I've found my home

as we fall asleep

Could we get a hippo?

Would I be a hippo?

What?

You just said: "Would I be a hippo?"

No I didn't.

I know you didn't. But that is what it sounded like.

Damn. Did I say it out loud?

What?

I thought I'd said it in my head?

What did you say?

Could we get a hippo?

You asked if we could get a hippo?

In my head.

You said it out loud.

Didn't mean to.

And, no.

No?

No. We can't get a hippo. They need to be kept in water, otherwise their skin cracks and they open up. We couldn't have a bath big enough for the hippo in this flat. It makes no sense.

So, no hippo.

Nope.

I knew you'd say that. Which is why I didn't want to ask it out loud. Just wanted to ask it in my head.

Goodnight.

G'night...g'night non-existent hippo.

just in case

One of Spike Milligan's last wishes was the epitaph on his headstone. He didn't get his wish exactly, it wasn't written in English, it was written in Gaelic:

Duirt me leat go raibh me breoite

Which translates as:

I told you I was ill

According to Fox 6 News (your station for balanced news), three weeks ago, there were reported cases of salmonella in San Diego.This was news that I ignored and treated with contempt at the time. The reason? Tomatoes! According to Fox 6 (balanced) News, the outbreak had been traced to tomatoes. Now I had one major difficulty with this (apart from the obvious statement that the newscasters can't pronounce the word tomato! It's tom-ah-toe not to-may-toe), I lived through BSE scares (mad cow to you) and Edwina Curry telling me that I could eat an egg...so long as I boiled it for six hours and then finished it off in a microwave. I know, know for a fact, that you can only get salmonella from eggs and chicken. Those fools at Fox 6 (balanced) News know nothing! They are just scaremongering. You cannot, categorically cannot get salmonella from a tom-ah-toe!

Fools!

Except...it appears you can. Bugger!How stupid do I feel? Well, normally, I would have said, not very stupid because obviously I haven't made a thing about this at all. I mean, I wouldn't have been at a Souplantation two weeks ago, talking in a very loud voice, demanding tom-ah-toes, criticising Americans for being frightened of fruit (it's a fruit donchu'no). No, if I was the sort of person who stood around the salad bar explaining I'm more worried about my prostrate [sic] (they're really good for your prostrate, I've heard, and at my age I have to think about things like that) than catching salmonella which is impossible to get from a TOM-AH-TOE!

Thank goodness I am not that sort of person!

However, if I was that sort of person, I'd certainly feel a bit stupid and start listening to Fox 6 (balanced) News a little bit more carefully.

The weather has turned, actually the weather turned a couple of months ago, it is hot. The thermometer doesn't drop below 28 and spends most of its time hanging around the 34 mark with quick bursts towards the 40 mark. It's hot. There are solutions to this, of course. Most of these solutions involve nekkidness, fans on full blast, swearing sweating profusely, swearing profusely, opening all the windows/doors, and drinking copious amounts of liquids. There is one major drawback to these activities - and it isn't visiting the toilet regularly because the sweating tends to deal with the excess liquids - mosquitoes. All the windows have screens but our doors don't. This means that, during the day, mosquitoes come into the house, find a place to hide and sleep during the heat of the day, come out late at night, find themselves trapped in the flat, decide to punish their prison wardens. Every morning Maria and I wake up to discover that our my bodies body are is covered in mosquito bites (it should be made known that the only time Maria gets bitten is when I am out of the flat. If a mosquito has a choice between biting Maria or me, they pick me). A quick check of my body, as I type this, reveals 27 bites! (Oh, for those of you who are worrying about the nekkidness, I would never post nekkid - I feel that I am talking directly to you as I write and I would never talk to you nekkid, so I post clothed. You can relax.)

And now, finally, I arrive at the point of this post! According to Fox 6 (balanced) News there are recorded incidents of West Nile Virus. Here in California! Well, there in California! But California is exactly five miles over there, as the mosquito flies! The West Nile Virus, again according to Fox 6 (balanced) News, is carried by mosquitoes! I have been bitten by mosquitoes!! I could have West Nile Virus!!!

No, listen, I watched Fox 6 (balanced) News and they told me that the symptoms include:

fever, headache, weakness and drowsiness

That's me, that is. I'm really hot, I've got a bit of a headache, I am struggling to open bottles of coke, and I keep falling asleep in front of the tele! I've got West Nile Virus! The worst thing is that Maria, who is normally very loving and very caring, is convinced that I am making this up. She tells me that I don't have a fever, that it is just hot. I have a headache because I keep refusing to eat, moaning that "it's too hot to eat". I can't open coke bottles because I keep coating my hands with sunblock, paranoid that I will burn and die in the heat. And I keep falling asleep in front of the television because I always fall asleep in front of the television. Maria is convinced that I don't have West Nile Virus. Of course, she never gets bitten, so I don't think she is taking this seriously! And look what happened when I didn't take Fox 6 (balanced) News's Salmonella scare! I was wrong!!

