The Perfect End To A Perfect Evening

Today's a funny old day. It's my niece's first birthday so I've missed all the celebrations and the party. I even phoned her a while ago, but she didn't seem to be in. Quite sad about missing all that, to be honest.

But Ella's on her way - should be about 10 hours away by now - and, of course, I'm very happy about that.

I expect there may be some interesting stories to tell again very soon as a result of Ella's arrival. She can be fairly... mischievous at times. I've removed all breakables from my flat just in case.

I managed to have a pretty exciting last weekend before she arrived, though. Went to a comedy club on Saturday night and saw a couple of very entertaining comics, both from England. The compere, however, was better suited to hosting a mid afternoon daytime television quiz show. He wore a loud shirt, and did that "looking at the audience and waving in a whacky way" thing before he got to the mic. And he did a Bruce Forsyth impression. He also sang Mack the Knife for no apparent reason.

Not entirely sure why I think you might be interested in this seeing as I wasn't particularly interested myself when he was on stage.

Anyway, after the comedy, due to the fact that my friends went home, I found myself alone in a bar with a woman I'd never met before. She was a friend of a friend. An American. Her son goes to the infant school that my senior school is a branch of. We went to meet some more of her friends on Orchard Road, the scene of my nightmare shopping experience. The Christmas lights are fantastic.

Only two of her friends had turned up - an Irish couple who said "feck" an awful lot. The Irish woman went home fairly promptly leaving an Englishman, an Irishman and an American.

We went to a couple of bars and ended up dancing to none other than Jive Bunny. I don't think I've heard Jive Bunny for years. I don't think I've ever danced to Jive Bunny before. And, of course, we were all trying to outdo each other with our ironic dancing, keeping as straight a face as possible and doing the twist with fake sincerity. Even the American. Although perhaps she doing the twist with great sincerity.

A number of things made me feel a bit as if I was in a film. Kind of "Lost In Translation" with three people instead of two in Singapore instead of Japan.

I always feel like this when I'm out with people I don't know because, I guess, I'm always aware that I'm not quite as relaxed as usual, so I guess I put on a bit of an act. You know, I kind of end up watching myself. The film effect was heightened, however, by the Christmas lights, by the fact that I didn't really know where I was because we kept going to plush bars I'd never been to before, by the plush bars themselves, and by the fact that the Irish guy called me "the kid".

"The kid" - I like that.

Just after Jive Bunny had finished, a guy made a pass at the Irishman who gave him short shrift. A few minutes later, he made a hit at the American woman, who also gave him short shrift.

It was at this point that I decided to leave.

I got into a cab. “True” by Spandau Ballet was on the radio.

Perfect.

Collision Course

I’ve been toying with the idea of writing about the Singapore shopping experience for a while now. I finally became so irritated by it today that I had to get it out of my system.

I seem to spend a lot more time shopping here than I ever have in the past. This is mainly because I’m still trying to get my new home in order. So, just about every weekend, I head for Orchard Road, home to a hundred different towering malls. The trouble is, about a million other people do the same thing.

The thing that irritates me is that none of the other people walking the streets, negotiating the subways or browsing the merchandise seem to have any awareness whatsoever of the fact that there are other people who want to use the same streets, subways and shops. Awareness of own body space is nil. When someone’s walking just behind me or just to my side, I’m aware of it, and move accordingly. It seems like no one else on Orchard Road is blessed with this awareness. By the time I get home from one of these trips, I have to spend 10 minutes punching my pillow extremely hard to relieve the tension.

A number of scenarios recur. I’ll be walking in a straight line. Someone will be walking ahead of me. They’ll suddenly stop, in the middle of the packed street, to dig around in their bag for their phone. I slam the brakes on, just about avoiding a Charlie Chaplin collision in which I end up with their head in my mouth. They don’t even notice my hot breath down their neck, but carry on rummaging in their bag. I sidestep, tut loudly, and walk on shaking my head.

