they threw buckets of water down onto the crowd. Wine is flying everywhere through the air and within five minutes of the start the white everyone is wearing is filthy. Wearing a neckerchief legitimately has to be an obvious highlight. Then your left to get on with your drinking which can be as messy or civilized as you like.

Hopefully when I collect some more photos I can put up some more interesting ones!

love love love x

Octopus's Garden

They did it! All the depressive mood swings, paranoia and conspiracy theories have been replaced for jumping and cheering with painted faces. Living the dream. They deserved it over a horribly disappointing and cynical Dutch side. I'm genuinely pleased for them.

I've always liked the Dutch team. Every tournament I want them to win but they never do. Usually they play beautifully only to lose to the first decent, organsied side. This year they played ugly and got all the way to the final and usually I would be supporting them without question (obviously the prospect of playing England in a final is exactly zero) but they were playing an adopted country. Despite this my support for Spain was slightly underwhelming until kick off and then realising that actually I really really wanted them to win. Lots of foreign guys at CLEN support whoever is playing against Spain but I wanted them to win and for once the team I wanted to win, did!

Spain were much better. They are a fantastic side. Anyone who thinks they are boring are footballing philistines. They are victims of their own success. If Usain Bolt 'only' wins a race without smashing a world record then it goes down as a disappointing performance. Spain win a World Cup without being at their incredible best. That probably tells you just how good they are. People who think Spain are rubbish will have a difficult job in explaining away how they are currently European and World Champions. People scoff at their passing but that says more about England's outdated ideas on how to play football than it does Spain. It wasn't a classic match, but I didn't think it was terrible, but I'm sure Spain don't give a single, solitary shit. They are an era defining team

I hope you noticed Javi Martinez wearing his San Fermin neck wear. I also wonder about players like him. He has a World Cup winners medal but didn't play a game. Hows does he feel? Is he happy?

I was disappointed in Holland who were poor and very very cynical. There was a real lack of dignity in the face of defeat. Howard Webb will come into criticism for the amount of cards but most of them were completely indisputible. If anything De Jong, at least, should have been sent off for a karate kick to Xabi Alonso's chest.

It wasn't the best World Cup but I think it was better than a lot of people are giving it credit for. What I'm most pleased about is all those obituaries of European football that were written after the group stages need to be withdrawn after a European 1,2,3.

The octopus was right.

Four years to the next one, come on England! Four weeks to the domestic season, come on Charlton!

Non-football fans despair.

love love love x

Get Home, Get Down

Greetings everyone from what will probably be the very last post from Pamplona, it's been emotional. The city is very strange at the moment. A big stage has been put up in the main square (it plays Dire Straits Money for Nothing fairly regularly and loudly which is infuriating), food stalls and portacabins have appeared everywhere and the saftey barriers are up in the streets. San Fermin starts on Tuesday and its already inescapable. Everything has a red and white colour theme and with the exception of the Spanish football team its the talk of the town. I'm only here for a day and a bit but it will be good for the damn thing to actually start rather than just listen to everyone speaking about it and doing that strange facial expression they do. It's half shrug, half wink. Pamplona is a small and inherintly conservative city but it goes crazy for a few days every summer, its going to be bizarre.

The kids camp ended in the week. My word, kids are tiring. But it has led me to revaulate my opinion of children from they are all bad, bad at a spiritual core level like Bon Jovi, to that some of them are cool. It was a lot of fun. I didn't really have any ideas on how to entertain children but I have a much better idea now and have learnt a few simple rules. The words 'maybe later' can only hold them off for so long, they are always more interested in the contents of your bag and they are persistent, oh dear God they are persistent. The big difference between the UK and Spain is that here you are encouraged to make physical contact with the kids. They expect hugs and if they don't get one they will hug you. It was nice that I could give one of them a hug when she was crying (and crying and crying) without being scared of being called a sick pervert. The down side is that they have no qualms grabbing and pulling you and even at one point a full slap to the arse and a goosing from an eight year old boy. They keep you on your toes, like asking you to hold a prosthetic arm, one girl liked to take her t-shirt off at random intervals, something the Spanish state is less tolerant about, and had to be convinced to put it back on. Dan described her as "that awkward age between 10 and 15 years in prison". The sports day bordered on farce but my team did very well and may have even won depending on which set of scores you looked at. So all in all it was an eventful week.

