I've found my home

graduation time

Not that it particularly interests you but, this is my blog,so I'll publish and be damned.

Today is graduation day for the sixth grade. I will be giving a speech. This is a copy of the speech. Be glad that you are not sat, in the sun, listening to it.

Ask the question Olaya.

For those of you who didn’t hear the question, during most lessons, at some point, Olaya will raise her hand, and ask: Are you happy? Today my answer is YES. Obviously this should come as a bit of a shock – this is not supposed to be a happy occasion. In fact, according to the instructions I normally receive, this is supposed to be the moment I should cry – or at least I should make some of you cry.

However, and there is still a chance that one of us might cry, and it might still be me, I AM HAPPY. Let me explain. My job as a teacher, our jobs as educators, isn’t just to fill your heads with knowledge; it is to prepare you for the world outside. Moving on to Junior High isn’t all about being able to answer the question paper; it is also about being equipped to deal with life. It’s a bigger school. It’s a different school. In two months time you will be entering a brand new world. For some of you, who have been here at the British American Institute for over six years, it will be well removed from your comfort zone. For all of you it is going to be scary.

There are, probably, four questions you are asking yourselves:
Will the work be much harder?
Will the teachers be horrible and nasty?
Will I make new friends?
Will I survive?

Let me answer them.

Will the work be harder?
Yes – except you will find that B@I has prepared you well for the challenge. I know for a fact that most of you are going to find the maths easy and all of you are going to find the English lessons very, very easy. But, in other subjects, you will also find the going not as difficult as you imagine. In three months time you will want thank your teachers, here at B@I – by then it might be too late, today might be the day! Before you leave, for the final time, find a teacher and thank them.

Will the teachers be horrible and nasty?
Yes, of course. ALL teachers are horrible and nasty! Except they aren’t. Take it from me – and let’s face it, I have known teachers from all over the world. ALL teachers have the one same aim – to teach. If you are willing to learn, they are willing to teach. Try to go to war with a teacher and you will find that it isn’t a war you can win. Learn to respect every teacher, learn to work with a teacher, and learn to treat each teacher as an individual. We all have different rules – learn those rules and you’ll get on fine.

Will I make new friends?
Yes. True, some of your new friends won’t be from Rosorito. Some of your new friends won’t be irresistible. Some of your new friends won’t want to play Power Rangers with you at recess – in fact, as a tip, don’t ask anyone to play Power Rangers on your first day at junior high…at least wait until the second day. But you will make new friends. That said; don’t forget your old friends. Look around you now, at the people sat beside you, in front of you, behind you. The people sat with you will turn out to be amongst some of the best friends you ever make. Take the time, today, to thank them for their company, their support, for their friendship. In twenty years time, yes twenty years time – believe me - you will be telling your children about these people. It will be terrible if you don’t thank them now for the joy they have brought you.

Will you survive?
No. Oh, hang on, that was my answer if you had left in the fifth grade. The answer now, as you leave as sixth graders, is, emphatically YES! Yes you can! Think back to those early days in the fifth grade. Think about the children you were. And now, now think about the young adults you have become. You have all changed so much in the last year. You have become taller, you have become more beautiful (or handsome), and you have become more intelligent. However, and much more importantly, you have become better, much better people. True fact, when you were the fifth grade, you were hard work – every.single.lesson. Then, when Miss Lilian asked me to teach the English – waaay back in 2007 – my first reaction was NO! But now, now it is completely different. You are completely different. Now, you are a joy to teach. I enjoy teaching maths, the English – hey, even Values and “Soup for the Soul of a Teenage Chicken” is fun! Yes, you have changed. Yes you will survive Junior High.

And, because I can answer YES to those four questions, because you can answer YES to those four questions – I am happy. My job is done.

Now, before I start to cry, I leave you with one other thought, and forgive me if my pronunciation isn’t perfect, because I’ll leave you with one thought, in Spanish:

Si se puede. Chipotle!

my dad

I've had a rough couple of weeks the last two weeks. There has been something bugging me, something that I couldn't quite get a hold of. You know, that moment when you can feel a shadow of a thought, just hovering at the back of your brain, on the left-hand side. But each time you try to creep up on the thought (by going round the right-hand side of your brain, staying close to the skull, creeping up on it) it has disappeared. A bit like that dream I had the other night. You know the one where there was a..oh what was it?...and I saw...something...and then I did...something else..and, damn! I can't remember any of it but I know it was important, it was the answer to life, death and the universe - but all I can remember was...I think there might have been a spoon involved, or was it a blue teacup? No, it was a...damn, can't remember the name of the thing now.

