I've found my home

an apology

I can't post. Tried to start three different posts and failed miserably. Can't get the sentences to join. Can't get an idea to flow. Can't express what I want.

I'm going to blame fatigue. The academic year finished yesterday. Last week was a long wind down from the Lion King, through graduation, academic post mortems, to a last day meeting. Last night I had a very enjoyable evening out in the company of friends - five hours that felt like one. Physically I just want to sleep, mentally I need to detox. Writing posts seems impossible.

Have read Housekeeping vs The Dirt (excellent) and Lucifer:Crux (so-so). Dipped into Engulfed in Flames (luvverly and funny). Tearing my way through The Yiddish Policeman's Union (genius).

Listening to the new Coldplay album (learning to love it) and rocking away to the new Weezer album (brilliant).

Seen WALL-E (fantastic) and Wanted (awful).

Worrying about the finalists of Hell's Kitchen and So You Think You Can Dance (I have become this shallow).

Started a new diet in order to control my IBS which has flared up again.

But most of all I need to sleep. I need to rest. I just don't have the words.

I am still alive, still happy, still madly in love, still in Mexico.

Regular service will be returned once I've recharged.

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!

speed blogging VI

[deep breath] I haven't done one of these for over a year, but I just don't have time to write, I'm having a life, and I realise that I've posted recently, but stuff has happened, and I want to mention it before I forget, and (let's face it) the day that Alan is a more prolific blogger than you then you're doing something wrong, and I've got a couple of minutes, so I thought I'd throw out a couple of ideas, it's not much of a blog post, but, hey, it's something for you to read. [and relax]

Sunday

Got up early, we needed to cross the border because we were going to see the Indiana Jones film. Got straight across the border in under five minutes. Which meant that we were in the States at 8am with nothing open.  Went to Mission Valley and sat in Ruby's Diner. Ate a stack of pancakes and kept refilling a diet coke for a couple of hours, then hit the shops.

I don't know if it is because I am old, or because I hate spending money on me - but $150 dollars for a pair of trainers seemed a bit steep to me. No matter that they are sex on a stick, no matter that my knees are giving me a hard time, no matter that I look damn cool in them - they were $150!! However, I lost the argument, Maria got them for me, and I sat outside the shop and put them on! This was a good idea because by the end of the day I had (according to my funky new phone) walked 9.8km.

We went from shop to shop, moved to another mall (Chula Vista small world), and by 2pm I was weighed down with bags. I was the proud owner of (working up my body): a pair of trainers; three pairs of socks; two pairs of jeans; a pair of trousers; six pairs of underpants; two t-shirts; one shirt; and a hat. The hat is brilliant! Actually, everything is brilliant, but I really like my hat!! The only thing I didn't have was money in my wallet. We couldn't go to see the film!

Back across the border in time to see the mighty Santos play in the semi-finals. 0-0 at half time. The Monterrey goalkeeper was having an amazing game (bastard!). Ten minutes into the second half, Monterrey scored. Thirty minutes into the second half, they scored again. In theory it was all over. Maria was sat, head in pillow, crying. And then, with only five minutes left, the god-like Vuoso pulled a goal back. Could they score another in the last five minutes?....No! But the referee (who had an awful game) signalled an extra five minutes of play. Three minutes in and Arce (a player I loathed with a passion) smacks the ball in the back of the net! All over 2-2. And because we had a higher league position, the mighty Santos Laguna rolled on towards the final!! There was much singing and dancing in our house that night!

Monday

I really don't want to write about work. Suffice to say, it wasn't a great day. Don't get me wrong - students were fine, lessons went well. However, there are days that I would enjoy so much more if some of my colleagues either (a) didn't turn up for work or (2) tried thinking as a new hobby.

Maria picked me up from school. Back home to change (all new clothes and a great hat). Over the border in under three minutes. Ignored all the shops and went to the cinema to see Indiana Jones - at last. Great film and good fun. We tried to go shopping again - this time for trainers and jeans for Maria - but, somehow, that shopping magic had left us. We couldn't find anything that appealed. Ended up in the Outback restaurant (again), and, yes (s)wine, Bukowski was right, every five minutes the waiter asked how we were doing!

Tuesday

I really don't want to write about work. Suffice to say, it wasn't a great day. Don't get me wrong - students were fine, lessons went well. However, there are days that I would enjoy so much more if some of my colleagues either (a) didn't turn up for work or (2) tried thinking as a new hobby.

