Nicola's Supermarket Bag

Some Seasonal Cheer

2011-12-15T21:16:00.001Z

Teaching 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.

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gets played 100 percent of the time, although I have no one to blame but myself if the loo roll runs out and hasn't been replaced by one from the cupboard.

Secondly, this blog/tumblr thing. 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.

I love a good mix of pop culture and high culture- so Feminist Ryan Gosling fits the bill nicely.

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=YDyf6UgGtYw

Professional Paper Thrower.

2011-12-08T19:09:00.001Z

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.

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.

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.

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.

And that is what I got paid to do today.

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).

Some day I am going to have a really awful job as the karma balance to this one.

Who reads policy documents anyways?

2011-11-27T12:28:00.001Z

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.

And what have I been doing?

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.

So.

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.

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.

Well, now look what's happened. This post was meant to be about the election and I got side tracked.

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.

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 this facebook page.

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.

I don't quite know why, but this impression of the BBC's political correspondent Nick Robinson had me in giggles.

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 whole range of questions by well known Britons. 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 here:

Eine, graffiti artist whose work Cameron gave to Obama as an official gift in 2010Imagine 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?"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."

It's going to be a long three years.

2011-10-09T20:43:00.001+01:00

Last 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.

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.

Moths have also been turning up around town over the last year, these ones are by a group called zeroh who have conducted the Hastings Moth Project 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.

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 shop shutter fronts several of which are in St Leonards and Hastings. Then the PM gave a image he's done to Obama as a gift.

So there you go.

Modern hunter gatherer am I.

2011-08-30T20:56:00.002+01:00

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.

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.

It has fortuitous for this week as I am broke (result of another weekend in London).

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 this link, which I like.

And hence finishes the post about my day.

The day that was (and still is) 9th August 2011

2011-08-09T17:44:00.003+01:00

Today 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.

Meanwhile in London, there are some angry people doing a lot of damage. The Police seem unable to cope, it is interesting to read this article written nearly eleven months ago, where:

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.

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.

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.

Monday's Bucket of Reflections

2011-07-18T18:46:00.004+01:00

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.

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.

St Swithin's Day, if it does rain

Full forty days, it will remain

St Swithin's Day, if it be fair

For forty days, t'will rain nae mair.

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 some meteorological basis for this and the Met Office thinks it especially will ring true this year. School breaks up for summer in two and a half days.

4. School breaks up for summer in two and a half days.

And it all came crumbling down.

2011-07-16T14:02:00.003+01:00

"England's dancing days are done.
Another day, Bobby, for you to come home
& tell me indifference won."

PJ Harvey Let England Shake

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.

However, the gloom seems to reflect the newspaper that all the newspapers are talking about- The News of the World. 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.

The actual article Hugh wrote is here.

The implications of this, that the Government really is just a puppet, are immense.

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.

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.

And I think I understand what he means.

Things I feel the need to share; Volume One

2011-06-29T15:13:00.002+01:00

A counterfeit horse, a spinal monkey and seagull poo.

2011-06-13T20:33:00.006+01:00

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:

It's the monkey on my back
Makes me talk like that
It's the monkey on my back
makes me act like that

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).

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.

Yes, yes, it's been a while...

2011-05-10T20:36:00.003+01:00

Life got in the way a little- sorry about that- so did GCSE, but lets not go there.

I have since been to Berlin, Holland, The Lake District and Birmingham. They have been all a whole lot of nice.

Spring is here and I can't remember the last time the rain got in the way- about 6 weeks ago perhaps.

The Simple Answers

2011-03-26T17:14:00.008Z

"We cannot always build the future for our youth, but we can build our youth for the future."

Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882 - 1945)

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.

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 desperate steps. 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 should 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.

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.

“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.”

Sir Terry Leahy. From here

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:

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.

“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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

I'm going to stand by my comment...

2011-03-26T13:54:00.002Z

Snapshots

2011-03-20T08:58:00.002Z

This is my new camera:

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.

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.

My grandfather turned 92 yesterday. You may remember him from here. 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.

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.

Peace out.

The Next Chosen Career of Curley Fermudge: Episode Two

2011-03-16T19:17:00.005Z

The 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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

*CUSS= Certificate with Uniform for Selling Stuff

The Next Chosen Career of Curley Fermudge: Episode One

2011-03-14T20:49:00.004Z

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.

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.

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.

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...

*OUST= Open University for Sellout Types
**CUSS= Certificate with Uniform for Selling Stuff

The Poor Poem from Monday's 5:03 Ride

2011-03-14T18:56:00.004Z

The train stops at a red signal
And I search
Outside in the wild among
The skittle twigs and
Branches ragged for
Signals of Spring. We move

Forward as I catch
It, glimpse a little yellow bloom.
Winter's spell is
Being bustled away. And
The moss on Battle platform
Shifts its tone, but
Not its shape. From a satellite
Of gloom to the light
Rustic scent of postcards

To be posted home.

2011-03-13T12:18:00.004Z

Right 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).

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.

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.

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.

Happy Birthday Mum

Impressive.

2011-03-10T12:43:00.001Z

Emails from home.

2011-03-07T19:34:00.003Z

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.

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.

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.

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.

For Richard...

2011-03-06T19:28:00.001Z

... who is still realising the role cats play in the domestic environment.

Notes on a Saturday

2011-03-06T12:15:00.004Z

I took some pictures yesterday during my bike ride to the next town east. But the computer won't let me have them, so the pictures will remain hidden for now and I'll plagiarise this one from the internet.

I went along the coast, past old churches and castles and monuments and coastguard cottages. There was also a military canal, a left over guard point from WWII, a lot of signs detailing history. The Normans were here, there were smugglers in the eighteenth century, it was French territory until Henry VIII, the shoreline was further inland, seventeen coastguard men lost their lives in a storm at this point at this time.

In the town of Rye the antique shops outnumber the rest (including one called RYE DIY). I can hear the accents of American and French tourists and it seems strange. We don't get tourists in Hastings, the reputation of St Leonards is such that even people in neighbouring Hastings and Bexhill don't go there.

The train from Rye only comes once an hour. I catch it back and check the map. Must have been about 17 miles I rode today.

That evening I meet friends and we go to the (re)opening of The Roomz. Back in December, when I arrived in St Leonards I was delighted to find a music venue just around the corner called The Rooms, basically a small cafe/performance space with some rehearsal rooms in the basement. It went to see a blues band play there in December and the next week I saw it had closed down. Well last night it re-opened with a new coat of paint and now definitely more hip with a 'z' in its title.

The highlight of the night was the Swedish/Russian gypsy punk act called The White Trash Family. The drama of the night came when, during the warm up act, a member of The White Trash got locked in the toilet. It seems the new door handle was reluctant to move. The barman who was in middle of fetching my round had to go and help. In the end, my friend Mark (a plumber by day) used a knife from the kitchen to get it open- all to massive applause from the packed out audience. However, this was not before the fire service had been called and for some reason the bar staff had been told not to serve anyone until the fireman had given the all clear. The barman, quite young and now very flustered, got back to my round. I felt very honest in reminding him of the two drinks he had forgotten to charge me for.

Still it was nice to be listening to good live music again and to have A Very Nice Saturday.

A Visit to the Gurkha Chef

2011-03-01T21:52:00.003Z

There are two Nepalese restaurants in St Leonards-on-Sea. The local word on the street is that the one on the corner of Warrior Square isn't as good as the Gurkha Chef on the Grand Parade. So tonight it decided to put it to the takeaway test. Feeling exhausted I entered the recommended spot and ordered, being told I had a fifteen minute wait.

Then I started talking to Raj, the waiter, about Nepal and his journey here with his wife. We talked about the roads in and out of Kathmandu, the ethnic groups, the landscape and the language. It made me miss my second most favourite country just a little bit.

And my dinner was delicious.

The week.

2011-02-25T17:22:00.002Z

I was in Ireland this week. It was there I heard about the Christchurch earthquake on Wednesday morning- about ten hours after it actually happened. It took a couple of days for the reality of it to set in. The death toll currently is 113. It feels strange to be here- to feel strongly with what has happened, but yet be disjointed from it. Life goes on normally here, yet I have spent a lot of the week attached to news websites and realtime feeds, mostly I think to make sense of it all. A few hours ago I heard from the last friend I couldn't get hold of, which was a relief. The above picture, taken just after the quake struck, reflected the enormity of it all.

Growing up in New Zealand I think we are always aware of the propect of the long-overdue 'Big One' a quake that would stretch everything.`It seems strange to think it's actually hit.

So, you see, it would all be a bit strange to post about anything else just now. I hope all reading this back in New Zealand are safe, along with their families and friends.

It must be time for a half-term break.

2011-02-17T21:28:00.003Z

Only half the department turns up to the department dinner last night. "Only two days to go" is frequently heard. Media studies is being taught more prominently (recognising and analysing conflict in East Enders). The bulb blows on my interactive whiteboard projector at the start of a double lesson (no replacement until after the holidays). Child says, "Why are you making us write stuff. We'll learn to write when we get to college". There are tears in the staffroom. An email from the head of department says we've overspent the photocopying budget with several weeks to go. Someone goes home sick and I see my free periods disappearing out the window. Ran out of time to make a thermos of coffee in the morning. By 3pm exhaustion over-rides repulsion and I reach for the instant coffee. No milk left. Just missing the train home by one minute and the next one is twenty minutes late.

One more day to go.

Where it all started.

2011-02-15T21:37:00.002Z

FOR CURMUDGEON

This is actually the song I was most referring to:

Note the jaw grinding between every line. This is actually only about six weeks before he died.

The thing I love about music (especially now with the Internet and YouTube... and blogs) is just how much one song can take you on a journey to other music. I don't believe any songs exist in isolation, with out some kind of influence.

I never was much of a fan of hip-hop or pop and rock music seemed to be less likable as it headed out of the 1990s so it made a bit of sense to me to search in the other direction- to it's origins. I was a MASSIVE Pink Floyd fan about ten years ago, now I've gone as far back as Big Bill Broonzy. By this time next year I may have fast-forwarded to the post-emo apocalyptic rock of 2015.

Trouble in Mind

2011-02-14T15:56:00.006Z

Trouble in mind, babe, I'm blue,
but I won't be blue always
Yes, the sun gonna shine,
in my back door someday

I'm goin' down, down to the river,
I'm gonna take my rockin' chair
Lord, if the blues overtake me,
I'm gonna rock on away from here

'Cause I'm trouble in mind, you know that I'm blue,
but I won't be blue always
Yes, the sun gonna shine,
in my back door someday

Big Bill Broonsey

At the end of this week it will be the half term break. This will be a week long, and for me, unpaid. But, I'm going to Ireland for six days in which I will seek commiseration with the down-trodden Irish. On Saturday, the day I leave it will have been seven months since my arrival to England. I can't really think of a statement in which to sum up this time, so I won't even try.

