The vampiric village hall pantomime.

Dear God in Heaven,
Thank you that I'm still alive after the bloody farrago I've just had to sit through. This afternoon I went along with son, my mother, my aunt, my cousin and his daughter to a pantomime laughingly fashioned out of 'Treasure Island', in which another of my aunts was participating and had cadged some tickets for us. I went along despite feeling tired and ill because my son wanted to - mainly, I suspect, because he knows he can chew through tons of sweets and drink fizzy sugary crap during such entertainments. Well, the one last year wasn't too bad: all the usual 'Oh no it isn't!', 'Look behind you!' and garish dames crap, but moderately well done, by AmDram standards. This year though: Oh dear. fair enough, it was clear the villagers had done their hardest, but they were fighting a losing battle against a script that was too long, too confusing and had too many characters. All the kids in the audience got bored and started yelling or crying or running around, while the adults sat in stoic silence. Jesus, it was bloody awful. I could feel the life force being sucked out of me, the dreadful waste of hours from a life getting shorter as it is. The only bright point of the entire production was a fairly attractive young woman who was wearing very tight black leggings, a result of which was to give us a view of a spectacular camel's hoof. That and the sweets they threw out at the end.

two weeks of solitude and entertaining a five-year-old.

Well, Nur's gone to Istanbul. At this moment in time, she should just have passed into Turkish airspace, and be skimming either the Marmara or The Black Sea, depending on which way the wind's blowing. Two weeks....fourteen days of fun looking after Angus. It could, however, be longer; It depends on the situation while she's there. Also got the half term looming. Joy.

I've just finished marking my academic English class's assignments. Not an uplifting experience, I must say. A few have completed the task as required, properly researched, annotated and bibliographed, but others - well, it shows that they can copy beautifully. Guess who'll be getting 0% for it?

alternative career for EFL lecturers?

This is what happens when you don't check your contract......EFLer kidnap concerns

...

Can't think of anything to write really, so I'm just going to riff with what's going on in my head at the mo. I missed a bloody blizzard by minutes: I was just leaving college when it all kicked off. after an hour of waiting, I decided to walk home. Halfway down the road, it stopped. Ha bloody ha ha.

Nur's going off to Istanbul tomorrow morning - I'll drive her to the station to get her bus. She is most definitely not a happy bunny at present. She talked with her mum last night, who apparently sounded much brighter and chirpier than before. Still, she's going to have a sad time of it, no matter the outcome.

I now need to do a ton of marking for the Academic English course - what joy, scrutinising essays for evidence of plagiarism. Then, of course, I'll hand the things back and the guilty students will say, 'I didn't no copy! No! My work!', until I show them the relevant pages from a Google search. Then they'll grin and smirk. Twats.

On another learning front, it looks like I might be giving Turkish lesssons, which will be interesting.

Right, enough of nothing being said, time to do some real work.

and you think your job's bad?

....check these out!

still no snow.

they promised snow! Where is it? What have you done with it?

money

According to the BBC's Breakfast programme this morning, the average graduate will earn �21,100 p.a. in their first job.
What do I earn?
�21,830.
Since graduating in 1989, I have had a total pay increase (taking into account stuff like inflation) of about 3%.
Shit.
No wonder I'm buggered financially.
They say teaching is a rewarding career......

It's cold outside, but inside I'm all warm and fluffy. Not.

Another miserable week commences. I'm just wondering how hard it's going to snow. This time last year, we had about an inch of the stuff and it took me 3 hours to get to school! Pathetic. At least I'll be on my bike. Wife is still unhappy, obviously, and scared about what lies ahead for her. I wish I could go, but lack of money seems to forbid that. Bugger.
On the money front, everything's still crap, but at least it's crap that is having a bit of light shone upon it, revealing itself in all its loathsome tudy splendour. I've found a couple of websites that seem to offer decent advice: now to put it to work.

an extract...

...from the joy of raki.

