Bletchley Park

Last weekend we took Paul's school French exchange partner, who's been staying with us for a week, to Bletchley Park. I had never been before but I knew about it of course, coming from a place as obsessed with the second world war as the Poland of my childhood was.
I was bracing myself a little anticipating a need to clench my teeth and say nothing, as yet another Polish contribution to something big was going to be ignored and buried under the local achievements. I was wrong - they even have a memorial to Polish ingeneers who started it all!
Highly refreshing after finding out about all those exceptional French people, such as Marie Curie-Sklodowska, Fryderyk Chopin and even Robert Korzeniowski.
(A big rant full of witty and sarcastic remarks could follow, but I'm afrait that if start, there will be no stopping me!)

Zakopane

Having decided that I was going to rest, I left my computer at home, which means that my only internet access in this God forsaken yet beautiful place is my dad's laptop, which I don't get to use very often. Besides, to be honest, I did not come here to spend my time sitting inside and surfing on the internet, I came here to conquer high peaks, brave the snow and the cold and drink a lot of mulled wine (mental note to self - I haven't had any yet, time to make up for that).
That to explain my hitherto silence and the silence to come, as well as the fact that this post will be hectic and generally rubbish, but I need to hurry cause there's a dad out there wanting his computer back and there's a world out there wanting me back.
Having said that, I don't know what to say - I mean, I have loads to say, plenty of little funny or absurd things happening on the way, in Warsaw and here, but I don't really know where to start. I'll try to keep a note of them and retrospect a bit once back in Brum. For now, there are mountains out there...

German Christmas Market

I was standing by the pretzel stand enjoying a pretzel, when I suddenly heard:
‘Miss, Miss, did you speak German to her to buy that pretzel?’ and without waiting for my answer, to the pretzel-lady: ‘Did she speak German to you?’
‘No’ the pretzel lady answered politely, which only encouraged the little buggers.
‘Are you German?’
‘No, I’m not’.
‘Oh, cause she’s our German teacher. Where are you from then?’
‘I’m Polish.’
‘Oh my God! She’s Polish too! Miss, Miss, speak Polish to her! Go on then Miss!’
At which point I smiled apologetically at the pretzel lady and satisfied their request: ‘Sorry’ I said ‘School trip…’.

Obscenities

I’m hot.
A simple solution to that problem would of course be to turn the heating down but that can not be done as heaps of clothes I just washed are drying and need to be dry a.s.a.p. cause I’m packing! One more day of cheeky brats and then, after a brief stop in MK, it’s all wine, cheese and sunshine – although some of you did not fail to point out that it’s actually raining out there right now. Well, if I’m to trust Metcheck, I shall bring you sunshine!

In the meantime, here’s a funny one for you:
I’ve spent last few days at a school specialising in languages, although I mostly taught English, but that is not the point. As many other schools with the same specialism, all signs inside this one were not only in English but also in other languages spoken/taught in the school. One of the languages this school included in its signs is Polish – not that they teach Polish or that I’d have encountered any Polish kids, but that, once again, is not the point. The point is that this morning, as I was walking through the building, I noticed the signs on the languages classrooms and stopped dead before starting to giggle uncontrollably: the sign said ‘languages’ ‘langues’ ‘Sprachen’ ‘lenguas’ and the same thing again and again in other languages unknown to me, but next to all that I read ‘grubiaństwa’, which is Polish all right, but means… ‘obscenities’.
I can’t help but wonder if it is a result of a failed attempt on translation by someone who didn’t actually speak Polish or if someone played a practical joke on the school.
I’m also trying to decide whether I should tell someone in the school or leave it for other random Poles to enjoy…

On being Polish

I had two interesting conversations concerned with my nationality today. They went like this:

1.
- Miss, is it true you’re Polish?
- Yes, I am.
- Aaaaaah, that explains it!
- What do you mean?
- Polish people are nasty!

2.
- Miss, are you really Polish?
- Yes, I am.
- Oooooh, bless! (in a tone of voice implying that it was the most endearing thing my interlocutor had ever heard).

One was with a student, one with a teaching assistant. Guess which one with whom. Guess which one annoyed me more.

I have been tagged!

It is always nice to find out that people read your musings – especially when the main reason for your blog is to stay in touch with all those people you love but are far away from, as it is the case for yours truly. Consequently, I was thrilled to find myself tagged by Tasha – I didn’t know she was reading, and now I do, and that makes me happy.

