Smiling at Strangers on Trains

Hola senors and senoritas, generic Spanish welcomes abound. At precisely 12.00 today I had my telephone interview for Pamplona. I was subjected to my very own Spanish inquisition. Sure the person was an American and it was more of an informal interview without the torture but she was inquisitive nonetheless. She rattled through the normal questions about where I did my CELTA and what I already have experience in. When she asked what I was prepared to do I resisted the temptation to make jokes about not going down on the first date, and settled for the more appropriate/dull answer. After describing the school and how it works, which is very similar to Bucharest, I am delighted to say I was offered a job. She wouldn't have done if she knew she was talking to me at noon and I was in dressing gown with Football Asia on mute. My team and pride of Japan, Urawa Red Diamonds, are doing very nicely thank you. I have since duly accepted. I'm already excited and after weeks of aimless waiting and time wasting it is such a relief to know that there is something on the horizon. It doesn't start until September (the 17th to be precise) so still plenty of time to wallow away a lazy summer like something from the Wind and the Willows.

I have tried to find out some stuff on Pamplona to regale you with, as education is my middle name, but it was a little trickier than expected. A vast majority of it is about San Fermin where they run with the bulls. I did read that at San Fermin they have a junior version of the running of the bulls, known as the fire bull. It doesn't involve an actual bull, its a wooden version that is run through the streets and spits out fireworks which the kids have to avoid. Thats good clean fun, indoctrinate them young. They used to use a real bull. Pamplona boasts a palace, a cathedral, a castle, two universities and it has a planetarium with the largest dome in the world. Your conferencing needs are also met as the Baluarte Conference Centre is one of the largest in Spain. Businesstastic. So far I'm no where closer to knowing if the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.

I hope you all are happy and shiny. kisses x

Brutus Beefcake

Until this weekend there has not been much too write, unless you want a detailed breakdown of my football manager season with Darlington, which from previous experience you don't. However this weekend has been a lot better. Sunday was a great day. The mighty Charlton heroically put in a performance forty five games too late, 4-2 to relegate Norwich. Sorry Mark, Shiner and Matt but Barnsley won so it doesn't matter. Though the highlight was one of the players three year old son. At the end of the game he placed the ball on the centre circle and ran towards goal. He had the whole grounds attention for the five minutes it took him to run to the goal. Everyone was willing him to score but in full Charlton kit he ran it wide. Charlton is just in the blood. He picked up the ball put it back on field and ran it in to loud cheers and he even had a song in his honour. I caught the train into central London to meet Alex with a whole carriage of Norwich fans. One had a blow up doll he had dressed as man to keep him company all the way to Norwich.

It was great to see Alex and Smith, plans for a London dash have been put into motion. Alex also had the good fortune to see a man wanking in the toilet. Only in trendy London.

Then it was off to meet people in Gravesend via Dartford, a route that makes you feel a little dirty. Catherine, Matt and Patrick all made the best come backs since Sister Act 2. Patrick brought his new lady friend, Christine, who is lovely, and far too good for Pat but there you are. She hasnt been put off by a trip to Gravesend, must be serious.

A bbq with Lee was fun, despite being repetitively beaten in staring contests by a five year old girl. So much so, she called me a loser and took pity on me and left me a broken and defeated man.

Other than that flurry of activity I have had plenty of time on my hands. So I made the executive decision to join the largest remnant of European fascism, a gym. Alex has already waded in and called me a Yuppie, which I would accept if it wasn't Alex calling me it. Yes I know I can jog for free but if my attitude to joggers on the street is anything to go by I couldn't handle the scorn. So far so good, other than one instance of misusing a machine which led to me halving my ability to have children.

This post might not mean much to a lot of people but as I said, life is a little slow at the moment. Won't stop me writing though, I like to tell people about my uneventful life, like an old lady on a bus.

love love love x

Bulls on Parade

The list has finally got its act together and decided that it rather than I was ready for it to be published. It had one last laugh at my expense by coming online twenty minutes late, sending me into a spiraling sense of dread. It was quite a relief to actually see the damn thing. The rules are that you are allowed to apply for maximum of three in order of preference. It took me a while to decide and even longer to put it in order. However, it is done! The first choice, is Pamplona in Spain, hazaa! My Dad is not a religious man but I think he is praying that I get it. He loves the idea of the sun, its near the wine region and he has convinced himself that he would run with the bulls. This the man who every now and again you can find lying on the sofa unable to move as years of lifting patients has put his back into early retirement. My mum was a little concerned when she discovered it was in the Basque country, I have assured her that Basque don't bomb Basques. The second choice was Prague and the third Madrid. All I can do now is wait and hope that I hear from them sooner rather than later. If I don't get one of these three then I need to do some serious web scouring.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zFKy6Ld9gU8

Cruel? Maybe.

6 people gored, another 7 injured in that video alone. 14 people have died in total. Good luck Dad.

love love love x

D.U.M.B.A.R.S.E

Picture the scene. Its in the early hours of the morning. Tired and getting nervous about THE LIST! Yes thats right, THE LIST! Forget the Bucket List, the Guest List and even Mark Vincents list of his favourite British rivers (the mighty Cam fighting off the Wensum for no 1), this is THE LIST. The list has been in the back in my mind for weeks. Its the internal transfer list for International House. IH, as we cool (former) employees know it, is a big chain of TEFL schools, of which the school in Bucharest is a part. This is where the good jobs are. On their website theres a secret and shadily named, affiliates area. You need a password and thats where employees get first dibs on any jobs coming up. They get to choose what they want and what ever is left is put out to outsiders, I didn't think I'd ever call people that again after leaving East Anglia.