Izmir, June/July 1994
Whole days would pass in that smoky living room, the three of us drinking beer or the local white wine mixed with orange squash to make it more palatable. We sat and smoked and watched MTV on the knackered TV, listened to Nirvana, Blur, Green Day, Madness, anything. We�d sit in the smoke, wearing the lightest clothes we could. Even speaking seemed too burdensome, too sweatmaking at times. Beer bottles slowly accumulated in the hallway, until we had to jump over them to get to the bathroom. The kitchen had died long before, and was stacked with the corpses of long-expired dinners. The fridge had become an experimental ecosystem. Guy, Andrew and I were slugging at our beers,when I saw a cockroach knocking at the living room door. Not just a cockroach, but the biggest bastard I had ever seen. Its black carapace glistened evilly, its antenna twitched and searched.
Jesus, look at the size of that bastard! Andrew yelled. We all got on our feet. The bastard scuttled away from us.
Quick, trap it!
We chased it, and it ran behind a beer bottle. We were all armed : Me with a newspaper, Andrew with a shoe, Guy with a can of aerosol and a lighter. We gathered round the bottle where it was hiding. Right, I said. After three, Ill lift the bottle, then we take turns to smack the fucker into oblivion. OK?
Quick nods from the other two.
Alright then, get ready.......one.......two......three........go! No!
I lifted the bottle, and there it was in all its loathsome glory. It then did the unexpected: It charged us.
AAAAGGHH!
We all dived for the cover of the living room.
A few minutes passed.
Has it gone yet?
I think so.

Friday. Cold. Miserable. No money. Bollocks.

I feel like crap. After lessons last night, I rather stupidly went out and got drunk. It didn't make me feel any better about my predicament, unsurprisingly. I just sat in the Cooper's Arms, supping beer and failing dismally to complete an Auracaria crossword. Somebody else in there must have been depressed too: The juke box was playing Tracy Chapman, REM and other sad stuff. After arriving home about 11.30, I found Wife and Child curled up asleep in the latter's bed. I cracked open a bottle of Korean rice wine that one of my students had given me. Not bad. Nur woke up, and we talked and smoked in the kitchen. Her elder sister, the cow, has still not told their father about their mum's condition: She wants Nur to tell him when she arrives in Istanbul. She isn't even looking after him, preferring to focus all her attention on her mother, even while the poor man screams in pain and desperation. They have been married for soemthing like 50 years, since they were children (a common village practice in Turkey until relatively recently).
God, life just seems to be throwing me curve balls at the moment. I NEED TO BE STRONG FOR MY FAMILY'S SAKE. But where can i get that strength? I'm on my knees as it is. Someone help me find a way through all this, please!

Bum, arse,bugger and tits.

...just venting my feelings. I've had a shit day, and I've still got to teach...God, I could do with a nice cold beer...

from bad to worse....

Just when I thought things couldn't get any harder, they just have. I got a phone call from my wife's sister yesterday afternoon. She sounded upset, but wouldn't say anything apart from 'Get her to call me. Our mother's really ill'. I tried calling my wife, but she had her mobile switched off, so I got out of work as quickly as possible and pedalled home. When I arrived, I gave her the message, she called, and just crumpled. Her mum's been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and it looks like her father's in a bad way too. It looks like she may have only weeks to live. My wife booked her flight back to Turkey last night: She goes on the 30th and will stay two weeks. I spent half the night comforting her, or trying to. What the hell could I say to her? I felt numb. Now, on top of the financial problems, we have this, which is way more important.
My own side of the family, too, has problems: My grandfather is in hospital, and my dad's wife has breast cancer. It is really being brought home to me, hard, how much my family will need to rely on me over the next few years. And I need help myself. Oh God, please give me strength!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to all Chinese people! I expect most of my students won't be appearing today......Hopefully, this year will be a good one for me, as it's a monkey year (a green wooden one, apparently) and I'm a monkey. It can't be any worse than what I've been through, anyway. Had yet another letter from the bank telling me they were unable to pay another bill....

Time for bed....