Next, I’ll be walking (in a straight line) just behind someone who’s going in the same direction. They’ll be a bit to the left of me. Suddenly, as I’m drawing level with them, they’ll veer wildly to the right, for seemingly absolutely no reason, forcing me to slam the brakes on to avoid bringing them down Danny Mills style. I stand there for a moment shaking my head before tutting loudly and moving on.

Today, in a mall, I was walking (in a straight line) towards a woman who was about 15 metres away. Despite the fact that there were hundreds of people around, she was looking in a shop window as she was walking, so didn’t know and clearly didn’t care what was ahead of her. I started to change my direction a little bit so that we wouldn’t collide. Unfortunately, she changed direction in the same way too, still looking in the shop window. By the time she was almost upon me I stopped. Only when she was treading on my toes did she jump, as if I’d poked her with a stick, seemingly dumbfounded by the fact that there was another human being in the shopping mall at the weekend. She had the nerve to tut, sidestep and move on whilst shaking her head.

I did the same thing myself.

Then there are the umbrellas. It was raining so hard today that the world looked misty and grey. But when it stopped, people kept their umbrellas up, seemingly with the sole intention of bashing me on the head with them. I found myself bobbing and weaving my head like a boxer avoiding punches. When I use an umbrella, I try to be aware of the fact that some people are a different height to me, so I raise it and lower it accordingly. But these shoppers seemed intent on trying to perform acupuncture on me. Without my consent.

And the elevators. I’ll be making my way (in a straight line) towards an elevator when, from out of nowhere, someone will nip in front of me, forcing me to slam the brakes on to avoid knocking them down the escalator head first… hang on, that’s actually quite tempting now I think of it… anyway, you know the rest, the tutting and the shaking of the head…

I must walk double the distance I need to on my visits to the shops. By the end of today’s shopping expedition, as well as feeling as if I’d been shadow boxing and had visited an acupuncturist, I also felt like I’d been to a barn dance, daintily “do-si-do”ing my way through the shoppers. Or like a court jester springing enthusiastically from one side of the street to the other, bells on stupid hat. Or like a lurching drunk, zigzagging uncontrollably and bouncing off shop windows.

By the end of today’s shopping experience, I gave up trying to avoid people and carried on walking in a straight line. I was like Richard Ashcroft in that Verve video – (was it Bitter Sweet Symphony?) where he walks down a street intentionally walking into people.

Oddly, I felt no need to punch my pillow on my triumphant return home today.

I Scream

Busy, busy, busy... I've barely enough time to tell you that...

However, I can just squeeze this in too:

Arsene Wenger, Arsenal's manager, on November 4th, said,

"At the moment, goals aren't coming as fluently as we are used to. When you want an ice-cream and it normally comes quickly but suddenly it doesn't then it's a bit more difficult. You become nervous and that is what is happening to us now.”

I thought that was really funny at the time. You know, likening goals to the speed at which a Mr Whippy is dispensed. What a silly man.

Then, just over a week later, Arsenal ate 5 ice creams at once at the expense of my team, Spurs.

It's not so funny now. It's enough to put your teeth on edge.

An Englishman's Obsession

With a day off last week for Deepavali, and another on Monday for Hari Raya, I thought I might be able to get out and explore another corner of Singers on at least one of these days off.

However, sometimes it really rains here, especially, as you may be able to imagine, during rainy season, which started earlier this month. Of course, rainy season really seemed to swing into gear just when I was about to go out and explore another corner of Singers on one of my two days off.

I got the following information from one of the many information packs I received when I arrived here:

“Rainfall is abundant (annual rainfall 2,333 mm). It's wise to carry an umbrella to avoid getting drenched. As anyone who has left an umbrella in the office or home knows, the second you do that, the rain is going to pour down in sheets.”

I didn’t read this information until recently:


Exhibit A

This was from a very brief walk. If you can imagine walking for two minutes with someone pouring a never ending bucket of water over you, this is pretty much what the stroll to the bus stop is like when it rains.

