tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11151717107088708192024-03-14T05:15:09.304+00:00Nicola's Supermarket BagNicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-3216203440612844872012-12-18T22:16:00.001+00:002013-01-05T03:42:12.205+00:00It's been a while, it will be a while<n>I'm not going to lie. There are other things I am finding more interesting than blogging currently, but that's ok, I'm still reading blogs and I have found a replacement blog for you to read if you wish.
<n>My beloved got his visa after weeks and weeks of intrusion and waiting. He arrived about 10 days ago and has decided to write a <a href="http://wherenothingmuchhappens.wordpress.com/">blog</a> about this new land he has found himself in.
<n>I may return.
<n>Have a lovely Christmas where ever you may be.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-16796789434677422892012-09-29T07:45:00.000+01:002012-09-29T07:45:40.586+01:00Richard Requests a Post and I Wonder<p>Richard is nagging me to do a post, and I have an hour until I have to be at a friend's for dinner, and it's the holidays so I'll indulge with a bunch of thoughts. Firstly, I feel a little intimidated here, as my fellow bloggers have either ceased to post, or turned very elite and dedicated.
<p>Now, a little song:
<p><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/fMHdq4jm0oQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<p>This is from the cool little documentary called 'Searching for Sugarman'. We saw it a the film festival and I think it comes out on general release in a fortnight at the Lighthouse in Petone. All you need to know about it is this: back in the 1970s a record called Cold Fact by Detroit artist Roderiuez somehow came to South Africa and it became a hit, an anthem for young liberal white South Africans who supported the end of apartheid, selling nearly over half a million albums (where as only half a dozen sold in the US). But no one knew anything about him, except that he had committed suicide on stage, so two South African music fans set out to find the truth.
<p>If you must look at a trailer, look at this one, but stop it after one minute. Then go and see the film. Then tell me what you thought of it.
<p>It's holidays, always a good time. But also a waiting game this time. We put in the visa application last week and now we must hold tight for an answers. I could run through all the masses of things we have had to do for this application, but I'm not ready too yet, it has been incredibly invasive of our relationship.
<p>One term back teaching in NZ complete and I feel most of my frustration directed more at politicians than any student in my classroom. It has been comforting and challenging to be back in a classroom in New Zealand in ways I can't expand on now as I'm expected at a friends for dinner in fifteen minutes.
Have a good evening.
Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-40778236595197581792012-06-24T03:15:00.000+01:002012-06-24T03:15:04.889+01:00Rewind. Plot.<b>June 11th 2012</b> Santorini Island, Greece
<p>After weeks travelling Europe with my beloved sister, Rach, we're spending a day on the beach. It's her birthday and we're 'chillaxing'. I'm looking forward to getting back to England and Mr B in two days.
<p><b>June 13th 2012: 5:40pm</b> Gatwick Airport, London
<p>I know the time exactly, because that's the time on a form I have, telling me of my detainment. My working visa had run out while we were in Europe, I was wanting to get back in on a tourist visa for the summer. After five hours being held with abuse ("I'm sick of you people, you all think you can just swan in here whenever you like"),patches of politeness, and a stack of manipulation (Mr B was phoned and the answers he gave became twisted truths on my official forms). They took my passport and gave me seven days to leave.
<p><b>June 20th 2012: midday</b> Heathrow Airport, London
<p>My flight takes off. A week is a short time to unexpectedly pack up and say goodbye to a life built up over nearly two years. After getting over the shock we looked on the bright side and threw a Deportation Party (how many of those have you been to?) and managed a day in London for a few parting gestures.
<p><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UsMzVoZZASo/T-Z3lwjHZpI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/M5IM1UAv9Dw/s1600/fu-dc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UsMzVoZZASo/T-Z3lwjHZpI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/M5IM1UAv9Dw/s200/fu-dc.jpg" /></a>
<p><b>June 24th 2012</b> Auckland, NZ
<p>Glad to be back, but busy getting over jet lag (my body believes 2am is the best time to be alert at the moment), looking for a job/flat/car and trying to catch up with NCEA changes. Mr B should be out in a few weeks for a visit.
<p>At this point, if I am honest, I am not sure how much much I will keep up the momentum of this blog, we'll see.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-13432360504719910852012-06-18T14:01:00.000+01:002012-06-18T14:01:01.831+01:00Deportable Me?I'm being deported from the UK. At last I am a bonafide rebel. I fly out in 48hours.
<p>Mr B, the Englishman with whom I am shacked up with, is following me out in a month or two.
<p><a href="http://bajansunonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/Deported.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="402" width="600" src="http://bajansunonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/Deported.jpg" /></a>
<p>It seemed as good an excuse as any to do two things.
<p>1) hold a Deportation Party (done)
<p>2) re-start this here blog about coming back to New Zealand (doing)
<p>But it will start with this brief post as there are boxes to pack, friends to see, CVs to tweak, and bank accounts to shut down.
<p>It will be nice to be back.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-42209922186337635652011-12-15T21:16:00.001+00:002011-12-15T21:39:45.259+00:00Some Seasonal CheerTeaching at a posh school means I have a four week Christmas holiday, which is super (although it would be more super if I was on salary and being paid for this holiday time). Yes, it's nearing Christmas time and everyone is trying to remain cheerful and rise above the fact that it's been raining, hailing and blowing a gale. There's as much gloom on the news as ever, and more fancy drug dealer cars hanging around our block so the season of excess must be upon us. Therefore this post aims to be full of cheer. What follows aims to be a basket full of un-christmas related cheerful stuff.