So first my 7 random facts:

1) I love random facts. Like that the Earth is 0.02 degrees hotter during full moon. Like that in France technically it is illegal for a woman to wear trousers (except when riding a horse or a bike) because of a law dated 1892 that was never abolished. Like that apparently coffee drinkers have sex more often than people who don’t drink coffee.

2) I share my birthday with, among others, John Coltrane, Ray Charles and Eurypides (although I sincerely do not know how did Wikipedia people manage to figure it out for that last one).

3) My very favourite place in the entire world are Tatra mountains in Poland (Zakopane). Any mountains make me happy, but there is just something about these particular peaks that makes it a true soul asylum for me. No demons can go there.

4) I sing most of the time. I try to keep it in my head when in public, but I quite often fail.

5) I love garlic sandwiches. One of the best things about being sick when I was little was my dad making them for me (cause garlic boosts up your defences and you’re sick in bed, so no one cares if you sweat it out and stink). Take a slice of bread, butter it, put chopped up raw garlic on it and finish off with some salt. Yum. (I have just made some for Manpreet, as she’s poorly and off work, she was sceptical at first but then loved them).

6) I can’t sleep without my stuffed dog. What can I say – a 25 years long habit is not easily lost. Not that I’ve tried though.

7) My favourite season is winter. Even if it is not snowing, although of course it is much better with snow. There is something about the crispness of the winter air that makes you feel more alive and makes everything sharper and more there. And then there are the evenings, dark and cold, which make your home and bed even cosier than usual.

And now for the tagging –
Tasha has already tagged some of the blogs I would have tagged, but there’s still one by an old friend of mine Ewelina and Carina’s culinary pages, and then some by people I don’t know but whose writing I enjoy: Annie Rhiannon, Morning Coffee, German Joys. I know it's not 7 but that's all I've got.

Life in supply

Being a supply teacher means that quite often you have to teach subjects other than your speciality. Up till now I’ve taught English, History, Citizenship, Music and PSHE (which stands for Personal, Social and Health Education). It is not a big deal really, cause work is prepared for you and you just have to set it and then make sure that the kids are doing what they’re supposed to be doing, so mainly you’re baby sitting. The other day, in History, I was bored so I flicked through the textbook the kids were working from on the subject of the Cold War. And I found out that the only thing worth mentioning when talking about how the Eastern Block collapsed is the dismantling of the Berlin Wall. As far as the British secondary school history teaching is concerned Solidarnosc did not exist. Which makes me think that if it wasn’t for the recent massive Polish immigration, me telling an average British teenager that I’m Polish would probably mean as much as if I told them I was Martian.

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!

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.

Narrow

Lunch break in the staff room, I’m heating up my Polish soup (yum!) and am asked about what is it that smells so good. I explain. My interlocutor is immediately triggered into motion, and bestows me with two cans of Polish fish specialities, which – as he explained – someone had given to him. All surprised at how someone could so easily part with such a delicious thing, and none the less grateful, even if as I’ve later discovered the fish had expired a year ago – it was canned so I still ate it and am still alive and feeling well. But that is beside the point. Or maybe not completely. But never mind. So I cautiously enquire about whether my benefactor is sure and certain not to want to eat it himself and he replies, to my utter bewilderment: “Yeah, sure, I don’t like imported”.
The sad thing is, that he is a teacher and his job description is therefore broadening his students’ horizons.

You've got to love stereotypes

The doctor passed over his tobacco and Kokolios stuffed his nargiles contentedly. ‘What’s the news of the war?’
The doctor twisted the ends of his moustache and said, ‘Germany is taking everything, the Italians are playing the fool, the French have run away, the Belgians have been overrun whilst they were looking the other way, the Poles have been charging tanks with cavalry, the Americans have been playing baseball , the British have been drinking tea and adjusting their monocles, the Russians have been sitting on their hands except when voting unanimously to do whatever they are told. Thank God we are out of it. Why don’t we turn on the radio?’

Louis de Bernières, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin
(which I’m reading at a speed of three pages every other day, cause I simply don’t have time for more)

I read this bit, I smiled and I felt a twinge of homesickness and nostalgia, that made me check flights to Poland. Who knows, I just might be able to make it between the end of the PGCE and the job (provided there is a job). I just need to remember not to call my parents too often or they might make me change my mind.