Another fact: there are 171 “thunder days” on average every year. “Thunder” is an understatement. The skies are more than angry. The thunder makes the kids at school scream, even the ones who have lived here all their lives. I was sitting here today through a storm, with regular bursts of thunder, so I was kind of used to it. But when a crack of thunder was particularly close, I still jumped out of my skin.

I’ve been trying, for some time, to think of an appropriate simile with which to describe the thunder, but I can’t do it justice.

But you know that kid who could do the loudest belches when you were at school? You know, the ones that seemed to be physically impossible? That seemed to come from the very pit of their stomach and went on for far longer than you expected? Do you remember that combination of being at once extremely impressed, a little disgusted and somewhat unnerved?

Imagine that kid belching right in your ear. Imagine that raw, awesome, impressive power.

Fortunately, with the thunder, the smell of orange squash which often accompanied the belch is absent.

Regular readers will not be surprised to discover that, when I hear thunder like this, I am afraid, and curl up in a ball, whimpering.

And this was before a few people told me their lightning strike stories. Someone told me that Singers has the highest number of lightning strikes in the world, an assertion I’ve not had the courage to corroborate in case it’s true. One of my colleagues, indeed the colleague who sits next to me in our little office, saved someone’s life by doing CPR after they had been struck by lightning. The colleague who sits next to him told me that the person who used to have my job was waiting at the bus stop – the bus stop I (used to) use – when a flash of lightning struck the pavement just half a metre away.

This is even more frightening than the thunder.

I think I’ll be spending most of the rainy season heading for cover, clad entirely in rubber.

Eat's, Shoot's and Leave's

I went to see a talk by Lynne Truss the other week. She wrote “Eats, Shoots and Leaves”, a best-seller about punctuation. She argues that punctuation standards in English are slipping. I don’t agree, which you might think is surprising considering that I teach English. People have always had difficulty with punctuation. And standards are changing rather than slipping.

Calling herself a "stickler", it makes her angry to see errors in punctuation. She writes about her desire to wander around with a paintbrush painting in apostrophes on incorrectly punctuated shop signs. I’ve read most of her book, and found its tone hectoring and disagreeable. Her talk was also hectoring and disagreeable. She created an environment in which those who attended her talk were the educated and enlightened minority, and we could all have a good laugh at those silly people who get it wrong. She offered no solutions for the “problem”.

She admitted that part of the “problem” of incorrect usage is that the rules have changed recently. Recently? The rules are ever-changing. You only have to read a 19th century novel to see that. Anyway, she gave this example: where it was once correct to apostrophise “MP’s”, it is now correct not to: “MPs”. Where it was once “1980’s”, it is now “1980s”. As an aside, she added that they still apostrophise in America.

Cue patronising laughter at all Americans.

Her closing gag was about a taxi driver in London. He’d asked her where she was going. She replied that she was on her way to give a talk about punctuation. He replied:

“I’d better make sure you’re not late, then.”

Cue patronising laughter at taxi drivers.

In her book she asserts:

“If I did not believe that everyone is capable of understanding where an apostrophe goes, I would not be writing this book.”

Later on, she cites the Oxford Companion to English Literature:

“There never was a golden age in which the rules for the possessive apostrophe were clear cut and known, understood and followed by most educated people.”

So, if not even “educated” people get it, what hope do Americans and taxi drivers have?

She asserts that incorrect punctuation renders some texts difficult to understand:

“The reason it’s worth standing up for punctuation is that without it there is no reliable way of communicating meaning.”

Utter nonsense. She cites an example of a florist’s sign which reads:

“Pansy’s ready”.

She follows this with the comment:

“Pansy’s ready for what?”