<P>Firstly, love is in the air. Well it is for my lovely flatmate who is falling head over heels for a Frenchman down the road. His mother is a cooking teacher who taught Princess Diana and Delia Smith, by the way. He is lovely, even if he talks about himself a lot. Which means I get the house to myself more, meaning my music choice gets played 100 percent of the time, although I have no one to blame but myself if the loo roll runs out and hasn't been replaced by one from the cupboard.
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<P>Secondly, <a href="http://nickclegglookingsad.tumblr.com/">this blog/tumblr thing.</a> Nick Clegg is the leader of the Liberal Democrats, a party that had a conscience until they went into coalition with the Conservatives after last years elections- a sort of pact with the devil if I was honest. This is a nice little parody, and quite clever.
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<P>I love a good mix of pop culture and high culture- so <a href="http://feministryangosling.tumblr.com/">Feminist Ryan Gosling</a> fits the bill nicely.
<P>And finally. This still makes me laugh after perhaps the tenth viewing. It's a parody of the BBC's political correspondent. It's not embedding, so I have doubts that it won't play outside of the UK, but here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDyf6UgGtYwNicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-41548666685122047742011-12-08T19:09:00.001+00:002011-12-08T19:32:25.482+00:00Professional Paper Thrower.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<P>Today was the second to last day of term, before school breaks up for four weeks over Christmas. Those poor folk in the state schools must trudge on for another week and accept a mere two weeks' break.
<P>This afternoon was the annual, traditional Christmas Lunch where about 380 staff and students sit down to roast turkey and brussel sprouts (still the least favoured vegetable of children the world over). My duty at this point was to oversee the cracker pulling, party popping and balloon blowing of the pupils under my charge at Table 22. Before then escorting four students off to get the roast turkey and trimmings platters, clearing the plates and collecting desert.
<P>Then came the building anticipation as the tables were cleared of dishes, plastic and threateningly hard paper. What followed was the traditional school sanctioned Paper Fight. There were rounds (blondes vs brunettes; Under 16s vs Over 16s) but in truth it was a free for all, and a good opportunity for me to throw things at teenagers. Things calmed down relatively quickly as everyone settled into the singing of several Christmas tunes before some were dismissed off to class and others remained behind to clean up.
<P>Since my class seemed to be all far too heavily involved in the clean up to come to class so I went to the staffroom and helped sort the collection of christmas cards from students to teachers. When the final bell went I took my bag and caught the train home.
<P>And that is what I got paid to do today.
<P>Tomorrow I am helping to escort the whole school to the church across the road for the carol service (we're deep in the heart of the Church of England here folks).
<P>Some day I am going to have a really awful job as the karma balance to this one.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-57931477137198013262011-11-27T12:28:00.001+00:002011-11-28T16:05:17.003+00:00Who reads policy documents anyways?<P>Sorry. I've been a bit shit at blogging lately. Not that I have an excuse. I just haven't been turning thoughts into posts.
<P>And what have I been doing?
<P>After a couple of months going through a "full time work commitments are for losers, I'm going to try being an artist" phase I realised that (a) I am not a creative genius in any way; (b)I do not have the self-discipline to turn myself into a creative genius; and (c) I like money more than I like to think I do, or at least regular doses of it.
<P>So.
<P>For half the week I now work in a cafe and make coffee and such. This makes me contented in three ways. Firstly, you should know that it is very hard to find a decent cup of coffee in England. Very Hard. So when I make a flat white I get complimented on making the best coffee in the whole of Hastings, which flatters me for a second until I realise that my coffee would be pretty average compared to anything on Cuba Street or in Newtown. But my ego does appreciate it. Secondly, at the end of the day when the dishes have been done, the coffee machine cleaned and the tables wiped, I go home with no more baggage than a leftover muffin or quiche slice. The evening is mine. There is a certain satisfaction to that. Lastly, people are very polite and appreciative when they have just had a dose of sugar and caffeine. They drop coins in the tip jar and say thank-you as they leave. It is nice.
<P>For the other half of the week, I teach GCSE English in an independent school about 15 minutes train ride north. I teach in a building that is a 700 year old abbey, right next to a 945 year old battlefield. On the days I am there, I am fed a hearty lunch. There are always biscuits in the jar, next to the tea and coffee in the staffroom. On the chairs always sits the latest copy of The Times newspaper. On Monday mornings there are assemblies where hymns are sung by the choir. I try to not say that my shoes cost £2 at the charity shop. I walk to classrooms through stone archways and narrow wooden staircases. My students thank me at the end of every lesson, listen to everything I say and I have to remind myself that they would learn just as much if I were not there at all.
<P>Well, now look what's happened. This post was meant to be about the election and I got side tracked.
<P>My vote is still being counted at this point. Last Sunday I downloaded my voting forms and sent them into the High Commission in London. My electorate is the one that voted Anne Tolley back in. And yes, you can blame them for that. I was going to allow myself 24 hours of political venting after the election result was announced, but I think it might turn into three years' worth.
