keep still. keep very still.

This is what I'm saying to myself at the moment. My hand and rib are healing well, although I still can't exert much pressure with my hand. Unfortunately, I've now managed to wrench the muscles in my neck and shoulder, so turning my head is proving to be a bit of a bugger.

I'm currently busy with sorting out the exam schedules, but only a couple of weeks to go now before it's all over, and I can spend a long, easy summer either on holiday, doing my diploma course, or a rather interesting research project that's come my way, courtesy of Reading Uni. In other words, the really fun bits of teaching, instead of the slog of bureaucracy.

Sad to see that my chum Marcus has given up the blog. I've enjoyed reading it, and its often percipient, wise thoughts. I'll miss it, mate!

Right, time for class.

What have you done??!

I am seriously pissed off. A tory's been voted in in Reading East! I live in a Tory constituency! Fuck! Fuck! Shit on a stick!
Bastards.
I know who's done this; All the wankshafts who swan around Caversham, thinking it's acceptable to wear polo neck sweaters and slacks (often at the same time), who think it's important to talk about the type of car you drive or the size of your mortgage, or how well you do at the golf club or how well the children do at school, who bray about their wealth, and claim not to be racist but then go on to spew forth the latest bigoted ignorant shite that the Express and Mail can churn up, while swilling on their afternoon gins.
Anything, anything, is better than a Tory.
Well, constituents of Reading East, I hope you're proud of yourselves.

In other news...

...I forgot to mention about the inaugural Reading Turkish Society meeting, and as I have a moment now, or rather because I can't be arsed to get on with any meaningful work, I may as well give an update of it.
Well, it wasn't exactly the colossal fuck-up it could have been. Poorly-organised, yes. Badly-timed, yes. No clear idea of where it was going, yes. Colossal fuck-up, no. The woman organising it had been let down by others who had promised they were going to help, so she was already deeply stressed by the time we arrived to give a hand. In the programme of events, she'd only left half an hour for introductory speeches and whatnot, but wanted somehow to squeeze eight different speakers, plus myself as link, into that time, clearly impossible. Still, we did our best, but overran by a good fifty minutes. Things were not helped by one of the speakers, from the Young Turks society, starting to show a film about the Turkish War of Independence (Kurtulus). Things were not helped even more by the organiser getting panicky and curtailing the showing, afraid that the meeting was getting 'political'. This did not impress a few of the invited speakers, who began to wonder why they'd been invited in the first place. Someone also pointed out that the day (the 24th) was the day that the Armenians remembered the 'ethnic cleansing' of the Ottoman Armenians during the First World War. (note: I'm not going to comment about whether the whole thing was genocide or not: there are plenty who will argue with me either way, and I for one would rather wait until the Turkish government finally decides to open its extensive documentation on the affair.) In short, everything started to go pear shaped, until I stepped in and suggested everyone go and have a kebab. Afterwards, there was a question-and-answer session, largely dominated by general questions to the Turkish Cultural Attache, Izzet Bey, rather than questions regarding the society itself.
And ever since then, the various people who organised this, my wife included, have been pointing fingers, recriminating each other, and generally moaning.
I am utterly pissed off with the whole affair.
I was, however, the only one who came out of it smelling of roses, thanks to being the mc.

Hand/rib update

It has been brought to my attention by my good chum Martin that I haven't been keeping this up to date. So, here's a quickie. My hand and rib are not, as first thought, bruised: In fact, I have a broken fifth metacarpal (apparently called a boxer's break) and a cracked rib - the same rib, in fact, that I've cracked before. This means I can't pick up much with my left hand, and I can't do much with my right side either. Super.

doomed!