After Maria picked me up from work we went to Costco. Back home I got a bit snappy with Maria. I was tired. It had been a long (annoying/frustrating) day at work, it has been an action packed five (or so) days, and I was grumpy. I didn't realise I was grumpy, but I was grumpy. It was time for a power-nap! Forty minutes with my eyes shut and everything is alright with the world.

Out on the balcony I have new lemon trees seedlings appearing through my pot of soil. At the moment I can count three!! (which, considering I planted 12 pips, I can't work out is a good ratio or not - or maybe there are more to come). My avocado seed is splitting, so that looks like it is also growing - yay me!

And I suppose I should spend some time on the t'internet - reading blogs, posting comments, writing emails. Except, I was grumpy with Maria earlier, so I'll go and sit with her instead. Bye!

the terrific tales of Action Will

This will be a "live" blogging event. To prove that I am all action today, I will update this post regularly, so that you can keep track of whether I am fulfilling my promise to end procrastination. Stay tuned (or keep hitting refresh) for the latest news:

6:15am - I wake up at this time every day. Although the alarm is not on, I still wake up at this time today. Today is my day of action. I roll over and go back to sleep.

8:05am - I get up. Check emails, check blogs. Open a coke. Have a cigarette. Go back to bed and wake Maria up. As this is a day of action I get out handcuffs, chains, wiffle bat, and run (run!) back to the fridge for the whipped cream and a stick of celery! (is this T.M.I.? It was the stick of celery that pushed this over the edge wasn't it? Hey, at least I didn't mention the radish! Oops, too late.)

8:57am - get up again. Check blogs. Leave comment on j.a.'s blog. Surf internet.

9:23am - go for shower.

9:34am - still going for a shower.

9:49am - am out of shower and dressed. Whilst in shower I got the joke in j.a.'s comment: In the list of things to procrastinate about, "get a haircut" is at least in the top 5. I will list the rest later. This is, of course, after I had started to, mentally, draw up my own list.

9:57am - run (run!) round house collecting keys, wallet, phone. We have to pick the kids up at ten and they live three minutes away! I will be on time.

10:02am - pick up kids and explain to them that we are having an action day.

10:23am - arrive at Starbucks. Order a power drink!! Full of vitamins, and minerals, and water gathered from the thighs of Cuban virgins (who have been left out overnight to let the dew settle on their thighs - I hope?). Sorry Vanessa, I did not bring the computer - this is family time! And, because I am being all action, I need to turn the time into quality rather than quantity.

11:17am - leave Starbucks. Go back into Starbucks to use the facilities - I don't know much about Cuban virgins but I think their thighs excrete some sort of diuretic??

11:23am - leave Starbucks with empty bladder.

11:31am - enter Blockbusters.

11:42am - start throwing DVDs at Nikos. I love the boy but, sometimes, he's like Maria in a shoe shop - the shoes in the other aisle are always more pretty than the pair in her hands, the ones on her feet, and the other two boxes she has in front of her.

11:45am - leave Blockbusters.

12:02pm - arrive at supermarket.

12:07pm - still wandering around aimlessly! This is supposed to be an action day! Hit upon idea of, instead of wandering around, thinking what we need, systematically go up and down every aisle, filling cart with one of everything!

12:27pm - bill for shopping comes to 987 pesos??? That can't be right!!!

12:29pm - get out of supermarket car park! Don't these people have anything better to do on a Saturday, other than go shopping? Don't they realise they are holding up a man of action????

12:38pm - unpack shopping. Realise that we forgot to get the things we went for. How the heck can you forget bacon??????

12:42pm - update blog (doing that now!!!)

12:52pm - hit publish and then will get out all my books and start writing my exams.

12:53pm - realise that I forgot to get a haircut. Kids are now watching DVDs and don't want to go out. I need to start my exams. Probably won't get haircut today.

1:36pm - will start to write exams soon. Just surfing at the moment - but it is action surfing.

1:55pm - have opened Word on the computer! Am a lot nearer to writing my exams.

2:33pm - opening Word was a bad plan. The computer froze. It might have had something to do with the fact that I was doing too many things with the computer - foolish me! Computer had to be re-set. It was my intention to open no more windows, just Word and work on my exams. However, Maria has just posted. So, I'll have to go read that first. But will get to my exams soon!!!

