I've found my home

email to my mum

Dear Mum,

It is hot. Really hot. Hot enough that I'm fairly sure that my eyeballs are sweating. It has been like this for over two weeks now. It is almost impossible to sleep at nights - not just because of the heat, but also because I am sleeping in the afternoons. We are back at school and, as you can imagine, although we start very early, the heat builds up through the day. At the moment we are on "inside recess", sort of the total opposite to a "wet break" however, strangely enough, with exactly the same result. Because it is so hot, and the sun is so strong, the kids aren't allowed out at recess. P.E. lessons are also conducted in the classroom as well. I don't know if I told you but, at the end of the day (2pm) we normally have to put the kids in their cars. This activity has also been stopped for the moment. Now parents have to park their cars, get out, come and pick their kids up - it is too hot to risk the teachers! Which is nice.

Yes, I'm back to work. This year I am definitely the Head of Maths, I don't have a totally full timetable. However, what looks like (on paper) a lot of non-contact time, has turned into MORE contact time. I am in everyone's classroom, helping with the teaching, marking books, and generally assisting where I can. This has led to me having no free time at all, spending time trying to get teachers to get a "feel" for teaching maths. It is incredibly hard work. Teaching children is easy compared to teaching adults who are set in their ways. Plus, it is a problem when a maths teacher actually says: You do subtraction like that? I never knew. Goodness knows how they have been teaching it...or multiplication/division and I don't want to think about fractions. Added to all this, the school decided to sack the vice-principal, leaving a sort-of power vacuum. Suddenly I'm responsible for a lot more. Mainly because I don't stand around like a headless chicken. And then there is the heat.

I get home, I get nekkid, I fall asleep. Now I understand siestas - no "Mad dogs and Englishmen" for this Englishman! I'm hiding inside, getting my siesta in! Unfortunately I think that this "power nap" (I like calling it a "power nap", sounds a lot better than "I'm old, it's hot, I need 40 winks in the afternoon) also adds to my not sleeping at night. Well, that and the noise of the fan and the noise of the city. We have ALL the windows open and I seem to (at the moment) have got bionic hearing. I can hear absolutely everything.

When you put your rubbish out in the streets, people go through it. Often they are looking for stuff that is valuable. I put my cans and tins in a separate bag, so that they can automatically take them. However, the next person along doesn't know that. Thus, people will still go through your black bin bag, looking for stuff. We call it "free-cycling". We once put a television on the doorstep, realised we'd forgotten the remote, went back up to the flat, got the remote, went back outside...and the tele was gone. Anyhoo, the block of flats (which sounds HUGE but remember that there are few buildings higher than two floors in Tijuana) opposite is full of Chinese people. They all work in restaurants and get back at about 1am in the morning. This means that they put their rubbish out then. If they waited until they got up (later) of course the binmen would have already been - isn't that the way the world over? So, they put it out early. Of course, the people who go through all the rubbish know this. And (as in "the early bird catches the worm") at 2am people can be found roaming the streets, going through people's rubbish. Last night someone came across the (on the other side of the street) neighbours' rubbish. Have I mentioned it is hot? They'd been drinking a lot of cans of pop. How do I know this? Because the person who decided to go through their rubbish didn't just throw out every can. Nope, after they'd gone through it, they decided to crush every can. Crush it by jumping up and down on the can. Every. Single. Can. It took them over half an hour! I know because I listened. Another night without sleep!

And then, who'd have guessed it, I've suddenly became popular. We have been busy most weekends (including Fridays). We had bought annual tickets to the zoo and SeaWorld at the beginning of the holidays, worried that there might come moments when we didn't have anything to do. As it turns out, we haven't got round to using them much. Some of this might have to do with the heat, both the zoo and SeaWorld are actually at least 5 degrees C more than anywhere else - i think it has to do with the concrete. However, most of it has to do with the fact that we have been busy. Looking at next weekend: we have a birthday party on Friday night; a BBQ in the USofA on Saturday, at a friend's house (they have a pool but I don't think I will be getting in); and there is an art festival on Sunday that we'd like to go to. Ah, the life of...someone who does a lot of different things.

The Ashes - whoot! It was fantastic. Couldn't believe the collapse by Australia. Then had difficulty believing the un-collapse. Then, when the wickets fell - brilliant. Had to follow the whole thing on the internet. It was brilliant. The best thing about the whole "Ashes" thing has been introducing this to maria. Well, not introducing because I've spent a certain amount of time explaining cricket to her already. And she is wonderful, she has tried to follow the game, tried to understand. But, with each day's play, every time she thinks she has a grip on the game, a basic understanding, some nuance throws her off. It's weird trying to explain a good declaration and a bad declaration. However, she hangs in there, and was really happy when we regained The Ashes. She's a bit worried about the tour of South Africa, and how the boys will cope - but KP should be back, so things are looking good.

She is on a lot firmer ground with Sheffield United - football she understands! It' a good start to the season and I am hopeful that the Blades continue to do weel. It would be good to see them back in the Premier league, mainly because it means I could see them! Literally. Oddly enough, it was maria who brought my attention to Norwich and Brian Gunn's sacking. She listens to Radio 4 quite a lot, and follows the news on the BBC. It was fairly strange (but really quite nice) to be picked up from work, asked how my day had gone, and then be cut off in mid-sentence to be told that Norwich had sacked Brian Gunn. I think footy is her strength, cricket is still a bit confusing.

Right, better hit send before I walk away and this just ends up being a "draft". I really should phone you, maria keeps telling me to but for one daft reason after another, when ever I pick up the phone it is always past midnight with you. Will try to get to talk to you this weekend - or maybe, if I'm up at 2am I should phone then? Anyhoo, will try to talk to you soon.

Hope all is going well with you.

Love,
William.

if god plays sport, he plays cricket

I am following the cricket (what do you mean: What cricket? It's the Ashes, England Vs Australia) via text updates on the BBC webpage, and this line appears:

Swanny giving it a real rip now, and the ball is starting to go through the top a touch too.

There is so much in that one line that is wonderful. But it means nothing to you, right?

Last night, actually early this morning, maria asked me to tell her a story. At sometime in the afternoon (Saturday) the desktop computer had bitten the dust, imploded. One of those moments when you realise that you know absolutely nothing about computers. No matter what we tried to do, it wouldn't cooperate. So, we had to go to the restore point...except (of course) there wasn't one, cos we're crap that way. That meant, once the computer had been restored (to somewhere in the 1980s because it was j-j-j-jive talkin') nothing was working again. maria spent 12 straight hours re-installing stuff, disc scanning, finding installation drivers, crying, swearing, restarting, reloading, and swearing a bit more, before I could get her to come to bed at about 2am. Obviously,neither of us felt like sleeping - or at least maria didn't - so as we lay there, in the dark, her head on my chest, the tears pooling in my tummy button, she asked me to tell her a story, something to take her away from the mental turmoil she was stuck in.