By Friday it will complete a seven week long half-term in which I have felt like teaching has drained the life out of me, rather than providing any kind of backbone of meaning. Including the Christmas break which I spent working in the pub in London and the half term prior that I was doing supply work and starting my job, it feels like I have barely had a moment to breathe since early November- all with an inadequate amount of sunshine hours. The last musical gig I attended was early December, the last trip to the theatre was about three weeks before that.

This last weekend I was in London, my first time back in six weeks. As well as catching up with friends and shopping, I went to the London Transport Museum and thought a little bit about The Underground and other things. I brought back to St Leonards a few CDs bought over the summer. One was from the Rise and Shine Blues Festival I went to in London in August. I got to see Vali 'Sir Blues' Racilla play- a Romanian blues guitarist- and it was delightful to listen to him again.

Being indentured to an education system I am losing faith in does have a flip side- it provides a healthy weekly wage and I'm clinging to the idea that it might lead somewhere. As Shakespeare said, "The miserable have no other medicine, but only hope". So bear with, this blog will cheer up soon.

A guide to youth slang in East Sussex: Part Four

2011-02-09T20:36:00.004Z

Today's lesson about slang words left me in rather a confused and slightly embarrassed state.

Discussion on the themes from Of Mice and Men was going quite well with my Year 11's period 4 today. I was trying to emphasise a really important point that I knew would be in tomorrow's mock exam- I was trying to drop a hint in other words. So, I stated something like this, "Candy feels isolated and without a sense of place because, due to his age and injury, he could be tossed off the farm at any moment". At this point the whole class burst into fits of laughter.

Really unsure as to what had caused this I asked what I'd said. There was quite a pause, some couldn't stop laughing, but mostly it was due to no one really wanting to say it.

"You said 'toss off' miss".

I was still confused.

"Well", said George at the back, "I could draw you a picture".

Matt and Duncan at the front endeavoured, in quiet voices, to explain, "Well miss, you know what someone normally does when they're alone, well it's when a girl does it to a guy instead"

Oooooh.

"What do you think it means, miss?"

"To throw, fling or discard" I explained, trying quickly to find an example, 'toss those sausages off the BBQ' is probably not going to work, "Toss another log on the fire", I added.

Whew, think I might be able to retrieve this lesson, better get on with it now they've gained composure.

"So, as I was saying, Candy's isolation, because of his old age and because of his injured hand..."

(shrieks of laughter)

Only a fool would try to continue. I set them paragraph answers to do and resigned from the front of the class.

Top Five of Two Thousand and Ten: #5. Live Music (worldwide)

2011-02-04T22:03:00.002Z

Seeing your musical idols and heroes live in the flesh can, in my opinion, result in one of two outcomes. Either you see a false pawn of an industry of cool, or, you realise their humanity, their brilliance in a world that has dealt them the kind of fate you can relate too (and more). Seeing Neil Young live at the start of 2009 for me was the first instance of the latter. It was 43degC in Melbourne and Neil walked out looking like a middle aged accountant at a BBQ- linen shirt, cargo pants and leather sandals. But that's where the comparison stopped as he played with ferocity for over 2 hours in the intense heat. He ended the set playing until every guitar string broke.

But enough of 2009, this post is about 2010 and I was able to see a lot of live music throughout the year. From seeing friends and favourites at the Wellington Botanical Gardens in January to the local indigenous music in the Chaing Rai markets in Thailand, the local radio music of bus drivers in Albania to the influenced styles of open minded Japanese artists on Shikoku Island and Dixieland Jazz players in Tokyo. It was a year of taking on what the encountered world had to offer.

There had been a purpose to this. I had left Aotearoa on March 9th with a purpose to see and hear more music. I'd left behind my ipod and any copy of any of my previously owned music. This has caused frustration at times, yet it has also forced me to listen to the live world as I have encountered it. See other people's music as they saw it.

Shortly arriving in the UK on July 19th I noticed that Bonnie 'Prince' Billy was playing. I think his music has a depth to it I rarely find anywhere else. So, surviving on baked beans for a fortnight allowed me to pay for the ticket at the Shepard's Bush Empire. And it was a thrill, to see a musician who hadn't been sucked into the suckers of the music industry. To give you an idea of his depth Johnny Cash covered one of his songs in his American Recordings.

Well, to tell the event succinctly, I went to see a true musician play at one of the world's iconic venues and didn't come away disappointed. Seeing this musician's ability in the flesh has left me more of a devotee than I had ever been before.

The music was amazing, because I got the feeling (much as I had with Neil Young) that these musicians in front of me were playing music with their own passion for it and we were just lucky bystanders who became part of the sound and part of the experience. That to me is really good music.

The other delight of the year was seeing a concert with Gillian Welsh, Dave Rawlings, Old Crow Medicine Show, John Paul Jones (best known as bassist for Led Zeppelin) and Mumford and Sons at the Troxy on September 17th. I'm not sure how I feel about the whole idea of people recording parts of concerts and putting them on YouTube- but it gives you get a taster of that night.

Gillian is just super- she seems to be all about the music, never bowing to the idea that she must cake herself in makeup or have a stylish haircut in order to be a respected musician. Unfortunately, in the above video her mic wasn't working and she looks across to the right at the sound man trying to get the attention of the sound man who wasn't paying any. So I give you the below as well.

I never learnt to play an instrument, as much as I would have liked to the chance and determination weren't there. This means I'll always be limited to being a music appreciator. 2010 felt like a year in which I did that well.

A 12 hour school day makes this Jack a slightly batty one

2011-02-03T21:34:00.003Z

Keeping in line with a theme of posting insightful things other people have come up with I give you this. Arriving home late from parents' evening may have also contributed to the hysterics I had after reading it. You can sign up for a daily email of savage chickens cartoons. I highly recommend it. Most days it will be interesting enough to put a smile on your face and occasionally one will have you chuckling. Being in NZ means the emails arrive in the wee small hours so having it sent to your work* email address will always help lift your spirits as you face a new day.**

*Curmudgeon- I realise this word only applies to you whimsically, but it might help to make you grumble less, and it's better than all those TV adverts you keep watching.

**No sarcasm intended.***

*** Note correct use of the asterisk

A mid week interlude.

2011-02-02T21:21:00.001Z

In every bit of honest writing in the world there is a base theme. Try to understand men, if you understand each other you will be kind to each other. Knowing a man well never leads to hate and nearly always leads to love. There are shorter means, many of them. There is writing promoting social change, writing punishing injustice, writing in celebration of heroism, but always that base theme. Try to understand each other.

– John Steinbeck in his 1938 journal entry

Women whose names begin with M.

2011-01-30T21:14:00.003Z

I am starting to think Wordsworth is a bit of a bore. A bit Wordsworthless really.

All afternoon and evening I have been struggling to put together lessons about one of his poems entitled 'The Affliction of Margaret'. Affliction is an apt word. For 11 stanzas it rambles on about the pain of a mother who wants to know the fate of her son disappeared for seven years. Not that I am trying to make light of lost children, but this really is drab. The rhyming structure admittedly is alright, but the crux of the lament arrives and departs in stanza one. Stanza two gives some background info and there's a nice bit at line 34, but the rest is just dribble. And exclamation marks. Why does a poem with such a sombre tone need three exclamation marks I ask you. My class of sixteen year olds were just starting to see that poetry could be beautiful by last Friday (thank-you Mr Yeats), now alas the word boring is going to crop up again sometime around 9:23am tomorrow morning.

Meanwhile I have been listening to 'So long Marianne' and I think it would be much more wonderful if we could teach Leonard Cohen lyrics. Not poems two hundred years old.

A guide to youth slang in East Sussex: Part Three

2011-01-26T20:52:00.006Z

Now I know I can be a bit gullible sometimes, but I don't think I am being taken for a ride here. They seem genuine, without much sniggering. Or maybe I'm being fooled too well.

My Year 9 class inform me that 'boofing' (rhymes with woofing) means being nerdy or geeky. For example 'Why did you sit me at the front of the class miss, everyone will think I'm boofing', or 'Can I try your glasses on... I look right boofing'.

This is ever so slightly isolated rural Sussex, but even so I think they are fairly attached to the world. Yet this evening a quick search on google and urban dictionary tells me that boofing actually means inserting drugs up ones backside for prolonged effect, or other such anal acts. The fact that it is also a term used in kayaking saved my google images search from being too explosive.

I think this will need a bit more investigation.

This week she'll be my idol

2011-01-25T21:57:00.003Z

Quite a few years ago I walked into The Warehouse in Gisborne with the prospect of a long drive ahead of me to what ever other part of New Zealand I was desperate to escape from there to. I went over to the bargain bin and pulled out a handful of CD's that looked interesting. One was a recording of Bo Diddley live and I got it for $1. I'd never heard him before, but it was cheap and my constricting environment was making me feeling experimental. Two days later as I drove the windy roads I placed the CD on. From the first track I was fixated, the rhythm seemed so simple, yet was complex enough to be masterful. It was John Lee Hooker upbeat. This was somewhere in the mist where blues became rock and roll and I wanted to know more.

A couple of days ago a documentary on Sister Rosetta Tharpe gave me that. This was a woman who suppossedly influenced Elvis. This clip is from a disused railway platform just outside Manchester, UK when Rosetta was aged 49.

The story of her life is incredible, being slamed between the twin forces of the church and the music industry from the age of six (mostly by her mother), never knowing anything other than a life on the road.

I'm not going to tell all it to you here, but I thought I'd make a note of it anyway.

A Brief History of This Week.

2011-01-21T19:19:00.004Z

Saturday
Went to a bike shop upstairs in an outdoor shopping alley and had it repaired. The mechanic reminded me of why I think I am living in the friendliest part of England. I talked to the owner about Japan- he went there with his Japanese then wife a few years ago (he's got a Russian wife now the mechanic told me).

In the evening met with some friends dressed all bright and shiny for our 'discotec' evening. This was a pre-arranged event from last week at the Horse and Groom when the five of us had decided it would be neat to investigate the clubbing scene of Hastings. We arrived at the 'discotec' venue sometime after 11pm only to find it almost empty and a niggling sense we could almost be mothers and fathers of half the clientele and all the staff. We waited for some dance music to kick in but the DJ seemed a very big fan of medium to heavy rock. The basement venue next door contained all of the above plus a strong smell of bleach and nothing but black decor. But the company and a stroll home along the waterfront in the early hours made it good.

Sunday
A swim and a listen to recently acquired music. Lovely.

Monday
I don't like my job that much. But did get a message to say that my muffin recipe is being successfully used in the best cafe in St Leonards on Sea. Participated in a bit of culinary boasting on facebook.

Tuesday
I hate my job, I wonder if I can get out of this contract?

Wednesday
Ok, maybe I can just last until the end of the contract.

Thursday
Spent half a lesson with my most unmotivated class practising our Australian accents. A small progression helped by having a common thing to take the piss out of.

