I've found my home

'tis done

The Lion King

Done, done, on to the next.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gotta lurve the end of a school year!

monopoly

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

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

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

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

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

And then I played a game that included my dad.

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

It is now 35 years later.

I am old.

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

To me.

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

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

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

I am old.

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

dog days

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

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

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

my top ten favourite days as a teacher:

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

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

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

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

5) Weekends - no school!

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

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

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

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

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

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

With nothing to do.

Abso-tively-poso-lutely nothing to do.

I am, at this moment, a paid babysitter.

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

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

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

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

I am living in dog days.

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

and now a word from our sponsor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gotta lurve American adverts.

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

can't sleep

That wasn't our car alarm.

I know.

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

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

What gunshots?

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

There wasn't any gunshots.

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

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

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

No.

You were asleep weren't you.

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

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

I was asleep wasn't I?

You were asleep. Now, go back to sleep.

I can't.

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

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

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

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

Goodnight Will.

or you could just trim it

But let's say there's a bear.

Will, just trim it.

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

A bear?

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

Just trim it.

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

Why would there be a bear in Tijuana?

I dunno. But there could be.

What has a bear got to do with it anyway?

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

Just trim the damn thing.

No. Say a bear had escaped from Jellystone Park.

Jellystone? You mean Yellowstone.

Do they have bears in Yellowstone Park?

Do they have bears in Jellystone Park?

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

Stop there. Stop there and trim it.

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

Is this about the way I run now?

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

Thanks.

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

You're now telling me that I run funny?

You're missing the point.

There's a point?

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

You'd defend me? From a bear.

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

You are so sweet.

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

That toenail?

This one. On my middle toe.

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

I could sharpen it!

Or you could just trim it?

Or I could just trim it I suppose.

Thank you.

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

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

posts I didn't write

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

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

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

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

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

Friday: Look what I got in the post

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

Saturday: I think I'm going to explode

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

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

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

Monday: seriously, they are that enthused?

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

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

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

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

twisted logic

Basic algebra teaches you:

If     A=B
and  A=C
then B=C

Maria: You've grown out of some of these clothes. We should hand them on to someone else.

Nikos: Can we hand them to Javier?

Maria: Yes, of course.

Nikos: Good! Because he gave me some clothes the other day.

Maria: Wait. Why did Javier give you some clothes?

Nikos: Because he'd grown out of them. So, it would be good to give him some of my clothes that I've grown out of. Wouldn't it?

Maria: ...............

Makes sense to Nikos.

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!!"

the strangers

I hate horror movies. Sorry, but they are a genre that I just don't enjoy (and no, I don't understand why I'm apologising either).

Friday night, we decided, was a last night of freedom - we had the kids on Saturday, Sunday was nekkid Sunday, we had the kids for the rest of the week plus weekend. This was our last night of freedom for the foreseeable future. So, we headed across the border and decided to take in a film.

Decisions, decisions. Kung Fu Panda or Enter the Zohan. Neither! Which left...not a lot else. However, Maria had read a review of The Strangers. A review that told her it was a proper horror film. Not a slasher movie, a film with good characterisation, a good plot, good acting. A film where you cared about the characters - they didn't just get killed because they had disappeared down the cellar to have sex. But (big butt coming here), Maria has a past history with recommending films to me - or so she thinks. Whenever we see a bad film she takes it personally. She feels that it is her fault. Spider-Man 3 - her fault. Ratatouille - her fault. Iron Man - her fault. In reality, it doesn't take much to realise that the viewing of Spider-Man and Iron Man were my fault. The blame for Ratatouille can be passed to her kids. Actually, Maria's streak for picking good films is excellent.

So, we went to see The Strangers. A horror film. Did I mention that I don't like horror films?

And once again, Maria dragged me (screaming and kicking) into a film that I really enjoyed. True, it was a horror story but it wasn't a slasher movie. The way the story unfolded was well done. The actors (Liv Tyler and Scott Speedman) gave credible performances. All in all it was a couple of hours well spent. I became involved, I became annoyed, I became frightened. There weren't too many of the jump-out-from-behind-the-scenery moments - in fact, which turned out to be even more scary, the protagonists slowly hovered into view and then disappeared, often without the main characters realising that they were there.

If you want to spend two hours on the edge of your seat, followed by four hours wandering round your flat, re-checking all your locks, this is a good film!