I really must write this on a more regular basis...
My hand continues to hurt. My rib joined in the general pain merriment on thursday, so I'm not really enjoying muself at the moment. Added to this is the joy of trying to write a speech in Turkish, which I am due to deliver at the inaugural meeting of the Reading Turkish Organisation this sunday. Which I discovered, at half past ten last night, has not, shall we be say, been organised terribly well. A room has been booked, at The BBC Monitoring Centre in Caversham. It has no tables or chairs. There is no catering, apart from......guess what.....a kebab van! a hundred people are coming. There will be media coverage. The Turkish Ambassador may come.
This is going to be one COLLOSSAL fuck-up.
I may just stay at home on sunday.

pesky garden furniture.

I am currently nursing several bruised ribs and a sorely bruised arm, thanks to a large old wooden bench collapsing on me on sunday.We were at my dad's house for his retirement do, and I was standing on the damn thing, trying to retrieve a ball my son had been playing with, and it decided to first tip, then spilt in two, hurling me to the ground and itself on top of me. Ouch. My left hand is only just coming back to life.

More fun.

Charlie, the student who wrote so elegantly about ladyboys in his country description assignment and has been absent for the last two months, shuffled into view once again yesterday. He handed in his holiday assignment - a comparison of two countries. The opening paragraph does not fill me with hope:

As you can seen in the map of the world, China looks as cock, the head of cock is closed Russia, Mongolia and the Peninsula of Korea, its extremity rump approach the most of southeast asian.

Bloody hell.

zombie pontiff watch?

Rather worryingly, the BBC News website's current (4.25 p.m.) live feed link is titled 'watch Pope John Paul II lying in state'. Why? Is he going to start twitching? Are we expecting him to stagger to his feet again any minute, and start lurching towards the pilgrims?

drooling inanity.

For want of a better title. I've managed to avoid doing anything resembling real work for the last two and a half days, despite teaching five different classes in that time. I've just done it all on autopilot, a skill that has been carefully nurtured over years of instruction so I can give the appearance of imparting knowledge whilst being in something resembling a fugue state.

Chancellor Installation latest: I can easily imagine all the staff gathered for the installation, waiting patiently all day, and the delivery van doesn't come. Then the delivery blokes come up with some cock and bull story along the lines of, 'well, you was out, weren't ya? We rang and everything, but no answer, guv. We slipped a card under the door.'
Wondered idly whether the Chancellor comes with an extended warranty.

New TVU Chancellor Latest - Booze Boss Blags Top Don Spot

From the staff intranet page....

All staff are invited to the Installation Ceremony of the new Chancellor of TVU, Karan Bilimoria CBE DL.
Business entrepreneur Karan is the founder of Cobra Beer and has been a long term associate of TVU. Karan says of his appointment: "I am truly honoured to accept the Chancellorship of Thames Valley University and look forward to playing an active role in ensuring the University receives the recognition it deserves for the tremendous work it undertakes."

Crikey. Other universities get top academics and people of reknown; we get the bloke who makes you feel slighty less gassy after fifteen pints of his finest on top of a curry.

abandoned subs and so on

Cycling back home after a long day of trying to avoid work, I noticed that some careless soul had abondoned their Soviet-era submarine in the Thames. I did try to find a photo from the local rag, but the useless bastards haven't updated their site yet. Seeing as said sub appeared on April 1st, I suspect it's not all it appears to be.
Other ways to avoid doing meaningful work: Try going to D-Film. Make a film. Send it to a friend. Laugh.
Just had a message from Announcements Central informing me that 'The New Chancellor of the university is to be installed on May 6th', and inviting me to the installation ceremony. Images of some aged bugger in ermine being unloaded from the back of a delivery truck, then put on a pedestal and plugged in....
My Trinity Licentiate Diploma in TESOL is not going very well. In fact, it's not going at all at present. It is only with coming back to college that I now think I might finally get some time to actualy sit down and do the bloody thing. I was talking to one of my colleagues, who's also been doing it, and she was moaning about how hard it was. Then, as ever, the conversation turned towards sex.
'I don't think I could cope with an orgy,' she said. 'I'd always be looking over at other people, comparing myslef with the other women and wondering why x(her partner) isn't doing that and that to me! Besides, he's ever so jealous; He'd probably start a fight, and that would look ridiculous naked.'

still alive!