....I am wet and knackered, having cycled home in the rain. I've just been thinking that I haven't included any raki joy in here recently, but I soon shall. For the time being, however, here's a quick recipe:
Lamb's Brain salad.
Take 1 cute, fluffy, ickle little lamb. Slit its throat in the approved halal method. Saw though the top of the skull and remove the brain, making sure to carefully cut the nerve cord. Boil the brain until tender, then let cool. Arrange some cos lettuce leaves on a plate. Place brain in the middle. Serve with a slice of lemon. Squeeze lemon on the brain and wait for it to emit a high-pitched shriek. That's the bit I like.
Afiyet olsun!
n.b.:No ickle lambs were harmed in the making of this entry.

still grey, still dull.

It has now been raining since 8.30 this morning....bleah. I've just found out that John Lydon, aka Johnny Rotten, is to appear on 'I'm a celebrity, get me out of here!', alongside such luminaries as Diane Mohdahl (alleged sports drug cheat), Neil 'Razor' Ruddock (football bod), 'veteran' alleged DJ Mike Read (the man who banned Frankie Goes To Hollywood) and the Professor for gender dysmorphia studies and Really Big Jugs, Jordan (who, in an interview with the Sun, has promised 'to get it all off'). This could be a very interesting prog to watch indeed......then again, they could evict Rotten early on and it goes rapidly downhill from there.

I missed most of the 'Newsnight' interview with The Beloved Tony Bliar last night regarding tuition fees. I myself am deeply against student loans et al, as I'm certain I would never have been able to go to uni had they been in place when I went. However, one comment from a young female member of the audience got my goat. It was about public taxation to pay for HE, and It went a bit like this:
'Well, a dustman should be glad to pay for me to go to university to become a doctor, because he'll be glad when I save his life. He and others like him should be paying for university students.'
Quite apart from this young lady's vacuous thinking, the assumption of superiority really annoyed me. The obvious answer to her should be, 'Well, are you glad to pay for the dustman to come and clean out your crap? Would you do it yourself? How do you know that the dustman isn't actually well-educated but has chosen his/her own way through life? And do you actually give a toss?'
It's all very Ayn Rand really, isn't it? The assumption that the world will grind to a halt if there was no benign intelligentsia. No, the world would grind to a halt pretty fucking quickly if there weren't immigrants to keep your corner shops open all hours, to clean your floors and wipe your toilets, no unskilled labour to clean your bins, sweep your streets, sew your clothes, make your fancy trainers, tan your leather, make your fabrics, pick your crops and slaughter your meat.
Right, end of rant, I've got to go back to class.

why the hell do I feel so inert today?

Dull, dull.

The town of Reading on a wet January day is not a very enticing prospect, particularly when I have to face an intermediate class in an hour. It's no wonder we have so many pubs here.....

Yet another Tuesday.

I'm trying to get my addled brain in order, alongside my buggered financial situation. In terms of money, I really have reached my nadir. I finally told my parents about it, not that they can really help, except with practical advice. I hadn't wanted to say anything, but I didn't really have anywhere else to turn. We totted up mine and my wife's total debts: They came to a staggering thirty three thousand pounds. It was horrifying. How the hell did that happen? All I'm doing is paying some other bastard. Note that this money hasn't gone on fancy living - far from it, it has been to try and live decently. And that debt has been racked up over the past four years since we moved back to this bloody country. I mean, what the hell is going on? I'm not looking to be a millionaire: I'm not looking to swill champagne every other day; I'm just trying to live. It seems like a strange punishment being meted out to me for having the presumption to go and live abroad. At least now I can see where our money is going. Now what shall I do? A consolidating loan is out of the question, I think. I can look for additional work, but that is likely to be something like working in a bar, and that is not going to haul us out of the morass by itself. I can look for another job, but what?

today's philosophical question (s)

.....why are right-wing American commentators (Rush Limbaugh et al) so dumb? Why are they so full of hate for anyone who doesn't agree 100% with their rantings? Why are they so scared?

Still mnnurg. But with added evening.

Oh well, just another 2 hours 45 minutes before I can stagger out of here. The afternoon lesson was dullish. They are a very nice intermediate English group, but not the brightest buttons in the sewing drawer. Also, they are ridiculously passive when it comes to doing anything in front of the class. They work well when placed into pairs or small groups, but ask them a question in front of the group and they clam up. The fear of answering wrongly. This up and coming evening class, however, are a joy, as they usually are - inquisitive, bright, and willing. Then I shall go home, have whatever's in the fridge, and sleep. God my life's exciting.