Anyhoo, there has been something bugging me, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The last two weeks have been taken up with the school play, so I've tended to think that, whatever it was, it was something to do with that. I reckoned that if I ignored it long enough, it would get frustrated and shout out its presence in a big way. I was right. It did. And it wasn't what I thought it was.

It was my dad.

I've been working on the school play "The Lion King". For those of you who don't know the story it's about a lion cub, Simba, who runs away from his father's death, leads a life of fun and frivolity (Hakuna Mutata), then returns to take up his father's role and kick out the evil uncle. (Yes, I know that it is based on Hamlet but this is what I've been working on.)

On Thursday I ended up telling stories about my dad to a colleague. Half way through the stories, as we were laughing away at the wonderfulness of the man, my colleague managed to splutter out: Wow, your dad sounds like a great man. I always thought you hated him.

Friday (s)wine left a comment on my blog:

You're not old. Shit has DEVOLVED. I never dug Monopoly, even as a child. Didn't understand the whole "need to buy" shit. Guess it stuck. Guess I'm a Socialist at heart. Don't know. I don't play cards either. What has happened to your dad financially since those days? What was the lesson learned? For him? For you? Questions. I suppose I'm not in a good frame of mind. On vacation in Ottawa, and on my 3rd martini at 0956. Sorry for being rude.

and Maria and I sat on the balcony and talked about it. It was then that the shadow, at the back of my brain (you remember the shadow? the thing I was talking about at the beginning of the post) decided to leap to the forefront of my brain. It was my dad. Oh, before I go any further I should say, you weren't being rude (s)wine, I love comments, I love your comment, it was (in retrospect) a fantastic comment because it opened up a whole world to me. True, it started off as a world of pain but it has ended up in a good place. Thank you.

My dad is dead.

Died seven years ago.

I miss him. I miss him more today than I have ever missed him before in my life. I love him more today than I have ever loved him before in my life. I think he is a better father today than I have thought of him before in his life. This is mainly because each day I appreciate him more. Each day, as I live my life, as I grow more aware of his influence on me. Each day, as I learn to love myself more (thank you Maria) I realise that I am who I am because of my parents, because of my father. Each day, as I grow older, I face the fact that I am my dad. And, the one thing that makes me feel good about this change is, I really, honestly believe that my dad was a good man. A good man in the full and true sense of the meaning of good.

Where to start? I dunno because I don't have the time to tell you everything about my father. I know who he was, I know it know, my shame is that I didn't know it then, I didn't know it when he was alive.

To answer (s)wine's questions:

What has happened to your dad financially since those days?

My father was financially successful. Exceedingly successful. How successful? Well, in England, when I was of the age, if you went to University the government gave you a grant - you got money to go to University. However, this grant was means tested. If your parents had a high income then you got no grant. Knowing this, my father took the two years off work, before I went to University, so that his income would register as zero - thus, making sure that I got a full grant. He was financially secure enough to spend those two years not working. Instead, my parents spent the first six months cruising the world on the QEII, the second six months involved in charity work. The second year my father took on the role as captain of the golf club...and falling in love with another woman. Half way through the second year he left my mother. There were two side-effects to this decision. The first (the one that might interest you slightly) was that he become financially crippled. All of my father's businesses were Limited Companies - this meant that if anything went wrong with them, he would be financially vulnerable. In order to protect this vulnerability everything (everything) was in my mother's name. He gave up everything (everything) for the love of another woman. The second (slightly interesting point to you - very important to me) is that I walked away from the life that was planned out for me. In a whole fuck-you-I'll-do-what-I-fucking-want-to-do-because-you're-sleeping-with-another-woman moment I ran away from home. I didn't go to University, I didn't get the full grant. Oddly enough, though, when I finally went to University, I did get a full grant...as a student from a single parent family!

My dad survived, financially. He took a major cut in his wages, he took on jobs that would have been beneath his status before (instead of doing the books for multi-million pound companies he dealt with individuals) but, he bought his dream apartment - looking out on to the sea, at a port, so that he could follow the ship-to-shore movements - and then, when the time was right, moved into a perfect house with a manageable garden. My father was successful.

What was the lesson learned? For him? For you?

For him? I'm not so sure. Hell, I don't know what he learned from the event. For me? Well, I learned several things. Several things that I didn't notice at the time but now, looking back, I learnt things that have stuck with me, subliminally and overtly.  The first thing I learnt was not to play games with people better than me unless I was willing to lose. This has stood me in good stead. I don't gamble - actually I do, except I gamble to lose. I work on the principle that the house will always win, the house always wins. This means that when I gamble I work on the basic fact that I will lose my money, Often I don't. Often I come out with more than I went in with. This is nice. But I never (never) gamble with the expectation of winning. The fact is there is always someone out there better than you.Don't get me wrong on this, I don't have an inferiority complex, I don't think that everyone is better than me. My parents loved me (maybe they didn't show it physically but they showed it verbally) and they believed in me. They were the first to say that I was good, I was great, I was clever, I was brilliant. However, they were also realists. They knew I would never be number one, there would always be someone out there a little better than me. I was targeted and aimed at the number two slot.