..me, that is. Alright, I know I've missed a month or so, but I have my reasons - mainly work related, in that I've been horrendously busy. Still, it's the beginning of the spring/summer term now, and time to start winding down.
And you can always rely on a dead pope to delay a general election and piss on Prince Charles' wedding fireworks....

Nearly 37.

Tomorrow, in fact. Some would say this is scary, particularly in the light of the fact that I feel nowhere near this old. Fortunately for me, I don't look it either, thanks to some good skin genes from both sides of the family tree. Cycling and giving up fags have definitely helped too. However, the fact remains that I shall be 37, and should act in a more considerate, thoughtful and mature way henceforth.
This is why I and several colleagues shall be going out tomorrow to get dreadfully pissed up, followed by kebab eating, dancing, and more drinking.

Mishearing things?
Gabriella, the Argentinian programme leader for Modern Foreign Languages, asked me:
'Do you like Alpha Whores?'
'Sorry?'
'Alpha Whores. I brought them back from Argentina. They're delicious.'
And she whipped them out there and then.
Sadly, they weren't Alpha Whores, or even Beta Slappers, but alfajores, a type of sweet. And very delicious they were too.

Not bothered

..to blog. Yes, I know I'm being lazy, but I have been at my most indolent for quite some time for the past week. Either I've watched TV, or idled in front of the computer, and pretty much bugger all else. Well, that's what having a half-term holiday does for you.
Coming back yesterday, one of my students, R., was dreadfully excited because it was snowing a flake or two.
'Will it settle? I want to build a snowman!'
He's from Bangladesh, and has never seen snow before.
As the advert has it, when was the last time you did something for the first time? That was the thought winding round my mind as I went back home. Resolved not to be so lazy.

still stuck here.

And I've got another two and a half hours before I can haul my sorry arse out of work and back home. And it's pissing down. By the end of today, I will have worked forty-five hours this week. Thank god I'm off tomorrow.
Just before leaving home this morning, I caught the news about Charles and horse-features. May they have a long and stable (geddit? - well, come on, it is late) marriage.

It's a bit early in the morning for that, isn't it?

In my intermediate class yesterday, introducing the use of second conditional structures:
Me: If we were in Rio right now, what would we do?
H: I'd be at an all night party
C: I'd be on the beach
A: I'd go to the carnival
V: I'd have sex on the beach.
cue laughter.
V: (Bright red face)I mean the cocktail! I mean the cocktail! It's very good!
Me: (Pause, dramatic look at watch)It's too early in the morning for either. At least you pronounced 'beach' correctly...

personal statements.

One of the things that my foundation students are doing at the moment is completing their personal statements for their university application forms (UCAS). we have to work on these, day after day, time after time, in order to get them just right so they can sell themselves as viable students to the unis of their choice. We try to emphasise to the students that they should get something of their personal essence over, as well as explaining why they want to study their particular subject in a British uni.
C. (left anonymous to avoid personal ridicule) came to see me. He handed in his personal statement, a page and a half of closely-typed work.
me: This is too long, C.
C. Is it?
me: Hmm, the beginning's OK...but why are you trying to explain about economics and politics?
C: Show I know subject.
Me: But the people who're going to read this already know this...you're trying to teach them how to suck eggs...they want to know why you want to study it.
C: do they?
Me: Yes....hold on, have you had some help with this?
C:(shiftily) er..no, it's my work..
Me: I never knew you wanted to be an MP...
C: Yes!Yes, I do!
Me: (Pause) What exactly does MP mean, C?
C: Government official
Me: 'I want to help defend our island democracy'. C, you're from China! You're not a bloody island democracy, you're a mainland single-party state!
C: (Pause) I know.
Me: I suspect you've had a little help, haven't you?
C: (indistinctly) My friend..
Me: Sorry?
C: My friend help me..
Me: Well, he didn't do a good job, did he? Looks like he Googled this...
C: No! His work, he helped me!
Me: According to this you've been a member of the Conservative Party since 1997. Who's the leader of the Conservative Party?
C: Who're the Conservative Party?
Me: And..Oh yes, C, do you like eating meat?
C: (slightly confused) yes, yes, love meat.
Me: well that's bloody weird, because according to this, you are also a member of the Vegan Society!
And off he goes to rewrite it in his own words.
Meanwhile I gently bang my head against the desk.

weird feeling.