I used to live in Sheffield: 50, Silverdale Road, Sheffield, UK. You can find it on Google Earth. In fact there is a picture on there:

View Larger Map

Our drive was very steep, very, very steep. The cul-de-sac that we lived at the top of was also steep.In the picture it is the driveway between the one with a car and a van, and the one with gates - it has a tree in the middle of the drive, rotate the picture to the left (to the left). Anyhoo, it was so steep that on cold winter nights, my brother and I would put the hose on, in the garage, and let water trickle down the driveway, down the cul-de-sac. Our (genius) plane was to make a sheer ice-slide all the way down the drive/road. I don't think we achieved our dream that often. I have a feeling that we used to get so excited, there was so much peering out of windows, multiple visits to the garage, that my mum/dad put it all together. Now, as an adult I can recognise how we probably gave the game away, then I thought that my parents were dective geniuses. However, I know that it was achieved at least once (although I expect my mum to tell me that it never was and it was just a normal winter's day in Sheffield) because I got my first blackeye thanks to the ice - I also got in a lot of trouble.

When it was snowy/icey we had to wear our wellies (rubber boots). This was (obviously) to keep our feet dry, and the bottom of our trousers (because we were supposed to tuck our trousers into our boots but somehow, once we were round the corner and out of vision, trousers miraculously became untucked). But the main problem with wellies (apart from their uncoolness) is that you can't slide in them. No matter how many times you stood at the top of our drive, took a couple of paces (quickly) in a downwards direction, and then slid...you ended up standing, not sliding. The only way to slide perfectly down the drive was in your school shoes or, better yet, your Sunday shoes, Your school shoes had less tread on them (because you wore them a lot) but they did have all the drawing pins (or segs/blakeys) in the heels, so that you clicked as you walked down the corridors. Your Sunday shoes didn't have drawing pins in them - could you imagine how Fr. Keegan would react if you came down the aisle in church. clicking away? (For those of you not too sure how scary Fr. Keegan is/was, I once fled from a confessional box, in tears, because I had eaten one (ONE) Pez brick during Lent - I was convinced that I was going to hell, there and then [or at least had a couple more million years added to my time in Purgatory].)

One cold, icey morning I left the house, waving to my mum, with my wellies on my feet, trousers tucked in. Once round the corner from the kitchen, I didn't just untuck my trousers, I put on my Sunday shoes, which I had cleverly hid outside the front door (you didn't think I went out through the front door? you always left the house though the back door). And with my Sunday shoes on, I took two quick paces, and slid. Boy did I slide! The drive was a piece of smoothly polished glass. It was totally friction free. There was no way I was going to stop, down Silverdale Road, down Dobcroft Road, across Abbeydale Road and over the boating pond in Milhouse park.

If I got off the driveway. I didn't get off the drive way. Well, I did, but not on my feet.

The driveway was far steeper than the road, and there was a big enough difference in the gradient that when I hit the beginning of the road, I bounced. In my mind, now, I can see me going thirty/forty feet up in the air - in reality, it was enough to spin me round and bring me crashing down...on my face. More specifically, on my eyebrow. I slid the rest of the way down the cul-de-sac on my face/my left eyebrow. My clothes were slightly more friction generating than my shoes, and I slowly came to a stop. By the time I stood up I had grown a second head, or at least a lump on my eyebrow the size of a small child's noggin. I had a blackeye, my first blackeye.

My mum actually put butter on it. And a steak (from the freezer).It was brilliant! Until she spotted that I was wearing my Sunday shoes...but that is another story and not what I wanted to write about today. Because, after I told maria this story we ended up (somehow) talking about other things in my childhood, and eventually ended up at cricket. And she said: Sometimes I actually get close to thinking I understand what you are talking about, and then you go and ruin it by saying one more word. I will never get cricket. And then there was that single line in the text commentary this morning:

Swanny giving it a real rip now, and the ball is starting to go through the top a touch too.

Let me explain:

Swanny - Is the nickname of Graeme Swann, an England bowler. All England cricketers have the same nickname, well not exactly the same, you just add -ey to their surname. 

giving it a real rip - Graeme Swann is a spin bowler. This means that when the ball leaves his hand, he rotates it, instead of leaving the seam upwards (there is a seam on the seam). The more he turns the ball (rips it), the further it will turn when it bounces, hopefully confusing the batsman. In reality, if he really rips it, you can hear the seam fizz as it goes through the air.

the ball is starting to go through the top a touch too - cricket is played on a 22yd strip of grass, except there isn't much grass on it, it is almost dirt. Over the five days the game is played, this surface starts to crack and crumble (around the edges of the cracks. If you can get the ball to bounce on one of those cracks, the ball will move slightly. Hopefully, slightly enough to produce a poor stroke (shot/hit) from the batsman, and thus end in him being out. It is day four of the match and it appears, according to the text-writer, that the ball is starting to go through the top surface of the ground. This is good news.

So, now you know.

let's see if I can remember how this goes

Yeah, I know, but, like, stuff has kept occurring. There are three half written posts in the drafts file which I've just read and have no idea how to finish them - so they've been deleted. I should write about the films I've seen, the books I've read, the father's day present and what it meant. I could write about the job, about graduation, about the week ahead with no students. However, this is blogging and what better way to get back into the trend of writing than doing a meme? So, stolen from Helly:

65 Questions You’ve Probably Never Been Asked…

1. First thing you wash in the shower?
Hair. I normally stand in the shower for three minutes, letting the water run over me as I slowly increase the hot water, decrease the cold, find that temperature that boils lobsters, then wash my hair. I tend to wash downwards, finishing with my feet.Working on the idea that the dirt gets washed down. Does anyone start at the bottom and work up?

2. What colo(u)r is your favourite hoodie?
Green(ish). It's new, so it's my favourite at the moment. Of course, when it gets colder (or I'm in a need-for-security moment) I might change my mind and reach for my black Spider-Man hoody.

3. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?
Eh? Well yes. Slightly confused with question - do people go round randomly kissing people? Oh, yes they do, I suppose. Or, they might be the head of a mafia family who is lulling a soon-to-be-swimming-with-the-fish person. Or they could be setting up the messiah (he's not the messiah, he's a very naughty boy) for a fist full of dollars (or a few dollars more).

4. Do you plan outfits?
Do you mean plan as in what I am wearing tomorrow? No. Do you mean plan as in now I've grabbed this t-shirt I might wear it with this shirt? Yes. Although I know what I am wearing tomorrow, and for the rest of the week - I wear a uniform to work.