Every Christmas, Father Christmas (Santa Claus) left a present, under the tree, for the whole family. It was always a game, a family game. On Boxing Day (the day after Christmas), after lunch (cold turkey!), my father would open the game and read the rules. He would read the rules and make notes. We would then gather around and play the game, making sure that we followed the rules carefully and explicitly. My father was very much a man who followed the rules. I don't break rules. I push, I moan, I complain, but I don't break rules. I know exactly how the game is played and I follow those rules. True, I some times use the rules to my own advantage, but that is because I know them and know them well. If you know the rules, really know them, and follow them then you can win at the game. There's a life lesson if ever there was one.

I'm not sure that this post tells you much about my dad, it doesn't tell you as much as I'd like, but I don't have the time (and you probably don't have the interest) to tell you everything about the man. You can probably pick up a couple of facts and see a reflection in my life. Yes, there is a moment when I gave up everything for love. Yes, I made that move just after my father died (as he did). Yes, I follow the rules but I know and understand the rules. There are many other things about me that I get from my father - my love of literature, my love of Sheffield United, my liberal tendencies (and yes, I get my whole socialist view from a man who voted Conservative all his life), my belief in non-violence, my ability to tell a good story, my need for alcohol, my dependency on pain relief tablets, my mannerisms, my hair colour.

I spent way too much time in my life trying to impress my father, trying to be the son I thought he wanted. I then spent too much time fighting with my father, trying to be my own man, trying to get out of (what I perceived as) the mould he wanted me to fill. I now realise that I want to be my father. A man I loved, then hated, then ignored, then accepted as a friend - now I know he is my role model. I want to be my father. And as I look back on my life, at this point, I realise that I have followed his path very closely.

Honestly, if I achieve what my father did, if I do what my father did, if I live the life my father lived, if I leave behind me the legacy my father left (for family, for friends, for those who came into contact with him), I will die a happy man.

My dad - a man I admire, a man I love, the man I want to be.

the incredible hulk

I stopped reading comics at the age of 13. Up until that point my comics had always been delivered to the house with the Saturday morning newspaper. However, at the age of 13 I convinced my mother to give me the money to buy the comics myself, rather than have them delivered. Of course, once I had the actual money in my hand I didn't spend it on comics. I was 13! I spent the money of cigarettes and beer - ah, the joys of being 13 and living in England, where it is almost compulsory to start smoking and drinking the second you hit puberty. Although, now I think about it I was a late developer. I hit puberty at the age of 12!

Anyhoo, I stopped reading comics at the age of 13. It wasn't until I was 28/29, stood in a WHSmiths, flicking through the magazine rack, that I came across a copy of The Incredible Hulk. The reason that it caught my eye was because The Hulk, as pictured on the front cover, was grey. A flick through the magazine revealed that not only was he no longer green, he also talked. Talked in complete, cognitive sentences, as opposed to: "Hulk Smash!" I bought a copy. I read it and was intrigued. I visited a local comic shop and bought some back issues. I discovered that the Hulk had moved on from when I was a thirteen year old. I had arrived in the middle of Peter David's ten year run (over 100+ issues)  as the writer on The Incredible Hulk, and I fell in love with his writing, and the direction in which he was taking the character. I was hooked. My love of The Hulk led to me returning to comics, returning in a way that (at the height of my addiction) resulted in an 80 British Pound Sterling ($150) a month habit. True, there was a lot of dross in my monthly parcel but there were the few nuggets of pure gold. The Incredible Hulk (while Peter David remained at the helm) was perfect.

And yet, I never went to see the Ang Lee film: Hulk when it came out. I knew I wouldn't like it. I knew that it wouldn't come close to touching the magic that I found in the comics. The year before I had seen the first Spider-Man film, a film that had made tears of joy and wonder roll down my cheeks (the moment when he first climbs the wall). I knew that the same feelings wouldn't happen in Hulk. And I still haven't seen it. And (to over use the word and) I have no intention of ever seeing it; I haven't heard a good word about it, the clips I have seen make me shudder, the CGI looks awful.

So, there is a new Incredible Hulk film out (you may have heard the hype), do you think I'd go and see it? Hey, remember how I felt about Iron Man. Even with the love of Maria's life Robert Downey in the title role they couldn't make the film enjoyable. Obviously there was no way that I was going to go see The Incredible Hulk. No way. Nuh-huh. No way, Jose!