Friday
Had a debate on the train with a middle-aged banker who works at Lloyds. I have a degree in Anthropology which gives me, I believe, enough authority to argue that we did not all descend from Seth; Eve was actually ten women in Africa 2 million years ago and NO- not all New Zealanders are of Welsh heritage. "But," he said, "I've got a book in my bag that proves it". Ummm, this is my stop.

I am quite happy the weekend is here.

2011-01-16T13:26:00.003Z

Sunday is put asside for such decisions as whether to fly to Ireland in the mid term break, or take the ferry. And of course a few hours of school work.

For now you may call me... Nicola... of (RBB)

2011-01-13T21:26:00.002Z

I have been given an honourary title...for now. It's a small honour with a lot of meaning that comes on top of a bit of a rough week.

I've been told a lot this week how brillant the teacher I replaced was by several of the students, and tonight by one parent. But I think this is true (or maybe not) of most teachers trying to take over a class mid way through the year. My favourite in the 'I wish we still had Mrs Y' camp is one little boy in Year 9. He has taken theatrical sulkings to such a level that I now have to walk away to stop myself from sniggering. The week has gone something like this:

MONDAY:
Y9 student (with bottom lip protuding): "I want Mrs Y back"
Me: "Tough. I'm going to be your teacher, forever"
Y9 student buries face in folded arms on table

TUESDAY:
Y9 student (in a whinging voice): "Why does Mrs Y have to have a baby. Babies can look after themselves, she should be here"
Me: "Would you like a cuddle to make it better?"
Y9 student buries face in folded arms on table

WEDNESDAY: A very special day in which I taught 'Y9 Student' three times and suggested the electical tape in my bag could come in handy.

THURSDAY:
Y9 student (in a whinging voice): "Why did you ring my Mum, she made me do my homework. And anyway, she hates Australians."
Me: "Well isn't it just as well I'm from New Zealand"
Y9 student: "Er... well she hates all New Zealanders then"

It is important your hairdresser gives you a style most beneficial to learning.

2011-01-11T20:17:00.003Z

In staff briefing yesterday we were told of a child who had come to school with an 'extreme hair style'. Negotiations were continuing with the child's mother about getting it removed, but in the meantime he would be wearing a hat around school and in classes.

This afternoon some of my students showed me a letter that was handed to students to take home. It included the specification for what constituted an extreme hairstyle (mohawks or very spiky hair; bright colours; words or images shaved into hair; anything less than a Number 2). Anyone considering an extreme hairstyle was to consult the school before going through with it.

A stranger to these parts...

2011-01-09T12:13:00.003Z

...the sun makes an appearance.

Top Five of Two Thousand and Ten: The Brief.

2011-01-07T19:59:00.005Z

Shortly before Christmas and shortly after spending hours on a train just trying to get to London, I spent time with friends watching High Fidelity. It was cosy inside while outside the snow was turning from white to polluted black on the curbs of Edgeware Road. Even though this must have been my up-teenth viewing I still laughed loudly at parts I'd missed before, and gained appreciation of the music that hadn't sunk into my consciousness earlier.

So in honour of this film and an all round adventurous year, I present (in forthcoming segments) my own personal Top Five Experiences of Two Thousand and Ten. After some rough thought I give you the following:

1. Nepal and the Indian Himalayas
2. Northland, Aotearoa with Rachael
3. Enchanting Japan
4. Durmitor National Park, Montenegro
5. Live Music (worldwide)

Number one is definitely the most important and memorable. The rest all seem to come second equal. As the thoughts on experiences 1, 3 and 4 are currently in journals in an attic in London, we'll start with numbers 5 and 2.

Being that 2010 was the year I also read more books than ever before, there will at some point be a Top 5 related to that. But for now I just want to see if I can follow one of my 'posts in multiple parts' ideas beyond the first gasp.

So... start the countdown.

Another Year Over and a New One About to Begin... in Approximately 8 Hours and 7 minutes.

2010-12-31T15:52:00.004Z

(I started this post on the 31st of December, but I became a little side tracked. So, just pretend you are reading this three days ago).

It's 3:53pm here on the last day of 2010 here in my pub home in west London. In an hour and a bit I'll start work. I don't really mind working New Year's Eve. It'll be a festive atmosphere and I won't have to spend a penny. On Sunday I'll take the train back to Hastings to start school again on Tuesday.

Up until this year coming up (the one that's already begin- Ed) I have not been a bigger setter of New Year's Resolutions, but I've got a few in mind this time. So here we go...

1. To maintain regular posts here. I don't keep a diary and I am quite forgetful of the little details of the past, so this will serve as a reminder of these times.
The measure will be when regular = at least 1 post per week.

2. To make my way back home. Measure will be based on geographical location as at 31st December 2011. However, this resolution is flexible, it would be a bit of a closed door to all other opportunities otherwise. The simple truth is that while UK is good, it's just not great in the way Aotearoa is.

3. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
This is not a secret resolution, nor is it a R18 high in sexual content resolution. I just can't quite articulate it into words yet.

I have spent most of 2010 letting the outside in, absorbing all the people and experiences of the year and thinking a great deal about it all. I would like 2011 to be the year of letting the inside out. The measure will be subjective. I never used to think of myself as a strongly creative person, mostly because I believed that to be creative I must do things like write a masterful piece of literature or paint amazing art or master a musical instrument and compose something outstanding.

I have realised the slightly massive flaws in this logic. Taika helped a bit, but the truth was rising to the surface anyway.

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It seems that creativity and ideas can come to the surface in a myriad of ways that can seem pointless and irrelevant to the straight square eye. Really, it's about the little things done in the day to day, as much as the massive things that we become known for.

And that's about as much explaination as I'm willing to give for now. We'll (note the inclusive pronoun) just have to see how this manifests itself in 2011.

Watch this sphere (see what I did there).

It's times like these one must be glad one is not going home to family for christmas

2010-12-20T17:16:00.003Z

Saturday's plans had to be put on hold as my 90minute journey to London turned into a six hour ordeal. We got as far as Tonbridge, before being told we had to head in the opposite direction to Ashford. Part of this wee journey meant spending an hour sitting on the tracks just outside Ashford International Station waiting for a platform to clear. Ironically, we eventually we made it to London on a European high speed train on its way through from France. Then, the Tube was suffering delays. Luckily, and wonderfully, I was going to a christmas dinner partee, so I arrived to good friends, food and wine. Ahhhh...

Back at the pub in Chiswick, we are serving customers who have back tracked from Heathrow where flights have been cancelled. It makes me glad I am at my christmas destination. Now I just need to get the Christmas shopping done.

In Sainsbury's this morning I was a little bewildered to hear over the loudspeaker something like this: "This is a customer announcement, could Sister Mary please make herself known to staff. Sister Mary, please come to the Customer Service Desk". I wondered if they were going to tell the Sister that her expected order won't arrive until Saturday.

The Last Day of Term in a Winter Wonderland

2010-12-18T08:44:00.002Z

The last day of term dawned with a new light dusting of snow on the ground. The kids arrived cheerfully, some in Christmas attire, with cards and presents to give to their friends. The mood was definitely a cheerful one. Sometime around midday the students were stuffed into the hall to watch the Christmas Revue, that is with the exception of those who had lost their privilege to watch it. This included one of my Year 11 students who had grown his own tobacco. He was caught when his mate brought some to school and tried to sell it. The enterprising lad was fixing one of my blinds in class when a receptionist came in and told me I needed to escort him to a classroom to sit the revue out.

The show was a good mixture of the school's talent. There were a lot of youngsters displaying their singing skills, with X Factor style songs (anyone outside of the UK should count themselves lucky they don't have to endure the hype and stupidity of this TV show). In between this and the hip hop number, the teachers' Take That impression and a couple of others the head teacher came out to say things like "Lucy and Alfie Gillard your parents are here to pick you up now as it is snowing very heavily in your village and they want to get you home".

I had some hint as to what the final number would be a couple of days ago when one of my Year 11 students had put up his hand and asked "This may seem a bit irrelevant Miss, but where did you get your stockings from?". Seven young men, mostly head students and prefects dressed up as night-club going young women and seemed to enjoy their new identities immensely as they danced to some of today's chart topping pop hits.

By the time we stepped out of the school hall it was snowing and, as is traditional, the teachers stood on the school steps and waved goodbye to the students as they left in their buses, the snow falling in the background, everything white.

The staff 'buffet' turned out to be a few platters of chips, cold sausage rolls and bowls of olives with a few bottles of beer and wine thrown in. Still, can't go scoffing at a free lunch. After less than an hour of farewells and eating, everyone high-tailed it out of there before the snow locked them in.

Today I am hoping to get to London. But every train service out of here has been 'amended' because of the snow. I'm not quite sure whether this means there are no trains running, or I just have to wait six hours until the next one. I have no idea where I'll be tonight.

A new song for xmas...

2010-12-15T18:17:00.002Z

This morning in assembly the students had a lecture about the 'real' meaning of christmas from the religious education teacher Mrs Pope (her real name). She asked the students how they thought various christmas items symbolised god's love. First on the list was the christmas tree. One young boy put his hand up and said "it's a pagan symbol and was used by the pagans to celebrate their festival"
"Err, yes," she replied, "it's true that the christmas tree comes from Germany, but that's not the answer I'm looking for". She went on to explain that because the tree was evergreen it represented the eternal hope for humanity. Although the young boy put his hand up at every opportunity for the rest of the assembly, he was not chosen again to contribute.

I always find it hard to hear young people being (in my opinion) lied to. A slight bit of respite came this evening when a friend posted this:

A bit of light relief

2010-12-05T20:47:00.003Z

I have and I will go on a lot about the quality of British television. Most Brits will bemoan it as decreasing in quality, but like anything there are gems amongst the dirt.

One show I have come to love is called Have I Got News for You which has been running for some twenty years. It basically a show where people mock and criticise the events of the week. It's what the NZ show 7 Days is based on. I think it's brilliant, funny and accurate. For the last nine years it has had a guest host, this came about because the previous host Angus Deayton had to resign. It came out that he had been hosting prostitutes in hotel rooms and snorting cocaine. Below are the best bits from the show that followed these revelations...

To Sir/Miss, with Respect.

2010-12-02T16:06:00.005Z

It's a unique kind of burden being a high school teacher. I am again learning the ways things can weigh heavy on your heart, the things you endure just to get those little successes.

When I first started teachers' college, I thought about the few teachers who had influenced and impacted upon my life. Mostly it was the feeling that they cared about me, they took time to help me. They made me think differently, or introduced new and exciting things. I've never got around to thanking any of them, I hope I will, but I possibly may not for various reasons. I figured then that if I had that kind of impact on any of my students, I will probably never know about it, or at least not until I am very old, that is if I had any kind of impact at all. Based on that reasoning,I figured I could fool myself into thinking I was inspiring my students, they just hadn't realised it yet. Silly as it sounds, it was that thought that helped me get through many a tough day.