5. How are you feeling RIGHT now?
Hot. Tired. Happy. Satisfied. Happy. We spent the morning with friends. maria wanted to take pictures of them (and their children), so we crossed the border and went to Balboa Park. Crossing the border at the weekend is always traumatic before you get there - will there be long queues, will you get across easily, will I get the humourless border guard (as if there is one with a sense of humour...except there is one. My visa expires on July 4th and he always finds this the funniest thing, the fact I will be kicked out of the States on July 4th). The crossing went well, the picture taking was great. Afterwards we went for breakfast together. I ate. This is something I don't normally do in company but I did. And, whoot, everything went well. We then went to Seaport Village, where we walked, talked, bought books. Now I'm back home. The kids are zoned out in front of the tele, maria is sat beside me reading, I am posting. I am happy.

6. What's the closest thing to you that’s red?
My t-shirt.

7. Tell me about the last dream you remember having?
My dad turned up at the flat, came in, sat down. I asked him if he wanted a drink. He said no. maria got out of bed (not in the dream, in reality) and I woke up and told her that she didn't need to get my dad a drink. I miss my dad.

8. Did you meet anybody new today?
The waiter where we had breakfast had nice eyes according to Brenda and maria. I spoke to him, he replied, but I can't see this being a long term relationship.

9. What are you craving right now?
Nothing. Which is odd for me, as I normally have a desire for something. At the back of my mind I'd quite like a beer, but I don't crave one, and I won't have one.

10. Do you floss?
Nope. Got me a sonic toothbrush and I'm hoping that that takes care of business.

11. What comes to mind when I say cabbage?

I've just deleted Helly's answer which mentioned Cabbage Patch Dolls. So that is what first came to mind. However, so you don't think I'm cheating...The Cabbage Patch is the nickname for Twickenham Rugby ground, which is the home ground for the England Rugby Club (it used to be a cabbage patch before it became a ground). There is a pub nearby called (drumroll for suspense) The Cabbage Patch and I have been barred from this pub. Oddly enough, although I have been thrown out of many pubs, I have only been barred from one - The Cabbage Patch. And the crime I committed to incur the wrath of the owners? I don't know. I was on a pub crawl around Twickenham. The Cabbage Patch was the ninth/tenth pub? I had stuck to halves all night (I knew it was going to be a long night and we weren't half way through the pubs we were visiting). My (future) best man was drinking three dart throws in every pub - he'd walk in, throw three darts at the board, count along the shelf to the number he got on the board and have one of those (unless he hit a double or a treble). Others were doing their own thing. I got in the pub, ordered my half and went to the pinball machine (it was an Alien Invaders machine). Fifteen minutes later I was barred from the pub and spent the rest of the night with a totally inconsolable (future) best man. I never did get the full story (or any story) out of him, just it was his fault that I could never drink there again.

12. Are you emotional?
Yes. Very. Some would say "too". But I am emotional.

13. Have you ever counted to 1,000?
Nope.

14. Do you bite into your ice cream or just lick it?
Ice cream in a cone? Lick. Also try to push the ice cream all the way down the cone too, so I have ice cream to the bottom. Cornettos took all the fun out of that game.

15. Do you like your hair?
No. And I realise that there are people who are aghast at that statement (yes, I'm looking at you) but I don't like my hair.

16. Do you like yourself?
Ha! You mean physically or mentally? Mind you, it is probably the same answer: yes, no, maybe, sometimes, often, whatever.

17. Would you go out to eat with George W. Bush?
No. Michael Jackson died the other day and for a couple of seconds I felt sad and then...then I remembered the children who "slept in his bed". What has that got to do with eating with George W. Bush? Well, no matter how many people try to convince me that he's a wonderful raconteur, a great person to meet, a fantastic bloke, so that, just for a couple of seconds I think "I'd like to go out and eat with him". That's when I remember all the children's futures he's fucked. So, that's a no then.

18. What are you listening to right now?
The fan in our bedroom. In the background I can hear the kids are watching something that sounds cartooney. And the drier is going on the balcony.

19. Are your parents strict?
My mum is strict. My dad wasn't. Actually, my dad was strict. My mum would beat me, my father would talk to me. I suppose, looking back at it, my father's lectures were more frightening than my mum's violence. Also they were more effective. I am my father's son because of the things he said and the way he acted. I've also realised that I have portrayed my mum in a bad light here. Please don't think badly of her. I was (am) a frustrating type of person. Many people have wanted to (and actually have) hit me. I bring out the worst in people sometimes.

20. Would you go sky diving?
No. One of my "special abilities" is to see multiple endings to any scenario. I am the ultimate risk assessor. Of the many varied endings to a sky diving event, there is only one that is good. The rest end in death or worse (and yes, believe me when I say that are a lot of things worse than death). 

21. Do you like cottage cheese?
I don't know. I suppose so. It looks like sick, right? I must have eaten it at some point in my life. Just didn't remember to remember. Haven't bought any, ever.

22. Have you ever met a celebrity?
Yep. Mainly through teaching their kids.

23. Do you rent movies often?
Nope.

24. Is there anything sparkly in the room you’re in?
maria's wit. maria's personality. maria's earrings. The handcuffs attached to the bed. The look in my eye when I thought about handcuffs????

25. How many countries have you visited?
A lot. There was the two week trip through Europe, when my dad drove the six of us to Austria in order to remake "The Sound of Music" (don't ask). At one point, I remember him pulling into a lay-by and making us all get out the car so that we could all say we had stood in Luxembourg (it wasn't on his itinerary to actually stop for any length of time in Luxembourg). So, I have been to all of the Western European countries (except Portugal); the Czech Republic; Tunisia; the USofA; Mexico.

26. Have you made a prank phone call?
Yes. Unfortunately, most of them to the emergency services. Now, that I'm old, wise, and mature (I had that derisive snort at the back) I am very embarrassed about this. But, at the time, I was dead cool in front of my peers. 

27. Ever been on a train?
Errrr, yes. Lots.

28. Brown or white eggs?
In my mind, white eggs taste nicer. I always think, when I have a nice egg (and I haven't seen the shell), I bet that was a white egg. I tend to buy brown eggs though. I don't know why...are they cheaper? Are free range brown? And now I've just realised that the eggs in the fridge are white. So. I don't know the answer to this question any more. I am confused.

29. Do you have a cell-phone?
Yes. This is a meme, on the internet, and the question asks if you have a mobile? Would someone, connected to the internet, answer no? Who is this person? Why? I could understand you asking "do you use your mobile for anything else than phoning?" But, let's assume that most people who are doing a meme have a mobile, shall we?

30. Do you use chapstick?
No. Do I have a chapstick used on me? Yes. Every now and then maria complains that I have dry lips (or something) and then coats me in this gunk. I worry that people will think that I am a transvestite. Yep, I am this shallow and pathetic.

31. Do you own a gun?
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. No.

32. Can you use chopsticks?
Yes. Can I use them well? No.

33. Who are you going to be with tonight?
maria. At seven-thirty we will take the kids back to their dad's house. We shall come home, alone.