<P>But we can at least be heartened that John Key's presence has seen a rise in political satire... at least to me, from this distance it has. A lot of it has come through <a href="https://www.facebook.com/awkwardjohnkey">this facebook page</a>.
<P>Comedians are doing very well here in the UK. It's due to the recession apparently, in the same way that satire did so well in Margaret Thatcher's day.
<P>I don't quite know why, but this impression of the BBC's political correspondent Nick Robinson had me in giggles.
<P><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YDyf6UgGtYw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<P>But anyway, I have come to the opinion that David Cameron, the PM over here, is, well, a bit of a dick. He was asked in Saturday's Guardian <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2011/nov/25/david-cameron-answers-questions">a whole range of questions by well known Britons</a>. Some people asked questions like "Do you wish you were less posh?" and "Did you go clubbing when you were in Ibiza?" which seemed like a waste of a question. Until I realised that those who asked more indepth questions usually got an insult in return: " Richard Dawkins just doesn't really get it", " I won't give a number, Michael, I'm afraid. It's not like one of your restaurant reviews." But there was this, from the artist I talked about <a href="http://supermarketbag.blogspot.com/2011/10/last-sunday-week-ago-now-i-was.html#comment-form">here</a>:
<P><blockquote><b>Eine, graffiti artist whose work Cameron gave to Obama as an official gift in 2010</b>
<i>Imagine it's your stag weekend, which is being organised by Silvio Berlusconi. There are five places spare on the coach. Based solely on their ability to have a good time, which world leaders would you invite (past or present, but they have to be living)? If you don't choose Bill Clinton, why not?</i>
"That is so difficult. I don't know that many past world leaders. I think you probably would choose Bill Clinton because he'd be fascinating to talk to. But God, that's difficult. I like Obama – I always enjoy chatting to him. My new best friend is the president of the Maldives. He's great. That's a weird mixture, isn't it? I like Sarkozy, we'd have fun. And I like John Key, the prime minister of New Zealand."
</blockquote>
<P>It's going to be a long three years.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-24051505251676008732011-10-09T20:43:00.001+01:002011-10-09T20:43:26.945+01:00Last Sunday, a week ago now, I was sweltering in London during the unexpected October heat, picnicking in Regents Park and chillin’ on Brick Lane. This Sunday the truth that Winter is on its way couldn’t be avoided. So I thought it a good time to get back into a bit of blogging.
With the primary aim of wanting to shift my time here from a WORKING Holiday to a Working HOLIDAY, I have dropped down to part time teaching and part time café worker. So, you see I now experience what the normal people do; Sunday afternoons not spent thinking about or doing marking and planning.
Today’s post is a short guide to the street art of St Leonards-on-Sea. Now I am quite a fan of the art of the streets, plain concrete walls just don't hold any attraction
Let’s start with the most famous.
Banksy.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Rumour is that Banksy was visiting town about a year ago for local artist Ben Eine's (see below) fortieth birthday. Note the cat stencil on the left hand side of the wall. There seems to be a mysterious animal stencillor in town.
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Moths have also been turning up around town over the last year, these ones are by a group called zeroh who have conducted the <a href="http://www.novamatic.com/thehastingsmothproject_statement.html">Hastings Moth Project</a> commissioned by the local council. It's done by a process known as reverse graffiti, cleaning away dirty walls to make a pattern. So in time, as the grime comes back, the image will slowly fade away. I like these the most.
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And finally, there is the biggest. A pixelated young Prince Charles by an artist called Ben Eine. This was commissioned by The Guardian newspaper. Eine firstly achieved some fame for painting closed <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2010/jun/27/streetart">shop shutter fronts</a> several of which are in St Leonards and Hastings. Then the PM gave a image he's done<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2010/jul/21/ben-eine-artist-cameron-obama"> to Obama as a gift.</a>
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So there you go.
Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-15845660701294520902011-08-30T20:56:00.002+01:002011-08-30T21:22:23.282+01:00Modern hunter gatherer am I.I am feeling a little smug tonight for I have just made fish curry with mackerel caught from off the beach not 100 metres away. Well, I should be accurate here and point out that my friend Mark caught it. But let's not mess over the details. Although I'd like to add that I did use thyme I grew myself, in a pot on my very windowsill.
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<br />Last night I made crumble with blackberries I had gathered from the woods about 800 metres away from my house and had friends over for dessert. So, you see, I am feeling quite proud of my efforts.
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<br />It has fortuitous for this week as I am broke (result of another weekend in London).
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<br />Here in Hastings and St Leonards currently being held is the month long Coastal Currents Art Festival. From what I've seen, it's very good. Which brings me vaguely to <a href="http://www.funonthenet.in/articles/pencil-artwork.html">this link</a>, which I like.
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<br />And hence finishes the post about my day.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-2805003949215135782011-08-09T17:44:00.003+01:002011-08-09T18:26:57.871+01:00The day that was (and still is) 9th August 2011Today I meet an Irishman who played for Munster in a match they didn't win against the All Blacks. "They were are bunch of bruts" he said in a thick Irish accent shortly after telling us how he'd broken his collar bone after a few drinks the night before.