2:59pm - did you know that you could buy second hand books from Barnes and Noble? I got a gift voucher for my birthday and now, instead of buying two/three books, I can probably get a load more. Now, I need to sit down and write a list of books I want. Hang on, there is a funny smell in the flat??? Damn, it appears I was supposed to be watching the beans. I don't think they are burnt but Maria is a bit grumpy with me. I told her I was concentrating on the computer...true, it wasn't my exams, it was shopping! However, I'd better open Word and get on with the exams NOW!

3:20pm - have written half an exam. However, have been worrying about my failure to detect the boiling beans. Am now boiling eggs to make my egg salad. Will need to chop up an onion and fine cut some coriander (cilantro). This will take me away from the computer...but I am doing something! I am not avoiding writing exams. Honestly.

3:23pm - run out of gas. Can't boil eggs. Will need to hang about on the balcony waiting for the gasman to drive past. I know, I know. It might look as if I'm just sat on the balcony, reading, but I am doing something. I'm waiting for the gasman!

3:47pm - gasman has been. Have lit the boiler and set the eggs to boil (again). Need to chop some food and wash out the glass I am growing my avocado in.

4:04pm - finished sixth grade maths exam!! Decided I was procrastinating, didn't chop food, didn't wash avocado glass, wrote exam instead! I am a man of action!!!

4:46pm - transferred water from huge bottles into smaller bottles. Bit of a disaster with the eggs - might have forgotten they were boiling? There was still water left in the pan though, so they should be alright. Not that I've been avoiding the fifth grade maths exam but, up on acuerdate de acapulco there is a post in English. This is good news, as Maria is asleep in front of the tele - the kids are watching a film about a tooth mouse (no tooth fairy in Mexico, it's a mouse!) [and no IMDB link for El Raton de los Dientes either] - and so couldn't translate for me. The better news is that she's asleep and doesn't know I'm reading blogs, instead of writing exams!

5:36pm - have written the fifth grade exam. It is not a nice exam (sorry) it is full of questions about circles, which means π. The thing about teaching π, is that it is pronounced "pie" in England, which means loads of awful jokes for the maths teacher to make!

Apple Pie - do you get it? Genius, I'll be here all week. Unfortunately, π is pronounced "pea" in Mexico - and there are no jokes that I am doing about a word that sounds like "pee". Hard enough talking about a Wii!! Anyhoo, onward and upward! It is time for this man of action to make his egg salad!!

5:41 - three legged cat had a haircut today! She is a woman of action!! I feel like a failure. Maybe I should go lie down?

6:05 - just realised that I haven't eaten today! Am going to make the egg salad, open some ritz crackers, and dip away. Might also slice up some saussies and coat them in lemon and chili powder. While I am eating I will go watch some tele - probably an episode (or two) of Chuck. Also realised that I haven't said (on here) congratulations to Croila! Congratulations on your fantastic news!!

6:15pm - aaarrrggghhh. Didn't buy Lea and Perrins, didn't buy any dijon mustard. And now Maria feels ill :^( Not because we didn't buy the correct stuff - she just feels ill. I'll go sit with her for a bit.

8:15pm - still sitting with Maria. She is still feeling ill. I can't leave her. Much as I want to write the English exam, I have to think about her feelings. Plus, I'm in the middle of watching something. Gotta go!

10:28pm - time for bed. The kids have to go to bed, which means we have to retire to our bedroom. Not sure how successful this day has been - I've written two exams out of three but I didn't get a haircut. Good night.

look it up

I am full of boring/useless information. Some of it has to do with the fact that I am male and, therefore, seem to collate information, store it, and then regurgitate it (in an attempt to impress women/men/students/myself)*. However, most of my information has been gathered because of my mother. My mother is not the brightest button on the cardigan of the world. Actually, that isn't true. My mother is not the most knowledgeable person in the world, but she is very bright. A lot of it has to do with leaving school at the age of 14. This meant that whenever I would ask her a question, her reply would always be: Look it up. But this wasn't a throw-away comment, a pacifier for an annoying child. No, my mother would always follow the phrase, two hours later, with: What's the answer? I would have to answer my own question to her satisfaction. And, therein lies the rub. My mother's satisfaction was not necessarily my satisfaction. Quite often, she wanted an answer with more depth than I did. Thus, evenings would be spent with me, sent from the living room to the study, surrounded by reference books, dictionaries**, encyclopaedias, a pad of paper, and a pen. Before I went to bed, I would have to report to my mother my findings. I am 47 years old and I am full of boring/useless information.