34. Are you too forgiving?
Yes I am - according to maria. I didn't know the answer to this question so I asked her. She replied: "you tell me things and my eyelids twitch, in anger. You should be out there, killing people - or at least maiming them. But you forgive and forget." So that's me then, too forgiving.

35. Ever been in love?
Yes.

36. What is your best friend(s) doing tomorrow?
She'll be processing all the pictures she took today. She'll be missing me. She'll pick me up from work. She might go across the border to watch "The Hangover" again with her boyfriend. Or, she might drag said boyfriend to IKEA again....I hope it's the former :^)

37. Ever have cream puffs?
Oops. I suppose you mean those creme puffs that they sell at the mall? You see, I love profiteroles.  Adore profiteroles. Quite like chou(x) pastry just filled with cream. Those you could call creme puffs. So, when I saw that there was a store selling creme puffs at the mall, I became very excited. When I saw the size of the things, I became very, very excited. When I saw that they filled them with custard my erection failed. What? Custard filled chou(x) pastry - no way, joseph! The store closed a week later. A week after I refused to purchase a 12 pack of creme puffs the store closed. I feel slightly guilty every time we walk past the place.

38. Last time you cried?
Held back the tears on Friday at Graduation. I suppose "UP" was the last time.

39. What was the last question you asked?
Question 34: Am I too forgiving?

40. Favo(u)rite time of the year?
Vacations. Second week of vacations.

41. Who did you last call?
J.A.

42. Are you sarcastic?
Actually I'm not. I am constantly accused of being sarcastic but this is from people who don't know what sarcasm is, and assume that what I am saying is sarcastic. It rarely is. The last time I was accused of being sarcastic I was actually been down right rude and insulting. However, I accepted the accusation, as I felt that pointing out that their failure to recognise my rudeness just proved their moron credentials would have led to further complications.

43. Have you ever seen The Butterfly Effect?
Yes. And if I remember it rightly, it wasn't bad. I say this because that is exactly what I said 48 hours ago, whilst watching "3:10 to Yuma" (which is excellent). It appeared, after an IMDB search, that one of the actors in 3:10 had been in TBE, which maria professed to not having seen. I came back with a quick review: I have seen it and it's not as bad as you might imagine it to be.

44. Ever walked into a wall?
Yes. That is one of the main reasons I studied Passe-Fu. Which, as eny fule noes, is the art of self defense against inanimate objects.

45. Favo(u)rite colo(u)r?
I thought this was "65 questions you've probably never been asked"? I have been asked this question before and I tend to answer it with...really? a favourite colour? you want me to pick a favourite colour? fish.

46. Have you ever slapped someone?
I should have. I should have slapped so many, many people. But I am just too forgiving...probably. I don't remember "slapping" anyone.

47. Is your hair curly?
When it is long.

48. What was the last CD you bought?
Can't remember. I haven't bought a CD in 2009, and I'm not sure I bought any in 2008. For my birthday I received the new Snow Patrol CD. So that was bought.

49. Do looks matter?
In what way? Of course looks don't matter if we are talking about a friend, or an acquaintance. If we are asking about a long term relationship, yes.

50. Could you ever forgive a cheater?
No, even though I'm too forgiving. And I wouldn't be expected to be forgiven.

51. Is your phone bill sky high?
MY phone bill? No. OUR phone bill? Sometimes. It was last month, and I expected to take the blame because I knew I had phoned my mum a couple of times (her computer has died a death and she has no way of getting on the internet). So when I saw the bill, I stayed quiet. Then maria apologised for the phone call to France and I was off the hook.

52. Do you like your life right now?
Yes. No matter how bad these bits are or get, there was a time when I saw where my life could have gone. The place I'm in, the situation I am in, right now, is far better to the place I could have been in right now.

53. Do you sleep with the TV on?
I have fallen asleep in front of the tele but that is in the tele room. We don't have a tele in the bedroom. The bedroom is for other activities.

54. Can you handle the truth?
Yes. Sometimes I don't handle it very well at the get go, but I prefer the truth.

55. Do you have good vision?
I had wonderful vision. Perfect vision. And then my arms got shorter. I struggle to read without glasses now. This is not something that makes me happy.

56. Do you hate or dislike more than 3 people?
Long term - no. I am too forgiving (I'm also irritating in the way I bang on and on about the same thing). In the short term though, I can hate with a heat that burns white. And I have done that for more than three people.

57. How often do you talk on the phone?
Rarely. Three/four times a week? Mainly to maria.

58. The last person you held hands with?
maria.

59. What are you wearing?
Red t-shirt, dark blue jeans, dark blue pants (that's underwear to you), brown and blue striped socks, SPF 50 sunblock, Armani Code.

60.What is your favo(u)rite animal?
Again with the favourite. It used to be a penguin but "Happy Feet" destroyed that dream.

61. Where was your default picture taken?
A Japanese Fusion Restaurant. Unless you are looking at the one of me in a tie. That was taken at work.

62. Can you hula hoop?
No.

63. Do you have a job?
Yes. I also have a life.

64. What was the most recent thing you bought?
A book. Two books. I was supposed to be buying a book but on the way to the checkout I picked up another. Except, I didn't have enough money to pay for the two books, so maria paid for them. So, that means...popcorn and drinks, at the cinema, yesterday. We all went to see Transformers. Quick review: don't go see Transformers.

65. Have you ever crawled through a window?

Yes. Many, many times. Out of my window, onto the garage roof, onto the top of the gate, onto the fence, onto the path, off down the road. Four hours later, back up the road, onto the path, onto the fence, onto the gate, onto the garage roof, in through the window, back into my bedroom. Three nights a week for two and a bit years.

email to my mum

Dear mum,

Oooo look, I'm typing. I always seem to start every email off with an apology, I'm not very good at this thing. You'd have thought that all those years of being forced to write a letter home every Sunday (Dear Mum and Dad, I hope you are well and enjoying life.)  would have instilled some sense of communication ability into me. However, I think it led to the fact that writing every Sunday just pointed out how tedious my life was, and how it didn't change much from week to week.

Every month we have exams and every month we have to write lesson plans for the next month. This means that I spend the last two weeks of every month avoiding the computer. I am the world's greatest "putter-offer". I should have a t-shirt that declares: "Procrastinate NOW!" All the other teachers work in teams - each grade has two or three classes in the grade. Plus they have been doing the job for more than a year. This means that they share the job and they also have exams/lesson plans written. I, unfortunately, don't have a partner, nor a history of teaching (by that I meant I wasn't doing this last year). Thus it is a lot of hard work that I don't enjoy. I love teaching, I love being in the classroom, "doing ma thang". But the paperwork drives me mad! Ho, hum. At least I am not teaching in England where the paperwork was much worse than this.