Side effects of applying for jobs

The job application is off! Now it’s the ‘keeping-fingers-crossed-and-thumbs-squeezed’ time of waiting for them to call me. At least in theory, cause I don’t know if I actually want that job. I mean, I have tones of sensible reasons to want it, and some very irrational ones not to, so I guess I do want it, but I’m not emotional about it, which is the better.
Anyway.
All my lessons for this week were planned in advance, because I was so reluctant to write that bloody personal statement that I was willing to do no matter what other than writing it. I absolutely and wholeheartedly hate writing personal statements. One should be able to just say: “give me the bloody job”. Cause that’s all that all that waffle about my qualities and beliefs translates as.
Anyway, all lessons planned in advance mean somewhat more relaxing evenings this week and somewhat more sleep. Which, in turn, means that I’m actually capable of getting up half an hour earlier just to play with my contact lens – which is very reluctant to actually go into the eye, mean thing. Thank God I only need one, otherwise I would probably need to get up an hour early for a double session of dabbing at my eye, my eye tearing up, me drying it out, waiting for it to stop hurting and then me dabbing at it again, the cycle to be repeated as many times as it takes until the bloody thing finally is in. Then some more waiting time is needed before the eye is in a state allowing for the application of make up. I just hope that it gets easier with practice!
But the best thing about applying for jobs is that one has to go to a post office to send them off. And next to my local post office, there is a… Polish shop! Which means I’m right now very full on a Polish doughnut, cranberry dumplings (no, they’re not sweet) and halva. For tomorrow’s lunch I’m taking to school a bag of barley soup and I shall treat the staffroom to Hedgehogs (which are a type of biscuits) well, at least that part of the staffroom that deserves it. Cause you’ve got to deserve a Hedgehog.
Yum.
And yum again.

TGIF...

First week of proper placement is officially over. God I’m glad it’s Friday! And boy, do I need sleep… I’ve been feeling so overwhelmed that I could feel an impending emotional breakdown but it never happened, bummer actually, cause crying all that stress out properly would have undoubtedly helped. But no, so now I have to get around sorting myself out in a more conventional way – by getting work out of the way, wrapping my head around this bloody assignment that I don’t understand one word of, planning a few lessons ahead etc. Such are my exciting plans for the weekend.
But, on a more cheerful note, here are some random haps and mishaps of the week for your general enjoyment:
On Wed, I’ve managed to go to school without underwear. Which shows how tired I am. I realised it only as I walked into the staffroom. I’m really grateful that I haven’t been endowed with bigger boobs so I think nobody actually noticed. But, of course, I’ve spent the whole day overly conscious of the fact and so not really at ease.
Thursday, year 8 lesson (they’re 13, for those unfamiliar with the UK system ), conversation with one of the lads: “Miss, where are you from?” “From Poland” “That’s cool.” “I know”. Today he marched into the classroom, gave me thumbs up and said: “Poland, yay!” with an ‘I’m cool’ look on his face. Glad we’ve got that established!
Today, first lesson I taught year 9. Me (repeatedly poking at the interactive white board that wouldn’t react) “Oh work now, will you? Why are you doing this to me?” You can imagine the general amusement. I laughed to. Just as I did when in the same class, I asked one lad to answer a question and I got “Oh damn…”. Unfortunately, I failed to insist on getting the answer, so I’m afraid that they think now that “Oh damn” gets you out of answering. Oh well.
Finally, one pupil in another year 9 class I taught, let’s call him B (I have a vague feeling that using their real names could get me in trouble if anyone came across this), defined by the regular teacher as ‘lazy’, was one of the few to actually finish the task. I was very proud of him. And to be honest, I think he did it to make me happy. And well, he did.

Vikings

We went to York for the Vikings. Well no, we went to York cause neither Susanne nor I had been before. But then we found out about the Viking festival. So we wanted Vikings. At least I wanted Vikings. A lot. And there were Vikings all right. The first thing we walked into were hoards of Vikings training for battle. The problem was that, as we have later discovered, a big part of them were… Polish. The taxi driver who took us back to the hostel on Saturday night told us that each year there were loads of Norwegians coming for the festival, towing their long boats and all. So, in spite of the fact that on Saturday the ‘Vikings afloat’ were nowhere to be seen, on Sunday we’ve set out to find them anyway. Cause, of course, I wanted Norwegians. Unfortunately, the ‘Vikings afloat’ were still missing in action and the warriors swarming all around York were still, well, mostly Polish. That to say that when we went to see the Jorvik reconstruction I was sort of surprised that the sound effects were voices in Old Norse and not in, well, Polish.
I bought my Thor's hammer from a Swedish merchant, so at least there's an ounce of hope that it is more or less authentic and not, well, Polish.