Mnnurg.

A productive morning so far, workwise. I've created four presentations and a new score calculation spreadsheet, plus garner materials for the next couple of days' lessons. Now, if I could get time to do another job and pay off my bills, I'd be happy. As it was, I spent about four hours last night, trying to untangle the financial mess that is my life...

Monday musing

I was reading through an old diary entry yesterday. It was from ten years ago, when blogging wasn�t even a randy gleam in its maker�s eye. At the time, I was nearing the end of my third month in Izmir, Turkey: I�d just got two new flatmates, John and James: And I was still somewhat bewildered and lost, wondering what the hell I was doing in the place. As entries go, it was pretty mundane. I was rejoicing over the fact that I had found a place that sold porridge oats. �At last I can have a real breakfast,� I wrote. Until that point, all I�d been having was the chewy standard white bread sold all over the country. The idea of having a full Turkish breakfast � white cheese, eggs, olives, tomatoes, cucumber, tea and honey � hadn�t even entered my head. One sad attempt to make toast over a gas ring had been abandoned after the bread caught fire. I was, at that time, still trying to do everything the English Way, rather than stepping over into the pace and customs of Turkey, as I was able to later. So, there I was yesterday, my 35-year-old self reading about my 25-year-old self, and being sucked down a pathway of memory.
Someone has said that a diarist lives three times: Once when he lives it, twice when he writes it down, and third when the diary is read later. It was strange, reading this other me. Here was this person with largely the same opinions, beliefs and habits as myself, yet subtly different. For a start, this guy had more hair than me, and was thinner and (probably) better-looking. Then, I was still reaching out, groping towards whatever the future held for me. How would the 25-year-old Paul react if he had known, ten years hence, he would be back in his home town with a wife and son and still teaching English? As I read, I could see myself again, leaning over the page, dusty light coming through my bedroom window as I wrote on a desk made from a wardrobe door, and the tingling jingle of the AyGaz van echoed through the street outside. And now, here I am, remembering yesterday, an image of me sitting on my bedroom floor, reading a ten-year-old diary entry and imagining a younger self, a procession of imagination like Russian dolls nestling within each other. After all, what is the past but a construction of memory?

The weekend cometh...

....which would normally be an occasion of great rejoicing. Instead, I am left to ponder where I'm going to get the money for groceries from. Jeez, I am so buggered financially, I don't know where to start. Has anyone out there got a spare �15,000? Failing that, some advice?

I dream...

Morpheus


?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
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George W. Bush is a Chimpanzee: The joy of syllogism

I was in a chatroom last night. It advertised itself as a room for college and university lecturers, and, wanting to participate in a bit of intellectual cut and thrust, I entered it. As ever, however, it turned out to be something of a disappointment. One woman was complaining of another user sending unwanted private messages: Some guy was looking for �a smart hottie to do some C2C!!!�: Two others were discussing what they�d had for dinner. In the midst of this maelstrom of intellectual debate, one user was deriding anyone and everyone who opposed George Bush�s policies. Here�s a sample of what he said:

Ifix: Bush�s steel tariff policy was wrong.
RLSM: Hey, you liberals all say that.
Ifix: I�m not a liberal. I just think that the policy doesn�t work.
RLSM: The man can do no wrong.
..
CandidEye: The invasion of Iraq could have been handled better..
RLSM: Tell me � do you support Saddam?
CandidEye: Of course not, but the war was launched on a false premise.
RLSM; So you liberals say.
CandidEye: Why don�t you try and debate properly?
RLSM: Why do I want to talk to commies for?

And more in this vein. What interested me was the way RLSM made his leaps of logic. Firstly, he used the word �Liberal� as an insult. There�s nothing new there: Since 9/11, the word has been used in this vein to deride anyone even mildly critical of the president�s policies. He then moved on to say that liberals were first, communists, then Stalinists, then homosexuals and finally, the French � obviously a most deadly insult. Joining in the childish fun, I equated Bush with Hitler, then left the room while he exploded in rage.