So, I went to see The Incredible Hulk and you know what? It isn't bad! It isn't fantastic, brilliant, hulktastic - but, more to the point, it really isn't that bad. In fact, it is quite good. Definitely worth the price of admission! The main problem that I have with the film is the fact that it needed to make money, it needed to appeal to the masses. At it's core, the way that Peter David dealt with the Hulk, is a very complex story. Once you strip away the whole "Hulk Smash" ethos you have the story of a man dealing with his inner demons. A man who sets himself adrift from his loved ones, alone, desperately trying to find a cure that will enable him to re-enter society. The first half of the film deals with this story and Ed Norton plays it wonderfully. The problem is that Ed Norton can only play the Bruce Banner role, the role of the Hulk falls to CGI. And no matter what the advancements are with computer graphics, at this moment, they cannot make me care enough about about, what is basically, an inanimate object. (That isn't totally true. I can cry during Lilo and Stitch and Nemo but that has probably something more to do with the loss of family/my father than the actual characters.) The main problem with The Incredible Hulk is Tim Roth, or to be more precise, Tim Roth's character. Tim Roth is a great actor! I love and adore him. But he would be somewhere near the last person on my list to play a crack SAS/Marine/Super Soldier type person. He can do psychotic, he can do nasty, he can do weird, he can do frightening, but he can't do "Britain's elite soldier". The final act of the film is just a big beat 'em up scene that left me cold.

However, I'm glad I saw it. I didn't feel that my money was wasted (how the fuck did I pay twice to go see Iron Man?) and I am actually looking forward to seeing what they do with a second film - if they make one...there were enough dropped hints and openings for a possible sequel.

On the whole a 7 out of 10. Although, a verbal report (rather than a mathematical score) would have to read: not as bad as I thought it would be. And that can't be a great recommendation, can it? 

'tis done

The Lion King

Done, done, on to the next.

Last night was the performance of The Lion King. Six months work compressed into (just under) two hours. And it went off perfectly.

Actually it didn't - there were problems, hitches, disasters, mistakes, and moments of pure panic. However, all of those happened behind/off stage, the audience was totally unaware of any of them.

The children were wonderful. No lines forgotten - in fact, at one point when Simba was in the wrong place/un-microphoned/partially costumed, Pumba and Timon managed to ad lib a five minute section. When you realise that these characters were being played by a ten year old and an eight year old, in front of an audience of 800+, you have to applaud their skills and abilities.

The costumes were spectacular, the scenery was stunning, the dances were magnificent, the acting was awesome. It appears that during Mufasa's death scene several members of the audience were reduced to tears - not bad eh?

A standing ovation at the end, with demands to do the whole play again! Requests for repeat performances and inquiries into whether I will run an acting course during the holidays! A firm NO to all three!

'Tis done. Time to pack everything away into the memory box to be dragged out at a later date.

For now I just have to pick myself up! As the play finished my body imploded. It is amazing how you can carry on under so much stress, without realising how much you are putting your body through. As the curtain fell a great sense of relief washed over me and I mentally and physically crashed.

I have spent most of today apologising to Maria for the bastard I have probably been over the last couple of days, and thanking her for her support.

Now, just have to get through Monday - Graduation - and the rest of the week - nothing planned but there are no kids in school - and then I can crawl into bed and die.

Gotta lurve the end of a school year!

monopoly

When I was a kid, if I did something wrong, I was sent to my room.

This was a totally different punishment to "being grounded". When I was a kid, a long, long time ago, being sent to your room was a whole different ballgame to "being grounded". For starters I lived in the streets. When I was a child, paedophiles hadn't been invented. When I was a child: caring, loving parents would throw you out the door at 8am and not expect you back home until7pm. My mum would casually pack me sandwiches and a drink, tell me to be back by 7, then throw me out.

A day where I didn't collect 30+ miles, on my mile-o-meter that I had attached to my bike, would be considered a failure. There were dams to build in the woods. There were moors to be discovered. There were areas of Sheffield that were new to me. The only time my parents totally freaked was when I phoned (2p in a callbox) from Park Hill, casually mentioning that I was going to a fair.

Later in life, as a parent, once 24 hour news came about, I realised that you can never (never) let your children out the house, unless you drive them everywhere and tag them - else you will appear on the news as a bad parent. I also learned that sending your children to their room was not really a punishment. Children's rooms, these days, are full of computers, televisions, bloody everything - it isn't much of a punishment. But, back when I was a kid, my room was a punishment.