I don't know if I've explained this before but, the dollar is common currency here in Tijuana. Obviously the peso is the Mexican currency but, this close to the border you can use dollars to pay for anything. When you get your receipts in shops/restaurants/etc there are two figures at the bottom, one in pesos, one in dollars. Obviously, (ha! Obviously today's word of the day will be "obviously") across the border, you can only use dollars. For the last two years this hasn't been a problem. I am paid in pesos but changing money is not difficult. There is an exchange booth every 200m. For the last 3 years the exchange rate has been (about) 10 pesos for a dollar. Sometimes it has risen to 11, once it dropped to nine, but it held out at 10 for the majority of time. This was good because our rent is in dollars - 400 dollars to be exact. As I am paid in pesos it meant my rent was 4000-4400 pesos from month to month. However, the Mexican economy is strongly tied to the American economy. Somehow, fairly stupidly if you ask me, Mexico has its own oil supply (that's not the stupid thing) however it doesn't have its own refineries (that's the stupid thing). It exports crude oil to the US and then has to import petrol. It makes no sense to me. Plus there are many other problems in Mexico. All this means that the exchange rate has gone mad (bad and dangerous to know). Since January it has been at 14 and rising. Yesterday it was at 14.85. So, you may ask, what has this got to do with me? Apart from a method of making this a much longer email. Well, it now means that my rent is still 400 dollars but (as I am paid in pesos) is really 5600-6000 pesos. This is (nearly) a 50% rent increase. I can't remember if I told you that there had been talk of Maria coming into some money? Her birth-father had died and it appeared that he had shares in a soap factory. Anyhoo, we got a little carried away at Christmas with the thought of all that money and spent too much. All of this, rent and bad spending habits, means that we have been eating beans and chili since January. We'll make a pot of beans that will last three days, then a pot of chili, then repeat. Have I also mentioned that our neighbours have moved out? We hope this was because of the rent and not our diet.

The intention of all this frugality was to save enough money to move. Everywhere wants "first month, last month" as the rent. So we need to put that all together. Last week we had the lump sum to move. We were looking for something with three bedrooms - Dani is 14 and Nikos is 8 this month and they can't share a room any more, was the thinking - with a rent in pesos. Unfortunately, in the areas we are looking (the safe areas) two bedroom places (like we have at the moment) are going for 5000-6000 pesos. This means we would be in exactly the same position - a two bedroomed place and paying the same money. Three bedroomed places (in the areas we want to live in) start at 8000 pesos. We were doomed, doomed I tell you!

We had seen a place, a two bedroomed place, in a luvverly neighbourhood, that was going for 3600 pesos. At first we'd ignored it - it had two bedrooms. But as we continued to look, and failed to find, it looked better and better. It was two bedrooms, but it was a house. It was in a gated-community. It wasn't too far from school. With a rent that small we could have a much better way of life and use that as a springboard to look for a better place, whilst getting out from under the thumb of the dollar! Except, we couldn't find the phone number for the place. So we set out to go find the sign we'd seen that was hanging outside the gate.

And that is when the car broke down.

Yep, Monday afternoon, stranded on the outskirts of Tijuana, with a car that wouldn't move. If only we'd been looking for a place in Laguna Niguel (if you remember the LAST time the car broke down?). It was either the battery (please, please, please, let it be the battery) or the alternator. Fortunately we had broken down on the outskirts of TJ. Yes, I know, that makes no sense, except the outskirs of TJ are full of factories, and Maria used to be an engineer, and that factory right next to us is where our good friend Efrain works!! We borrowed his car (his car is a whole other email), drove back to TJ, got a mechanic to come out and look at the car, it was the alternator, the mechanic got the car back to the garage, we were looking at a bill that was going to eat up all the money we had saved. We were looking at another two months of beans and chili.

I went into work on Tuesday and carried on regardless. Halfway through the day there was an announcement on the school tannoy - Mr. Kay has won the raffle! Mr. Kay has won the raffle!! Come and get your prize!!! Three weeks ago, someone had lost 1000 dollars. They were taking it to the bank, they walked into the bank, the money had disappeared. The school organised a whip-round to help the person. We've had this before - you can't imagine how often people's houses are broken into or people are robbed - and I don't pay a lot of attention. I just open my wallet and hand over a donation. Anyhoo, because this has been happening so often the school decided to make it into a fun event - turn the donation into a raffle. The school offered a prize, rather than giving a donation to the person. It was a whole "encourage everyone to look after everyone else - bond that team" sort of thing. Anyhoo, I didn't pay attention, just handed over my 100 pesos and forgot about the whole thing. And then I won! Ha! I don't think I've won a raffle since you and Denham dragged me off to Happisburgh* to represent the RNLI in a darts match (and if you remember that you're a genius!). I won a packet of cigarettes!! This was a little more than a packet of cigarettes - it was 3000 pesos! I could pay for the car!!

Of course, if this was a movie, instead of real life, I would then tell you that we got the car back, drove off to see the house, it was perfect, we rented it, and I am writing to you from my new study! But I'm not because it isn't. We got the car back, drove out to read the sign, to discover it had gone - obviously! A place that good, that cheap had been snatched up. We did see two other places, both two bedrooms, but the rent was back over the 5000 pesos mark, which would put is back in the same situation. So, I am still sat in the flat typing to you. There is a pot of beans on the cooker, there are the ingredients for chili in the fridge. We will move at some point!

Anyhoo, it is Sunday morning and I am supposed to be cooking pancakes for breakfast. However, following my usual pattern of putting everything off that I am supposed to be doing by doing something else, I have spent the last twenty minutes writing to you instead of cooking. And I now have some hungry people asking where their breakfast is! I must go.

Glad everything is good with you. Yep, Spring is here (he says, wandering around in a t-shirt) and I hope it gets warmer. I am looking forward to the clocks moving, although it is now lighter in the morning, but I like to wake up to full sunshine rather than a "brightness". Yay, Sheffield United won! And I seemed to have missed the cricket. Not seen rugby for ages - oh, I taught rugby to seven year olds, I played at 11. No idea how old Dougie is but he's older than that! Right, time I hit send.

Love,
William

*this isn't part of the email, this is a footnote. Ways to occupy yourself - try and imagine how Happisburgh is pronounced. A no-prize to the person who gets it first.

the duck and parrot

My mum lives in the middle of nowhere. To be a little more precise, she lives near a Broad in Norfolk.

Mum: While I'm talking, I'm watching a duck on the roof of the house across the street.

This piece of information fascinates Maria. She is stunned that, quite regularly, ducks will waddle up the road from the Broad, and into my mum's garden. Real ducks! Real, alive ducks! Just wandering around the streets. She cannot believe that there are road signs, warning drivers that there might be ducks in the road. She finds it totally amazing that ducks exist in the wild.

Me: That's odd. While I'm talking, I'm watching a parrot sitting on the telephone pole across the street.

This piece of information fascinates my mother. She is stunned to hear that, quite regularly I can watch parrots fly overhead. Real parrots! Real, alive parrots! Just flying around, in the sky, without a care in the world. She cannot believe that everyone else hasn't stopped, in the street, to stare at the sight of a real live parrot on the telephone pole. She finds it totally amazing that parrots exist in the wild.