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<br />Meanwhile in London, there are some angry people doing <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-14460554">a lot of damage</a>. The Police seem unable to cope, it is interesting to read <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2010/sep/15/theresa-may-cut-police-budget-without-violent-unrest">this article</a> written nearly eleven months ago, where: <blockquote>The home secretary, Theresa May, has dismissed fears that deep spending cuts could undermine the ability of the police to tackle possible civil unrest, and insisted the British did not respond to austerity by rioting on the streets.</blockquote>
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<br />The politicians have all called off their holidays, although at first the Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, did not think it necessary to return for initially, but then he did. And now he's not so popular.
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<br />
<br />I'm going to tread a tricky line here. While I do not in any way condone violence, and violent actions should have consequence, there are some points I would like to note. Firstly, from my limited knowledge of English history, the last time riots broke out were in the 1980s with similar economic conditions and a similar government. Secondly, young people at present are faced with the prospect of high unemployment, almost impossible university costs and cuts to almost every service that has been set up to help them (with perhaps the exception of prison services). They seem unable to articulate themselves, with media reporting what seem like wild and stupid rationale for violence. Perhaps it's opportunism, but perhaps it's also a feeling of rage and unfairness.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-47540460284677764682011-07-18T18:46:00.004+01:002011-07-18T19:30:15.708+01:00Monday's Bucket of Reflections<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1V1znVATlPw/TiRysWpbG_I/AAAAAAAAANc/HXgvzH3U-tE/s1600/DSC_0666.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1V1znVATlPw/TiRysWpbG_I/AAAAAAAAANc/HXgvzH3U-tE/s320/DSC_0666.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630751540439096306" /></a><br /><br />1. Living in the attic flat, four storeys up, 100 metres from the sea, makes us a calling point for seagulls. We, these seagulls and I, share a weary fondness. They are humorous, intriguing. But when they off load, it is like a missile attack from above. They don't plop once; it's a whole string of white. And very annoying when you're running late for the morning train.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Mqsyi7fI-l8/TiR04_QM4yI/AAAAAAAAANk/IOsrC_ZPrPU/s1600/DSC_0374.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Mqsyi7fI-l8/TiR04_QM4yI/AAAAAAAAANk/IOsrC_ZPrPU/s320/DSC_0374.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630753956520846114" /></a><br /><br />2. Two months ago, following a plan devised under slightly inebriated circumstances, some friends and I set out to walk from St Leonards, past Eastbourne, over Beachy Head and The Seven Sisters and back again. In one day. While I only made it to the turn around point, I had still managed to cover 25 miles (the last ten of which suffering on account of blisters) in nine hours. I took the bus and train back home. We set out at 4:15am and this is a picture of a friend Ralph at sun rise some 90 minutes later. I'm quite proud of that day.<br /><br /><blockquote>St Swithin's Day, if it does rain<br /><br />Full forty days, it will remain<br /><br />St Swithin's Day, if it be fair<br /><br />For forty days, t'will rain nae mair.</blockquote><br /><br />3. Last Friday was St Swithin's Day. According to the legend, if it rains on that day, then the following 40 days well be full of precipitation as well. The story goes that this fellow Swithin (or Swithun) became a bishop of some importance and built a few churches. Just before he died he asked to be buried outside so the rain could fall on him (the English eh?). But nine years after his wish was granted, some stuck up old monks moved his body and a dry summer was followed by 40 days of storm. There is <a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article457652.ece?token=null&offset=0&page=1">some meteorological basis for this</a> and the Met Office thinks it especially will <a href="http://www.metro.co.uk/news/869370-st-swithins-rain-could-last-a-month-forecasters-warn">ring true</a> this year. School breaks up for summer in two and a half days.<br /><br />4. School breaks up for summer in two and a half days.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-10462213749471636352011-07-16T14:02:00.003+01:002011-07-16T17:01:05.170+01:00And it all came crumbling down.<blockquote>"England's dancing days are done.<br />Another day, Bobby, for you to come home<br />& tell me indifference won."<br /> <br />PJ Harvey <span style="font-style:italic;">Let England Shake</span></blockquote><br /><br />It's the height of summer here in England, so as you'd expect I'm sitting inside watching the rain pour down outside as the festival market on the square outside heads steadily towards a washout. To be fair it's not typical, I went for a lovely swim in the sea in the calm evening last Monday.<br /><br />However, the gloom seems to reflect the newspaper that all the newspapers are talking about- <span style="font-style:italic;">The News of the World</span>. You would have to have been in a coma here to have missed hearing about this one. The suspicions many (including myself) had, that Rupert Murdoch's media corporation News International had phenomenal amounts of influence with the Police and the Government, can at last it seems, be proved. This clip probably best explains how it all started, and why I have a new found respect for Hugh Grant.<br /><br /><iframe width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/tSWHzGRksvo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />The actual article Hugh wrote is <a href="http://www.newstatesman.com/newspapers/2011/04/phone-yeah-cameron-murdoch">here</a>.<br /><br />The implications of this, that the Government really is just a puppet, are immense.