Except it wasn't. I had my books, my comics, my writing desk. I also had my brother. We had Lego (please note: in this blog the plural of Lego is Lego!), we had Action Men, we had Monopoly. Monopoly was our godsend. We would play games that lasted three days, we would play four games a day. There were weeks that I played 30/40 games of Monopoly (I was a naughty boy). I lived, breathed, devoured Monopoly. Later in life (sadly) I won a bet - could I name every single square on a Monopoly board? I was a god at Monopoly.

And then I played a game that included my dad.

We were on holiday, a caravan holiday, in the Lake District. It had rained for the first three days and it was raining on the fourth. Despite the rain we had still been on seven-hour forced marches during the day but at night, instead of playing football/cricket/rugby (we were a very active family, I now realise) we had been forced inside the carvan to play card games (by the age of eight I could card count - seriously, you wouldn't want to play whist with me). On day four my brother and I brought out the Monopoly board. My father said: No. We argued, we whined, we begged, we pleaded. He agreed, with one proviso, we would accept the outcome. He then proceeded to destroy the game of Monopoly for me and my brother. In under an hour he managed to suck any enjoyment of the game out of the game. He didn't dance, he didn't say: In your face, he didn't show any emotion. But, in under an hour, he totally and utterly dominated the game. We wanted to quit, he wouldn't let us. Another hour was spent being driven into bankruptcy and tears. I have never played Monopoly again.

It is now 35 years later.

I am old.

The children in my class have brought in a game of Monopoly. There is no money. There is no money because everyone playing is given a credit card. The credit card is placed into a calculator which adds/deducts money as they play the game. And there is something different about the board. There are no train stations - they are airports. The Water Board/Electric Company have become "Cell Phone" and "Internet" providers. But that isn't the worst thing.

To me.

The worst thing is that you get One Million for passing GO. One Million! One Million!! One Million for passing GO!!! Not two hundred pounds, one million somethings. I can accept that Old Kent Road isn't called Old Kent Road - what I have difficulty in accepting is that it doesn't cost forty pounds - it costs 6K.

When did I become so old? When did I become the man who rants at 12 year olds because they don't know what 6K means?  When did Monopoly become so, so, so...I don't know what?

When I was a child, many moons ago, my brother and I called the game Monotony. Now, the game is so hip-and-up-to-the-beat that I no longer recognise it.

I am old.

Still, it makes financial sense to buy the Oranges! Unless you are playing with my dad - that man could just tear you apart.

dog days

TPTB have spoken (in this case TPTB are SEP - the education board): No academic lessons are to be taught this week! Only activities are to occur in schools.  However, schools are to remain open until July 4th.

Every morning we drive past a school bus that is parked at the side of the road. Normally the bus is filled, stuffed. Often, when we drive pass, they are stuffing children into the luggage compartments and lashing them to the roof. This week there has been no bus! There is just a small white van, containing ten happy smiling teachers. They are happy because their school has taken the option of not having children in the school! The way a school proves it is open to SEP, is to get the teachers to sign in and sign out every day. The thinking goes, so long as the teachers are present, then the school is open. Happy, smiling teachers are a sign of teachers going to work in an empty school.

I have a list (yes, I am that anally retentive that sometimes I draw up a list) of:

my top ten favourite days as a teacher:

1) The middle of vacations - the days when you have forgotten the job.

2) The end of vacations - the days when you are preparing for a new year, a new start. Full of enthusiasm.

3) The beginning of vacations - I normally am ill because my body just collapses. But I ain't in school!

4) Days off in the working week - is there anything better than a paid, free day!

5) Weekends - no school!

6) Days when you just rock as a teacher - few and far between but the belief in these days are what makes you get up every morning.

7) Days when pupil x isn't in school - there is always one child that you have to fight with, one child who keeps you on the edge, and the day he isn't in school is the day that you find the most stress free day. Note: these days are exceedingly rare because pupil x's parents also find him difficult and so send him to school even when he is near death's door, just to get him out of the house. Double note: Although his parents find him difficult they will not admit this in the many (many) meetings you will have with them - it is all the teachers fault.*

8) Days when I am teaching - odd that this should appear so far down the list because, honestly, I love my job.

9) Days when it all goes wrong as a teacher -nuff said.

10) Days when I don't have to teach, I just babysit - schools don't have the resources to entertain children.

Friday is the day of the school performance: The Lion King. This is something that the school has been working up to all year. This is the thing that the school will use to sell itself. There is no way (no way) that the school can release the children into the wild and expect them to turn up on Friday, ready to perform. So the children are in school.

With nothing to do.

Abso-tively-poso-lutely nothing to do.

I am, at this moment, a paid babysitter.