Since leaving the Land of the Long White Cloud, I've had a lot of my former students become my friend on facebook. For some of them, I think I am just helping to boost their friend count, but I occassionally get messages from them telling of all the activities they have been up to, their plans for the future. Last night I got a message from a girl I taught last year that really struct me. This shy, yet immensely talented young woman told me how I was one of two teachers who had literally changed her life. It must have taken a lot for her to say it, and I am all the more grateful for it.

It fills me with slight sadness that I never developed a passion for music until I was in my 20s. I would have liked to have spent my teens learning to play music, but my music teachers never took much notice of me. I think if I had been in Richard's class that might have been different, he probably would have leaped upon my shy interest and put an instrument in my hand, signed me up for lessons, said encouraging things. I think similar things about History if I had been in MoE's class, or Drama if I'd been in Fflur's class or ICT if I'd been in TSB's class (except that we didn't have computer classes when I started high school).

When I get back to school I think I might print out the message and glue it somewhere I'll see everyday, in my diary or planner maybe.

Winter in St Leonards-on-Sea

2010-12-01T16:05:00.004Z

2010-11-30T15:35:00.002Z

It's been snowing for four days here. Today, my second day at the new job, we had to close the school at midday because of the snow, then shuffle the students down the hill to catch the buses home. I had to wait over an hour and a half at the train station with a few students for the train encouraging them to make peaceful snowmen rather than fast flying snow balls. It was beautiful and I wished I bought my camera. Google images will haved to fill in the gaps for you.

A word or two...

2010-11-22T20:08:00.002Z

It has been a busy weekend in London catching up with friends whilst trying to fight off a cold. Last night the cold went in for the battle and has turned the last twenty four hours into something of a shitter. I've got a busy week, on Wednesday I meet my new classes and by Sunday I need to have found some place to live. But enough moaning, this post is just to say it may be a few days until the next one.

To all my peeps out there- stay true, and keep the comments coming in. I am no Ringo Starr:

Flush Tracker

2010-11-21T11:31:00.001Z

Flush Tracker: "@Queenofsouth just tracked their flush online to raise awareness for World Toilet Day, Nov 19th. Track yours"

Ok, I tracked my flush from a sitting this weekend in London. Apparently this link will let you see the map. It is now at a processing plant near the Thames River. I read somewhere that the Thames is now the cleanest river in Europe after massive cleanup operations. A seven year project to redo the sewage system along the Thames is about to start.

There is a slight irony in that the company that set up this website and sponser world sanitation make, I beleive, harsh chemical cleaning products to be flushed down the nation's drains and into its waterways.

For those of you wanting to engage in the experience yourself feel free to use my London postcode W4 5LR or my Brighton one BN1 1YB at this website

In today's Metro...

2010-11-18T16:17:00.002Z

Exherts from the free morning rag:

For just on £35 you can buy a (tacky) replica of Kate's engagement ring.

There's flooding in Cornwell, and pictures to prove it.

It's not all about rhinestones and sequins: shimmer and sheen are this season's understated glamour.

In a pet shop in China every ferret sold comes with its own passport.

A housing official has aoplogised for saying a jobless man didn't have any brains.

There is now a Flushtracker application that allows you to follow what happpens when a flush leaves your loo. Just type in your address and the last time you flushed, and the application will reveal the position, speed and distance travelled by the 'water'.

Kandinsky, fifty 11 year olds, and Me.

2010-11-17T16:22:00.002Z

For most of today I was an art teacher at the 'tooting' school. I taught two Year 7 classes and each had to do a drawing of their own design, but in a similar style to this one by Russian artist Wassily Kandinsky. I even had a go at it myself. I was teaching them because their teacher was busy with the Year 11 art assessments and we were relocated to a Maths room. Which was actually idea because of the availability of compasses, protractors and rulers.

Over the two classes I came to love and admire this piece of art. At first it seems simple, but, take a closer look and the intricacies become apparent. It is detailed, but not cluttered. It seems random, but everything is placed and proportioned to give the overall feel. It could be highly mathematical, or void of numbers.

It was really interesting to see how the students interpreted the art, what details and patterns they chose to reproduce on their own. They accepted it as a piece of art, and yet were not in any was intimidated about trying it for themselves.

What amazed me was learning when I got home that this was actually made in 1923. I'm still astonished at how early 'modern art' started. I think I might have to go back to the Tate when I'm next in London.

2010-11-16T15:20:00.002Z

A guide to youth (and teacher) slang in East Sussex: Part Two

2010-11-15T20:18:00.004Z

Today I taught in a school where several students I encountered were on daily report. Each student had three individualised targets for their report. I was bemused to find on several: Target 1: No tooting. Upon asking first encountered naughty child I was able to work out the following...

Tooting (verb) to talk back to one's teacher in a disrespectful way; to publically state that you are not going to follow teacher's instructions; to call out when teacher is trying to address whole class.

Picture partially relevant.

A few pictures...

2010-11-14T20:55:00.004Z

With a bit of hindsight...

2010-11-13T19:33:00.002Z

I realise I have been spending a bit of this week moaning. In a moment of contemplation a few hours ago I realised that things are not all that tough for me. For instance, I finished work at 3:15 every afternoon and I have the rest of the day free, unlike most teachers. So I apologise dear readers.

On Tuesday I have an interview for a short term position. It's in a remote area, and will involve teaching a class of Maths, but I would quite like the job I think. Tomorrow I have to make up a thirty minute lesson that I will be observed teaching as part of my interview. A three level reading guide should do the trick I think.

Nothing says fun like 100 minutes of writing in a desk-less drama room.

2010-11-12T19:56:00.001Z

I had to be the supply teacher today who informed students that, although they were expecting to be doing drama activities, they actually had to lean over bits of stage and plan and write scripts. On a Friday. For 100 minutes (some schools here have days consisting of three lessons of 100 minutes). A good drama teacher (like Fflur) surely knows that DVDs and designing posters or production sets would be the way to go for classes like these. No wonder kids don't like school sometimes, the things they are made to do just don't make sense.

A guide to youth slang in West Sussex

2010-11-11T19:26:00.004Z

Hench (adj) describing something as being strong, dominating, possibly derived from the longer and older word henchmen.

For example:

Freddy: "That's because the All Blacks are hench and our team is all two foot and weeny"
Jordan: "Do they have Pepsi Max in New Zealand miss?"

2010-11-10T18:11:00.002Z

Going for 4 early morning runs in the last four days and attending five gigs in the last seven days had caught up with me by this morning... but the school turned out to be a shining example of how to organise the cover of classes (take note TSB). Apart from the receptionist's mixed welcome. She offered me tea while implying my incompetence in not having landed a permanent job yet.

Anyway- I was collected at reception by the cover organiser, taken on a tour, then in her office she gave me a 4 page summary of everything I needed to know (and time to read it), a password to get on the system and enter the rolls, a larger guide to the school should I wish to read it, a key to the relevant classrooms and all the paper rolls just in case. Then I met the Head's of the two subjects I was teaching- English and ICT- who had both double checked the cover work was all set. In each classroom the tasks for the students were laid out and they were tasks that work best with a reliever/supply teacher- like watching DVDs and discussing them/completing worksheets, or designing things, or making databases of information on favourite songs. It made me feel like a real teacher again.

If Bob Marley and Richard ever had a love child (who was also blind).

The staffroom was just another staffroom, although I think Richard would have liked it. I overheard four people discussing such things as their upcoming gigs, which music they liked to play and what musical direction they want to head in. Ironically one guy was talking about the different amounts of pay he gets depending on who comes to play at their gigs.

Speaking of gigs, I'd best be off.

Not much to say...

2010-11-09T20:30:00.002Z

But, I'm trying to post everyday.

Today I got the call shortly after 7:30am, a 45 minute train to Chichester to teach at a girls school there. Really tough day. While hearing a pin drop in the class of 26 Year 8 girls who were all silently reading their books, I had to remind one girl to put her bag on the floor.

I talked to my sister Rachael in Auckland on skype. It looked brighter there. It's almost dark at 4:30pm now in the UK.

I learnt that back at Wainui a young man who was in my form class for two years became the new head boy, and a young woman who I coached for debating and taught last year won dux. Both deserved as they're quite awesome young people.

Tomorrow I am already booked, off to a local school. Must be there by 8:15am.

Crawling ahead in pounds, sense and electrons.

2010-11-08T18:24:00.006Z

Today I started a contract, signaling my first regular and certain employment in 11 months. Up until two months ago this didn't bother me. Up until then I had never had trouble finding a job when I needed it. Of the seven weeks of last term, I was only called in to work for 12 days. It was tough at times, especailly as my sole reason for coming to the UK was to earn money. When people asked me how long I planned to stay, I was tempted to reply, "Until I get enough money to get out of here".

But today it ended. I have a contract that guarantees me supply (relief) work until about the end of May next year. And there's an element of adventure to the start of the day, which makes me feel like a special agent. By 7:30am I must be ready and waiting at Brighton Train Station. I buy a sandwich, a coffee, pick up a free rag and sit waiting, phone in one hand, pencil and paper in the other. As the minutes tick by, I watch the commuters come and go.

At 8:07am my phone rings. I get the name of the school, a contact person and a train station (Lancing). I am advised to get a cab from Lancing
Station as it's a long way and the weather is torrential.

Now it's GO GO GO.

Go to ticket machine (no line- whew) buy ticket, look up, see a train's leaving in 3 minutes, race through the ticket barrier and down to platform one to catch train (whew). Find a seat. At Lancing there's one taxi (whew). Listen to taxi driver talk non-stop for the 5 minute journey. Report to school reception. Am given a supply pack (full of paper and stationery- great idea) and a twenty page guide for supply teachers. Without time to read it I am whisked down to the Science block (made it- whew!).

Lancing Train Station.

I teach three classes, each 100 minutes long. I teach, well it's Science, so really I learn, about the uses of metals and the three types of radiation (alpha, beta and gamma- the first two can change elements, the other one can change into bombs). I spend break talking to a Science teacher about his trip to NZ. I confiscate four phones, learn the names of the naughty kids first. One kid thinks I'm Scottish, others guess Australia. No one makes any Flight of the Concords jokes today (although there is one kid called Albie). One girl, Kirsty, has her whole make-up kit in her blouser pocket. Mykylika gets annoyed when I mispronounce her name for the second time. In one class there are three Ben's. I keep all of them in for the start of lunch. In the bustling staffroom no one says hi, I drink my coffee and leave, the kids are more fun to be around anyway. Every class has two Chloe's, in the last lesson the students are lovely, they work hard.

At 3:10pm I let the kids go, write up a report for the teacher, return things to the office, walk to the train station. I see Kirsty on the opposite platform, she smiles. I board the train home. Mission accomplished.

Tomorrow, another assignment.