She’s ignoring the context from which the example came. Surely, as readers standing outside a florist, we’re intelligent enough to work out that “pansy” denotes flower rather than person? Her argument implies that readers are unable to work out the most obvious meanings for themselves. We are not thick. We do it in conversation all the time. Homonyms, for instance, are words which have the same spelling but more than one meaning. Take the word “bank”. We don’t need a punctuation mark to show us the meaning of: “Let’s go to the bank” because we use the context of the utterance to interpret it. If we’re on the high street, we assume “bank” means place that dispenses money. If we’re by a river, we assume “bank” means edge of the river.

But to expect a florist to spend their time carefully considering their use of the possessive apostrophe when making a sign for their pansies is ludicrous. As if they don’t have more important things to think about. Truss is a writer and a broadcaster, so she should get punctuation right. But I’d much rather have a florist who was an expert in flowers than a florist who was an expert in punctuation. Of course, I’m sure that many are both.

The thing that annoys me most is that for all the bluster and “wit” of her book, it offers no solution to the “problem”. It doesn’t tell anyone how to understand where they’re going wrong. Sure, it gives examples of correct and incorrect usage, but, believe me, just giving examples of how “stupid” some people are isn’t going to solve the “problem”. I’d like Truss to go into a school and see how hard it is for some children to understand the “rules”. It’s complicated, and many of the “rules” are flexible. Even writers of grammar books can’t agree on the rule of the pluralisation of possessives (is it Truss’ book or Truss’s book?). She admits herself that she needed a “host of proof readers” to save her any embarrassment. So it can’t be that easy, can it?

Truss also argues against emoticons. I don’t like them either. But for someone in their fifties to say that emoticons are "desperate" is like the argument against Elvis’ swivelling hips in the 50s. That argument just looks stupid now. Elvis isn’t daring anymore. He’s establishment. How can anyone have ever found that vulgar? So, language changes, and traditionalists are scared of change, maybe because it is in the hands of the people who use language in new ways and in new media. In the case of emoticons, young people have invented a new way of communicating their feelings. I prefer not to use emoticons because I think they’re daft and childish. But I can see that they’re also a useful addition to the language of the text message, the email or the instant message. They’re quick and to the point. Words on a screen don’t convey sarcasm or irony particularly well. I’ve sent many joking messages to people, only for them to think I’ve been serious. If only I didn’t find emoticons daft and childish, I might not get into so much trouble – I could have sent a (-; - or whatever it is.

Emoticons, which started as keyboard strokes, are now automatically created on my mobile phone. When I want to include an ellipsis (…) my phone automatically turns it into a (-:. You can download emoticons. She says they’re “desperate”. They’re not. They’re established.

She’s too late. So much so that, in a few generations time, it wouldn’t surprise me if some 50-something traditionalist writes a piece about the sad demise of the emoticon and how standards have slipped…

It doesn’t matter what Truss says, or what she thinks. Language will continue to change. She’s like King Canute trying to stop the tide coming in. Embrace it or choose not to use it, but, if you try to stop it, you’ll end up drowning.

I’m not saying that punctuation isn’t important, or shouldn’t be taught. As an English teacher, I find it extremely difficult to read a student’s work which has no full stops (periods). What Truss fails to understand is that it’s easy to show people’s mistakes, but it’s far harder to make someone understand why they’re making them. Try now to put into words where a full stop goes in a sentence.

You probably found yourself saying something like: “It’s where you take a breath.” So how do you explain where to put a comma, then? Maybe you found yourself saying something like: “It’s where you move on to a new topic”. Surely that’s the start of a new paragraph?

In order to really teach where full stops go, you need to go into clauses and subject-verb relationships – you know, get technical. As you can imagine, some students get it. Some of them say they get it when they don’t. Some of them don’t get it at all and make no effort to. Most of them aren’t interested. And a full stop is probably the easiest punctuation mark of all. And English is also about being creative.

And if you think that everyone in a class of 30 or more is capable of understanding the possessive apostrophe, when there’s only one teacher, and you only have an hour, and you have other things to study, and a lot of them already know that they won’t need this knowledge later on in life, you need trussing up.