Schools are not equipped to entertain children for seven hours a day. Resources are finite. If you have money to spend, you spend it on teaching aids, educational aids. You don't spend your money on things that will entertain children on activity days. Oh sure, as a teacher you have the one lesson that covers a blank moment on the timetable - that moment when you have to cover a lesson and there is no lesson plan. But for seven hours? Forget it. As an adult (and I believe that both my readers are adults) you know that there is nothing worse than when your child/nephew/niece/next-door-neighbour's-kid mutters those immortal words: "I'm bored". Now try to imagine what it is like when twenty-five kids say it. And then look at you for inspiration. It is hell. Hell on wheels!

Today is W*dnesd*y. I have gone through three days of this. Personally it feels like twelve. Each minute feels like an hour. Each hour feels like a day. The thermometer hasn't fallen below 35 degrees. Stuck in a classroom with 20+ kids who are bored out of their little cotton socks.

To paraphrase Marvin (and if you don't know who Marvin is, you need to hand in your geek credentials at the door):

Life. Don't talk to me about life. Here I am, brain the size of a planet, and they ask me to babysit kids!

I am living in dog days.

*My ex-sister-in-law once asked me to speak on behalf of her son - he had been excluded from a school. When I inquired as to why, I was informed that it was "something trivial - he hadn't done any homework for a month".  When I asked if the school had given them some sort of notice, there had to have been some sort of warning, I was told that the parents had ignored the warnings because "the school just picked on their child after the last two incidents".  The last two incidents? It appears that the first incident, when he attempted to burn down the school, wasn't actually the child's fault. It was the teacher's. He had complained that their son wasn't showing enough creativity. In retaliation the child had tried to set fire to the science lab with a bunsen burner. The second offence was also the teacher's fault. The teacher (the fool) had asked for a 1500 word essay and only given their child a month to write the thing. When the child turned in a 30 word essay the teacher had the audacity to grade it with an "F". This was enough provocation for my nephew to actually punch the teacher. As my ex-sister-in-law told me: "He was asking for it. Everyone knows my son is intelligent! It doesn't matter what his essay looks like, the teacher should know that it is worth more than an F." After punching the teacher, the child was suspended. Except that was recinded because, as the parents argued, the teacher was asking for it when he gave the child an F. Although, the school took him back, they did stress that the third strike on his record meant he would be out. This wasn't good enough for his parents, and the fact he hadn't done any work for the past month wasn't his/their fault it was the school's. He hit a teacher!!!!! I refused to talk on his behalf...and that was "only 'cos you're a teacher. You're just siding with them. You just prove our point! All teachers are shit! It has nothing to do with our son!"

and now a word from our sponsor

So, Jen got evicted from Hell's Kitchen! Hurray! What? You weren't watching? Why the @#$% not? Actually, more to the point, why the fuck was I watching? Oh, I know, because the thermometer has hit 38°C (that's just over 100°F for those of you still dealing in old money). If you haven't lived in a world where the temperature is 38°C from midday onwards (and it rises, believe me, it rises) then, crap television programmes are a godsend. You get home from work, you peal (that's peal) off your shirt, your vest, your socks, your underpants, and you lie nekkid in front of the television, sucking on anything (anything) that will keep you hydrated (I've been drinking water! Yes, water. Who'd have thunked it!).

Anyhoo, crap television is a godsend. And there is very little that approaches crap television as well as Fox TV does. Seriously, this is mind-switched-off-cos-your-brain-is-fried television. It is simply the best. I'm even looking forward to Fringe - although, I realise that a series that starts in Fall (that's Autumn to those of us who speak the queen's Ingerlish) might suffer from the ability to think. However, until more sensible temperatures return, you will find me nekkid, bag of cheesy-puffs beside me, sucking on a frozen bottle of water, staring (glassy eyed) at Fox TV.

So, Jen got evicted. Serves her right, the bitch! And I know she's a bitch because I watch Fox TV! And I am sure that the station that brings me "balanced news" wouldn't lie to me. Damn my liberal tendencies. Damn my theories about Mr. Murdock! When the temperature outside rises to above the temperature inside my body, everything goes out the window. Hell, maybe that's what neo-facism should think about. Bugger liberal idealism, what the world really needs is global warming. If they can get the world's temperature to rise above body temperature they will rule the world (they being capitalistic bastards). Keep raising the temperature and I might start wearing Nike trainers and eating Nestle products. Oh! Damn!! I am wearing Nike and eating Nestle. They are winning! I think I've cracked their code.

Anyhoo, Jen got evicted. And what the hell is Cat Deeley doing on American television? Not only presenting "So You Think You Can Dance" but also doing the voice-overs for Victoria Secrets underwear adverts! It is driving me spare. Maria spends ages trying to see what shoes she is wearing - and then demands (demands I say) that I buy her the same shoes!