I spent much of yesterday in a haze. I washed the car of its coat of winter grime in a trance, vaguely surfed the net, flipped through pages of a history book. Later, I went out with my son to the park. Everyone else with children in the vicinity, it seemed, had had the same idea. The sun poked his head out of the clouds for a while, and was actually warm against the skin. Families drifted through the park, their children raced around the climbing frames and swings. And to me, it all seemed utterly unreal, a complete illusion. I had the feeling that, if I could stand in just the correct way, reach out my hand into just the right point in space and time, I could poke a hole through the veil in front of my face and peer into the deep bluey-purple beyond. The only thing that had life and reality was my son and myself.
This is why it is not a good idea to drink until 3 a.m. on a saturday night.

one year!

I have now not had a fag for a whole year! hurrah! by my calculation, that means I've saved at least �876.

Inertia.

I am currently doing bugger all on this site: nothing more than random doodlings and scribbles. However, it's a reflection of my current sense of inertia. While I am extremely busy at work, nothing much else seems to be going on. I'm currently waiting to start my Trinity Licentiate Diploma course, courtesy of the college and St. George's International, and all is stagnant. Meanwhile, the paperwork creeps ever skywards, and this lingering ennui prevents me doing anything.
And it's not even thursday.

stupid joke.

Q. What do Michael Jackson and a cheap shopping bag have in common?
A. They're both 90% plastic and dangerous to children..........

Memory

Or the lack of it. I suspect all the years of partying are finally catching up with me. First of all, yesterday I completely forgot that Nur had invited round one of her work colleagues and my mum to dinner. She had only told me on friday night. Mind you, I was pissed at the time. It only came dimly back to mind when mum called and started asking if she wanted me to bring anything round. Suddenly, vague echoes of a conversation rose through the foggy depths ...'Paul...dinner...your mum....invite.....ok then.....what shall I cook?...' Bollocks. Raced round the shop and got more meat.
The second thing to make me doubt the power of memory was receiving an email from someone who had read this site. The person involved, who I'll not name, but is probably reading this, clearly knows me, but for the life of me I can't remember them at all. N., if you're reading, deepest apologies.

jolly monday!

...or not, rather, if that scientist from Cardiff is to be believed: Oh well, pay day tomorrow. I must say that I'm going through one of my phases of being entirely disillusioned with teaching at the moment. This is not good, considering that I'm up for an interview to do my Dip on thursday.
Bought a new CD-RW for the computer on saturday, and some rather funky new lights for the bike - the rear one especially guaranteed to bring on an epileptic fit in anyone stupid enough to drive too close to me....

depression.

Not mine, but the general atmosphere within the college at present. Blame it on the weather, blame it on the ridiculous amount of work we have, blame it on some departments having to submit to an OFSTED re-inspection, but there are a lot of long faces about at the moment. There are also an awful lot of absences, both of teachers and students: I'm missing half my class. Whether this is actually due to illness is a moot point. One I know is genuinely ill; Another had to go to Manchester because his brother was in a car accident; some have just disappeared. One (soon to be ex-student) said he couldn't be arsed. Another has just called in to say she's had a fire in her bathroom: Presumably from where she was trying to torch the corpse of a lodger, although I suspect my telling her to come to my office today for a bollocking may have had something to do with her non-appearance. The Chinese students, in particular, are exasperating in their lame excuses for absence. Examples include:

• I had a great fever
• I had to go to Police Station
• I had to help my friend move house
• I helped friend to hospital - he/she had a great fever
• I went to university to look at it
• my friend's cousin came to holiday, I went to airport, that's why I haven't been here for three weeks
• I thought it was holiday - my friend told me it was

And so on. Shit on a stick.