Being the font of all knowledge has stood me in good stead in my career. I have discovered that children (the bastards) can be very inquisitive. The direction that you want the lesson to go in, is not necessarily the direction that children take you in. But, often, if you believe in "education as the creation of the free-thinking autonomous human being", you have to go in that direction. I am not a great believer in the phrase "because I told you so!" On my wall, in the classroom, I have a notice that reads: "Mr. Kay does not know everything, but yesterday he discovered:" Underneath this I write some piece of information that was inspired by a conversation in a lesson (or a direction that I want to take a conversation in). Often, this inspires students to discover more. More often it forces some fact into the students' faces that means they are learning something that makes them better people.

The t'internet has been a fantastic revelation to me (I'm old). For those of you (both of you) who read my previous blog, you may remember my total joy when I discovered Google Earth. That wonder still hasn't died (and if you have never used Google Earth, you must.  Google Earth is just the most gob-smacking thing out there. It is the reason to upgrade your computer. It is the reason to have an internet connection. Can you tell it rocks my world?). The t'internet is all those evenings in my parent's study, pouring over books - but, and here is the thing that you have to be my age to appreciate, it has all the answers. Yes, there is a lot of shit out there, too much donkey-porn, but, I can't explain the absolute joy I feel every time I open a google search, knowing that there is an answer out there, one click away. Damn, I love the t'internet!

I love Maria.

Maria is wonderful. One (if not the one) reason that I love Maria is that she loves me. And a lot of her love for me is based around the fact that she thinks I am wonderful. One of the reasons that she thinks I'm wonderful is that I normally have an answer for any question. She asks a question, I answer. Two minutes ago she asked me the meaning of "natty". I knew the answer without having to turn to Google. She loves me. She loves me because I have the answer to everything. I am her t'internet. Except I'm not. Mr Kay does not know everything... Recently I got a new mobile. The choosing of the phone was 75% Maria's, 25% mine. She knows what I want, she knows what is sexy. But, she didn't know exactly what I really wanted. What I wanted was not an MP3 player that also calls people. I wanted a phone that meant that when she asks me a question, and I don't know the answer, under the table I can Google the answer. Then she would adore me. I would have the answer to all her questions. My life is devoted to being her "number-one-go-to-guy", and if that means cheating - I'm the guy to do it!!!

There is a chain of restaurants called "Outback", it is themed as Australian. We love the place. They give you a malt loaf to chew on while you read the menu (although, if you ever eat in an Outback with Maria, heaven help you! The knife they give you to slice the loaf is sharp and it never leaves Maria's hand!). We have a "bloomin' onion". I have a "big-boy" Foster's. And then I have a big-fuck-off steak!

The last time we were there, we had one of those conversations. Maria asked me if I could remember the name of a singer, she's a country singer, she posed on the cover of Vanity Fair, she was being shaved by someone, she's a lesbian. I failed. But our waitress didn't!

Last night we went again (to celebrate my b'day). We had spent a certain amount of time searching for a Barnes & Noble (because a very nice person had presented me with a gift certificate) and failed miserably. The meal was wonderful, the discussion was fantastic, and as we left we asked the "seater" if she knew where there was a Barnes & Noble. She told us! Drew us a map. Wrote out directions. It was only as we were getting into the car that we realised that the "seater" and the waitress (from our last visit) were, one in the same person.

Maybe I shouldn't have worried about my mobile, about Google. Maybe we should just eat at the same restaurant all the time!

*actually, as dull as it sounds "trying to impress women", I have found that some women are impressed with the amount of information I have stored. I can carry on conversations, seem fairly intelligent, can express an opinion. Of course, the bestest thing is that, 'cos I know a little of everything, my opinion can be swayed. And there is nothing more impressive than a man who appears to be an intellect, and yet concedes the ground to a well thought out argument. Damn, let's hope Maria doesn't read this!

**as I was typing this post up, Maria was surfing the t'internet. Oh, no! She suddenly exclaimed. It appears that the OED (Oxford English Dictionary) is seriously considering never publishing a paper edition again! Wow, am I cutting edge or what? (I heard that person who said "or what"!)

it's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to

It is probably me - or is it? Maria asked me, this morning, to tell her a story about one of my birthday parties. Now, if you know one thing about me, you know that the chance to hold-the-floor and tell a story, isn't something that I miss. Except...except, I didn't have any stories. I don't remember any of the parties I had before I was 12, apart from the one on my 12th birthday (and the story connected with that has nothing to do with the party). My parents didn't believe in parties once you were a teenager, so there weren't any stories to tell during my teenage year - oh, except for the day my boarding school burnt down and I spent my 18th birthday getting drunk with several firemen and then discovering that I was the second coming of the big Jee. But that is a well known (to Maria) story. My father put in an appearance on my 21st birthday but there was no party. And there was a surprise party on my 30th - a story Maria also knew. And that was that. No other parties to talk about.