Surely no one's interested in punctuation anyway. It's a very dull subject. I bet no one bothers to read this far.

Out And About

Three quick pics. The one in the middle is of Chinatown, the other two are faux arty shots of reflections.

A Rose By Any Other Name

Since yesterday’s post about my new nickname, my friends have posted comments reminding me of my various nicknames over the years. I’m wondering whether anyone else has had as many nicknames as me?

Here’s a list, by no means comprehensive. I've tried to add a link to a picture, sometimes with hilarious consequences, of the supposed look-a-like in order for you to come to your own conclusions. This didn't take long - Google Image searches are very quick, and I've got a three day weekend before the "do you ever do any work" brigade strikes again:

Private Pile
After the character in Full Metal Jacket. I had a severe haircut and was overweight.
Hanks
After losing weight, I had a severe haircut, so comparisons were made between me and Forrest Gump and me and Hanks’ character in Saving Private Ryan.
Porch
Because my top lip allegedly sticks out so much it looks like the porch at the front of a house.
Smithers
This Simpsons character wears glasses and so do I. And, just because I’m a sensitive soul, friends somehow misread this as being a little on the camp side. His top lip also sticks out.
Gay Dad
Again, I’m a sensitive soul which friends misread as being a little on the camp, paternal side.
Superman
Clark Kent wears glasses and so do I.
Rod and Tod
These Simpsons characters are very sincere and have curly hair and so do I. Their top lips also stick out.
Pube Head
Work it out for yourself. School friends can be so cruel. And adult friends.
Canoe Foot
I have big feet.
Da Engine
I can run around a lot on the football pitch, but can’t do much else.
The Hooded Claw
I have a fairly prominent nose and chin, which one school photographer captured superbly. This character from Penelope Pitstop also had a prominent nose and chin.
Castrol
I used to wear hair gel. Everyone used to wear gel. But I was called Castrol after the popular engine oil, Castrol GTX. Unless this was just a Bristolian attempt to say “Castro”, and they were in fact likening me to Cuban leader Fidel Castro. I somehow doubt it. In case you’re not familiar with the Bristol dialect, there is a propensity to add an –l to any word ending in a vowel – hence, “idea” becomes “ideal” and “Monica” becomes “Monical”. You too can learn to speak Bristolian here.
Muga
My brother used to call me this when we were growing up. No idea how that started. Now a lot of people call me it. Although Bristolians call me "Mugal".
Harry Potter
I don’t understand this one.

There are many, many more, as I’m sure my esteemed friends will continue to point out.

The Weakest Link

Livid.

First of all, I was teaching my Year 11 class yesterday and towards the end of the lesson, the class somehow managed to steer the conversation round to my nickname.

I’ve had some bizarre nicknames in the past, some of them from students and some from friends. Porch, Rod and Tod, Smithers, Hanks, Superman (because I look like Clark Kent, apparently), Canoe Foot… the list goes on.

Yesterday, however, I learnt that my new nickname is Harry Potter.

I’m distraught. For a start, I’m not a fan. Stupid, boring story for geeks. Secondly, I look nothing like him.

After being told this by my class, my face immediately dropped. Some of the kinder students said things like, “It’s only cos you teach English…” before finally one said, “And you look a bit like him.”

At break, like an idiot, I told my head of department. He was amused.

“Do you think they say things like, ‘We’ve got Potter next…’ when they’ve got a lesson with you?” he asked.

I shuddered at the thought. I explained why I was upset by this. I don’t have a centre parting. I don’t have any parting. I’m not a drippy dweeb. I’m cool… right?

By lunch time, somehow, the rest of the department knew. I came out of my lesson to a chorus of, “Here’s Harry!”

They already had plans for me to play Potter at the school Christmas panto.

That evening we went out for drinks as a department for the first time. This allowed them to continue to find original new ways to insult me by using my new nickname.