Actually, I'm with my mum on this one. I still stop and stare when I see parrots. Two days ago, during recess, I interrupted the kids while they were eating their lunch, to point out a humming bird. Yes! A real live humming bird. Just hovering around, moving in and out of the trees. And there was no David Attenborough sound track! Who would believe it? Well, to be honest, only me. The kids at school looked at the humming bird, looked at me, shook their heads in a (fairly) patronising way, and then carried on eating.

Mind you, they all stopped eating when I shouted: "Look! A duck!!"

money burns holes in my pockets

It was a simple plan:

(1) go across border
(b) buy Lea and Perrins and dijon mustard
(III) see Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull

So simple that it couldn't go wrong. Except it did, round about point (b).

My mum always said that "money burns holes in my pockets" and, as mum's invariable are, she was correct. I've never been brilliant with money. Oh, I like to think that I'm a lot smarter than some people but I'm willing to admit that, if you lined up the population of the world in their ability with money, I'd just make the top half, just.

The theory is that you always send more than you earn, no matter how much you earn. This I have never done. I have always managed to stay in the black. But, in case you feel like tapping me up for a loan, I should point out that last month I was in the black by 40 pesos (just under $4, well under 2 British Pounds Sterling). The advantage of living in Mexico is that credit isn't readily available to me. What I earn is what I live on and I don't earn a tremendous amount. Of course, the other advantage of living in Mexico is that I don't need to earn a tremendous amount - the cost of living is a lot cheaper. Maria often says, the pound thinks it is a dollar. This statement is backed up by McDonalds. The 99c menu in the States is a 99p menu in England. In Mexico the peso doesn't think it is a dollar (it is nearer 10c) but it really does give it a go!

I am paid on the 15th and the 30th (31st) of each month. There are some days we make it to pay having eaten beans for two days, there are some pay days we arrive at with 1000 pesos still in the bank. Please note, I am not complaining. We live life exactly as we want to. We have both been married to people who are financially frugal. Both of us have suffered from living a life where we have had to argue for every penny we get. For me it was particularly irksome - however, it did mean that when I left England, I left everyone financial secure, mainly because all my money had been siphoned off into "rainy day accounts" that I had no access to. This means that neither of us like to exercise any kind of financial restraint on the other. And it is fairly good because neither of us wants to financially cripple the other one either. Every pay day there is a moment when we treat ourselves to something extra or we cover the cost of a repair. Basically, we live from pay check to pay check. Sometimes we sit around and talk of saving money but, somehow, we always end up in a bookstore/restaurant/IKEA and nothing comes of the talking. Money burns holes in my pockets.

As you know (and if you didn't - here's the reminder) I have taken on directing the acting in The Lion King, the school play. This I did willingly - and for willingly you can also read financially-unrewarded. I did ask for money (and felt rather embarrassed when I did) but was told that there wasn't any (and felt very relieved when informed). I did the job because, well because I enjoy it. I enjoy working with the children in a different way, I get job satisfaction (and yes, there are times, often 2am, when I have to chant that phrase to myself to remind me not to explode with stress). I also think that it helps with my relationship with the students, the school. There might not be any financial reward but there are certain other rewards that count for a lot more. On Tuesday I negotiated my contract. One of the weapons I intended to use was the fact I had directed the school play. As it turned out, I didn't need any weapons. In fact, the whole thing turned out so well that, much to my amazement, as part of the apology to (what they perceived as small - although it was more than I expected) my pay rise, I wasn't just given sincere thanks I was also given a financial thank you for what I had done with the play.

We suddenly had a lump of money. From nowhere. A chunk of money. What to do? What to do? What to do?

Obviously we decided to spend it!!

We decided to head over the border, Thursday night, and catch the opening of Indiana Jones, to celebrate, donchu'no. We took out money from the bank, changed pesos into dollars, laughed at how much we had exchanged - just to see a film -, crossed the border in under ten minutes (Maria took longer than me!), and set off...the money was already burning a hole.We didn't get to see the film.

We nipped into Target, for Lea&P, and foolishly we grabbed a trolley (cart). In a search for Lea&P we decided to go up and down every aisle. This was our second mistake. By the time we arrived at the condiments area the trolley was already full - I found cherry flavoured water, curry flavoured crisps, honey-roasted nuts at a reduced price, tins of Slim Jims - I went a bit mad. We went a bit mad. Both of us felt guilty. Both of us felt that we had overspent. And so, we came to the decision that it would be a good idea if the other spent some more of the money on themselves, to sort of compensate for the other's frivolity. It made sense to us at the time. Maria wanted me to go to Borders and try get a couple of TPBs. I wanted Maria to buy a pair of shoes. Both of us agreed that we would look - me at TPBs, her at shoes - but both of us were convinced we wouldn't find anything.

An hour and a half later we didn't have enough money to go to the cinema - it is a bit bad when you stand in line for the checkout, trying to work out the tax, in case you don't have enough money. (For those who have never shopped in the States, the price on the shelf isn't the price you pay - there is a sales tax added on at the till.)

But, never fear, we had the kids Friday night, we had a party to go to (children's) Saturday, there was no way we could spend more money before Sunday. And we didn't. Didn't spend any money on Friday - except for the visit to the supermarket and having to put petrol in the car. Apart from those expenses, we spent nothing.

The party Saturday would make sure that we spent nothing! Except we couldn't go to the party. It wasn't just a "turn up and party" party, it was actually a birthday/baptism/wedding party. Yeah, I know! Who decides to get married, and then include their kid's baptism, and their kid's birthday party, all in one? I mean, seriously, it meant that one of the guests at the wedding would have been me?? It makes no sense at all. However, the invitation was an RSVP, because the party was a "sit-down meal" type thing (it was a wedding!). Nikos's dad hadn't RSVPed. We couldn't go. We ended up at the book fair instead. We spent money. A lot of money. And I was more guilty than the other three! Yes, I bought a book in Spanish! A very expensive book. Toda Mafalda. It will help me learn Spanish!

Tomorrow is Sunday. We are going to try to see the Indiana Jones film. We will try but...but it is Memorial Day in the States. This seems to be a day for every shop to have a sale. And I need new trainers. We both need jeans. I need some underwear and socks. Maybe a couple of shirts. There are always new t-shirts to be had. There is this bookcase we have been looking at from IKEA.