Last night at a quiet pub in Brighton

2010-11-07T12:04:00.003Z

Last night I was at a gig grooving away to the tunes with the six other audience members when suddenly the woman on keyboard called for the band to stop. Here is a description of what happened next:

Band members cease playing.
Woman answers her mobile phone.
Audience members look at each other in suprise.
Man sitting next to me: "In all my 44 years I have never seen this happen at a gig"
Keyboard player woman into phone: "What is it now? You missed the train? What? Why?"
Djembe drum player (who until now appeared very peaceful) leans over and shouts:
"Tell her she better not have missed that fucking train. Tell her she'd better be in her fucking bed when we get home or there's going to be fucking trouble!"
Keyboard player woman mumbles something into the phone, hangs up and then turns to the audience, "That was my daughter"
Man sitting next to me: "Is she a teenager?"
Keyboard player woman (nodding): "Yeah"
Audience again look at each other and laugh nervously.
A young woman comes back from the toilet and her boyfriend tries to explain what just happened without cracking up.
Band continue with songs. Lyrics are something about being 17 again and wanting to grab the car keys and go for a long drive.
Song finishes and band annouce they are taking a 15 minute break to sort things.
I decide to leave.

Interesting points of note from the UK this week.

2010-11-06T19:01:00.003Z

Image from here

1. Every street bin in Brighton and Hove has a sticker on it warning people not to go to sleep in the bin, as it could endanger their lives.

2. The Sport 'newspaper' keeps a tally on page two of how many images of topless women it has published that week. By Thursday, when I was perusing through a copy at the laundrette, it was up to 23. The Sun had only managed one and The Guardian appeared shameful at zero.

3. Eastenders is actually a very clever TV show, and I am fast becoming a fan. The BBC has a website called iPlayer where you can watch over the internet (and in some cases download) any show that was on the telly on BBC in the last week.

4. Some towns in Britain were known for their beautiful cobbled streets. But now, many of these streets are being ripped up because coucils are having to pay out thousands in compensation to people who have tripped up and injured themselves.

5. I am generally against most things the UK government is doing, and generally against any cuts in education. But I am actually liking the proposed idea of capping the pay of head teachers (Principals to you antipideans) so that it is never more than that of the prime minister's. Although I should investigate this further- how much money are we talking about?

Two Peas in a Pod

2010-11-05T16:03:00.002Z

John Key- NZ PM. Image from here

David Cameron England PM. Image from here

It is almost scary how similar these two are, how damaging I think their politics are. Both like the colour blue, both have fancy holiday homes, both have introduced huge cuts and told everyone to be all patriotic about it, it's for the good of the country after all. Last week the Tory coalition government delivered a budget that cut almost everything, including the jobs of thousands of civil servants. This week the PM created a new job. Personal photographer. Paid for by the taxpayer.

Steyning.

2010-11-04T10:11:00.004Z

I wasn't teaching yesterday so I decided to take a bus out to the village of Steyning, have a look around and go for a walk onthe South Downs.

Two men in the pub complained firstly about the weather and then how they could no longer have a cigarette with their pints. The old lady in the charity shop said Steyning had been plastic bag free for a year and she was sick of having arguments with customers about it. While I was waiting a customer asked for a plastic bag and was angry when she couldn't get one. "What if it rains" she moaned.

On the bus a man moaned that now the clocks were turned back he couldn't stay on his allotment later than 4pm.

Someone told me that in England you are never more than seven feet away from a rat.

Brighton Day One...

2010-11-01T22:52:00.004Z

I now live in Brighton, it's a town on the southern coast of England. It's about the size of Christchurch. Nick Cave lives here. So does Steve Coogan. And now me.

I start teaching here on Friday, maybe earlier.

Brighton is known for many things. It used to be a small fishing town, but once the railway tracks were laid it quickly became the seaside daytrip of choice for Londoners. That was about 100 years ago. Now it is known as the country's gay capital, with a high proportion of students, new-agers, musicians and homeless folks. This year it became the first place in England to elect (under first past the post) a Green MP and there are a lot of organic food stores around. It's one hour on the train to London, and ten minutes on the train to East Sussex and West Sussex. Hove used to be the town next to Brighton, now it is all joined as one.

Alright enough for now.

A picture- Part Two.

2010-09-19T11:28:00.003+01:00

My creative genius doesn't work well under pressure. In twenty minutes I will be serving Sunday Roasts at the pub downstairs so this post will be short and mundane.

Above is more of the highwalks. Note the fountain/water feature below, the apartments above, and the highwalk just under the building. Does that help to answer your question Fflur? Congratulations on the emergence of your son into teenage-dom. I have no idea what you have been up to Richard, but I can guess that double basses and wine would be involved. Substitute the double bass for more wine and you've got The Curmudgeon perhaps? Is The Wine Guy still around?

This is a picture of Chiswick Park tube station at sunset. It is a wee way out of the city so it not underground. Even though the sign outside says 'UNDERGROUND. But everyone knows what is means. It's on the District line. The Piccadilly line runs through here, but doesn't stop.

The Pope is here at the moment, There is a lot of anger about the fact the Government has paid for him to be here, a man who helps spread AIDS and hides up sexual abuse. I quite like this video a friend put me on to. Because of a couple of swear words it is restricted so you will need to sign in to You Tube to see it.

Must away

A Picture- Part One

2010-09-01T14:52:00.002+01:00

In a cunningly devised plan I had to get back into blogging I decided to choose photos I had taken and then write a little bit about each one. This plan was going great as I set out to the internet cafe and paid for plenty of time to write this blog. It was then that I remembered that I had left behind the USB stick with all my photos on.

With a determination to push on I found someone else's (far better) picture of what I wanted to talk about. So here is the image:

This is a picture of the Barbican Highwalk. I found the highwalks by accident, when I walking back to Moorgate tube station from the London Museum and I really like them. They are a series of walkways (highwalks) that lie about 5 metres above ground and they are the first interesting thing I have found that I wasn't pre-informed about in a guide or by a local.

I was able to walk the kilometre from the museum to the tube without even having to cross a road or give way to anything, or go around a building. The walks simply go through the office and apartment blocks, and a yellow line shows you the way to the tube station. In the centre of one block of apartments was an amazing garden (the picture of which I hope will be in a later post).

From this height above the ground it is a great place to see the surrounding architecture. If you look in this photo you can even see a remaining part of the wall of London- from the Roman times. When I first came through I didn't have my camera, it was raining and I was hungry, so I didn't stop. But I came back the next day and stopped for a while. It seems hard to image how a mash of buildings covering hundreds of years can go together, but somehow they do. The masses of water below add to the mytic of it all, and it felt like I had discovered soemthing hidden, but wonderful. Like a secret garden.

At a time like this I think of the famous (and somewhat ironic) words of the late John Denver...

2010-03-08T19:41:00.003Z

At 3:30pm this afternoon I board a plane to Thailand. I am surprised at the lack of nervousness I feel, but then, this is something I have been looking forward to for over four years now. I think I have booked a place to stay in Bangkok for when I arrive there at 9:30pm. I say 'think' because it took three people to understand my Niu Zuland English when I rang to book a room, and they over-quoted my the price, so now I will have to try to haggle down the price of my bed before I can get into it.

My sister Rachael and I got back on Sunday from a four day camping trip (I was going to write a post about his, but, as they say, time waits for no (wo)man). It was a test of sisterly relations, but I think we came through it well.

In the time leading up to my departure I was going to write quite a few posts, and I had some ideas stirring, but alas, they have not come about.

There just remains a few things to be done, buying deodorant for instance, then Rachael and I are off to play pirate mini golf before I depart.

So, adieu and all that. The posts for a few months will be shorter and less frequent (if at all). Enjoy your March and April and May and June and July.

Hitchin' a Ride

2010-02-24T05:53:00.003Z

While at university, and later in 2004, when I lived at Punakaiki on the West Coast, I would often hitch-hike. Despite the concern of some friends, I and others who hitched with me, never had any issues. The people I met along the way (and would never see again) were fascinating, but the most exhilerating part was knowing that, while I had a destination, there was no telling when I would arrive there, or how. It felt like freedom. Whether there was some romantic link to America or the Beat generation, I'm not sure, but I still think of them as some of the more real experiences of my life.

Three golden rules exist with hitching (in my mind at least). Firstly, I have only hitched in the South Island. Secondly, there are some people (e.g. parents) that one should not mention to that you are hitching- the disapproval and debate is not worth it. Thridly, if the ride doesn't feel right, don't hop in.

In the first mid-semester break in my first year at Otago University two friends from my hostel and I decided to tour around the South Island by hitching. We still followed through with this plan, despite one breaking her leg three weeks prior to our departure. We stopped at remote beaches and camped the night, and got one amazing ride from a woman in an old converted ambulance who took one week off a year from looking after severely disabled daughter in Christchurch to tour around the West Coast.

How well your hitchhiking experience goes depends on three things:
1. Gender. Being a woman means it is more likely women will stop and pick you up.
2. Placement. Where you try to hitch is important, the speed limit, the available stopping space, how easily you can be seen all contribute.
3. Weather. Standing in scoarching sun, or dripping wet generate sympathy.

The worst experience I had was being stuck in Reefton late one afternoon waiting for a ride, hoping like hell we wouldn't have to spend the night there. An hour and a half we waited for a ride to come along, and were relieved by the offer of a shearing gang to drop us in the next town.

So last Friday, with dreams of saving money and re-living the experience for one last time, I decided to try it again from Picton to Kaiteriteri. My first ride was Doug the priest from North Carolina who was very liberal and we had a great discussion on politics, before getting lunch together in Nelson. From there I had a five small rides, many interesting stories, never waiting longer than 5 minutes for a ride. It was the talk with people and lives that I may never have meet otherwise that I enjoyed, and travelling a road I had never been on before.

Reflecting on it all, it makes me think about the way we percieve risk, what comes from the kindness of strangers, and about humanity before globalisation and paranoia took hold. There are the news headlines and there are days like Friday. I will hold onto my beliefs in the general good of (wo)man, thanks, because if I think too much about the gloomy direction we are heading, I may never leave the house again.

Car Love

2010-02-14T08:15:00.009Z

At 6:05pm this evening I watched as my car drove away, now the possession of someone else. I am actually feeling quite emotional about this. I guess that symbolically, becoming car-less means I really am putting my life in a backpack and going travelling, a fact which I don't think has yet sunk in. It is, as my sister Rachael said this evening, the end of an era.

I bought my Corona at teachers' college using part of the Teach NZ scholarship money I had 'earned' just by virtue of wanting to become an English teacher. Rachael (who knows more about cars than any person I know) found the car and helped me get a good deal.

Three and half years, and 55,000 kilometres later, I ironically hand it over to a woman who has just returned from the country I am bound for. In that time the Corona has taken a band (and myself) on a South Island tour, journeyed a few 'op shop missions', been to Gisborne and back over a dozen times, and over the Wainuiomata Hill I estimate 273 times*. I think the Corona's greatest achievement was fitting four people, two guitars, half a drum kit, three tents, as well as four people's sleeping gear, food and clothes in one trip back from the Parihaka festival in early 2008.