<br /><br />For me however, it adds to a growing sense I have had, ever since arriving in Britain, that I am living at the centre of a crumbling empire. One that has been shrinking for a while, admittedly, but even in the time that I have been here (a year next Tuesday) I have seen the value of my savings diminished every time I send money back to New Zealand, I have seen university fees go beyond reach of most citizens, and a significant number of social and educational services scraped.<br /><br />The decline and decay of the British Empire has become a little bit of a fascination for me recently. I can't help feeling that I should get out, but I feel drawn to stay. A friend of mine worked in the London financial markets in the 1980s. Just before The Crash (without realising what was coming) he had sold up everything and taken off to India, only to hear about it all on the BBC World Service. I asked if he felt relief at escaping the downfall. His reply was actually no, he would have quite wanted to be there to see the chaos shatter everything to the floor.<br /><br />And I think I understand what he means.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-74106827939589687232011-06-29T15:13:00.002+01:002011-06-29T15:15:41.873+01:00Things I feel the need to share; Volume One<iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/s_hRyIO0Kbs" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-84692093504540727562011-06-13T20:33:00.006+01:002011-06-13T21:25:09.739+01:00A counterfeit horse, a spinal monkey and seagull poo.<iframe width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/tM4FyCL4tjo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />I was watching a documentary and heard this song for the first time and quite like it. It was the lyrics, more than anything, that caught me. Here they are in their almost entirety:<br /><br /><blockquote>It's the monkey on my back<br />Makes me talk like that<br />It's the monkey on my back<br />makes me act like that</blockquote><br /><br />I've just moved house. It's temporary, but tranquil with views of sunset and sea. And an occasional soundtrack of pub fights and reversing rubbish trucks. This is what I saw out my bedroom window at 9pm this evening (as seen through seagull poo stained windows).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U0rl95YbJnE/TfZps0d9PWI/AAAAAAAAANM/V39fZsZSz2I/s1600/DSC_0638.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U0rl95YbJnE/TfZps0d9PWI/AAAAAAAAANM/V39fZsZSz2I/s320/DSC_0638.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617793803910724962" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WjTerYiSQms/TfZptIhqM2I/AAAAAAAAANU/xpY4yWzLfV8/s1600/DSC_0639.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WjTerYiSQms/TfZptIhqM2I/AAAAAAAAANU/xpY4yWzLfV8/s320/DSC_0639.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617793809294963554" /></a><br /><br />My recent viewing habits have been a strange diet of intense documentaries, and light BBC comedy panel shows. I saw this one when it aired on BBC1 a few months ago and couldn't stop laughing, and it still makes me laugh several watches later. See the summary for a wee explanation of how the game is played.<br /><br /><iframe width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/IkXxmMUIx8k" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-50622559862467320582011-05-10T20:36:00.003+01:002011-05-10T21:37:49.384+01:00Yes, yes, it's been a while...Life got in the way a little- sorry about that- so did GCSE, but lets not go there.<br /><br />I have since been to Berlin, Holland, The Lake District and Birmingham. They have been all a whole lot of nice.<br /><br />Spring is here and I can't remember the last time the rain got in the way- about 6 weeks ago perhaps.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Te9M4ITNObo/TcmecOzSvDI/AAAAAAAAAM4/jsxw9uzeC_g/s1600/DSC_0083.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Te9M4ITNObo/TcmecOzSvDI/AAAAAAAAAM4/jsxw9uzeC_g/s200/DSC_0083.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605185419086052402" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bhd3ScVac2U/TcmebOlgkHI/AAAAAAAAAMw/I6AopQj93ow/s1600/DSC_0006.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bhd3ScVac2U/TcmebOlgkHI/AAAAAAAAAMw/I6AopQj93ow/s200/DSC_0006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605185401848369266" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_3CdvI391YI/Tcmea8o053I/AAAAAAAAAMo/-xq0b2LhyL8/s1600/DSC_0225.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_3CdvI391YI/Tcmea8o053I/AAAAAAAAAMo/-xq0b2LhyL8/s200/DSC_0225.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605185397030446962" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fed4qAQd3Jw/TcmeaZD6-2I/AAAAAAAAAMg/__NJSAX43gY/s1600/DSC_0316.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fed4qAQd3Jw/TcmeaZD6-2I/AAAAAAAAAMg/__NJSAX43gY/s200/DSC_0316.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605185387480415074" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ubb4SbsXkgo/TcmecW3Pn2I/AAAAAAAAANA/gD3AZEv9TQ8/s1600/DSC_0124.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ubb4SbsXkgo/TcmecW3Pn2I/AAAAAAAAANA/gD3AZEv9TQ8/s200/DSC_0124.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605185421250109282" /></a>Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-91339896962474468652011-03-26T17:14:00.008+00:002011-03-27T17:32:22.473+01:00The Simple Answers<blockquote>"We cannot always build the future for our youth, but we can build our youth for the future."<br /> <br /> Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882 - 1945)</blockquote><br /><br />In Canada, according to a friend of mine, being a teacher entitles you not only to a 'good' wage, but also free dental care, eye care (including cost of contact lenses), medical care and massages. But don't go trying to get a teaching job in Canada- they're hard to find. Being a teacher has prestige, social standing and is considered a more than acceptable career choice.<br /><br />Here in Britain yesterday a quarter of a million people protested in London about the Government spending cuts. Almost every week for the last few months our head teacher has been outlining another thing the school will have to do without or do itself in the coming financial year. Some schools are having to take <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-gloucestershire-12831003">desperate steps</a>. Last week for us it was careers advice, the week before cuts in Teacher Assistants/Aides. Two staff members recently quit after time off on stress leave, I can think of at least another two who <span style="font-style:italic;">should</span> be on leave, but are turning up each day because, like so many, the fact that they care is still getting them out of bed in the morning. It is my experience that this kind of situation is the rule, rather than the exception in most schools in England AND New Zealand.