Me thinks that if you come here on Monday, to read a review of Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, you might be out of luck. Money, it burns holes in my pockets.

for my mum

Because it was Mother's Day, yesterday, here in Mexico, I phoned my mum. It appears that my brother had inflated Speedy Gonzales - a 12 foot inflatable with a bloody huge outboard motor (don't think of this a dingy, think of it as something the SBS [or marines] might use to invade a foreign country) - and taken her out for the day, on the Norfolk Broads. It appears that they ended up on Ranworth Broad, and my mum asked me if I remembered an incident that had occurred there. I did. And I mentally promised myself that I would write the incident up and send it to her. This is the story:

During the Easter holidays of 1972, my father hired a 38 foot cruiser that slept six people and a sailing dingy to tie to the back of the boat As usual, with family trips, we were all awoken at 5am to pack the car. Why we were woken, to stand around in the freezing cold to watch my father swear at suitcases, as he forced them into the boot, and struggle to put Bolshy (our sailing dingy) on the roof, I never knew but those were the rules. By 7am my father was happy and we were ready to go. My mother lined my brother and I up outside the toilet, used the facilities herself and then made sure that we did. We were then bundled into the car, handed reading material, a tin of sucky sweets each and then my parents went back inside the house for a cup of coffee. Half an hour later we set off, stopping to pick up my grandpa on the way.

There must have been a time when my grandpa was dynamic and all there, he had set up many successful businesses in Sheffield and had retired. My grandpa did very little now, he would sit, eat, occasionally mumble, smoke, drink a huge amount of whisky every day and hand out money from a seemingly bottomless pit of change he kept in his pockets - normally with the preceding comment: I feel like a lavatory attendant. Here take some of this change. My grandpa came from an era when there were lavatory attendants, and he was used to tipping them. In his world, if anyone had a pocket full of change it must be because he was a lavatory attendant, weighed down by his tips.

Arriving at Wroxham the car was unpacked, everything being moved from the car to the boat. Bolshy was lowered from the roof and placed in the water, next to the fat slug of a dingy my father had hired. Grandpa was placed in the rear well of the boat and a glass of whisky placed in his hand. We were lined up on shore and reminded once again (as we were reminded annually) that my father could be referred to as dad, daddy, skip or skipper but never captain (captains are in charge of ships not boats, donchu'no). We were sent to our mooring posts, as the eldest I was at the front (for'ard), my brother at the back (stern) and my mother stood on the front (prow) of the boat. My father started the engine:

cast off for'ard, cast off aft

I threw the rope (line) towards my mother who missed it, pulled it back on board and dumped it in a pile. I walked back to the middle of the boat (midships), stepped on board.My brother threw his line to grandpa, who ignored it as it bounced off his head, stepped aboard and crossed to the other side. The boat moved away from the side (dock):

fenders up, everything tidy, break out the rations

My brother and I pulled aboard the fenders that hung down the side of the boat and then returned to the fore and aft of the boat to make sure that the mooring lines were coiled properly. My mother ran down into the galley (kitchen) and poured drinks for her and my father, rushed a glass into my father's hand and then ran back to the stern to fill grandpa's glass. My father opened the throttles and set sail for the high seas - actually, the Norfolk Broads is nothing like the high seas. It is more like a huge boating lake. These days it is probably an aquatic version of a motorway, with boats pootling along at 5 m.p.h., looking for a parking space, near to a pub, so that the drinking could start. As a child, I was of the opinion that a holiday on the Norfolk Broads was nothing more than a pub crawl on water. At some point in the holiday we arrived at Ranworth Broad. This is a huge expanse of water, the ideal place to put Bolshy through her paces. There, in the middle of the Broad, we dropped anchor, except he boat didn't actually have an anchor. The Norfolk Broads are cut into the earth and the bottom of each broad is thick black mud. The best way to make sure a boat doesn't drift in the night is to drop a huge weight which sinks deep into the mud, the mud closes round the weight, sucking it in tightly, the line is tied off tightly, the boat is moored, it will not drift.

My father had been in the navy, the merchant navy. It is always a source of wonderment to me that, during war time, when Britain was surviving on the arrival of convoys, which meant that these were targets for the Nazi submarines, thus leading to many sunk ships, many dead seaman, that my father would volunteer for such a position. Actually, beside the wonder, there is also a sense of pride. During a war situation, my father volunteered for a non-combative role, a non-violent role. The good news (for me and probably him) was that he never got to sail in wartime. He ran away to sea, rather than becoming an accountant (straight away) in his father's firm. Of course, there was fall back from this decision. At some point (approximately 50 times a year), my father would push back his chair from the dinner table and regale us with his first/second/every trip to sea. In later years, he was joined in his reminiscing by my older brother, who also joined the Merchant Navy. Oh, and if you think that I can tell a story, you really should spend time (have spent time) with my father and brother. Both of them are far, far better raconteurs than I could ever dream of being. However, the long and the short of this is, we were brought up with boats, with the sea, with sailing. [sidenote: My mother was an ARP. For those of you who have watched Dad's Army, it was her job to ride around on her bike, telling people to: Put those lights out! Again, I am in awe that a 14 year old girl (as she was then) would volunteer to cycle round a (blatantly obvious - Sheffield, they make steel! Think about it) target for the Luftwaffe.]

Bolshy was a polystyrene dingy. Now, I know what you are thinking - polystyrene dingy? Why? Well, think a bit further. She was light, very light. Think of a piece of polystyrene on water, think how the wind would move it. She wasn't just light, she was fast - in theory. The reason she was called Bolshy was because she was bolshy! On her maiden voyage she refused to move, no matter that the catalogue had stated that even in a light wind she would zip across the water, she didn't move. However, Ranworth Broad wasn't the same as the river she was placed in for her maiden voyage. It is a huge expanse of water that the wind whips across. Ranworth Broad was the ideal place for my father to show off his sailing heritage. He would sail Bolshy, my brother and I would sail the hired dingy. The hired dingy was a slug. Not even a slug compared to Bolshy, she was a slug. This was a dingy that my brother and me would be safe in. My father sailed Bolshy, we sailed the hired dingy, my mother and grandpa stayed on board.

For fifteen minutes my brother and I tried to coax our dingy into moving. Although the wind was strong, although we kept the sheets (ropes to you) tight, although we kept the sail trimmed, we had managed to get the dingy a whole 100 yards away from the boat. In this time, my father, had managed to zip up and down the whole broad. He'd undone the rust in his sailing abilities. He'd beaten to windward, he'd close-hauled, he'd run, he'd starboard tacked, he'd port tacked, he'd gone about (lee-ho). Basically there were only two things left to do: jibe and capsize. In the next manoeuvre he covered both of them.

A jibe is when you turn the boat around with the wind behind you, instead of a normal manoeuvre (tacking) when you turn with the nose of the boat into the wind. If you turn with the nose into the wind, the boat comes around, the sail switches sides, you move from one side of the boat to another, you continue to sail. However, this manoeuvre slows the boat down, it takes valuable seconds, and several knots off the speed of your boat. If you jibe, the speed of your boat doesn't change. The sail whips round (very quickly) and you are facing the other way. It is, essentially, a dangerous move. As the boom (the bit of wood holding the sail at the bottom), whips across the boat, it moves at a frightening speed. If your head is up then your head is in the water, or at least you have a major concussion. It also throws the whole weight of the boat in an alternate direction. A good, controlled jibe, is a thing of beauty. You know that moment when you see someone swimming the butterfly stroke, and if they do it badly it just looks like they are drowning? But, if you see someone swimming it well, you suddenly realise that the only stroke you ever want to swim is butterfly. It is the same with jibing. When it is done well, it looks perfect, sailor and boat together in harmony. If you have seen it, it is all you want to do. However, when it goes wrong, it goes wrong big stylee!