The reason I was up in the early hours (nothing suspicious, that came later) was that I was rehearsing signing in to the affiliates area, as a former employee I'm still entitled. I have been waiting for weeks for the list to be published. I had looked through all the possible schools, pictured myself in lovely places, imagining being employed again rather than sitting in my shorts watching snooker. I was excited. I was sent my details earlier, sat down, entered the details, nothing happened.

After contemplating a weep, I pulled myself together and rolled into action. Emails were flying. To IH head office, to Bucharest and to Affiliate support, or Yvonne to her friends. The List was going to be published at two in the afternoon and is available for only a short time, it was a race against time. I was refreshing my inbox every twenty seconds, hoping that this was the time when a shiny new email would appear to solve my problems. I had formulated excuses for my parents of why I had not tested the password earlier. My habit of putting things off is near the top of my mums list of things that annoy her about her only son; just above poor dishwasher etiquette and just below my irrational hatred of next door's cat. I got a new user name and password, tried again, Affiliates Area is unavailable. There are few things in the world that lead me to feel more despair and hopelessness than a computer saying something is unavailable. After getting pretty annoyed and muttering about how I should have known this was going to be difficult. I started entering the details over and over, that didn't work either. It had gone two by now. I tried to think of what it could be, I'm on the right site, its the right time, I have new details, its Wednesday... oh. After hours of panic, nerves, apprehension and email, its not published until tomorrow.

I have since apologized to the lap top for calling it rude names and to my bedroom door for the lack of love and affection it has felt after being repeatedly slammed. However, me and the cat are still no where near reaching an amicable solution.

Oh Messy Life!

I hope you have all had a lovely easter and aren't sick of the sight of chocolate. Summer is almost here! Being at home is ok, its 6 out of 10, not bad, so so. It has been really great seeing family and a few friends, though I hope to go visiting properly soon. Unwanted house guest ahoy. I don't think my sister has enjoyed me being home as now without realising, and it isn't on purpose, I correct her grammar, which is frankly shocking. The downside is twiddling thumbs until the job list is published, and for the moment there is no whiskey to bottle, so I have a lot of time on my hands. Its not so bad at the moment but I think it will get old pretty quick. It seems like an age since I was in Romania, when in fact it is just over a week.

I did say I was going to write my final thoughts on Romanian life, an obituary of my Romanian life if you will. I did write something similar at Christmas and not much time has elapsed since then so not a huge amount has changed, however I will try my very best.

There are many things I will miss about Romania, mainly the really good people I was lucky enough to meet. Living in a big city was great, when you don't drive just getting out of the village involves throwing yourself on the mercy of others or planning an operation of ruthless military efficiency. I miss the beautiful parks, my little flat, a strange but wonderful Church of the Resurrection, the scahrma, the look of warmth in the eyes of strangers when they realise you are foreign and don't know what is going on. Most of all I miss how I didn't know what was going on. I like my village but nothing is new, nothing changes. Sometimes that's nice, like comfort food, sometimes its not. People said the same about Bucharest but it was new to me! It was fun finding out about things like Martisor, finding new places and getting used to the different ways people do things. Alternatively its not great when you get home to the usual shit. I didn't realise people are still banging on about Jonathon Ross, he made a bad phone call, he wasn't a Nazi concentration camp commander.

There are some things I don't miss, the dogs, the attitude to gypsies, the staff at my local safeway. As I said it seems like a long time ago and I'm busy trying to concoct some sort of plan for the next year or so. Life is hard. Though before that there is the small matter of a summer to navigate....

Lets make plans it will be fun x

Alive

From everyone at Hunt for Hagi Towers..... Happy Easter y'all

Last One Out, Turn Out the Lights

It was a good final week. Said bye to some of my students, I forgot to say to some so they are in for a shock next week. My free time was mostly spent packing up my worldly possessions and trying to get the flat into some sort of respectable state for Leo to come and get the keys. I failed. Leaving school was sad but ok as Fridays are the quietest days so I managed just to slip out. Had a lovely meal with a mariachi man who was fixated by Damien, he seriously couldn't take his eyes of him, but who can? Some good bye drinks led to me indulging in some facebook bothering and waking up with a horrible headache.

I was far too tired at half three this morning to fill that bothered about locking the door to my little flat for the last time, well the second last time as I had to rush back up the stairs to pick up my watch. It hasn't been the easiest journey, the shuttle bus failed to show up so taxied my way to the airport. Baneasa airport is just a shed, you just sit for ages in a room that resembles a scout hall. They pipe in music, and its a really cruel choice of songs. They played 'When will I see you again?' and Beverly Craven's classic 'Promise Me'. You know the one about waiting for your loved one to return from a long time away. Each song twisting the knife in the handful of people saying by to their boy/girl friend. I had a nightmare with the weight of my bag. Thinking I had selected extra weight allowance it was a shock to find out I hadn't and thus my two bags came in at 31kg a mere 11kg over my limit. It proved an expensive mistake. I slept the whole way back and landed at Luton, aww sunny Luton, at 7.00. The guys next to me got caught going through customs carrying more cigarettes than there are in Malboro country. I was home in time for some palm waving.

To drag out the death of the blog I'm going to write some more, the final conclusions if you will. I'm too tired to write much and it will fill my unemployed days; you know between football repeats, cricket from South Africa and Channel Four western afternoons.

love love love x