Maria talked about an event at her 22nd b'day party, which was sweet. However, when she was 22, I was 34, and it was that during that year that (with 20/20 hindsight I can see) the first domino fell,in a series of dominoes, culminating in the collapse of my marriage. And this is starting to sound maudlin, which was not my intention, however, it is probably me. I don't know if it is my Englishness or my upbringing but I feel embarrassed about my birthday. It's like I am celebrating a day that I had nothing to do with. But, I am three-fifths of the way to being Mexican...so, time to change the direction of this post, become more Mexican and celebrate!!!

I was born on May 15th in England. This presents a couple of problems in my new life in Mexico. The first is that, theoretically/mathematically/time-differencely, I was actually born on May 14th in Mexico. The second problem (for the school and students) is that there is no school  on May 15th - it being Teacher's Day. These two events, taken together, means that I get to celebrate my birthday over two days. Actually, to be more accurate, everyone else gets to celebrate my birthday over two days. You see, your birthday isn't so much about you celebrating, as it is about everyone else celebrating the fact that you are alive and in their lives.

The sixth grade - the sixth grade who have caused me so much heartache, so much trouble, so many sleepless nights - were wonderful. After being sung to, by the whole school, I taught the sixth grade for two hours. It was a good lesson, they were attentive, we got a huge amount of work done, one of those lessons that you wish you could bottle/save/pull out every day. Of course (with my amazing 20/20 hindsight), I should have realised that the game was afoot. As I struggled through a rehearsal, the sixth grade out their plans into action and at 11 o'clock, threw a surprise party for me.

My love of tacos is well known to my students, thus tacos appeared. I was allowed to take as many tacos as I wished. I took one. No, no, they insisted, take more. I took another. Please Mr. Kay take more!! I insisted that I wanted to share and was then informed that I could have as many as I liked...so long as I didn't take more than four! They had ordered 20 tacos, figuring that I would have four and there would be one each left over.

We have been discussing foods from different cultures in the English lesson. One student made a sushi cake for the party.

Every recess/lunchtime I always have a sandwich. Sofia's mum makes the best sandwiches in the world, so there were two piles of sandwiches.

Four buckets of KFC. A huge chocolate cake. Three tubs of Oreo ice-cream.

And the children were apologetic. They were really sorry that they hadn't been able to provide two things that they knew I liked: toast and coke. They had asked permission from the school if they could bring a toaster into school but permission was denied. Students are only allowed to bring fizzy pop (soda) into school for parties but are not allowed to bring in drinks that include caffeine.

However, the whole event was wonderful. And, what made it even better for me, the fantastic thing was that it taught me something about birthdays. Birthdays are actually a celebration that the person is alive, that he is in their lives. The sixth grade spent most of the party, checking that I was happy, checking that I was surprised, but, mostly, reaffirming that they liked me. They wanted to celebrate the fact that I had come into their lives.

Damn! I'm going to have to finish this post with the phrase: that I had made a difference.

I think I'm going to go cry a little bit, over there, in the corner. Hell, it's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to!

la cucaracha

Sometimes a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

I was at a friends' house. Maria was away and they, luvverly people that they are, had decided to look after me on my first night home alone.  And, just make me feel more welcome, they had invited other people round - to talk, to keep me entertained, to keep my mind off my loneliness. Did I mention how luvverly these people are? Because I'm a bit crap, the whole night was spent talking English, as much as possible. However, I feel guilty about forcing these nice people to speak English all night (it is nights like this that convince me that I should learn Spanish - but their English is really good) and so, occasionally, I slip outside for a cigarette, letting everyone slip back into Spanish. My plan doesn't always work - people are really nice - because they don't let me go out alone, someone always steps out with me.