My father managed to complete the missing two manoeuvres in his sailing repertoire in one move. He jibed, he capsized.

The next scene was one that was (probably) only funny if you were there. Unfortunately, it was 1972 and neither my brother nor I had a video camera/mobile phone on which to record the drama as it unfolded. My mother went into panic mode. Turning the boat's engine on, running to the for'ard, struggling to pull up the anchor, running back to mid-ships, turning the engine off, running to the stern, dealing with my grandpa (who was totally oblivious to the whole thing), running back to the for'ard to struggle with the anchor. For ten minutes my mother was in perpetual motion, desperate to save her (in her mind) drowning husband. What she couldn't see, because she was too busy, was my father righting Bolshy, looking around guiltily, sailing off into the distance to hide his shame. By the time my mother arrived at the spot of the capsize, he was gone. There was nothing there. No sight nor sound of him. Just empty water.

My mother killed the engine, dropped anchor, went astern, and started to explain to my grandpa how his eldest son had drowned/disappeared under the dark waters of the Broad.

Through all of this my brother and I just giggled.

I guess you had to be there.

However, my mum was there. And this is for her. Happy Mother's Day.

yo mamma!

It's Mother's Day, here in Mexico.

Forget Independence Day. Forget America v Chivas. Forget Birthdays (and if you know anything at all about Mexicans the whole comment "forget birthdays" sounds totally surreal). Everything, everything, pales into insignificance when placed next to Mother's Day.

On my second day at boarding school, at the ripe-old age of 13, I made a boy cry. I called him a son-of-a-bitch. Now, it is true that I am a fairly foul-mouthed person. It is also true that I can be a bit flippant when it comes to swearing. It is definitely true that I can call people things that, in the cold light of day, are just not nice. However, I tend to be rather blasé when it comes to calling people names. I don't particularly mean it*. So, when this boy burst into tears I was slightly gob-smacked. My jaw dropped even further when, under questioning from other students, he revealed that I had insulted his mother. I was adamant that I hadn't! I had only called him a son-of-a-bitch...ahhhh, I got it! I had called his mother a female dog! His problem was not with me calling him a name, it was the insult to his mother. Fair enough.

As my life has progressed, I have discovered that talking about people's families is not a good idea. Even the most verbose detractor of their own family will take umbrage if you agree with them. It appears that it is alright for someone to slag off their family, but the minute an outsider picks on their family, the wagons circle and heaven help the casual bystander. This becomes double dangerous if you ever get involved with a comment about someone's mum. This I understand. My mum is my mum. I can complain about my childhood, her cooking, her (totally insane) rules but, if anyone ever says anything about my mum then they are in for a shoeing!

In Mexico you don't even want to think about commenting on someone else's mum. If you do the best that could happen is you would die quickly. The fact is, you will probably die - it is just the speed and the added extra pain that you would have to live through before your demise, that is open to debate. This is a country of men devoted to their mothers. A devotion that borders on the weird but, hopefully, never quite crosses the line.

A man's mother is a Madonna. Hell, she might even be the Madonna. It is a conversation that I ain't going to get into.

So, it is Mother's Day. If it was a working day, it would be half day, people need to go see their mothers!! If it wasn't a half day, people just wouldn't turn up for work. It is Mother's Day. Already we have received several random phone calls from (virtual) strangers, congratulating Maria on being a mother. Hell, I even have been commanded by my employer and my father-in-law to phone my mum and congratulate her.

Happy Mother's Day to anyone who is a mother.

Oh, and my mum is better than yours! Don't agree? I'll see you behind the bike-shed later and come prepared. Because, in the words of Carlin (the Daddy of them all) I'll be asking you: Where's ya tool?

 

*It should be noted that friends of ours, Mexicans, have taken to casually telling me to "fuck off". However, the casualness of the moment is normally ruined when their Mexican-ness kicks in and they follow the comment up with "no offence".

down time

Dateline: Easter Sunday.

Last night we had the most awful food. I would like to blame someone else, anyone else, but it was all my fault. For some reason "scallops wrapped in bacon" sounded luvverly - and the picture on the box looked nice as well. Normally, after spending a certain amount of time in the toilet (with multiple visits) I can feel happy - it is caused by "lactose covered frozen things" or ice-cream (as most people call it). But it tasted horrible, it smelt horrible, and it made me ill. The long and the short of all this was, we ended up loosing two hours of real life and so, to regain it, we didn't go to bed until after 2am.

It is Danny's birthday today and Maria had to pick the kids up at 10am. At 8am I got that worrying thought, what if the clocks went forward today? This isn't as daft as you might think. Five miles away in the good ol' US of A, the clocks went forward two weeks ago. Of course I couldn't just lie in bed worrying, I had to get up to check. Once the computer was switched on I noticed several comments on my blog and an email from my mum. I didn't go back to sleep.

The kids phoned at 9:20am, why hadn't they been picked up? Well, mainly because we were on Tijuana time not Mexico City time (which is two hours ahead), where they had been for the last week. Maria picked them up, happy birthday was sung, presents unwrapped, and Danny chose to watch the Bourne trilogy - now she is 13 she can watch them unsupervised! I phoned my mum - she was at my brother's house, celebrating Easter.

As Maria and Danny settled in front of the tele it was up to me to keep Nikos entertained. Thank the t'internet for lego.com. We built cities, we spent time as firemen, we hunted dinosaurs. As Nikos built, fought fire, exterminated, I surfed the t'internet on my laptop. Posted several times on expat-blog.com, read blogs and commented, followed Santos as they drew with Pumas.

It is now 6:45m. Nikos is now in front of the tele watching Alvin and the Chipmunks, Danny is at the computer updating her myspace page, Maria is cooking, and I am posting.

It all counts as downtime.

signature moment

I've always wanted one of those pithy sign-off signatures on my email. You know how you get emails that casually have some life affirming statement at the bottom - something that makes you go "wow - that's clever" or "gosh, here's a wonderful person I want to know better".

Every now and then I come across a quote that I think I should end my emails with:

Most of my worst decisions have been haircuts.

Psychiatry and cunnilingus have brought us to this.

But then I wonder what those statements say about me and how people would react to reading them, especially my mum. And then I get an email from her which has, as its last line:

All the best for 2008 and make sure you don't end up in jail and all will be well.

Which I think is just about perfect! Gotta lurve my mum.