In recent days Portugal has become cold. The in-touch of people here, very few people (unless you are talking about Portuguese football gossip), know what is going on outside of Europe.
I did a recent experiemnt, a poll of my teenagers.
I asked them if they thought there was anything interesting or different about what is going on with the weather. They told me about the weather being dangerously cold in Portugal (minus 5). I reiterated, specifying news from ' the outside', about anywhere else, outside of the big P. 3 girls, out of over 30 students knew about Russia, only one knew any detail.
Meanwhile, the Portuguese government is giving out blanks, in a frantic hurry to save their population. Big ups to the populations of the other countries, on 'the outside', who manage to cope with minus 10 or minus 20, without gas.
Reading back over this there is a ' I know lots' kind of tone. I don't wish to portray this, as news to me isn't important. It is just interesting comparing Portuguese teenagers with their UK counterparts, I hope UK teenagers would know about ' the outside', without wanting to sound pompous, I did at their age.
Meanwhile, it is cold, at least for the Portuguese.
I saw people taking photos of the frost on Thursday morning, frantically clicking away while I looked on somewhat bemused. Interesting to see a different perspective.
Saturday, 10 January 2009
An up and down week
An up and down week
Arriving into Lisbon I was verging on kissing the pavement, that glad to leave the freezing UK behind my sorry self.. The 20 euro, four times the average price ripoff taxi ride took me back down to earth. Tho, I was back 'home' and could now cook, have nice showers and sleep in a big bed. And, to be fair to the satisfactory nature of my bedroom, break (in my room).
I was still having a good time on Monday, managing to get myself on a Portuguese course with my company, aka the Firm. Nice perk, that said it had been offered way back in September and has only materialised now.
I have been pushed up a class, thankfully skipping the absolute beginners and been put in the second class. My sole classmate is middle aged, from Belgium and struggles greatly with the accent and the ability to speak any of the language without diluting it with her native French, or indeed snippets of Spanish and even English. She is trying, though it can be a little painful being in a class with her. She is also not the sharpish nail in the box, finding it difficult to grasp basic gramamr points (most of which are exactly the same as French, as the teacher points out in her own language teacher outbursts- lets face it, it happens to us all....)
I was quite surprised when I found out that it was only the two of us, and happy about it. It allows extraordinary student speaking time and attention. Free lessons. Lot of attention and help. Any drawbacks? Yes, the time of the classes. 9 till 11. Not a problem if you are a merry kind of chap living on the Great British Isles. Here it means arriving home between 10 and midnight( as English teachers work in the afternoons and evenings), eating and chilling, going to sleep no earlier than 1am and getting up, ideally, around 7.30am the next morning. I am no mathematician but that is not sustainable. I have started going to bed earlier but it aint easy. Classes are great though.
Arriving into Lisbon I was verging on kissing the pavement, that glad to leave the freezing UK behind my sorry self.. The 20 euro, four times the average price ripoff taxi ride took me back down to earth. Tho, I was back 'home' and could now cook, have nice showers and sleep in a big bed. And, to be fair to the satisfactory nature of my bedroom, break (in my room).
I was still having a good time on Monday, managing to get myself on a Portuguese course with my company, aka the Firm. Nice perk, that said it had been offered way back in September and has only materialised now.
I have been pushed up a class, thankfully skipping the absolute beginners and been put in the second class. My sole classmate is middle aged, from Belgium and struggles greatly with the accent and the ability to speak any of the language without diluting it with her native French, or indeed snippets of Spanish and even English. She is trying, though it can be a little painful being in a class with her. She is also not the sharpish nail in the box, finding it difficult to grasp basic gramamr points (most of which are exactly the same as French, as the teacher points out in her own language teacher outbursts- lets face it, it happens to us all....)
I was quite surprised when I found out that it was only the two of us, and happy about it. It allows extraordinary student speaking time and attention. Free lessons. Lot of attention and help. Any drawbacks? Yes, the time of the classes. 9 till 11. Not a problem if you are a merry kind of chap living on the Great British Isles. Here it means arriving home between 10 and midnight( as English teachers work in the afternoons and evenings), eating and chilling, going to sleep no earlier than 1am and getting up, ideally, around 7.30am the next morning. I am no mathematician but that is not sustainable. I have started going to bed earlier but it aint easy. Classes are great though.
Sunday, 21 December 2008
summing up 2008 in an article
Summary of 2008
Jan and Feb- still working in my old job, fed up and thinking of leaving
March/ left job, started applying for other work and lived with mom for a bit.
April- started working in Bournemouth teaching English . No intro to teaching, did well under the circumstances. Breaking wasnt great, though found a very good spot for gymnastics.
June, July- Bournemouth again. Sun expected though rarely there. Not enough hours, low earnings.
August- Interview for Portugal- highest wages in Europe for Tefl teachers.
Late August- going to Portugal!