This was the car that made people think I was a good driver. I never got a ticket in this car, (well, maybe one parking ticket) and never crashed it. It was too old to look theft-worthy and even my mechanics liked it (one of them, Les, reckoned it was the last of the reliable Toyotas).

Right, if I was a man, this much talk about my car would lead you to question the size of one part of my anatomy, so I will just finish with this...

As I sat on the bus home with my wad of cash** and thought of the memories, I felt happy that someone else seemed as happy to buy my car as I felt owning it.

*Yes, I did calculate this.
**As Rachael helpfully advised: "I was going to suggest you don't throw the money in the air and then pretend to swim in it on the bus floor, but I figured you'd know better than to lie on a bus floor." She's a hoot that one.

Leaving on a Jet Plane.

2010-02-08T07:03:00.002Z

Actually it's a Boeing 777.

This post is to merely inform you that I have set up another blog. Fflur has already raised concerns about the implications of this, but I will try to keep everything in check.

This blog will remain in its rambling state, but will probably be contributed less come March 9th. The other one will be about my travels and will be mostly for family and other friends, and of course, yourselves.

It's called Nicola's Travel Bag. Yes, I realise it's not a very original name.

Being a Social Studies Teacher.

2010-02-08T04:19:00.009Z

I have just finished my third day of Being a (relieving) Social Studies Teacher.

There are amazing advantages to being a reliever. No planning or administration work, and not having to think or do anything school-related from 3pm Friday until 9am Monday. Today as everyone sat down to start a staff meeting, I headed out the door. I am also teaching Economics. It is an optional subject. The students choose to be there. They want to learn what you are teaching them. Really I get to do all day just the things I enjoy about teaching- the interacting with students.

There are disadvantages, you do feel a little on the outside, not having something to moan and stress about all day. I also suffered a torrent of abuse from Richard as I walked into the staffroom. Once he had finished in my ear, he turned to the nearest DP and demanded to know why they had let me back in.

But Being a Social Studies Teacher, now, that's a whole new world. Firstly I had to deal with the disappointment. The yet-to-be appointed teacher I am covering for has the initial JP which means students arriving on the first day reacted with "[moan] oh have we got you? I thought we would have Mr Powley. Why can't we have Mr Powley?". Because Mr Powley is off teaching optional subjects.

The Year 9's wanted to know why my lessons weren't as fun as Music. This puzzled me a bit until I found out that their teacher wasn't in fact Richard.

And while I couldn't see any coloured pencils, so far teaching has involved drawing symbols, writing out focusing questions and drawing title pages. Even the 15 minute current events quiz I have been holding each lesson is legitimate. If this were English, those juniors would have written a 400 word essay by now, read two stories, and practised the first draft of their speech.

I have even spent ten minutes talking about where I am going to be travelling in the world, and that's OK because it's Geography.

Image from here

Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste...

2010-02-01T08:54:00.002Z

Image from here.

Like many children growing up I had a dichotomous view of people, they were either good or bad and as a consequence I either liked or disliked them and treated them accordingly. Bad quite easily blurred into evil. This view perpetuated into my youth, and possibly into my twenties when the dawning realisation came that people are (to use the common phrase) shades of grey. It's easy to see how this came about- as children we are fed stories with goodies and badies; Cinderellas, Rapunzels, wolves, step mothers.

Now step forward (and backwards) to Mad Men. From the comfortable position of 2010 I initially found myself getting very irate at the actions of the characters. The prejudices, the ready willingness to use advertising to manipulate, the ill-communication between humans. The way Don's infidelity matches the hypocritical rules he expects Betty to live by, how Sal loses his job, the people who were fired because Peggy's lunch money went missing.

Yet it is the gap of time that reminds us these are people of the 1960s, a product of their time. Their edges are rounded, we can forgive their ways. The programme shows us how much we have changed, and sadly haven't changed. My point is that I have come to see them as characters with strengths and weaknesses, rather than good and bad. It is a credit to the show that there are so many developed characters and I am pleased that I can see the complexities in each. Where I most felt their pain was when they experienced great historical events such as the Cuban Missile Crisis and Marilyn Munroe's death; the way these horrors of the world affected them.

Terry Pratchett allowed me to see these parallels in Unseen Academicals. He is a fantasy writer who juxtaposes our world against his own- Discworld, or more specifically the city of Ankh-Morpork. In this extract the ruler of the city, Lord Vetinari, hints at how he rules a unruly city without any written rules:

I have told this to few people, gentlemen, and I suspect never will again, but one day when I was a young boy on holiday in Uberwald I was walking along the bank of a stream when I saw a mother otter and her cubs. A very endearing sight, I'm sure you will agree, and even as I watched, the mother otter dived into the water and came up with a plump salmon, which she subdued and dragged on to a half submerged log. As she ate it, while of course it was still alive, the body split and I remember to this day the sweet pinkness of its roes as they spilled out, much to the delight of the baby otters who scrambled over themselves to feed on the delicacy. One of nature's wonders, gentlemen: mother and children feeding on mother and children. And that's when I first learned about evil. It is built in to the very nature of the universe. Every world spins in pain. If there is some kind of supreme being, I told myself, it is up to all of us to become his moral superior.

This made me realise that to pinpoint one character or individual or type as bad or evil doesn't seem to fit. It could be a systems thing. To be honest, I'm not fond of the word evil, but there is an ugly downside to humanity, as well as an triumphant side.

I guess it is a matter of how we approach the 50-50.

Then the sands will roll out a carpet of gold for your weary toes to be a-touchin'.

2010-02-01T08:18:00.004Z

Thoughts are funny things and can lead you astray if you let them, but they can also lead to epiphanies. Yet I am sure you know this already. The ramblings that follow have come about largely due to a summer holiday to occupy and the reading/viewing/experiencing of the following:

-The TV series Mad Men (Season 1, 2 and snipits of 3)(thanks Laurel);
-The earthquake in Haiti and the events that are following it;
-This very insightful blog entry (thanks John-Paul);
-A book I read a couple of years ago called The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein (thanks to my uncle Gordon who gave this to me one xmas);
-A book I have just read called Unseen Academicals by Terry Pratchett;
-A BBC documentary series by Adam Curtis called The Century of the Self (as given to me by my flatmate Mikey);
-The past year spent without a television.

I am not yet sure where this will end, and some of the thoughts are a bit strange, but, surprised to say, the epiphanies have been relatively optimistic. This is new territory for me so please feel free to comment.

Half crumpled thoughts and a dead arm.

2010-01-22T03:36:00.003Z

(from here)

With a sense of guilty abandonment I realise that it has been eleven days since my last post. Dreadful. Today was to be the day of rectifying, but no. I have several thoughts that I started to write about, but the dead arm caused by this morning's tetanus shot is my excuse. So, I will instead leave you with a little joke.

Q: Why did the mechanic sleep under his car?
A: So that he could get up oily in the morning.

(it's the joke from Mum's xmas cracker. Go on, I know you laughed)

Needles and bruises...

2010-01-11T10:24:00.001Z

I look a bit like a junkie at the moment.

But don't worry, it has been substances taken out, rather than substances put in.

Last Friday I donated blood, it was my seventh donation. It makes me feel wanted. I have a very rare blood type, only 0.7% of the population share O Negative, and what makes it special is that O- can be used for all other blood types. So I get a lot of phone calls asking me to come in again. Like I said it makes me feels special.

The first time I tried to give blood, I fainted and they had to stop. I found out I was anemic. It was at university and my roommate Kate had convinced me to donate. The second time I finished the donation, but then went so white I wasn't allowed to move for half an hour. I was ok for the other times.

Mum has had two hip replacements and a knee replacement and has needed a blood transfusion for each (two for the second hip) plus some more from previous accidents so I reckon our family's coming out about even just now.

After donating blood midday Friday, I biked into town and back, then I went for a 1.5km sea swim. Saturday morning I went for a 2.7km pool swim, then biked into town. It was about 45 minutes into a yoga session that afternoon, when I started to feel very faint, that I questioned whether I might have over done it. Apparently that's what causes the bruising- exercise.

It will be my last donation for a while. I'm about to go to countries with cacophonies of catchable diseases, so Ill cope with the bruises, they are fun to scare flatmates with.

Night time at Oriental Bay

2010-01-06T01:52:00.003Z

No, alright, ok, since you seem to be doing it... I'll reflect on the year, the decade and make resolutions for 2010.

2010-01-03T09:31:00.003Z

As an act of randomness these pictures have been taken from the results of putting the title of this post into Google Images.

A few facts and figures from the last decade:
14 houses, 6 cities and towns, five years studying, three years teaching, two years in Australia.

A few reflections on the last decade:
It happened. I think I have come out of it a lot better than I went in. I say 'Yes' to more chances than I used to. Experience is a wonderful thing, I now realise, it creates comfort in certainties. Experience means I worry less about what I am doing wrong, and instead, ponder events in general.

This lion said 'yes' too (later, he will feel more enlightened for the experience).

Some thoughts on 2009
There is not much to say here. It seems like I spent most of the year teaching. I enjoyed teaching this year more than I had the two years previous. I also enjoyed the holidays and weekends more. The two weeks in Melbourne in January were wonderful. Seeing Neil Young live has to be a pretty big highlight. I read One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and I liked it the most of all the books I read in 2009 (but, he is my favourite author). I re-read Nineteen Eighty Four after going to see a very good play about George Orwell, both had me thinking a lot. I wore more dresses (thanks Laurel).

This picture reminds me of John-Paul and his reading challenge. But is he the one trying to hold the books up, or the puppy about to be squashed under books? The answer lies in 2010 perhaps, but I am sure he will succeed.

Resolutions for 2010.
I am impressed with Richard's resolution to continue striving towards 10,000 hours of practise. Maybe he also needs to put more practise into creating better jokes for the daily notices. I'm sure Fflur will thrive in her new job and The Curmudgeon will defy his name and be tranquil amidst his raised vegetable garden and the sound of birds in the trees and children at the beach.

I have resolved this year not to make any resolutions. Mainly because the year is too uncertain. Between the 9th of March and the 15th of June I will visit Thailand, Cambodia, Japan, Nepal, India, UAE and Turkey. After that, who knows? Perhaps I can make one resolution: that I will try to keep you updated on this blog as the years races on.

Conversations with Da.

2009-12-29T02:11:00.004Z

Last March my grandfather, Da, turned 90 and he looked well. This is a photo of him in 1953.

My mother's parents have always been known to us and Nandy and Da. I don't know why this is, although I think like most nicknames it came from a mispronunciation by a young child, probably my eldest cousin.

He had been sick a few months previously and my sister told me Da had cried when she last saw him, afraid that this was their last meeting. I am leaving the country shortly before his 91st birthday and returning I don't know when. For these, and other reasons which I may go into later, I decided to see if I could record some of his life stories.