<br /><br />So it was refreshing to see on Friday the former CEO of what I consider to be one of Britain's least environmentally and socially responsible supermarkets chains speak out in favour of higher teacher salaries. Sir Terry Leahy argues that instead of freezing teacher salaries as planned in September, the government ought to make the higher pay of teachers a spending priority.<br /><br /><br /><blockquote>“We want the profession to have higher standing in society. It is more than just pay, but pay is part of it. You want it to be a profession that the best and the brightest want to go into.”<br /><br />Sir Terry Leahy. From <a href="http://www.tes.co.uk/article.aspx?storycode=6074326">here</a><br /></blockquote><br /><br />Yes, I couldn't agree more and it is great to see someone from the corporate world coming out in favour of government spending in education, even if he does centre his argument around economics rather than the benefit to humanity. However, one thing caught my attention:<br /><br /><blockquote>Asked about his spell advising Gordon Brown’s Labour government on education policy, he said: “It was easy to give advice on education because unlike other areas of social policy the answers are relatively straightforward.<br /><br />“Perhaps they (the Government) knew those things but focused rather too much on target-setting and there were perhaps too many central bodies seeking to impose performance standards rather than actually working on simpler first principles that empowered schools to teach.”</blockquote><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xywqcG6vXZI/TY9Om6GRvTI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/lxwpD2WhE24/s1600/teacher%2Bequation.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 228px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xywqcG6vXZI/TY9Om6GRvTI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/lxwpD2WhE24/s400/teacher%2Bequation.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588772092927655218" /></a><br /><br />Now, putting aside some of the fundamental flaws in the institution of education and schooling for a moment, there can be found some straightforward solutions. Being quite opinionated and occasionally passionate about this topic, I have had many a conversation with teachers (and others) about what, given an unlimited budget, could make schools better equip young people. Smaller class sizes, more non-contact time, greater wages and recognition for teachers usually stand out. These solutions are so uncomplicated that is frustrating to think how easily these issues could all be solved.<br /><br />But all the answers aren't simple. I have often sat at my desk at the end of a school day, or over a drink at the end of the day, or (far too often) waking and mulling it over at 3 o'clock in the morning, feeling frustrated that I don't know how to help a class learn effectively, or how to help a particular student get through a situation. If you believe, as I do, that we should measure schools on the quality of young, informed, participating citizens it develops, then there is no clear quantifying examination or study guide to lead towards this.<br /><br />Currently the greatest pressure on my teaching is to ensure that my pupils meet their grade targets. They are given by the school free breakfast study sessions, study kits, close mentoring and every six weeks I have to send a new gradecard to their parents. Yet my class of a dozen 'bottom set' fourteen year olds don't have the social skills to sit in a room with each other for 50 minutes without yelling abuse at each other, crying or getting close to physical confrontation. They are actually wonderful young people but they don't know how to listen to each other, complement each other and, worst of all, they don't have any belief in themselves as valued members of the school community. They are often told (by myself included I'm ashamed to say) to simply behave and stop talking to each other. <br /><br />It's hard to find someone to blame. I work with teachers and some school leaders who are incredible passionate about these young people and the frustration lies in not having the resources or emphasis to help them. There is clearly a missing factor in Terry Leahy's argument because the debate seems to be centred around the economic costs of miseducating our young people, more money will equal better teachers, will equal better schools, will equal a more profitable economy. It's hard to articulate what it is that's missing, but I think we could start an intrinsic belief within government, within society in general that young people matter more than anything else. Nothing economic should take precidence over our teaching and nurturing of them.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-59223180413651221942011-03-26T13:54:00.002+00:002011-03-26T13:57:06.589+00:00I'm going to stand by my comment...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-aX2W8p1f7fI/TYxG9ysKo0I/AAAAAAAABPc/4SaWrlTgR7Y/s1600/My+Bow.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-aX2W8p1f7fI/TYxG9ysKo0I/AAAAAAAABPc/4SaWrlTgR7Y/s1600/My+Bow.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.palzoo.net/file/pic/user/Colin-Firth.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://www.palzoo.net/file/pic/user/Colin-Firth.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-28480645801864612912011-03-20T08:58:00.002+00:002011-03-20T09:37:16.311+00:00SnapshotsThis is my new camera:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://62.15.226.148/tc/2010/11/04/22542394.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 550px; height: 412px;" src="http://62.15.226.148/tc/2010/11/04/22542394.