Dad, Angus and me 

Nur at New Year 

Angus in the bath yesterday. 

Just a quick entry before I go into class...
Had a very good weekend - met up with Dr. Lynne and Matty on saturday night, drank beer and played pool and chewed the fat, then had my dad over for dinner yesterday - it turned out to be very relaxing. Plagued by strange, nonsensical dreams all night though.

Twonk?

Someone has asked me what exactly a twonk is. For his benefit, I suggested the following:
1 twonk is roughly equivalent to a plonker.
it's worth half a prat, or one-eighth of a moron.
there are ten twonks to a git, and twenty to an arsehole.
one wanker buys you fifteen twonks, except where it is used in a friendly manner, in which case it only gets nine. There are also only nine twonks to a prick.
Fuckwit and cocksucker trade at a massive one hundred twonks, while dicksplash counts for sixty.
its value against sheepshaggers and goatfuckers is subject to regional variation.
This is, of course, all highly subjective.

I'm thinking of setting up the IN-DEX, or insults index, to register international trading on insults.

Nazis and Nazis

Prince Harry - what a twonk. Even if he is only 20, surely he should have known that dressing up in a nazi uniform for a party wasn't a particularly good idea. However, he is only 20, and perfectly entitled to do twonkish things at that age - it means he'll be far more unlikely to do them when he's older. It puts me in mind of another Harry.
Mark Thatcher - what a lucky bastard not to have been jailed. His weaselly plea bargaining though shows what kind of creature he is - treacherous, devious, vile and entirely willing to let others rot in jail while he gets to enjoy his freedom. I'm sure that mummy is so proud of him.

cripes!

It's sunny! I've just been looking through the archives in search of old recipes, but for some reason I can't find any. Have they all disappeared? Reading through old posts, however, has made me realise that the quality of recent posts has gone distinctly downhill. This is more due to laziness than anything else.
I'm going to try and update this site over the next few days, just to give me a little more work to do on top of the inexorable load already placed upon me. The whole thing looks a bit worn out.

Visas.

My sister-in-law, Nuran, and her fiance have been trying to get a visa to come and visit us. It used to be a bit of a pain in the arse to obtain one a few years ago: Now it's become a bureaucratic brain haemhorrage. There is also the hint of a distinctly racist attitude from the FCO in the manner of how they've now got people applying.
Beforehand, you would get a visa form from the consulate, fill it in, gather all the necessary documents, then wait for about five hours in a queue in Tepebasi, either freezing your knackers off or sweating like a pig depending on the season, process slowly through a line of people, wait patiently behind some fat bloke boasting loudly about how important he is in the hope that it will speed his application, then have all the documents perused before being grudgingly given the visa.
Now, following the consulate bombing, individual applications are not considered. Instead, one must obtain a visa form (If there are any) from the doorman on the visa section. If there are none, one must go to the nearest approved agent to obtain one. This agent will also tell you which documents you need, most of which are actually pointless. One must then use the agent, who, for a fee (on top of the usual visa fee) will process the application for you. The agent will wait until they have a requisite number of applications, before sending the whole lot up to Ankara, where they will be perused. Some will be discarded, and initially approved documents returned to the visa section in Istanbul. The lucky applicants will then be informed, via postcard, to turn up for an interview, if of course they atre lucky enough to receive the postcard from the PTT in the first place. The lucky applicant will then queue at the visa section, again either freezing or boiling, wait patiently in line, have an interview with a member of consular staff, and can still have their visa application rejected. And this only takes THREE MONTHS.
It's bloody ridiculous. What is this? Are all Turks suddenly asylum seekers and/or terrorists all of a sudden? Turkey is hideously bureaucratic anyway, but this is just taking the piss. As Nuran said to Nur on the phone, 'Trying to get to see you is like trying to enter a prison.'
the British Embassy in Turkey