Da seemed reluctant when I first put the idea to him, but two minutes later he started talking light-heartedly about his years at the bank, which was annoying as I hadn't bought the recorder yet. However, the next morning he rang Mum. He was worried, apprehensive, especially about 'the war'- World War Two- he just wanted to put it behind him, he said. But he would be alright to talk about some other things.

So, nervously, I turned up for our first recording. We started on the lighter stuff- amusing stories about butter, dogs and revolvers at the Bank of New South Wales, and about going to the 1938 national swimming championships and just missing out on going to the Empire Games. I like the way he chuckles as he approaches the punchlines of these stories, the way he tells all the important details.

Then, he just started talking about the war, just like that. Before I knew it he was onto the Battle of El Alamein, and telling me both the funny stories and the quite serious stuff. Two stories really reverberated for me, and I have thought about them often since. I hope to tell them later, as this post is getting long enough already.

Without noticing it, over an hour had passed, and when I stopped Da, he said, "But I haven't talked about Greece yet."

Two days later, at Christmas lunch, without any prompting, he looked up Greece in the atlas and started talking about the battles again, and I got another hour's recording.

Nandy told me that he'd slept all the following day, exhausted from the telling and the talking. Yet, he appeared to have found a purpose in doing it, he became determined to cover all the parts of his history and was annoyed when he couldn't remember the name of a person or detail.

He seemed grateful to me, and I certainly felt grateful to him.

Christmas Day

2009-12-27T01:13:00.005Z

Christmas day in our family alternates each year between a Jackman family lunch (Dad's side) and a Dodgshun family lunch (Mum's side). This year it was a very quiet Dodgshun family lunch of seven (eight if you count my cousin Joe who popped in briefly).

My sister Rachael and I were lucky that Granny Jackman had forgotten that she'd bought us xmas presents, so we had twice the chocolates. Here we are dividing up the chocolates (Rachael doesn't like dark chocolate and I don't like white).

It was our first xmas with Brad, my sister's partner. Rachael commented that afternoon that she thought her family loved Brad more than they loved her. Mum certainly thinks Brad has better manners and her eyes are gleaming with the prospect of marriage and grandchildren.

Cody the Labrador enjoyed xmas, mostly because it meant more food from more people. Cody is getting old and this maybe his last xmas. I got fleas from Cody this xmas, and in return I gave him two washes with flea shampoo.

It was a hot day and after lunch we sat around lazily. My grandfather told us about his time in Greece during the war. Some of us went for a walk around the orchard. The day crept on, but the heat didn't abate.

At about 7pm we went for a swim at the beach to cool down, it was nice. And that's about how you can describe the day...nice.

Nicola's Supermarket Bag's Second Rule of Christmas.

2009-12-20T18:15:00.004Z

However hard you try to start the Christmas drive 'home' early, you will always leave later and you will always forget something important.

For me this drive is from Wellington to Gisborne, all 531 windy km. It usually takes 7 and a half hours, but with a heavily laden car it will probably take longer. I am just about to make a thermos of coffee and load up the final things. It will be a long day.

I will let you know what I forget.

Nicola's Supermarket Bag's First Rule of Christmas.

2009-12-20T03:52:00.002Z

That from the first moment you endure the sound of Cliff Richard's chart topping Christmas classic 'Mistletoe and Wine', until some moment in the new year when forgetfulness sets you free, these lyrics will haunt you.

Right now, on continuous repeat in my head, are the following lyrics:

"Christmas time, mistletoe and wine,
Children singing christian rhyme
With logs on the fire and da de da dee*,
Time to rejoice in all that we see."

I can even hum the woman background singer. I had avoided entering shops that might possibly be playing this type of music, that was until Friday when The Salvation Army in Levin unleashed horror sometime just before lunch. Since then I have rarely had a free moment without Cliff and his song of Christmas cheer.

On the upside I am very proud of my gift buying this year, especially the Darth Vader cuff links I bought for my sister's boyfriend.

* indicates forgotten lyrics- maybe 'bells on the tree'?

Gisborne Girls' High School and me.

2009-12-10T06:22:00.006Z

As I was driving to school today I realised a couple of things. Firstly that today is my last day of teaching classes at Wainuiomata High School (possibly for a while, possibly forever) and it has also been ten years since I left Gisborne Girls' High School. There seemed to be a lot of similarities, and some considerable differences between these two events. I also started pondering about what had happened in the intervening time. So, in the next wee while I thought I'd cover all three. This is not meant to copy John-Paul or Fflur's recent posts, although I like them very much.

All of my photos are in storage so this is the closest I can get to helping you imagine me as a teenager. I finished seventh form in 1999, and it could not have been soon enough. I remember girls at our final prize-giving crying because it was their last moment of school. Meanwhile, I was very unsentimental, instead feeling both relief and new found freedom. I'd felt school had started to take on a confining, choking feeling some six months earlier. Now I just had to get out of Gisborne.

A year or two beforehand I had decided (encouraged by my father) that I would stay on in Gisborne after leaving school and start my accountancy career at a local firm as they paid you to work and do a couple of university papers at the same time. By July of 1999 I had firmly decided 'no way' and applied to Otago University, the furthest I could get away without leaving the country (there were many events which has caused this firm decision, but I won't go into them here). So, I just had to survive the summer and then I could leave.

1999 was a year of uncertainties, but also possibilities. I remember feeling that my future was uncertain, but bright. I had dreams of doing wonderful things (although I couldn't articulate what things they might be). On the other hand there was y2k and the possibility that we might not be around for much longer. Oh, yes, and the drinking age was just about to come down to 18. All in all, I was glad time was moving on.

I don't have many fond memories of high school. It was just something that happened. Really, I don't think I was suited to a girls' school. My last few months at primary school had been spent playing cricket with two boys in my class, researching weta, doing experiments on plants and reading adventure and war stories. Suddenly, at high school I found myself sitting down all the time with girls and listening to conversations about TV shows whilst swapping Dolly and Girlfriend magazines.

Throughout my time there I had tried to become as little involved as possible. I never entered an event at Athletics Day, avoided doing work in Science as much as possible, rarely did homework and almost never studied. My achievements amounted to an Accounting prize, a contribution to Swimmming badge and winning the forth form speech competition (probably the only thing I am proud of- ironically my speech was on the theory that teachers were in actual fact aliens).

So at the end in 1999 I just said a brief goodbye to the few friends I had (most of whom I never saw again, but in truth I wasn't a very likable person at high school anyway), thanked one teacher, opened my time capsule (I had changed quite a bit, although I was still struggling to be cool- and had failed to get a boyfriend), and left vowing never to attend a reunion or go back.

I did go back, in 2006, for a placement while at teachers' college. And I sometimes wonder if my dislike of high school had anything to do with me becoming a high school teacher.

Stereotypes?

2009-12-09T08:33:00.003Z

A couple of students from 9AD, a Year 9 class that I teach, were in my room at lunchtime today. They decided that they would create 'stereotypes' of all their teachers. I'm not quite sure where they got this term 'stereotype' from, maybe their Social Studies teacher taught it to them. Anyway, the labels they came up with for all their teachers were as follows:

Fflur: university student
John-Paul: comedian
Richard: serial killer
Me: world domination

Perhaps, now we know what bass bags have been used for all this time.

This post is merely to cover the fact I haven't posted in a while.

2009-12-08T08:18:00.002Z

It is the end of another day, and looking back on it I can say that the part I enjoyed most happened at the beginning.

I went for a swim today before the start of school at the outdoor Wainuiomata Pool. When I arrived there were a few swimmers already in the pool and a duck trailing across the water, looking assertive as if it belonged there more than anyone else.

The water was warm and it was nice to be swimming next to the bush, watching the sun spread across the valley and listening to the birds sing as it did.

Even the half-eaten sausage at the bottom of the pool (a recent school outing perhaps) could not dampen the moment.

New treasures...

2009-12-01T09:27:00.005Z

In our flat we have decided to make an effort to clean out some of the junk around the house. Tonight we went through the bathroom cupboard. We came across a giant box of panadol tablets and about eleven used toothbrushes, nothing special.

The real find came from a set of drawers. It contained a book called 'A hundred and One Uses of a Dead Cat'. You can imagine how excited I was. The above image is the only one I could find on the internet. My favourite uses so far in the book have been the shoulder pads and the oven mitts.

2009-11-29T06:03:00.002Z

I am going to Dubai next June. I wonder if Bin Hire lives close to Dubai. Maybe we could meet up for a coffee and discuss Jesus and Richard and effective waste disposal management.

I hear Dubai has a lot of great products and services at reasonable prices like coffee, rugs, swimming pools and assassins.

The first swim of the summer.

2009-11-26T08:07:00.003Z

Yes, it must be getting warmer.

Today I stopped for a swim at Petone Beach on the way back into town. Like most swims that aren't at the height of summer, the water felt icy from the outset, but by time I was back in the car I was glad I'd stopped.

And I was reminded once again (winter always has a way of making you forget) of how sand gets everywhere, and how it seems to stick to skin.

A few random thoughts and an update on those kitties.

2009-11-24T08:29:00.002Z

Firstly- Just because you buy yourself an expensive camera, it does not automatically mean you are a good photographer. Apparently you have to master these things. I realised this when I bought a guitar several years ago as well. I wonder if I buy a double bass what will happen?

Secondly- It pays never to assume someone is happy in their job just because they are cheerful. I was talking to a non-teaching colleague the other day and she told me she'd applied for another job. I was shocked because she always seemed cheerful and happy, but we hadn't ever talked much beyond the weather and how to catch the mouse in my room.

Thirdly- Going from living by myself to living with eight flatmates hasn't been as severe as I'd imagined.

Fourthly- I think Richard is getting bored. He even joined facebook, then closed it down three hours after agreeing to be my friend. I have taken the hint. I have a plan to egg and flour his car tomorrow.

Oh no, but he walks to school now. I'll just have to steal his shoes while his isn't looking. Maybe while he's teaching his least favourite Year 9 class.

And lastly-Regular visitors to this blog (I've always wanted to say that, although I suspect my regular readers may number 2) will remember that a while back I set out on the task of catching two feral cats and their four offspring who were all living around my place. Well, both cats were caught. I could be all nice about this and say they are in a nicer place. But I'm not. They are dead.

The kittens did not take too long to catch. They can't be too bright. I say this because they didn't seem to realise that the cage trap was slowly taking their family one by one and yet each kitten continued to fall for the trap. One kitten even escaped from the cardboard box I put it in, then happily entered the trap again the following day. Their fate is a lot better, they are cute after all and young enough to mold to our human ways.

If you go down to the SPCA in Newtown you might even see them there, waiting for a caring loving home to be stupid in.

Hutt Valley women try to break the stereotypes of their kind by entering a beauty contest.

2009-11-12T06:05:00.002Z

Oh yes the irony.