This might be my last ever post. I feel a bit weak. I feel a bit drowsy. While I've been sat here, at the computer, for the last five hours, I can feel a headache coming on. And I think I might have a fever, I'm definitely hot and sweaty. I have West Nile Virus. I'm going to lie down. Bye.

about last night

You missed the moose.

I missed the moose?

You missed the moose.

What moose?

There was a moose outside the house last night.

There was a moose outside last night?

Yep. Last night. A moose. Outside. In the street.

There was a moose. Outside. In the street.

That's what I said.

Was it a sexy moose?

Strange question to ask.

This is a strange conversation.

True. Can't think of any conversation that has included a moose before.

So?

So?

So, was it a sexy moose?

It was wearing a kilt.

There was a moose, outside, wearing a kilt.

There was indeed.

Why was there a kilt-wearing moose outside in the street?

Come all the way from Canada.

Why was there a Canadian, kilt-wearing moose outside in the street?

It was following a mating call.

This is about my snoring again isn't it?

Maybe.....

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.

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!

some choices are easy

Me: I've got about $50 dollars on me.

Her: We'll just look at the table. We won't get anything else. A book each from the table.

Me: There's a Chabon book here that I can get. But if you can't find anything, I'll put it back. We don't have to spend the money. Remember, we haven't eaten yet.

Her: Oh, I've got something. Actually, there are two books and I can't decide which one to get.

Me: Well, decide! We can't get four books! Just two.

Her: I'll get this. Come on, we'll go pay.

Me: You know, I was a bit disappointed. I'm sure that the last time we were in here "All the King's Men" and "Thank you for smoking were on the table.

Her: Maybe they are on the shelves, with stickers on them?

Me: Shall we look? The queue is right next to the section?

Her: Here's the Warren book. They've got it in three editions. Which one would you like?

Me: Well you said that, when they discussed it on the radio, the unedited version was awful. So put that one back.

Her: Which leaves the original cover or the one promoting the film?

Me: Get the original version. And here's the Buckley book.

Her: Can we afford them all?

Me: Hang on. Sixteen plus half of fourteen plus fifteen plus fourteen is fifty two. Plus there will be tax on top.

Her: Let me check. I've got $20.

Me: I've got $54 and change. Let's do it.

Her: Have we got everything we wanted?

Me: Yeah. Except, we talked about picking up another McEwan book if we saw one. We decided we didn't have enough of his stuff.

Her: Quick! I'll stay in the queue. Go grab a book.

Him: That'll be seventy two dollars and three cents.

Me: Are you hungry?

Her: Not really. We've got crap at home we could eat.

Me: We've got two dollars and seventy eight cents. Let's go to Mexico!!!

tell me why I don't like w*dnesd*ys

[I have just sat down at the keyboard, intending to write a post. My mind was settled on an idea, it was going to be a good post (honest). On the way to the computer I happened to pass Maria. I don't walk past Maria! I stopped and kissed her. We kissed. In the background Radio 4 (BBC) was playing. Radio 4 informed us, as we were kissing, that certain French kings were "well known because of their body odour". There are certain things that can kill a moment. There is nothing romantic about kissing your lover while a woman (with a BBC accent) informs you about the bathing habits of 17th Century people. I still want to write the post I sat down to do but my mind has moved to a joke:
A customs officer is inspecting a French woman's luggage. Inside he finds 7 sets of underwear. The French woman points out that she changes her underwear every day. Seven sets of underwear, seven days. The next person is an Italian woman. She only possesses five sets of underwear. When asked why she replies.: "One for each day of the week - and I wear no underwear at the weekend!" In the next suitcase, that he inspects, he finds only four sets of underwear. He enquires, of the English woman, why she only has four sets of underwear and is informed: "Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter!"
Sorry.]

In The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Arthur Dent, as the planet Earth is destroyed, comments: "It must be a Thursday. I've never got the hang of Thursdays." For me it's W*dnesd*ys. Long time readers (both of you) will know why the vowels in W*dn*sd*y are blanked off (it has to do with a certain football team in Sheffield). One person knows why the "e" was allowed back into the word. But, the truth is, "I have never got the hang of W*dnesd*ys", and it has nothing to do with football teams. I am going to assume that you all have a list, in your mind, of your favourite days of the week. This means that (think about it) you also have a list of the days of the week that are your least favourite. In my case I hate W*dnesd*ys. They just never go right for me. Mondays are just Mondays. Tuesdays and Thursdays are a bit crap but only because they aren't Fridays. Saturdays are my favourite day. Not too keen on Sundays because of the threat of the next day. And I still have to work on a Friday. But W*dnesd*ys suck!

And then there was today - W*dnesd*y - which was fucking brilliant!