It was also the last act of my CLEN contract. All the classes are done, the paper work is signed and the good byes said. Over the last few days our numbers are dwlinding and dwindling. It's sad but they all have their next set of plans which is exciting to. I've been very relaxed about getting ready to leave so tomorrow I have a big day ahead to get organised, when will I learn? Its been a good few days since finishing work. The football is working out well (as long as Uruguay don't win I'm happy!), I've undergone a sandal revolution and the weather has finally picked up. I feel a lot more positive now about the future and about the we've spent here in Pamplona. I think I'm just a sucker for good weather. Saying all that I'm looking forward to moving on.

See you in Summer

love love love x

Oh Me Oh My

I'm going to have a little rant based upon England's latest debacle.

It was embarrassing just how bad we are and how we are still ten years behind the top teams in the world. We got torn apart with pace and precision, something we are incapable of. Though I'm not sure what we expect when you have average players you get average results. We don't produce many world class players. Argentina can leave Aguerro and Militio on the bench, if we need to chase the a game we bring on Emile Heskey and Shaun Wright-Phillips. Victor Valdes has won 2 champions leagues and can't get on the pitch, Spanish goalkeepers have four Champions Leagues between them, we have one FA cup medal between ours. Its nothing to do with how many foreigners play in England. As Aresene Wenger said if you are good enough it doesn't matter where you come from, if there were more quality English players there would be less foriegners in the premiership. Managers choose the players they believe will win them games, the problem is those players aren't English. If you don't believe me where are the next generation from? The next generation of younger English players is even smaller than the current group. Not enough technique, can't pass the ball well enough, we still confuse running around and clapping a lot as being good at football. Its nothing to do with passion or pride, it's to do with not being very good at modern football. Sky and the tabloids just hype and hype. The England players wanted to win but aren't capable. The Germans had a dreadful Euro 2000 and they dedicated themselves to training better youth players and ten years later those youngsters ran all around our 'Golden Generation'. I doubt we will do the same. By the way Germany have gone further than us in every world cup since 1966 including winning two to bring their total to three, we haven't even got to a final. With the exception of Argentina in 2002 we have never beaten a former world cup winner in the World Cup. They are vastly superior so shut up about 1966 and don't even start me on the cunts in ww2 RAF uniforms.

Don't let Lampards goal cloud just how poor we are compared to what was called an "average" German side, if thats average then we are dreadful. Already people are talking about, we need to play the English way, yeah because thats worked for the last 44 years. We need an English manager, yeah that worked for Euro 2008 qualification. Spain have over 14,000 UEFA trained A-licence coaches, Germany have 8,000 we have just over 1,000. We need to go back to the drawing board and start again. It will take ten years and a lost generation to get young English players to be truly competitive.

As for being in Spain now, its the sympathy that kills you

love love love x

Ambling Alp

Hmm. This may look like a two bits of coloured tissue paper with a stick stuck through and a further piece of green wrapped around it in an attempt to make a flower. That is however, where you are wrong. You have to look through the flower. How does it challenge your preceptions of what a flower is? What does it say to you about where flowers have come from? Why the stick? Why this combination of colours? Oh boy is it deep. The little artist behind it is a lovely girl who was very insistent that I should receive this work of art. We expect big things.

The camp is ok. There's no teaching involved, its just babysitting when the kids don't know what their babysitter is saying to them. The kids, or at least the kids I have to spend any real time with are really great and are a lot of fun. It's fair to say that the organisation leaves a lot to be desired, but the kids have been very understanding. The biggest problem is that with 105 children in a sports hall you really need more than 10 pictures of road signs to keep them busy for four hours. the real eye opener is going into the nursery, the horror, the horror. Its sports day tomorrow which I'm very excited about. Being on the other side of the humilation will be a nice change. I hope to have a chance to drill the kids into ruthless winning machines.