pantomimes and kebabs

To the new Oakwood Centre in Woodley last night, for a bloody pantomime. Sodding ridiculous time for one: it started at 6.00 and continued to nearly 9.00. An amateur production of 'Jack and Jill'. Hmmmm. I settled down in my chair, prepared to be bored. To be fair however, the cast did their best, and the audience certainly got involved - Angus in particular, who was standing in his seat, jumping up and down, and screeching 'He's Behind You!!! BEHIND YOU!!!' etc with gusto. My opinion? Overwritten, too many song and dance numbers (a sure sign of plot weakness) , too much 'business', and sorely in need of more rehearsal time. Some good stuff amidst it though, particularly a couple of the singers (Dominique Abbott and Lindsey Preston) and a very good turn from two boys (Simon Stolland and Jamaal Whight) as Fetch and Carry, Siamese Twins. Also some good ideas that should have been worked out better in rehearsal; For example, one character says 'Everyone knows that fairies don't exist! I don't believe in them', just as a fairy was wandering around in the background, and, with a look of horror on its face, suddenly expires. The projected backdrops and sound sampling, obviously lifted from the net, could have done with better editing too. I have to say though that I like the theatre; small, but well-equipped.
By the time it had finished it was gone nine. We went home and got kebabs from Mo's on the way. I blame the food for the fact that I have had no fucking sleep at all, and now have a full day of teaching.
And it's raining.
Hoorah.

Avoiding work

It's too damn difficult to get back into the swing of things. After being horribly indulgent for the past few weeks, I can't work up the energy to do much. Instead, I spend my time watching crap television or faffing around on the computer. And drinking too much. Right now, I'm at work, just giving the impression of being busy, rather than actually being so, even though I have a shedload on.
Gilly's Tsunami Concert comes on apace - she's asked me to do a bit of standup. Mmmmmm. I haven't done any for ages, apart from small gatherings. Oh well, a chance to fall flat on my arse in front of 300 people.

'I will never forgive the Embassy for not helping me'

From last night's ITV news:
A woman went out to Thailand to search for her daughter. She was initially greeted and helped by the embassy, but then she was stuck on her own, just like everyone else. This clearly didn't please her. In her own words:
'To be fair, lots of people have died.....but to be fair, my daughter was a British citizen, and more should have been done for her.'
All around her, people are trying to pick up their lives.
All right, grief is a harsh thing, but still......

More galling were those people who continued with their holidays and complained that the service wasn't as good in the immediate aftermath...

Three minute silence

Call me churlish, but I'm not going to join in with this. It is nothing but a state-run parody of grief. If I wish to mourn, I will do it in my own time, in my own way, rather than when some government tells me to. And rather than stand still, I would much prefer to do something concrete. Gilly is busy arranging a benefit concert, to which I shall contribute; much better than staring at my shoes in silence for three minutes.

just beginning

And a Happy New Year to you all. Here's to 2005; May it not be as vile as the past year has been. Considering all that passed in 2004, it won't be difficult.

Anyway, back to work after a boozed-up holiday. I did as close to bugger all as I could over the fortnight, which left me feeling more enervated than energised - I put on quite a few pounds, and I felt restless and gloomy. I need to do things - anything as long as I'm busy. once I'm into an inactive trough, I become down and find it very difficult to lift myself out of it or become active. I couldn't even be arsed with editing the novel. While it was pleasant to loaf with my family, I just felt that there was so much more I could be doing as well.

Two unexpected things that lifted me: First, Martin and Vicki sent a Christmas card in which they announced that they're getting married. I phoned up to congratulate them, and hjave now started making plans for Martin's Stag Night....it shall involve a monstrous Carroting....
Secondly, Fiona called last thursday just to say she was loving the novel. She pointed out that the start's too slow, which I knew, but that she felt she had to keep reading it. Enormously buoying.

Resolutions: None. They're bollocks. I wouldn't mind losing some weight though. getting back into the saddle should take care of that.