filling the blank

A few snippets to fill the void of dates where nothing has been written. While I’m here, I’m thinking of posting some snippets of previous essays too. If you want to read some, post a comment saying yes please and I’ll even hurry to get it done

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I’m almost two thirds of the way through my MA. By the end of next week, it will be two thirds.

I’m truly impressed with myself, how far I’ve come as a translator and how confident this course has made me feel. I can translate. Very well. Well, as long as some provisos are met, and the text isn’t a legal contract or a bloody patent.

Future career plans aside, my current shoe trading career has started along the downward, inevitable spiral that occurs when a large group of women work within the same environment. Yes ladies and gentlemen, the bitching has begun.

I figured it existed before, but that it was being done behind my back, or when I wasn’t at work. But I was kind of happy to revel in the nirvana of a 90% female environment without passive aggressiveness. Meh, sad as it is, it doesn’t involve or concern me, so I am more than happy to sit at the side and watch it all unravel. People’s jobs are on the line here folks, though they don’t know it. For those of you that don’t know, I am currently the ONLY male worker at the shop. Yes, I get all the heavy lifting and ladder climbing jobs. I like my stereotype. A customer called me “healthy” today as I clambered up and down the stairs with shoe boxes. She was about sixty though, so don’t get any ideas.

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I’m developing a taste for Belgian beer again. I thought that in Norwich it would be a one time thing, but man alive, Duvel is tasty. Stump up the cash and try it if you haven’t. It is wonderful.

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A daughter of my mother’s friend finished secondary school today. Seeing her facebook updates made me reminisce, first of all about how we didn’t have facebook back then, we didn’t even have colour screen phones. It is amazing, and somewhat daunting to imagine what life must be like as a teenager these days. There were far more excuses to be antisocial (in the not contacting your friends rather than the ASBO sense) when I was younger that’s for sure. Back to the reminiscing, I recalled how happy my final day was, the jubilation, the “freedom” (!) and of course the hi-jinks. The previous year group to us drew a gigantic penis with weed killer outside the staff room. We managed between us to lock the staff cars inside the gates, barricade some corridors and some other stuff of mischievous nature. Of course when I say we, I mean a minority did all this crazy stuff, while I watched with awe, in my teenage unconfidence.

Those were the days.

I see the teacher list now, and so much has changed. Obviously. Teachers have left, but some have stayed too. I remember Mr. McHenry’s history lessons like they were yesterday, and of course, as I’ve mentioned to every German speaker since, I remember the RWA German lessons that have since led to almost 14 years of studying, speaking and loving German. I find it amusing that because I tag BGS on this blog a fair bit, I seem to receive a lot of google traffic under the search “Boston Grammar School” and so on. I should hyperlink them and ask for a fiver ha.

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My wife and I went film crazy the other week. Friday eve, we go to the supermarket with the intention of purchasing a single, solitary digital versatile disc with some film content on it. We left with 12. TWELVE.

The lady at the till gave us the best look I have ever seen. It was kind of a cross between “Oh my God, I’m so impressed!” and “Oh my God! You sad people!” Definitely a grimace though. In fact best use for the word “grimace” I have ever had. I’ll even throw in an adjective, as it was a wincing grimace. POW. Don’t get grammar like that these days. Kids just aren’t into it.

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In one final piece of news, Liesl left Europe. And for that America cheers, and Europe cries. Cries “AND STAY OUT!”

Just kidding. Her inability to handle liquor will be sorely missed

Myths and yore 1: School.

Today, I am recounting life and memories of days spent in or at school. Recollecting the good times and bad. I’m doing this for two reasons. One, a friend has requested I write more of my illustrious past and two, I was contacted with some shocking information about my previous school.

Boston teacher pleads guilty to possessing indecent images of children.

Admittedly, there is little connection in this for me other then the location, the teacher was new (well, new in that he wasn’t there in 2002) and I think I’d remember posing in my swimshorts. But it still surprised me enough to want to comment. It’s such a betrayal of trust. As a teacher, you are meant to be a base of integrity and resilience, a go-to or counsel for children. Taking advantage of that position in such a way is just nasty and very disturbing.

Anyway. My memory of school wasn’t flooded with bouts of child pornography. It was more of the everyday, day to day mundanity with the odd day of inspired mischief. Obviously, for the most part, what with me being your geeky, bespectacled type, much of these experiences were observational based. I would never do things like using chemicals to stain a massive penis on the school grass, or use a bike lock to lock all of the staff cars inside the school gates. I would never have run through the school with water pistols and shot at all the teachers either. That’s not my calibre of mischief.

I think I was caught out 3 times at school. Twice, they earned me punishments. Once, it earned a round of applause.

The first time, was when it snowed at school and we thought it wise to fight in the quad (my school was an historic grammar school) which just so happened to be located outside the headmaster’s office. No surprises for what happened next…

Although I love the moment before you get caught in these instances. For us, the shout came right after a launch, which coincidentally hit the window right where the headmaster was stood. One of those things I guess. That earned us the excitement of standing outside his office for the entirety of our lunch. I know, true Shawshank.

The second time was hilarious. Children (and adults alike) can have a penchant for collecting elastic bands. If you walk to school then after a while you can have collected a fair few of these postal treats. If you then bound them together in a sort of rotund shape, you create what can only be known as the world’s most erratic and lethal powerball. The shop bought manufactured bouncers are all well and good, but they have nothing on the elastic bands. It’s the gleeful combination of both an uneven surface and a really strong bounce that just make playing with the thing hilarious.

So we did. In a classroom. We closed the windows and the door, and tried to clear all the surfaces for maximum bounce impact opportunity and ten of us ducked, dipped dived and dodged as the tennis ball sized ball of elastic fury charged about the room.

Yet, this did not please enough. We decided to add a bit of “wow”. Some “razmatazz”. We located a staple gun. One lad took sentry in the corner of the room, shooting at people when they appeared from behind desks to continue the elastic crusade. Hearing someone cry “it shot me in the forehead!” whilst an elastic ball is bouncing by when I was 13 was very, very funny. Right up until the Deputy-Headmaster walks in on you. Brickwork really loses its appeal after the 45th minute of your lunch.

The third was just a awesome. I’ll never live one like it again. We had an aging, soon to retire history teacher during our first year. He was clearly ready for his retirement, and had taken to teaching the Romans by playing the film “Spartacus” rather than trudge through the text books. It was fantastic. I love that it was rated 15, we were all 11/12 and the way of getting or seeking permission was for him to say “no-one tell your parents”. I only wish I’d been there for parents evening . One day, the teacher had yet to arrive and thus we decided to set up a surprise. In a geeky effort to earn some brownie points from the R.E. teacher, I had coincidentally brought in a gift from my father, a Mosque clock which he had picked up after visiting Kuwait. The clock plays an Adhan as its alarm chime.

We’re sat in the history room, hidden underneath the desks (the really old-with-a-lid-and-bucket-for-stuff types) with the curtains closed and the lights off. The only thing visible is this clock. The teacher arrives, and my hand appears and switches the alarm on, whilst 7B all snigger under their desks. “Ennnnnnnyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnyenyeaaarrrrrrahahhhaaaa!” it cries. We peer over the edge, to find that the teacher has merely sat at his desk at the front of the room, and starting making bowing motions towards the clock, massive grin all over his face. Fantastic, although looking back possibly a little contentious…

There are plenty more myths and yore to come. Be excited. Or not. Up to you really.