Hang on! Stop! This post has lost its thread - which I know, for both my readers, is nothing unusual, but I had a point. Damn, this heat! Quick, check the title of the post and...

Adverts. Adverts on American television are the bestest. Actually, that's not true. You know how some people say that the best things on television are the adverts? Well, they are wrong. The best things on television (normally) have HBO somewhere in the titles (unless it is West Wing). Nope, some of the worst things in television are the adverts. But, here's the kicker, some adverts are totally unbelievable.

America - a country that is trying to ban smoking in your own car, a country that believes that if you have two drinks a day you are an alcoholic, a country whose citizens will sue at the drop of a hat (that hat-dropping scared me so badly that I lost my job, lost my family, lost my hair and I need [at least] five million to compensate) - advertises prescription drugs.

Most advert breaks feature one (or two [or if it is a programme watched by old people - think Jeopardy or Countdown - six) advert(s) about prescription drugs. These are adverts that encourage (nay, demand) that, the next time you visit your doctor, you demand (nay, demand) you receive this drug!

But, the bestest thing ever, about these adverts is that they have (HAVE) to include the side effects that might (might) occur. In other words, a thirty second advert spends ten seconds telling you how X might improve your life, and then twenty seconds telling you how X might fuck up your life.

Have you ever had to leave your grandchild's recital just before they hit the stage? Worried that the bingo caller says your number while you are in the toilet? When Matlock finally reveals the murderer are you trying to dry that embarrassing stain? No longer! You can ask your doctor to prescribe you Pee-Alevee. Pee-Alevee means that you can live a normal life.

Warning: Pee-Alevee has been shown to cause constipation is some sufferers. If your left eye ball explodes, consult a doctor. Also, if your left leg falls off you might not be the person to take Pee-Alevee. Pee-Alevee has been know to cause erections that last longer than six hours. This is not a good thing! Especially in women. If you find yourself erect for longer than six hours, consult a doctor or a prostitute. Pee-Alevee is not to be used by Bingo addicts. Pee-Alevee will not let you win more often. Also note, Pee-Alevee does not make Matlock more interesting! If you intend to walk on the beach, the wind blowing in your hair, the sand between your toes, the manufactures of Pee-Alevee suggest that you carry a catheter with you.

Pee-Alevee, giving you a life that is more normal. Please ignore the second head that is growing out of your shoulders.

All the people in this advert are actors and should not be confused with real people.

Gotta lurve American adverts.

[This post has been brought to you by the power of Dos Equis Lager. Dos Equis Lager will make you feel more witty, more clever, and more sarcastic than any other lager. Plus it will also improve your charm. If you drink more than four Dos Equis you will think that you are the most witty, handsome, sexy, attractive man on the planet. Failure to get an erection is just the way it is and should not be a case for suing Dos Equis. Stay thirsty my friends.]

can't sleep

That wasn't our car alarm.

I know.

I'm sorry. Did I disturb you? Is that why you got out of bed?

No. I got out of bed because of the gunshots.

What gunshots?

Fifteen gunshots in ten seconds. Outside the flat. Just now. That's why the car alarm went off.

There wasn't any gunshots.

There was! That's why I got up. Did I wake you?

No. I was awake. I couldn't get to sleep. It's too hot. I can't get comfortable. I can't sleep. That's why I thought you got out of bed. I was moving around. Trying to find a cool spot in the bed.

I got out of bed because of the gunshots. You didn't hear them?

No.

You were asleep weren't you.

I wasn't. I can't sleep. I'm wide awake. Look! WIDE AWAKE! It's too hot.

But if you didn't hear the gunshots you must have been asleep. Think about it.

I was asleep wasn't I?

You were asleep. Now, go back to sleep.

I can't.

Why? Is it too hot? Do you want me to put the fan on?

I can't sleep because there were gunshots in the street.

But you didn't hear them. You were asleep.

Yes. But now you've told me I can't sleep.

Goodnight Will.

or you could just trim it

But let's say there's a bear.

Will, just trim it.

No, listen to me. There could be a bear.

A bear?

Yes, a bear. A bear loose in the streets of Tijuana.

Just trim it.

But what if there is a bear loose in the streets of Tijuana?

Why would there be a bear in Tijuana?

I dunno. But there could be.

What has a bear got to do with it anyway?

If there was a bear, loose, in the middle of the street, you'd be sorry.

Just trim the damn thing.

No. Say a bear had escaped from Jellystone Park.

Jellystone? You mean Yellowstone.

Do they have bears in Yellowstone Park?

Do they have bears in Jellystone Park?

DUH! Where do you thing Yogi and Boo Boo live?

Stop there. Stop there and trim it.

