Sunday 29 June 2008
Love and London
I went up to London this weekend to see Carina, cause Carina needed to see me and I needed to see her and we both needed to smoke, drink and talk until our eyes could not be held open by even the best quality matches (I have a feeling that the non-Poles will find this last statement slightly odd, but they will have to agree that it makes sense). On Saturday morning we met up with Claire, who I was certain was coming to London on a completely different weekend, and who ignored my presence in London completely, especially while I had had time to express my conviction on the inevitability of me not being there to see her via an apologetic e-mail. And I will never, ever forget the look on her face when she saw me. That image will make me happy for a long time. I mean, if you have just one person in your life who pulls such a face when seeing you, then you’re a lucky, lucky lady (or man, actually). And I have that on top of everything else, including being nursed and fed comfort food by Carina, who therefore officially weaned me off my longing for daddy when sick. I mean daddy made me tea. Carina makes tomato soup with smoked bacon and mozarella and then you get to talk and smoke and drink until you eyes can not be held open by even the best quality matches. Now, who can beat that.
Sunday 22 June 2008
On effort and achievement
One of the big ideas in education these days is that much more important than the final ‘official’ grade is whether or not you did your best and achieved the best you could achieve in your own ability. In less enigmatic terms, this means that a D achieved by a student of low ability should be celebrated as much as an A* achieved by a very able student, and they should be equally praised and proud of themselves. I am all for it, God knows that is a much bigger deal when a kid who usually scores something like 2 marks in 20 suddenly manages 50% than when a straight As pupil gets their usual 90% or above. The high you get from it is much better too.
But today, in my Body Balance class, I found out how the kids feel. It was on hamstring stretches. My hamstrings seriously suck, they are stiff and contracted, they have always been, I can still remember being 10 and trying desperately to reach my toes when other girls in the class were effortlessly holding their own feet, face on their knees. So I decided that it was time I finally managed to do that. I’ve been working very hard, almost never missed a class, two or three times a week my hamstrings would get a solid dose of stretching and my toes were getting nearer and nearer. Well, today a miracle occurred. Not only could I reach my toes, but I even managed to actually properly grasp my feet in my hands. It hurt like hell, but so what – I made it! The sense of achievement and excitement was immense… until I looked to my left and saw this woman who came to the class for the first time today, gracefully lay down FLAT between her legs, with no effort what so ever. And so I still kind of suck.
But today, in my Body Balance class, I found out how the kids feel. It was on hamstring stretches. My hamstrings seriously suck, they are stiff and contracted, they have always been, I can still remember being 10 and trying desperately to reach my toes when other girls in the class were effortlessly holding their own feet, face on their knees. So I decided that it was time I finally managed to do that. I’ve been working very hard, almost never missed a class, two or three times a week my hamstrings would get a solid dose of stretching and my toes were getting nearer and nearer. Well, today a miracle occurred. Not only could I reach my toes, but I even managed to actually properly grasp my feet in my hands. It hurt like hell, but so what – I made it! The sense of achievement and excitement was immense… until I looked to my left and saw this woman who came to the class for the first time today, gracefully lay down FLAT between her legs, with no effort what so ever. And so I still kind of suck.
Friday 20 June 2008
Guantanamera
Yesterday night I found out that the predilection for Guantanamera’s melody for football-related chants is not an exclusive oddity of Polish supporters. The Germans use it too. And possibly other nations as well, I just haven’t yet had an occasion to observe it, or maybe I have but it didn’t catch my attention at the time. As Wikipedia explains (you’ve got to love Wikipedia), Guantanamera is actually a Cuban patriotic song. What Wikipedia fails to explain however, is how did it become so popular among football fans – my guess is that the melody is catchy and easily accommodates football related phrases in any language.
So it would seem that Guantanamera is a common element in all national football cultures. The difference I have noticed is that as far as the Poles had several different versions of their Guantanamera-based chants and enthusiastically sang them all through the game as a way of encouraging their team, the Germans sang it only after the game to express their exhilaration with the game’s outcome and their belief in the ultimate victory.
Other than that – God, my drunken German is good. I only wish my sober version of it was better!
So it would seem that Guantanamera is a common element in all national football cultures. The difference I have noticed is that as far as the Poles had several different versions of their Guantanamera-based chants and enthusiastically sang them all through the game as a way of encouraging their team, the Germans sang it only after the game to express their exhilaration with the game’s outcome and their belief in the ultimate victory.
Other than that – God, my drunken German is good. I only wish my sober version of it was better!
Sunday 15 June 2008
Leavers' Ball
‘There’s nothing more repulsive than a drunk woman’ my father used to say, and after the leavers’ ball I have to agree. I probably wouldn’t be so condemning if the woman in question wasn’t the girlfriend of the Ginger One, who is the cutest bloke on the course and therefore should be with a perfect woman so that it’s okay for him not to be hitting on me. Poor thing, he spent most of the night outside with a limp body falling through his hands, he probably also had to listen to her slurry monologues and hold her hair back when her stomach finally gave up trying to digest all she’d poured into it.
Another highlight of the evening was seeing the Cow dressed in a washed out beach dress and pouring out of it wherever possible. Which didn’t make her less condescending as she told me that I looked very nice in a tone of voice implying an utter surprise.