All my adult classes bar one are finished. Finishing classes is weird. I've seen these people twice a week for the best part of nine months. I like all of them and I feel I know them pretty well and then you just stroll out with a thank you and see you around. It's sad that I'm unlikely to see them again mixed with happiness of not going to a smelly dishwasher factory in the middle of nowhere at half seven in the morning. My time at CLEN ends on Tuesday and thats when the minefield of contracts, landlords and the leak coming through our ceiling has to be tackled. Again, hmm.

My life has been made so much easier by the brave, brave England overcoming Slovenia. They were much better weren't they? It sets us up against the Germans and assuming the big teams win, our route to glory is Germany followed by Argentina then Spain then Brazil. Once again, hmm. But we are English and after one win we can resume assuming that Johnny Foriegner will quiver at the approach of our brave boys. Rest assured I would love it, love it, if we beat Germany. I just hope we realise soon that the Germans really don't see us as rivals.

Flashy new blog eh? Let's do something this summer

love, love, love x

Primary Colours

Oh, Spain. What have you done? You can literally touch the deflation. Since Saturday there have been a lot of smug students full of Rob Green jokes but how the tables have turned. The bar I was in had flag drapped people who were screaming for a penalty pretty much constantly but by the whistle it was silent. Isn't football brilliant?

It has been a busy weekend. I went down to Madrid and it was a great weekend. We went down to see Rage Against the Machine, and they really were worth the wait. I literally poured out every ounce of angst I had and left wanting to find and destroy the nearest Mc Donalds. I never realised how obscenly talented Tom Morello is and there is not a man on this planet angrier than Zac De La Rocha. They were ably supported by Cyprus Hill, who were a lot of fun, unlike the other support Jane's Addiction.

On Saturday we watched the England game surronded by Americans who had little idea of the rules and were full of expressions, like "good hussle!" and "get back on d!". I love them. There was some proper culture as well with a trip to a gallery and a the bull fighting museum. It was a strange museum, every bull that has killed someone in Madrid has had its head mounted on the wall. They still have the blood in their hair, its pretty horrible. We did watch some bull fighting on tv and its a strange experience. It's a long process with three parts. The first a man on a horse stabs the bull with a spear, the second is the worst when men run at the bull in all directions and stick small spears into it and only the last stage is the bull fighter. It is difficult to see the blood and the death of the bull is just it falling over so it wasn't as gory as I expected. In the end I didn't feel like I was watching art but also I didn't feel angry, just sad. The inenvitiabilty and pointlessness of the whole thing, the pomp and ceremony for killing a proud animal that never stood a chance.

We went on a tour of the Bernabeau. It's alright, no Valley of course. The trophy room was I suppose a little impressive, when looking at their nine European Championships I couldn't help think, didn't win the FA cup in 1947 though, did you? Madrid is wonderful. I had no image of it in my head but it was great and its nice to see it for yourself, it not as full of fascists as some people would like you to believe!

I'm surronded by paper at the moment, I fear drowning in it all. There are exams everywhere! They are lurking in all corners, waiting to pounce. They have found willing allies with a large pile of reports and rewriting some projects. The biggest thing however is arts and fucking crafts. For a week I have to spend mornings helping kids to make loveable but poor nic nacs that parents will pretend to love, be forced to display through the embarrassment before throwing it in a drawer somewhere only to be seen when the child has grown into a proper person. The problem is I can't make arts and crafts, never have, never will be able to. The only thing I ever finished when I was at school was a clay candle snuffer that was meant to look like a choirboy, it was christmas. It was woeful. I was given a lump of clay rolled a small bit as a head stuck it on and painted the whole damn thing red. Then used a pencil to poke in a face that looked like the poor choir boy was being buggered by a priest. Dad gave up the pretence of liking it within ten minutes of bringing it home, Mum still has it and claims to like it. As I won't be able to help them make the crafts I'll just be there to try and stop them sticking their hands together.

I hope you are all well. What is going on with you? I get home on the 8th and hopefully I'll be able to catch up with you all soon.

love love love x

When I Come Around

Hello there and how are we today?