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Well, not exactly. It's a picture I found on the internet that looks a lot like my camera. Whilst in a charity store last week I found the camera for sale. I asked the guy how much it was. "We don't know if it works, so make an offer" He was happy with £5 and I took it home. It is a Beirette E. Ludwig Maritar 2.0/4.5, made in East Germany probably in the late 1960s. When I got it home I found the shutter release button didn't go down and had lost its cover, so I didn't have high hopes. But I put a film in it yesterday and it works. <br /><br />Friends of mine are running a half marathon today. Those of us who are not so brave are watching them run past, one mile from the finish line from our friend's place- he has an apartment on the waterfront. Last night we went to an exhibition opening in which he had a piece. The theme of the exhibition was Conflicts in Time and he had a digital installation based on a theory of Einstein's about how time changes as it approaches the speed of light.<br /><br />My grandfather turned 92 yesterday. You may remember him from <a href="http://supermarketbag.blogspot.com/2009/12/conversations-with-da.html">here</a>. He had a good day, the weather was sunny and they went for lunch at my uncle and aunt's place. I know this because my grandmother, who is 84, just sent me an email on her new laptop telling me all about the day.<br /><br />It's three weeks until the holidays. I have a lot to do before then, so the posts may be a bit erratic for a while. A fortnight ago I was offered more teaching work at the school I am at now, at least until Christmas and before these holidays arrive I must have made my decision. Whatever I decide seems to have a lot of consequences and it's leading to some deep thinking, especially about teaching and my role in it. I've now learnt never to promose anything about future posts, but I will try to keep you informed.<br /><br />Peace out.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-24358615950717969732011-03-16T19:17:00.005+00:002011-03-16T21:56:55.990+00:00The Next Chosen Career of Curley Fermudge: Episode TwoThe late May sun was well into its decent as Curley Fermudge strolled the pavements home following his first day as the new employee of L.J. Horr Realty. He couldn't wait to get home and reflect on the day over a glass of wine.<br /><br />For now though his prime importance lay in focussing on the ambience of each property that he passed by. Ever since finding out that his new offer of gainful employment also included a company car which could be left at the office, Curley had decided to apply a theory he'd read about in one of the text books from his CUSS* course. <br /><br />The Imaleech Theory proposes that by getting a sense of the unhappiness of those in a household, one can gain an indication of how easily the members of said household could be suggested into selling. The giggling children at No. 124 Trout Street had led him to cross them off his potentials list. But the loud blues music coming from No. 278, and subsequent woman's raised voice demanding the volume be lowered suggested to him that things were not all rosy. Placing a brochure in the letter box, or even a chance visit one evening, might plant the idea in their heads that their unhappiness lay with the house they resided in, rather than an unhappiness with each other. It did seem like an extreme example, but Curley knew that he had to consider such things as these if he was ever going to make it in the real estate trade.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/SS06JvtlAc8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />Arriving at No. 666 Trout Street, the Fermudge residence, Curley took the newspaper from the mailbox (his wife was out of town, probably a good thing as he needed to focus on his new chosen career) and went inside. An hour later, sitting on the patio drinking a glass of Devilsweat Estate Pinot Greasio 2007 (a bitey vintage, with tinges of chilli and cedar bark), Curley sighed a long sigh and thought of Roger, his new boss; Felicity the secretary and Moss, Jeanie and Trev the other agents. All great inspiring characters who had spent the day giving advice, as well as running through the protocols and working methods of LJ Horr Realty. Jeanie had been particulary helpful, even suggesting that Curley should use fake tan to radiate a more successful look. She'd even kindly offered to get him the appropraite supplies fron the chemist on her way home (after she'd secured $20 from Curley to pay for it). <br /><br />Yes, Curley thought to himself, it had been a good start and Curley was just as sure that he'd made all the right impressions upon his co-workers. He had indeed made a switch for the better.<br /><br /><br />*CUSS= Certificate with Uniform for Selling StuffNicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-70659828989549770762011-03-14T20:49:00.004+00:002011-03-14T22:49:00.497+00:00The Next Chosen Career of Curley Fermudge: Episode One<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.reputationdefenderblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Real-Estate-Agent-Privacy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 375px;" src="http://www.reputationdefenderblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Real-Estate-Agent-Privacy.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />The fourth Tuesday in May was just like any other. The sun shone weakly, as it tends to do on fourth Tuesdays in Mays. The birds were chirping meekly as they tried to rise above the morning sounds of people heading in to work on this day, the fourth Tuesday in May, a day like any other. <br /><br />Well, that is to anyone except Curley Fermudge. It was a special Tuesday for Curley, for only a fortnight ago had he graduated from OUST* with a CUSS**, gained his terracotta coloured jacket with apricot coloured handkerchief and been invited to join the junior ranks of L.J. Horr Realty on Lime Street.<br /><br />Curley tried to maintain the air of dignity and slight smirk that was expected of a man of his new profession, but inside his heart fluttered with the excitement of what was to come, the chance to prove to his doubters that he could be a man of substance and humility and realty, all at once.<br /><br />Even the seagull that crapped on Curley Fermudge's jacket as he crossed the street could not soil his mood. He simply wiped it away with the bottom part of his apricot coloured hankerchief and stepped through the reflective doors of L.J. Horr on Lime Street...