For example, when I was ten minutes late turning up:
“So, did your game of Quidditch go into overtime?”

I didn’t get it. I’ve not read the stupid books. Apparently, Quidditch is some stupid broomstick game Potter plays.

One asked me, “How did you get here?”
“Bus,” I replied.
“Why, is Nimbus 2000 in for repairs?”

I didn’t get it. I’ve not read the stupid books. Apparently, Nimbus 2000 is Potter’s stupid broomstick.

Finally, my head of department’s parting shot at the end of the night was,
“What a wizard evening!”

I missed my regular quiz night for this. As you may have read, my team consistently finishes third. Tonight, of course, in my absence, they won.

Potter 

Me 

An All Right Monday

Last night I went to Little India to check out the celebrations. Last night I had my first Monday night out since I got here.

First of all, I live in a fairly bland district of Singers – a busy main road, high rise apartment blocks - fairly near ex-pat central. When I get home on a Monday night, I usually stay home, reading and working and such like. I realise that I’m supposed to be explaining what life is like here. Thus far I think I’ve only really managed to explain what life is like in my little bubble. It’s easy to forget that there’s a life outside this bubble.

For such a tiny island (the same size as the Isle of Wight) there are many different cultures co-existing. Considering the fact that a lot of the world seems unable to accept different beliefs (you’ve got Osama saying that he’s killing in the name of his, and George saying that he’s killing in the name of his – both, of course, with extreme interpretations of their respective religions, which most believers would refute, bandying the names of their gods around to justify the deaths of innocent people), I quite like living in a place in which people are happy to accept the fact that different people have different values and beliefs, even if they don’t agree with each other. Everyone seems to talk to each other, too, face to face, which is rather more constructive and less cowardly than flying a plane into a building or missing a “military target” with a bomb, killing hundreds and thousands of innocent people with unknown faces and names.

A tad simplistic, maybe. But it seems to work all right here.

Anyway, we started off with an Indian curry, which was tip top. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been trying to decide whether Indian food beats Chinese food. At the moment, because I ate Indian last night, Indian is winning.

Then we wandered through the busy, illuminated streets before turning into a hectic market that was lighter than day. The smells of incense and food, the rhythms of great beats, the colours, the banter…

Sadly, my photos don’t do it any justice. In fact, the only good one is of a vegetable shop, which is there all the year round. And everyone takes photos of vegetable shops.

Oh well. It was a pleasure to be able to wander around and actually feel like I was a welcome tourist rather than being just a few hours away from teaching my next lesson.

I need to continue getting out more.











None of these pictures worked

55 Days Later

There are two public holidays coming up this week here in Singers.

The first is Deepavali on November 11th , the Hindu Festival of Lights, in which oil lamps are lit in homes to thank the gods for the happiness, knowledge, peace and wealth received in the year. There is also a “street light up” which takes place in the district of Little India.

The second is Hari Raya Puasa, the end of Ramadan - the month of fasting. Muslims give thanks by praying in mosques in the morning then partake in a feast. It’s a time of forgiveness and the strengthening of bonds within the community. Again, an area of Singers, predominantly inhabited by Malays, will be lit up in celebration.

A Muslim had the misfortune of sitting next to me on the plane on the way back from Sri Lanka. He was fasting. I ate my aromatic chicken stir fry as quickly as possible.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to this time of celebration, not least because I get two days off work.

I’m intending to go and have a look at the streets lit up, and try to understand a bit more about the culture I find myself living in. I’m not just here for the pub quizzes and the football, you see. Plus there’s no Champions League this week.

Which brings me on to my local supermarket. You wouldn’t believe my local supermarket.

I trundled around today with my headphones on, because they usually play awful canned music by Celine Dion. As I wandered through the vegetables, I could just about hear a familiar tune above the sound of my walkman. I removed my headphones.

Bing Crosby. White Christmas.

We’re 87 miles north of the equator.