But I get a chance, the women are discussing something, one man is in the toilet, the host of the evening is cooking. I step out and smoke 'em 'cos I've got 'em. When I return everyone is in full Spanish flow and the men are stood round the oven as mine host continues to cook. I listen in, translating as much as I can. I don't want to interrupt I want to listen to the rhythm, the pattern, see how much I really understand. And then a sentence drops like a bomb into the conversation. I must have translated it incorrectly, it made no sense. I'm pretty sure that mine host just said that he wasn't cooking shrimp, he was cooking cockroaches. Yes, he said it again, something like the shrimp would taste like a cockroach. The shrimp would be a cockroach.

And I don't want to offend my hosts, I don't want to show my ignorance, but I really, really have to know if I've heard correctly, if I'm translating correctly. And so ask if I've translated properly, if I've (somehow) managed to mess up the meanings of words. The conversation stops, everyone looks at me and then the answer comes:

Yes, I'm cooking cockroaches! Well done on understanding what we are saying.

Two nights ago I asked Maria a stupid question. You know how you always think you know something, or sometimes you don't look at things very carefully because you're sure you know how they look, or you don't listen to what the words are because you're convinced you know them. So, I asked:

Is soy sauce made from crushed beetles?

Yeah, I know, it's soy sauce, so it's made from soy, I know that now. The second the words were out of my mouth I finally got it. But it was only when I asked the question that I realised that for over 40 years I was of the opinion that soy sauce was made from crushed beetles. I had never really thought about it until that moment, I had just accepted my father's statement as fact: soy sauce was made from crushed beetles.

When I was six there were (to my knowledge) only two Indian restaurants in Sheffield. We, as a family, visited them fairly regularly - maybe once every two months. This was seen as very regularly because, back in 1967, people just didn't eat Indian food.There was (to my knowledge) no Chinese restaurant in Sheffield at the time. There was, however, a take-away. There were nights, very few and far between, when my parents would have a Chinese take-away. Most of the time (I assume) I was in bed but there was this one night, I remember, that I was up and my parents were eating Chinese. I, because I was a kid, asked if I could try some of the food. My father informed me of the ingredients. He casually told me that (what I now know to be) beansprouts were albino worms. Worms kept in the dark so that they wouldn't tan. This, immediately meant that I wouldn't want to eat any dish that contained beansprouts. However there was one dish that didn't - it was chicken. Chicken in soy sauce. That was when my father told me that soy sauce was made from crushed beetles. My parents got to eat their Chinese meal in peace and I, well I didn't have my first Chinese food until I was 18 - when friends discovered that I hadn't eaten Chinese food (what??? ever????) and took me to a restaurant for my 18th birthday.

Obviously I have managed to dismiss the stories of albino worms and have enjoyed countless Chinese meals in the last 30 years (in fact I cook a mean sweet and sour chicken). However, the legend of soy sauce being made from crushed beetles has stayed with me (hell, next thing I'll discover is that Turkish Delight isn't made from camel hooves) until two nights ago. So, now you know.

Oh, in case anyone has read this far, determined to find out about the cockroaches that were served - they were delicious! Shrimp fried in their shells with sauces and spices added very slowly. This meant that they were almost dry cooked. Leaving the shell very, very crispy but the meat inside soft and juicy. Bit like biting into a cockroach - or so I was informed. Oddly enough, none of the children at the party ate any of them! My dad would have been proud!!!

new and different things

One of the real joys of living in another country is discovering new and different things, things that I might not have ever discovered. Prime example: Taco Bell tacos are not real tacos! And,as much as I enjoyed a tray of Taco Bell tacos before, there is no way I am ever going to order/eat at Taco Bell again. I have tasted the real deal and there is no going back. Saturday night, we dropped the kids off back at their father's and, as we swang (swung?) back home, stopped of at La Unica. Eighty pesos purchased three carne asada (that's beef) tacos and two adobada (pork) tacos. These were stuffed with meat, guacamole, and salsa, wrapped in a freshly made soft tortilla. I was also given an empty bag which Maria filled with grilled onions, grilled chili peppers, slices of cucumber,  radishes, and lemon halves)*. Luvverly.

One of the joys of living with Maria is discovering new and different things, things that I might never have discovered. Prime example: books. I never feel guilty about buying books and reading books. There is never a moment when I suddenly say, I want to read and she looks at me with that whole there-is-a-lawn-to-mow/dishes-to-wash/tummy-button-fluff-to-weave look. She understand that there are moments that you just want to dive into a book and stay there. She has also opened my eyes to so many other books - can you tell I'm excited at the moment? I'm reading Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, a book I would never have picked up (she bought it), and I am loving it. Luvverly**.