<br /><br /><br />*OUST= Open University for Sellout Types<br />**CUSS= Certificate with Uniform for Selling StuffNicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-7770176160484086172011-03-14T18:56:00.004+00:002011-03-14T21:45:19.323+00:00The Poor Poem from Monday's 5:03 Ride<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_27yaP5sJAYg/SgXfxNsw_dI/AAAAAAAAA6A/In3X0OFFNFY/s400/primroses-brueckner-rhodo-garden.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_27yaP5sJAYg/SgXfxNsw_dI/AAAAAAAAA6A/In3X0OFFNFY/s400/primroses-brueckner-rhodo-garden.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />The train stops at a red signal<br />And I search <br />Outside in the wild among<br />The skittle twigs and <br />Branches ragged for<br />Signals of Spring. We move<br /><br />Forward as I catch<br />It, glimpse a little yellow bloom.<br />Winter's spell is <br />Being bustled away. And <br />The moss on Battle platform<br />Shifts its tone, but<br />Not its shape. From a satellite <br />Of gloom to the light<br />Rustic scent of postcards<br /><br />To be posted home.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-77554110542742465132011-03-13T12:18:00.004+00:002011-03-14T21:48:08.696+00:00Right now, in New Zealand time, it is my dear Mum's 60th birthday. She was born in 1951, but she's not actually sixty, she's a little over a sprightly 52. How is that? I hear you ask. Well I have done a small calculation. You see there are 22 organs in the body and 206 bones. All 22 organs, and 203 of the bones are 60 years old. However, two years ago she had a knee replacement, three years ago a hip replacement, and 4.5 years ago another hip replacement. Taking the age of these three bones into consideration brings it all out to an average age of 57. Yet hip bones and knee bones are not only bones, they are joints, which makes them worth about ten times the average bone. The recalculation of which brings it out at a little over 52 years. This calculation is also intended to get me back in her good books after making an 'old' joke. She has threatened to skin me alive next time she talks to me (it's amazing what you can do on skype nowadays).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.channelate.com/comics/2009-05-08-surprise-party.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 704px; height: 478px;" src="http://www.channelate.com/comics/2009-05-08-surprise-party.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Last night, my Dad and sister Rachael organised a surprise birthday party for Mum. The genesis behind it being that they didn't want to hold a normal party as she would enivtably end up doing a lot of the preparation. So, over the past few weeks, while Mum was at her Tuesday quiz nights Dad and Rach got on the phone and organised it all. This didn't always work as sometimes Mum dragged Dad along to make up the numbers in the quiz team and sometimes Mum didn't go.<br /><br />So sometime on Saturday Dad said he was popping out to get diesel and returned instead with Rachael from the airport. Mum, wiping away the tears was told to get dressed as they were going out to dinner. She must have been starting to get suspicious, especially when they arrived at the venue and Rach said to the waitress "Hi, we've got a table booked for Jackman" to which the waitress replied "Oh, you're with the par...[Rach making frantic gestures for her to shut up]..". Nevertheless the surprise worked and a great party ensued with much cocaine sniffing, absinthe drinking and table-top dancing, so I am told. Rock on.<br /><br />Still is was a good to hear Mum had a night to let her grey hair down, she's been working hard recently looking after my three grandparents.<br /><br />Happy Birthday MumNicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-2266649805702679782011-03-10T12:43:00.001+00:002011-03-10T12:44:38.448+00:00Impressive.<iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/17jymDn0W6U" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-30147411157657070902011-03-07T19:34:00.003+00:002011-03-07T20:37:25.793+00:00Emails from home.Last night Mum forwarded me an email from a cousin of hers living in Sumner, on the outskirts of Christchurch. Nearly two weeks later it is still hard to believe they don't have running water or a sewage system other than portaloos at various points along the road. They have decorated their portaloo with gnomes and seats. The strange irony is that they have been without television coverage for a lot of the time so have been unaware of the true extent of the damage in the central city that I've been seeing up close on the web from the other side of the world, including a picture of their portaloo. On thier street it all has a emptiness to it as few have stayed on, but life in a strange sort of way is continuing on.<br /><br />Meanwhile Mum has nagged Dad to bracket the free standing wardrobe in their spare room in case an earthquake strikes while a guest is staying. I've been in both the last two big (although they hardly seem big now) earthquakes in Gisborne over the last twenty years and I remember how jumpy you get- everytime a truck goes past the road you think it's another aftershock. You go to others' houses and wonder how stable their pieces of free standing furniture are.<br /><br />In the days following February 22nd I felt a sort of detached emotion. So connected and empathietic to what had happened, but distant from it all. Now I almost have a guilty feeling of being glad to be away from it all. For a start I don't have to suffer John Campbell's mundane and endless broadcasts, but mostly I think there is going to a long road back to normal. This is a wound that's still very much open. There is a lot of healing and rebuilding to be done and I am lucky to not have to face the realities of that everyday. <br /><br />Today, for instance the most challenging thing I had to do was explaining to 11-year-olds why Juliet decided sleeping potion was the best answer, why she wasn't just allowed to marry anyone and why Shakespeare just couldn't let her get over it and not die. I tried to explain as best I could and thought of lost lives in general.Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1115171710708870819.post-49588665844001244942011-03-06T19:28:00.001+00:002011-03-06T19:29:38.464+00:00For Richard...... who is still realising the role cats play in the domestic environment.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/whwiMrBNWCA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Nicolahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04880685605225481740noreply@blogger.com2