Nevertheless, I had lots of fun. We danced our feet off (or, in my case, literally my shoes off) and cigarette breaks with Jose contributed highly to my Spanish vocabulary – I am now capable of making very explicit sexual advances indeed. We annoyed the lady in charge of catering by requesting first bread then butter, both of which were inaccessible. And the tuna really needed butter – I have never had fish so dry in my entire life! What is it with overcooking things in this country?
Another highlight of the evening was seeing the Cow dressed in a washed out beach dress and pouring out of it wherever possible. Which didn’t make her less condescending as she told me that I looked very nice in a tone of voice implying an utter surprise.
Nevertheless, I had lots of fun. We danced our feet off (or, in my case, literally my shoes off) and cigarette breaks with Jose contributed highly to my Spanish vocabulary – I am now capable of making very explicit sexual advances indeed. We annoyed the lady in charge of catering by requesting first bread then butter, both of which were inaccessible. And the tuna really needed butter – I have never had fish so dry in my entire life! What is it with overcooking things in this country?
Saturday 14 June 2008
Estoy triste porque salgo
On my last day at school, I managed to put around 120 pupils in a state of hyperactivity by feeding them chocolate.
I managed to finally lose it with Vile Year 9 (that I shall nevertheless miss) and deprive them of the goodbye chocolate, cause they were really, really vile. And if they couldn’t be nice to me even on my last day, then they are vile indeed. Which doesn’t change the fact that they were outstanding in oral assessments I prepared them for but did not conduct (I wanted objective results, so I asked their regular teacher to do it) which means that I’ve actually managed to teach them something.
I taught some Polish to Year 10, who asked for it, and I received a dramatic public declaration of love from one of them, which he justified by my supposed beauty, in my mother tongue.
I decided to take up Spanish, to make myself more marketable – my mentor reckons I can put it on my CV and learn it by September. Why not.
I failed to stop the movie I was showing to my favourite Year 9 on time and so I managed to show them a sex scene. My mentor came in later on, and there were people talking in bed on the screen. He raised his eyebrows at that, and I thought: thank God you weren’t here for the naked bum bit.
I delivered what was supposed to be an inspiring speech to the same Year 9, hopefully motivating them to keep up with their languages. And received a standing ovation.
But I somehow managed to keep myself together until the afternoon registration that is, cause my form managed to make me cry.
I managed to finally lose it with Vile Year 9 (that I shall nevertheless miss) and deprive them of the goodbye chocolate, cause they were really, really vile. And if they couldn’t be nice to me even on my last day, then they are vile indeed. Which doesn’t change the fact that they were outstanding in oral assessments I prepared them for but did not conduct (I wanted objective results, so I asked their regular teacher to do it) which means that I’ve actually managed to teach them something.
I taught some Polish to Year 10, who asked for it, and I received a dramatic public declaration of love from one of them, which he justified by my supposed beauty, in my mother tongue.
I decided to take up Spanish, to make myself more marketable – my mentor reckons I can put it on my CV and learn it by September. Why not.
I failed to stop the movie I was showing to my favourite Year 9 on time and so I managed to show them a sex scene. My mentor came in later on, and there were people talking in bed on the screen. He raised his eyebrows at that, and I thought: thank God you weren’t here for the naked bum bit.
I delivered what was supposed to be an inspiring speech to the same Year 9, hopefully motivating them to keep up with their languages. And received a standing ovation.
But I somehow managed to keep myself together until the afternoon registration that is, cause my form managed to make me cry.
Tuesday 10 June 2008
POLSKA GOLA!
If you would have told me a few years back that I would be getting all emotional and serious about football of all things, I wouldn’t have believed you.
I know that I watched the world cup a couple years ago, but it seems to be getting worse with age. And I have to say that watching the game with expatriated Poles was something else. My guess is that homesickness probably does play a role in all this. I mean, we ALL got up to sing the anthem, and we all cheered and encouraged as if they were going to actually hear us. And it was moving (I know, I’m a sad cow). And there was Polish beer for 2 quid per bottle, which also helped. Some more than others, if you know what I mean.
One disturbing thing however was that somehow all of the supporter chants intoned were curiously based on the melody for ‘Guantanamera’. God knows why.
Also, watching football has an additional side effect of making me very cool indeed. According to my kids that is. And even if the outcome of the Sunday game was disappointing, it was not a failure to lose to the Germans, cause ‘they’re the best team ever Miss!’. Especially while ‘you played really well Miss!’. And besides ‘we didn’t even qualify, Miss!’.
They’re all going to cheer for Poland on Thursday. And I didn’t even have to bribe them with chocolate.
I know that I watched the world cup a couple years ago, but it seems to be getting worse with age. And I have to say that watching the game with expatriated Poles was something else. My guess is that homesickness probably does play a role in all this. I mean, we ALL got up to sing the anthem, and we all cheered and encouraged as if they were going to actually hear us. And it was moving (I know, I’m a sad cow). And there was Polish beer for 2 quid per bottle, which also helped. Some more than others, if you know what I mean.
One disturbing thing however was that somehow all of the supporter chants intoned were curiously based on the melody for ‘Guantanamera’. God knows why.
Also, watching football has an additional side effect of making me very cool indeed. According to my kids that is. And even if the outcome of the Sunday game was disappointing, it was not a failure to lose to the Germans, cause ‘they’re the best team ever Miss!’. Especially while ‘you played really well Miss!’. And besides ‘we didn’t even qualify, Miss!’.
They’re all going to cheer for Poland on Thursday. And I didn’t even have to bribe them with chocolate.
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