Now, while I would certainly describe myself as generally liberal in my politics, I definitely cannot say that I am a communist, a Stalinist, a homosexual or even French. What interested me most about what RLSM was saying was how he arrived at his premises: the wonderful world of the false syllogism.

A syllogism is, of course, a flexible philosophical tool for arriving at a conclusion from a set of premises. Usually we include a general, universal primary premise with a secondary premise that may be universal or specific, and from them we reach a conclusion. For example:

Men can grow beards.
Plato is a man. (Syllogisms frequently use dead philosophers.)
Therefore, Plato can grow a beard.

As we can see, when the premises are reasonably universal or reasonably specific, we can arrive at a reasonable conclusion. However, syllogisms can be easily wielded to produce false conclusions, especially in the hands of those for whom logical thought is an alien concept. Here are a couple of examples:

Men have beards.
Plato doesn�t have a beard.
Therefore, Plato is a woman.

Liberals don�t like right-wing policies.
The communists don�t like right-wing policies.
Therefore, all liberals are communists.

Can you see the problem? Yet the entire thrust of right-wing American popular political debate is based upon the use of false syllogisms. Your average shock-jock lazily reaches for a premise, tacks another to it and voila! Instant opinion. Or they might take the conclusion, use that as a premise, and move on to even whackier conclusions. In truth, this has absolutely nothing to do with reasoned debate: It is merely the ugly logic of the mob, the erratic desire to reach a conclusion no matter what, and truth be damned.

Anyway, two can play at this game�.the next time someone lazily accuses you of being a commie, or a Stalinist, or a homosexual (or hetero, to be perfectly fair), or, God Forbid, French, you can come back at them with some of the following, employing the same warped way of thinking that your accuser uses. And yes, it is puerile and silly, but what the hell�.

Chimps have close-set eyes and purse their lips when confused.
George W Bush has close-set eyes and purses his lips when confused.
Therefore, George W. Bush is a chimp.

Which leads to�.
Chimps throw their own faeces at potential enemies.
George Bush is a chimp.
Therefore, George Bush throws faeces at potential enemies.

Or�
Chimps can learn to imitate aspects of human behaviour.
George Bush is a chimp.
Therefore, George Bush can learn to imitate aspects of human behaviour.

Feel free to make up more insulting versions of your own.

It is bloody wet here!

I am so glad I didn't try to cycle in this am...it's horrible! I'm going to make a few changes to this blog which should make it more readable, with any luck.

Art? I know what I like...

There are some very strange artists out there....look at this!

Tuesday. Wet. No money.

I am not having a very pleasant day, work-wise. A load of computer cabling has just fallen off the wall, I got soaked cycling in, I had to disappoint a group of students who were waiting for a new teacher anmd drag a load of new recruits round on the town tour. I also have to get my lessons ready for this afternoon and tomorrow. Oh joy. That, and the stress of worrying about where to get money from. I really am desperate for money to pay for bills: I just don't know where to turn. If there are any kindhearted souls out there with advice or cash, please, please, please contact me.

The first blog of the year

Been to busy, too tired, and too sad to blog. I decided to not worry about money until after the end of the festive season: I didn't want to make others unhappy with my unhappiness. Now I do have to worry, and how! I have precisely two pounds twenty pence in my pocket, and that's it. All the money I have. I can't even get groceries for my family this week, let alone pay for the mortgage, insurance, credit cards, loans, etc. etc. I really don't know what else to do. I can, of course, get more work, but I've worked out that I'd need to work at least another 30 hours a week to dig myself out of this. I really don't know what to do. It's not even as if I was living an extravagant lifestyle: On the contrary, I'm rather frugal in most aspects. How did it all go wrong? How? There's been an evil shadow over me ever since the earthquake in Turkey in August 1999. Every decision, including returning to the UK, has turned out badly, and now I'm about to lose my house and probably my family. What can I do? If anyone is reading this, please help. Please. I'm prepared to do anything now (as long as it's legal) to dig myself out of this situation.