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
Tuesday, 30 November 2010
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
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
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
Monday, 8 November 2010
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
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
Monday, 1 November 2010
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
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
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