Last night I sat down to read this week's edition of the Hutt News. What I found on the front cover was an article about the newly crowned Miss Hutt Valley. Now there have been a wide variety of events reported on throughout my eight month residency in Petone, but none had me deploring quite like this one.

The winner, Miss Hutt Valley 2009, was one 22 year old Mary Cooper, who obviously stuck out during the swim, designer and evening wear sections. She believed she'd won "because of her professional approach and the way she spoke". Yes, that's what I thought looking at her photo too.

Furthermore, young Mary stated that she had been annoyed by stereotypes of Hutt women as having no ambition, and one of her aims now was to become a positive role model. She was beginning this journey by stating that she now regretted getting a playboy bunny tattoo, and plans to have it removed. "Everyone makes mistakes when they are young". Yes dear, they do.

Still, I can't blame the poor lass. When you grow up (probably) spending your weekends at Queensgate, watching TV and reading Dolly magazine it would be hard not to think that success and popularity are predominantly based on looks.

Often the young women that I teach talk to me about their struggles with the idea they need to be 'perfect'. The thing they find the hardest is that they know that they are being force-fed false messages, but they so often bow to the pressure.

I hope Mary will one day realise this.

As for me, I can't help but keep my stereotypes of the Hutt for events like this and last night's shooting in Stokes Valley.

Guy Fawkes and Trains (or, A Post to Cheer Up Richard)

2009-11-08T03:28:00.005Z

On Thursday night I decided to watch the fireworks from the pedestrian over-bridge at Ava train station. There was a guy up there already when I arrived.
"It isn't as impressive as last year" he said, "but the kids love it". I looked around and couldn't see any kids so guessed that he meant kids in general, the city over.

A few minutes later a couple arrived with their boy who was about 5 years old.
"Look at the fireworks" his dad said.
The boy just stared. A couple of minutes later he spoke.
"When are the fireworks stopping?"
The father tried to get his son enthused about the explosive display, but he wasn't keen.
"When is the train coming?"
"I don't know" his father replied.
His mother, however, decided to have some fun.
"Maybe the train driver has stopped to look at the fireworks" she said
The reply was sharp and defiant, "they can't do that, it's not allowed, trains can't just stop, you're wrong"

Just as the fireworks finished a train pulled into the station and the boy suddenly felt that this had been a night worth coming out for.

Even though the fireworks were relatively small when seen from across the harbour, it appears that sometimes, explosive stuff just isn't as cool as the everyday stuff.

P.S.
An update form the last post. The tomcat was caught on Friday night, about two minutes after I set the trap. I have been telling the kittens all weekend that Daddy eloped with a slapper from down the road. They seem ok with this.

Here kitty kitty...

2009-11-02T08:59:00.003Z

A couple of months ago I realised that two ginger cats had taken up residence under my house and in the carport. A fortnight ago it came to my attention that they had four kittens. Very cute. But like me, they have to go. So I called the SPCA. The friendly man is going to drop a trap (with instructions) around in a couple of days. The kittens (if caught) can be raised and fostered out. The fate doesn't look so good for their parents. I will aim to keep you updated on the kitty catching.

A head full of futile things.

2009-10-26T07:11:00.004Z

I once had a boyfriend who seemed to be always asking me, 'What are you thinking about right now?'. I always found this hard to put into a sentence, but I can understand why he did it. He was, quite naturally, trying to get to know me, and I wasn't being very helpful.

At first I tried to make a good impression by answering deeply- pondering the meaning of life type thoughts- but then I thought that I should just be honest. So the next time I was asked I answered straight from my brain. I was thinking about which brand of shampoo I should buy when I next go to the supermarket.

I was quite shocked at the futility of my thoughts.

This weekend I have been pondering. Not on anything important you understand. No.

In three weeks I have to move out and throw away anything that I don't want stored. I have been pondering over which mugs to keep and which to throw away. What makes it worse is that I paid no more than $2 for each one.

It's deep, man.

Am I becoming the kind of woman who only thinks about beauty products and kitchen items?

Well, whilst pondering this pondering I find that I have been also pondering about Frank Sargeson whose stories I am reading, and about my mother and sister who have been staying, and about the strange occupation that is teaching. So one futile ponder is perfectly valid I think.

Ponder is such a daft word. Did you know that it's the collective noun for a group of philosophers. A ponder of philosophers.

For want of a better post...

2009-10-21T03:14:00.002+01:00

...I thought I'd add a quote I quite liked from episode one of series 5 (see previous post)

Van: "How did you get my cellphone number?"
Detective: "I'm a detective Van, I detected it."

To suffer the slings and arrows.

2009-10-19T08:53:00.004+01:00

For the last seven months I have lived without a television. This experience comes with positives (more productive evenings, more books read, music listened to) and negatives (spend more money on DVDs, starting a blog, feeling like a social outcast when friends/students discuss things on TV). However, the honest truth is that I have rarely missed it. I don't miss the ads. I don't miss the news. I don't miss most of the programmes.

The only exception is Outrageous Fortune, which until two weeks ago screened every Tuesday night at 9:30pm. For this very reason I would avoid three of my colleagues every Wednesday morning as they always discussed and analysed the scandalous events of the previous night's episode. I didn't want to know. Now that season five has finished, I have ordered the DVD and await its arrival tomorrow. I'm a little excited.

In anticipation of this event I sat down on Sunday evening and re-watched the last two episodes of season four. This is worrying behaviour I know. They were good, especially the parts where Wolf must realise the love of his life no longer wants him.

But, while they are good, my favourite is Episode Ten, which is pure Shakespearean. It is the point at which, in great Lear style, a father realises he has spawned a child more evil than himself.

I feel like a lost seal...

2009-10-17T08:28:00.005+01:00

I've been blogging for over a month now and this is my sixth post. To be honest I've been struggling with it as I think about what topics to write about and how I'm going to present it. Unlike others, I don't have a topic to fall back on, like double basses, wine or beautiful vintage clothes. In all this anguish I turn to my blog guru. I notice he has posted 6 posts in the last week which included a copy of a forwarded email, two posts about the same gig, and a post that was 29 words long. Aha! I can post any old crap.

Watch this space as it descends further into blog awful-dom.

Seal video taken by author on Ngawi coast in August.

Justin Townes Earle

2009-10-11T05:55:00.007+01:00

Age and experience are two things that are often thought to go together, along with wisdom. I have come to learn that they have little correlation in general, and I was further reminded of this last night when I saw Justin Townes Earle play at Bodega.

Being the child of someone famous has to be pretty tough, especially if your dad is Steve Earle, the rock-country singer-song writer known (according to Wikipedia) as the "the hardcore troubadour" for his drug and law troubles, and political viewpoints. Not only that, but you’re also named after Townes Van Zandt, a cult singer-songwriter who meet his demise at the hands on drugs and alcohol in the 1990s. Now Justin Townes Earle is making a name for himself as a musician and every damned interviewer seems to be concerned about the relationship with his father, but he copes with it well.

“There’s nothing about my relationship with my father that you can’t find out with Google… Our lives and our relationship are, have been, and always will be public, because people are always going to want to figure out the psychology between singer/songwriter father and son…You just let it happen.” Justin Townes Earle.

He even put it into a song- Mama’s Eyes, reminding us that it was actually his mother who raised him. “I am my father's son/we don't see eye to eye” and “I've got my mama's eyes/her long thin frame and her smile/and I still see wrong from right”

Not only that but Justin headed down a path of drug abuse (following in Steve’s footsteps) from before his 12th birthday. He was sent off to live with his dad at 14, who hardly felt up to the task: “I was a year clean when I got handed an out-of-control 14-year-old. I’ve been dealing with him ever since”. It seems he was quite a little shit. As a consequence he was booted out of his dad’s band and several others (one band had to fold because Justin kept selling all the instruments and equipment to fuel his habit). According to this extensive article, at the age of 21 he was hospitalised and nearly died, then sometime later he stopped the hard drugs. Realising that music was the only thing he felt he could do well, Justin began performing again and recording. Now he’s touring on the back of his third album Midnight At The Movies.

Putting aside his great music (which I won’t cover here) it was while he was playing onstage last night it occurred to me that he has this worldliness about him, which struck me more considering he’s only three months younger than myself. He’s experienced and wise and his lyrics- mostly on love, places and late nights- appear to me to reflect on a life lived very fast. You’d almost expect someone of 50 to be writing them. I don’t feel nearly as worldly. He embraced the stage with charisma, humour and comfort. He dealt with the drunken idiots and entertained us all.

While I like a lot of music, there are not as many musicians whom I haven’t met that gain my respect, but Justin Townes Earle definitely does.

A Post About Sport

2009-10-04T21:17:00.001+01:00

I was a competitive swimmer for eight years. For the most part I loved it, but I wasn’t very good at it because, while I liked training, I never had the Strong Desire to Win or Hate to Lose genes. However, I did over that time come to understand a little of the psychology of those who do.

One part of this that always interested me is how athletes mentally prepare. Occasionally, I would see someone before a race to take on a different look. They appeared serious, but calm. It usually meant they were determined underneath, with a strong faith in themselves and their ability. For this reason I usually avoided looking at my competitors before a race, as I never possessed such a ‘look’ and was afraid of seeing it in others I was racing against.

On Saturday night I watched the boxing fight between David Tua and Shane Cameron on TV in a bar. This is not something I would normally do, but I went to primary school with Shane and I am currently staying with my sister, who is a fan. The night did not go well as we watched our former schoolmate savagely punched and pounded to a pulp in 188 seconds.

It was tough to see, but I had the feeling it might go that way. It was to do with the way they looked prior. Walking out to the ring David had the look like nothing could affect him, with eyes focused on something ahead. Shane on the other hand seemed not to have shielded himself off from the enthusiasms of the crowd, the hype, the moment. He smiled to the crowd, and then remembered he had to be serious and was, for a moment, until he looked up and smiled again. The match was decided from the outset.

Putting aside the my criticisms of the sport of boxing (there are many) and professional sport in general, that night just reminded me of the faith and determination needed to do something that the rest of us fear or think of as just being a plain stupid thing to do.

The 25th of September 1981, just a little after 2pm.

2009-09-27T10:32:00.003+01:00

On Friday it was my birthday. I turned 28. It was a busy day and offered little chance of reflection, but I’m just another year older. So there’s not much to be said about this (which is just as well because my Blog Guru tells me I need to keep things short).

There was nothing out of the ordinary about my birth. I arrived on my due date, at a leisurely hour (sometime after 2pm) in Gisborne Hospital. When my mother started having contractions my father drove her the hour’s drive from their farm into town. I was born, given four names, and went about crying, drinking, sleeping and so on.

A couple of years ago my mother told about this time in one of our rare honest conversations. She said that her and Dad had this feeling that here was something they had created, it was just theirs, and now they had the job of looking after it.

I have no idea what it is to be a parent, or if I ever will, but I loved and respected her just a bit more when she said that, because that thing was me.