On Tuesday we went across the border. According to my sexy new phone (turn green (s)wine) I walked over 15000 paces, 19km (there was a visit to IKEA involved). As I went to sleep, my feet were throbbing, I was tired. I slept really, really well.

I woke, well rested. I kissed Maria, I held Maria. I went out, on to the balcony, for the first cigarette of the morning. I hadn't checked my lemon seeds for over 24 hours. There were 5 (five!) shoots. Three more than the last time I checked them! I was so excited that I decided to check my avocado pit. As I picked it up, by one of the cocktail sticks stuck in it, it fell in half. I killed my avocado! It was then that I realised it was W*dnesd*y and it was probably all downhill from here on in.

Do you know that moment when you teach a killer lesson? Ok, so maybe only a couple of readers know that moment - but it is that moment when everything goes fantastically right. You want to bottle it. You want to know why it doesn't work like that every time. All your aims and objectives are surpassed, all the kids "get it", you throw in a couple of extra things. At the end of the lesson, when you fill in your notes, you just write: "Brilliant!". From that lesson I went to a rehearsal. The rehearsal (at least my parts) flowed perfectly. So perfectly that there was actual applause from kids, from colleagues. But that wasn't the best bit.

Kindergarten is a separate section to the school, I don't really come into contact with the children in Kindergarten that often. When I do I am normally being LOUD. At the sports day (Olympics), at the special assemblies, I am normally playing a role, being loud. There is a girl in Kindergarten who cries whenever she has to pass into the elementary part of the school. And the reason she cries? Me. She is frightened of me. Monday and Tuesday I have tried to "bond" with this child. Monday there was still floods of tears. Tuesday was a bit more settled. And then today. Today there was no tears. Today I actually talked to her and she talked to me - not a long, deep conversation, I said "Hello" she said "hello". But we talked without tears. And it meant everything to me!

I taught another lesson - and it was brilliant. Who'd have thought that a lesson on "double bar charts" could go so well? After the lesson I spent the rest of the day involved in politics. But they were politics that went well, without any problems.

At home, Maria had built the furniture bought at IKEA and it is great. It fits perfectly. It makes the house more of a home. She has worked on the house all day and it would be a shame to eat, to cause washing up, to do anything else that would mean tomorrow there would be something to clean up. So, we are off out. We'll eat. We'll come home. We'll flop in front of the tele and eat ice cream (did I mention I'd found some fantastic dairy-free ice cream?). We'll go to bed.

Has there ever been a better day? And it's a W*dnesd*y. How much better does life get?

it's great to be english

Incident One

Maria reads an email from Alan to me. She asks me what I had done to cause this consternation in Alan's life. I show her the email I had written Alan. She reads it.

Maria: So, let me get this straight. You wrote something thoughtless in your blog. Alan is worried that he has upset you. You then write to Alan apologising for upsetting him. He then writes to you apologising for making you feel that you have to apologise. You now want to write back apologising for making him feel like he should apologise for making you apologise? Of course, you know that this means that Alan would have to write a further email, apologising for making you apologise for making him apologise for making you apologise. Is that about it?

Me: Yeah. Sort of. Except, of course, if he writes apologising again, I'll have to write back apologising.

Maria: Run it past me again - how did the English manage to find time to build an Empire? I mean, once you invaded a country, didn't you just spend the whole time apologising for not wiping your feet when you stepped off the boats?

Incident Two

We park the car and head towards Vons (a supermarket). As usual there is a person stood outside the store with a clipboard. She approaches us.

Clipboard: Excuse me. Are you registered to vote?

Me: Yes. But not in this country.

Clipboard: Ooooo. Aren't you posh. What with your smoking and your English accent.

Incident Three

Maria is on the phone to her mother.

Mum: But how did you know? How could you know?

Maria: It's hard to explain. You have to know him.

Mum: Explain it. Try to explain it

Maria: He's too polite.

Mum: What do you mean: "He's too polite"?

Maria: It's just that, he's too polite. It is that simple.

Mum: You are telling me that the reason you knew he wasn't an internet axe muderer was because "he's too polite"?

Maria: That's it. It is as simple as that. He's too English to be an internet axe murderer. He's too polite. It would be too messy. It just wouldn't be "the done thing".

Incident Four

Maria: I told my mum that you were too polite to be an internet axe muderer.

Me: Uh-hmm.

Maria: I told her that it just wouldn't be the done thing.

Me: True. Too true. There is no way I'd be an axe murderer. An axe would be totally the wrong thing to use. Probably a hatchet. Yes, a hatchet. I mean, a machete would be too much for murdering with.

Maria: Exactly what I was telling my mum. There was no way you'd be an internet axe murderer. You're too English.

Me: Yep. I know which knife to use, which fork to use, and I sure as hell know what implement of death to use.

Maria: Yeah, that wasn't quite the angle I took with my mum. But, let's go with: "You're English"!