No, I'm being serious. Say Ranger Smith has banned pic-a-nic baskets from Jellystone Park. And say that this bear had heard the best tacos were in Tijuana. Well, he'd come here, wouldn't he? And, let's say that we were in the street when he arrived. Well, you'd run - wouldn't you?

Is this about the way I run now?

No. Yes. No. Sort of. Look, you always say that when you run it looks like you are being chased by a bear. Well, you don't!

Thanks.

You look like you've actually been caught and partially mauled by a bear.

You're now telling me that I run funny?

You're missing the point.

There's a point?

Yes. There's this bear in the middle of the street. A hungry bear. What would you do? You'd run. But he'd see you running and think: "There goes my lunch!" And I'd have to defend you.

You'd defend me? From a bear.

Of course! There is no way I'd let a bear get you!! I love you!!! And, and you smell wonderful. The bear would probably want to eat you because you smell so nice.

You are so sweet.

That's my point! The bear would want to get you and I'd have to defend you. So what I'd do is, I'd pull of my left shoe, pull of my left sock, and stab him with this toenail.

That toenail?

This one. On my middle toe.

It doesn't look very sharp. Not sharp enough to stab a bear anyway.

I could sharpen it!

Or you could just trim it?

Or I could just trim it I suppose.

Thank you.

Ha! You won't be saying thank you when you get chased by a bear down La Revolucion!

I'll take my chances with the bear. But for now, just trim the damn toenail will you.

posts I didn't write

Tee hee! Hi, my name's Will and I'm a bad blogger. Actually, I'm a much better blogger than you'd realise - I have written posts in the last week [checks list and discovers three drafts that haven't been finished], however, it has been one of those weeks that I just haven't got round to finishing a thought, never mind a post. So, here is a list of posts that I didn't write during the last seven days.

W*dnesd*y: Kids will drive us apart (to paraphrase Ian Curtis)

Thanks to the kids being with us our morning routine is destroyed. I don't get the opportunity to go back to bed in the morning, for that moment when I hold her, kiss her. This makes the rest of the day seem incredibly long. When I get home, at night in the afternoon, there is no chance to be alone with her. It is only when we finally get to shut the bedroom door that we are alone. I miss her so much during the day.

Thursday: Insanity is hereditary - it is passed from child to parent [sic]

I honestly believe that my IQ is falling. I have now watched more television in the past four days than in the previous four months. What is worse is that I am enjoying it. I am emotionally involved with the contestants on So You Think You Can Dance? I really wanted Vicki(? I just remember it began with a V - so maybe I'm not that involved)) eliminated from Hell's Kitchen but understood, totally, why Gordon Ramsey got rid of Bobby. I can't believe the idiocy of the contestants on Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? And The Moment of Truth is just car-crash television! You know you should look away, you know that you should move on, but somehow you are drawn totally to watching the disaster enfold in front of your eyes.

Friday: Look what I got in the post

I got a CD from Alan! I also got two books (the next episode of Lucifer and another Nick Hornby article collection). But, I got a CD from Alan!! Isn't getting parcels in the post the bestest!!! Especially ones that you didn't order yourself.

Saturday: I think I'm going to explode

You know how after eating a Chinese meal you are supposed to be hungry 30 minutes later? I over ate! I'm not saying that I was a big, fat, bloated organism, laying around the flat - but three environmentalists tried to drag me back into the sea, to release me back into the wild.

Sunday: I miss my dad, I miss being a dad

Thank goodness I didn't finish this post! This was one of those very dark, very depressing posts. Luckily the day was saved from total disaster when I received a card from Dani. Sometimes you can't see the good things in life until they smack you in the face.

Monday: seriously, they are that enthused?

The tickets for the Lion King went on sale, at school, Saturday morning at 8:30am. That explains the the seven parents who slept overnight outside the school gates. That also explains the sixty-five parents who were already queueing at 5:51am. Do you start to feel that I might be under a little pressure?

Tuesday: no sleep 'til brooklyn (I think I've used this title before)

The email I got from La Directore at 9:45pm was enough to ensure that I didn't fall asleep until 1am. The power cut at 2am meant that I spent the rest of the night not sleeping, scared that I would not hear my watch alarm, my mobile alarm, because there was no CD alarm to wake me up.

So, there you go. Seven posts that I didn't write. Aren't you glad you didn't have to wade through that stream of unconsciousness this past seven days? And that is without talking about "national stupid driving day" or "the exhibition of cows". Anyhoo, gotta go. The kids have left which means that I should be spending time with Maria, not sitting at the computer. Mind you, it's too hot to do anything - so I might just lie on the sofa and watch television. Can't remember if it's So You Think You can Dance? or Hell's Kitchen tonight. But you can bet I'll be there whichever one it is!