One of the embarrassments joys of living in another country is explaining new and different things, things that are part of my culture that Maria has never discovered. Prime example: Triffids. I received an email from my mum, telling me that she had just finished Chocky - a John Wyndham novel - and it appeared that Maria had never heard of John Wyndham. More to the point (because I am pretty sure that 85% of the British nation hadn't heard of him either), she had no idea what a Triffid was. This amazed me. Maybe I'm wrong about this, maybe I just existed in circles who knew the term Triffid, but the idea that someone didn't know what a Triffid was, I found unbelievable (hell, even my spell-checker knows what one is!). This had to be rectified. I spent an hour, or so, trying to explain what a Triffid is/was. This didn't work. I downloaded a television series and sat her down in front of it. This was a mistake. Oh, sure she now knows what a Triffid is but I don't think she was really scared. Actually, she was horrified - but not by Triffids. I thnk she was more frightened by the acting/the plot/the haircuts/the blue eye shadow. Maybe I should have got her the book rather than a television series from 1981!

I now live in fear. What if she ever asks me: "What is Blake's Seven?". Now, that is something I will never be able to explain.

 

*this still excites me. The fact that you can fill an empty gallon plastic bag with as much free stuff as you want. I am that easily excited!

** and I just can't start to list the wonderful books she has introduced me to - although you should go read "The Dancer Upstairs", "The Life of Pi", "The Queen of the South", and I've stated to list them! Just go read something!

which ever it slices

I'm cooking Yorkshire puddings. I've mixed the batter and now it's sitting in the fridge for an hour to rest. This gives me time to prepare the onion gravy. I need the time because I can never slice onions as quickly as I would like. I like big pieces of onion when I do fried onions to go on top of my hot dogs but, when it comes to gravy, I like tiny pieces on onion. My problem is that it becomes a real labour of love to get the pieces really small.

I've watched chefs chop up onions and they do it really quickly, with that whole sliding the knife down the back of their knuckles motion. Then they take the pieces they have and , whiz-bang-wallop, finely sliced and diced onions. Now I start to wonder if it is because their knives are a hell of a lot sharper than mine or if I am just doing things wrong.

Obviously their knives are sharper and they have years of practice but what I need to know is a method that speeds up onion slicing for me (and my blunt knives). Before you say that I should get sharper knives, I am quite happy with the knives I've got. True, they couldn't cut a can in half but that also means that when I cut my finger, they can't slice through bone either.

I alternate between two methods, mainly because when I am halfway through a method, I get so grumpy with the time it takes, I vow never to use it again. Then I use the other method, hate it,and vow never to use it again.

Method One
Slice the onion in half from tip to root. Lay it down on the flat side and slice lengthways downwards. Not the whole length though, I leave the the onion connected at the top. I then slice downwards across the onion. At the end I get a pile of little bits on onion (depending on how many lengthways slices I have made) and a big hunk of onion that I have to work my way through.

Method Two
Slice the onion into thin rings. Spend ages slicing two or three rings into tiny bits by cutting it like a cake.

I realise that (1) this isn't a very good blog entry to understand, it could probably do with pictures and (b) this isn't a very good blog entry. However, it has filled the time. The batter is rested and it is time to heat the oven and warm the oil, before spooning the batter into my pudding tin.

However, if you have any advice on how to slice onions finely, I will gladly accept it. Oh, and yes I already know that the best option is to get Maria to do t - but that sort of defeats the whole point of me cooking for her, doesn't it?

humour - it's a funny thing

There is a moment in The Shield when Dutch loses a police laptop that he was using to research child porn on. When it turns up there is a certain amount of teasing that goes on in the station. I don't know if you watch The Shield but Dutch gets some of the best lines. His reply to the joshing he receives is simply:

Not funny now - funny later.

It became a sort of catchphrase in our flat and is occasionally dug out when one of us finds something amusing and the other doesn't - I get my head stuck in a saucepan, Maria rolls about laughing, I spend time walking into doors. [In passing, does anyone ever really get their head stuck in a saucepan? In my childhood, doctor's surgeries in comics always seemed to be full of kids with saucepans on their heads. This made a large enough impression on me that I have never stuck a saucepan on my head. Maybe that is how governments should get kids to say no to drugs. Fill comics with pictures of doctor's surgeries full of kids with saucepans on their heads and doctors shaking their heads, tutting and pointing out the danger of drugs. Drugs would look one hell of a lot uncooler then!]