Despite the year nearing its conclusion I have had a pretty constant headache for the last week. Forced to think seriously about what to do next is driving me slowly (but ever faster) mad. I said a few days ago, well outed actually, that I wasn't going to stay here. This decision caused much bafflement among the people who offered me the chance to stay. I thought nothing of it until I remembered how much I hate applying for jobs, especially tefl jobs. For a start I'm pretty sure around at least half of the schools I've emailed, don't actually exist. Most on the list are not schools but loose organsations which mean your freelance and they get to take a chunk of your money for no real reason. The two cities I'd really like to go to Barcelona or Madrid are proving the most difficult. Most sites are identical and appear to be run by amateurs.



If I see this laid back, young go getter one more time I'm going to lose all faith. Isn't his mother proud? Looks like he's from a leaflet about STDs. He is on most of them and is also the first result of google image search for male student. One even tried to put a testimony from him down! It doesn't breed confidence. It makes me want to curl into a ball and come home.

When not weeping things have been nice. On Friday Kathryn and myself decided to make the most of our classes not being on to go down to Logrono. Logrono is very small and very sleepy. It is where Spanish wine is grown and brags it is the capital of the La Rioja region. That is true but in terms of size its like being the capital of half of Cornwall. My camera broke so no pictures of it but it was very pretty and we did reach the River Ebro, which is more than the Spanish republic can say. Zing! Little civil war joke for you there.

On Saturday I was force fed Martini by a German which was neither nice, fun or sexy. I had never drunk it before and it tastes a little like my mothers gravy which might be why she's so happy at Sunday lunch time. It was at a party with about 10 different nationalities and I was the only one without a very very good grasp of Spanish. So when talking to me they had lower their conversation level which makes me you feel truly special.

The Martini was all in a vain attempt to make me go out. No avail Marcel! I was preparing for an epic journey of discovery and trial of the human spirit. Yes I went walking. I'm not sure if it counts as hiking but there was some minor scaling up a surface at one point so it wasn't just a stroll. We ended up pretty damn high as I think this proves.

Yeah thats right, the motorway. It took hours and was a really good way to spend an afternoon, not even being circled by some sort of bird of prey and an undignified climb over a barbed wire fence, leading barbs to be somewhere they had no right to be, could dampen the spirits. Salt was rubbed into the wounds after climbing the damn fence when there was a sty just a minute slightly further down. It almost got a bit like The Descent at that point.

The biggest joy was finding in a bar a homage to the Charlton Athletic 1947 FA cup winning side which proves you just what a massive club we are. No Man Utd memorabillia in Pamplona, oh no.

Hope you are all well.

love love love x

Death at a Funeral

Ahoy hoy,

How are you all? Everything is winding down here. My kids classes are finished meaning I got to finish at four today. In your face people with real jobs. I have to confess to mentally having checked out a bit. No difference there then. My students are the same, they could at least try to hide their distaste of the fact there are three weeks left. My class of teenagers did save their best for last by bringing a turtle they had found to class. Of all the places on the planet these kids grubby little hands would be amoung the last you would want to a living creature to be in. Getting the poor bastard back to the lake was a difficult procedure based on one of the boys repeated attempts to try and get as much torture as he could into the walk. Fortunately the turtle is fine. Saying bye to the eight year olds was actually sadder than I thought. I'd thought I'd be delighted to see the back of them but I was sad to see them go.

Having more free time would allow me more time to be productive and expand my horizions but instead of that I used it to play hours of x-box. Namely a game called of Gears of War 2 which is even more violent than it sounds. It has a game mode entitled horde where there are 50 levels of enemies who get progressively stronger. What started as a casual look turned into interest which turned into single minded focus. There was a lot of shouting, cursing and at one point a chasm of despair. However on Sunday it was all over, all 50 levels done and hundreds of aliens scum dead. Lukash and myself finally having to look at the shells of men we are. Though at least now when students ask a question I'll focus on the grammar rather than level 37, images of which may forever haunt me.

It was my turn to compile the months pub quiz. Asking the questions is actually very stressful. I was really nervous. Would they like the questions? Is it to easy? Is it too hard? I did have a partner Toby who I wrote the damn thing with only for everyone to forget to tell her the venue had changed, opps. With the exception of a few simple points additions it went well. Here are some of the questions?