I got to the checkout and the cashiers were wearing Santa hats.

It’s only November…

Jeopardy

Once a fortnight, three of my colleagues and I enter a team into the pub quiz at The Old Brown Shoe. A local pub for local people…

In many ways, it’s a theme pub – old brown shoes adorn the shelves. You can buy Strongbow or Kilkenny. Frighteningly, the bar staff already know that I tend to drink Tiger. A basket of fish and chips makes for a filling meal half way through the quiz.

It’s quite nice, once a fortnight, to get a little taste of home.

Anyway, my team consistently finishes third, which results in us winning some bottles of beer. The quiz is generally played in good spirits.

Until three weeks ago.

We’d finished third, as ever, one point behind the joint leaders. There was a tie-break question to decide on the winner. One of the teams involved was on the table next to us. The other was sitting next to the quiz master. Both teams had to answer a multiple choice question, and get their answers to the quiz master within 30 seconds.

As I’m sure you can imagine, the tension was palpable.

Both teams handed their answers in. The quiz master went through the answers. Then he announced that the team next to him had won, because the team next to us hadn’t got their answers to him within the allotted time.

The losing team lost the plot.

“Fix!” one shouted.
“We weren’t given a count down!” cried another.

Already amused, I watched with growing interest as two of the team members became more and more indignant, the quiz master looked more and more embarrassed, and everyone else looked closely at the contents of their beer glasses.

Then, most thrillingly of all, one of the losers bellowed:

“It’s not fair, because the distances we had to go to give you the answers weren’t equidistant!”

The fact that this outburst was grammatically mangled, coupled with the pathetic sentiment behind it, only increased my mirth. I only stopped laughing when one of the victims of this terrible injustice asked me what I was laughing at.

I was in Sri Lanka with a couple of my quiz team members and I read an interesting article about pub quizzes in Columbo. Apparently, after humble, fun beginnings, the quizzes became more serious, with pubs offering big prizes in order to gain more custom. 10,000 rupees was the top prize at the most popular venue. This led to teams hiring “professionals” – you know, geeks – who are given a “victory bonus” and a weekly salary.

We decided against attending.

On our return, we attended the quiz at the Old Brown Shoe, and the team that had been the victims of the tie-break a fortnight before were not there. However, there was a notice on every table saying that teams should stop texting people to find out answers. We also discovered that the quiz at the Old Brown Shoe is about to start running weekly, instead of fortnightly, and the prize money is being raised.

We’re currently talking contracts and victory bonuses with a science teacher colleague.

In Threes

Good things, so they say, come in threes. As well as being the "magic number", a list of three is a powerful rhetorical device (not as in "education, education, education" but as in "Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Out, Out, Out!"). There are a number of other ways in which three is a great number, but I'm too tired to think of any.

But I did get three treats yesterday.

1) After 2 months of having a DVD player and no DVDs, someone lent me the first series of "The League Of Gentlemen", and I've been thoroughly enjoying watching the sordid local exploits of Edward and Tubbs, the ruthless totalitarian regime of Pauline the Job Start officer and the gruesome sight of toads being accidentally fried on electric heaters.

2) After 2 months of not being able to find tomato puree except in a tin, I complained about this at work, and the next day one of my colleagues had bought me a tube. I've since made a delicious tuna bake, a delightful pasta dish and a tasty bolognese.

3) After linking the Hairy Parents record label the other day, a kind, generous, anonymous benefactor has sent me a Hairy Parents t-shirt.

Life is sweet, people are generous and I'm very content.

Bye Bye





Bye

And finally...

The last set of photos from Sri Lanka are of a miscellaneous nature. That's about it for today. Had two parents' evenings this week, so lacking in energy and motivation.

Coming up soon, though - an intriguing story of fighting and allegations of cheating - it could only be an entry on a Pub Quiz Night!

Exciting times... well, there's nothing else of any global significance happening in the world today, is there?












Miscellany