Anyhoo, if there was on incident in our lives that was always going to be: "Not funny now - not funny later", it was the car crash incident. That was the single worse night of our relationship. There was no way that we could ever imagine that night would be funny. But it struck me, at the beginning of W*dnesd*y night, that eventually, most things in life become funny. [I say most things because it is obvious that some things never become funny, as was pointed out to me the other day: hemorroids are only funny to the people who haven't got them].

Maria has already written about the events of W*dnesd*y night and I have briefly mentioned it in a post already. A quick re-cap for those of you who have already forgotten/can't be arsed to go back and check: an ex-lover of Maria's was in town and wanted to meet up. He got very drunk. It didn't go well. I didn't hit him. We dropped him off at his hotel. Maria owed me bigtime - I didn't hit him!

As I sat in the car in, it has to be said, a fairly good mood considering that I had just been introduced to one (one? you mean that there might be more out there?) of Maria's exs, Maria and her ex-lover (yes, I am going to bang on about this fact for most of the post!) played catch up. They spoke in Spanish, Maria translating odd bits of the ex-lover's stories but I know enough Spanish, and I know the stories, that Maria's tales went untranslated. However, Maria started to tell a story that I recognised - or I thought I did - it was the story of the night of the car crash. However, after about ten minutes I realised that I must be wrong or at least confused. The ex-lover was laughing away like a madman (oh, why wasn't that a danger sign?) but strangely Maria was also giggling along. I looked at Maria with a raised eyebrow. Yes, she confirmed, she was talking about the.worst.night.ever. and yes, she was laughing and joking her way through it all.

Not funny then - funny later I thought.

The night was a disaster. Well, it was a disaster for the ex-lover (he really needs to think carefully and try to read a copy of: How to Win Back Girlfriends and Impress Them) and a source of upset and embarrassment for Maria. For me it was mainly irritating and annoying, but that was just the living through it. By Thursday morning it had just become an event in the rich tapestry of my life (wow, there are moments I sound like a wanker). Sometime, Thursday afternoon, when Maria was apologising for the seven hundreth and thirty sixth (or was it seventh) time, I mentioned that she really should stop apologising because the event was funny. She looked at me:

Not funny now - funny never.

At the end of the evening we attempted to leave the restaurant - actually, we didn't attempt, we left quite successfully, we just didn't get out the door with the ex-lover in tow. The meal had not gone well. He had ordered several tequilas, had messed up paying the bill, had hit me twice, had managed to announce (for the second time) how much in love he was with Maria  but failed to announce it while I was in the restroom (the  second time), annoyed most of the other patrons, upset the staff. We announced we were leaving and set off outside. We sat in the car for five minutes while the ex-lover tried to buy another tequila, was refused service and then finally ejected from the premises. Fortunately he slept on the short drive to the hotel.

When we got to the hotel Maria decided to forego the parking ritual and pulled up at the front door, we both leapt out of the car, round to the back passenger door, opened it and waited for the ex-lover to get/fall out of the car. He didn't. He couldn't. He couldn't undo his seatbelt. At that moment there were two grown people desperate to get this man (ex-lover) out of their car but neither of them wanted to actually lean into the car and undo his seatbelt - Maria was worried that he would assault her, I was worried I would assault him. We stood there, stepping forward, stepping back, neither of us willing to commit to getting the bastard out of the car. Eventually we simultaneously agreed that, much as we loved the car, it wasn't that important to us. We would just leave the car there, with the ex-lover inside, and walk home. Unfortunately the hotel staff weren't too happy with this. By now there were three of them demanding that we move the car. We couldn't move the car with the ex-lover in it, we replied. Then get him out, they demanded. We don't want to, we whined. GET HIM OUT, they demanded. I stepped up to the car, reached over the ex-lover, pressed the red button, the seatbelt flew up, he fell out. As he staggered to his feet we both hugged him in a definitely-no-contact-there hug. Informed the hotel staff that he was their problem, got in the car, and burnt rubber getting out of the car park.

I told this story to Maria on Thursday afternoon. She joined in with the telling. As she told her bits, the bits she was thinking, she smiled. By the end of the story we were both laughing. You see:

Not funny now - funny later.

[Oh, in case I didn't mention it, this bloke was an ex-lover but, you know me, I'm not the sort of person who would hold that against anyone.]