13 year old Jordan Romero has just become the youngest person to do what?

Who played the Good, the Bad and the Ugly?

Name the 3 UN member states that begin with the letter H?

Why is Spencer Percivel unique among British Prime Ministers?

The Henry Delauney trophy is awarded for winning which sporting competition?

Answers on a postcard. The top three teams were seperated by a point each, it was neck and neck stuff. By the end my voice was shot and I was drunk.

Before departing I'll post this, an article from the Guardian about Pamplona's Opus Dei university. It's only short.
www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/may/30/opus-dei

According to my students are more of them than you may think. They speak in the same consprital terms as talking about, whisper it, there may be Real Madrid fans in the city. I'm not sure which they would find more upsetting.

love love love x

An Undeserved Lift of the Bat

I noticed last time that I was on 99 posts. This is the century! Think Atherton, Ealham, Butcher, Hussein. As we all know, this blog is all egotism, so it's time to give something back. I decided to throw you all dear readers a little party. Seeing as we are all in different places this is a photo record of what may, possibly, might have happened.

Yeah something like that, probably.

love love love x

It's Getting Boring by the Sea #2

I don't want to talk about it. Instead, let's continue on our adventure into the mysteries of the Spanish pensuila, and it is Spanish, forget it Portugal.

The Basque Country

FAMOUS FOR: Competitive Wood Chopping, Mullets, ETA
FAMOUS PEOPLE: Ignatius of Loyola (founder of the Jesuits), Leopold Eyharts (Astronaut), Xabi Alonso

The fiercly independent Basques are survivors, whether it Romans, Charlemange or Francoists the Basques are still here. They are an ancient people who were here long before there was anything like a Spain, but for some reason they never spread happy to live in the mountains and by the coast in the north. They speak the mysterious Euskara the oldest living language in Europe and possibly the world with no links to any other langauge. Despite this they haven't been independent since the Romans. Some want this to change with a minorty resorting to violence in the form of ETA, who now are a largely defeated organisation. Most are happy to be left to govern themselves and for the Spainish to keep their noses out. Everything is political in the Basque country. They have a national football team which plays unofficial friendlies but they are unable to get a team together as they are in dispute with the Spanish FA over the name of the team. The Basques want to use a name that implies that Navarra is Basque, the Spanish want them to use the name of the three areas that currently make up the Basque country which would mean by definition that Navarra is Spanish. Nothing is simple. Its also the only place where metal is actually the most popular type of music, which means theres a frankly unacceptable amount of mullets.

Andalucia

FAMOUS FOR: Bull Fighting, Flamenco, Oranges, Being Insanely Hot
FAMOUS PEOPLE: Pablo Picasso, Hadrian (of wall fame), Federico Garcia Lorca (Poet and icon of Civil War)

Andaulcia is actually what we think of when we think of Spain. The heat, the bullfights, flamenco dancing, sleeping all afternoon. Andalucia is where you can see the biggest remaning influence of the centuries of Islamic rule in Spain. Andalucians have a reputation for being friendly but when trouble comes they disappear and for being a little lazy. It is now home to thousands of British people who have moved out to enjoy the benefits of drinking their own body weight of Stella in the sun rather than the pissing rain.

Aragon

FAMOUS FOR: Being Seiged, Crab Paste, Not being as good as Navarra
FAMOUS PEOPLE: Katherine of, Jose Maria Escriva (founder of Opus Dei and most recently deceased Saint), Ferdinand II and Isabella.

Navarra and Aragon have a rivalry that goes back centuries. Being next to each other means that whenever Aragon wasn't under siege from the French they were squabbling like children with middling to large armies. Ferdinand II and Isabella united the Spanish regions into the Spain we know and love today and drove out the Muslims at the same time. In Spanish history terms thats pretty important, you win that round Aragon. Ferdinand and Isabella were Katherine of Aragons parents and also parents of the unfortunately remembered Joanna the Mad. Being the birth place of the founders of the Jesuits and Opus Dei few can doubt Spain's contribution to the world of secretive Catholic institutions. Pamplona has the highest ratio of Opus members to population in the world. Opus have their university here too.

Knowledge is the bomb

love love love x