September- Bummed around Brum not doing alot, I would later regret this
Late Sept- Lisbon. Generally good, started blog, shite training but Lisbon was/is amazing.
Oct- Trouble in paradise, you can read it all here.
Nov- School gets better, weather still good, tho home life is stormy with the two girls bitching at each other no end, this lasts for over 5 weeks.
Dec- festive season is here, tho the weather is still warm ish. Teaching drags, especially the last 15 days. Housemates leave early and there is a wide selection of guests staying- Portuguese, portuguese french, turkish. I try to keep my head. Injuries come bk, I stagnate,
Portuguese comng along, learn the present continuous, simple past and present s=tense of regulars and a few irregulars,
Late Dec planning- In store is xmas at home in brum, boxing day with my gf, a fe days with friends, 30th in london, ny in brum then chill out till the 5th when all sytstems go, arriving into faro in the morning, 4 hour trip bk, blast it home then teaching till 10pm. Will be crazy.
The year from different perspectives
Economically- good and bad, got a job at least. Debts still loom and investments have lost 60% of their value,
Physically- up and down. Was very up unit injuries came bk. Since the start of the year I have damaged ligaments in my foot, re fucked my dislocated finger and had wrist issues. That said, i'm still alive!
Intellectually- Reading was good in UK, though here in Portugal I'm short on reading material!
Linguistically- Getting there with Portuguese, tho my Spanish is eroding and my Japanese has all but vanished!!
Spiritually- The sun and Ajuda help me through the low periods. Though my room will soon be a training spot, that'll see me through my f-ed up finger or not! Haven't devoted much time for the wej in me..
Professionally- Up and down, ending the year higher than I started! Got some praise from senior teachers and the big boss. Getting on well with teachers, staff and kids, albeit the bboying teacher might annoy through his general enthusiasm.
Musically- Couldnt dj in BM, and have no instruments in Lisbon. 09 is the music year, I am gonna start piano, and possibly buy a guitar.
Bboyingally- Hmmm, generally been a bit down on it. Bournemouth was dry until my final week. Lisboa aint got shit. There best bboy is a swiss 18 year old (who wants to get out as soon as poss, can't blame him). Oddly enough, training alone has pushed me further towards the abstract goal of ' getting better'.
That's it. Now write yours and post it in the comments section!
ps. Bet you won't.
Jan and Feb- still working in my old job, fed up and thinking of leaving
March/ left job, started applying for other work and lived with mom for a bit.
April- started working in Bournemouth teaching English . No intro to teaching, did well under the circumstances. Breaking wasnt great, though found a very good spot for gymnastics.
June, July- Bournemouth again. Sun expected though rarely there. Not enough hours, low earnings.
August- Interview for Portugal- highest wages in Europe for Tefl teachers.
Late August- going to Portugal!
September- Bummed around Brum not doing alot, I would later regret this
Late Sept- Lisbon. Generally good, started blog, shite training but Lisbon was/is amazing.
Oct- Trouble in paradise, you can read it all here.
Nov- School gets better, weather still good, tho home life is stormy with the two girls bitching at each other no end, this lasts for over 5 weeks.
Dec- festive season is here, tho the weather is still warm ish. Teaching drags, especially the last 15 days. Housemates leave early and there is a wide selection of guests staying- Portuguese, portuguese french, turkish. I try to keep my head. Injuries come bk, I stagnate,
Portuguese comng along, learn the present continuous, simple past and present s=tense of regulars and a few irregulars,
Late Dec planning- In store is xmas at home in brum, boxing day with my gf, a fe days with friends, 30th in london, ny in brum then chill out till the 5th when all sytstems go, arriving into faro in the morning, 4 hour trip bk, blast it home then teaching till 10pm. Will be crazy.
The year from different perspectives
Economically- good and bad, got a job at least. Debts still loom and investments have lost 60% of their value,
Physically- up and down. Was very up unit injuries came bk. Since the start of the year I have damaged ligaments in my foot, re fucked my dislocated finger and had wrist issues. That said, i'm still alive!
Intellectually- Reading was good in UK, though here in Portugal I'm short on reading material!
Linguistically- Getting there with Portuguese, tho my Spanish is eroding and my Japanese has all but vanished!!
Spiritually- The sun and Ajuda help me through the low periods. Though my room will soon be a training spot, that'll see me through my f-ed up finger or not! Haven't devoted much time for the wej in me..
Professionally- Up and down, ending the year higher than I started! Got some praise from senior teachers and the big boss. Getting on well with teachers, staff and kids, albeit the bboying teacher might annoy through his general enthusiasm.
Musically- Couldnt dj in BM, and have no instruments in Lisbon. 09 is the music year, I am gonna start piano, and possibly buy a guitar.
Bboyingally- Hmmm, generally been a bit down on it. Bournemouth was dry until my final week. Lisboa aint got shit. There best bboy is a swiss 18 year old (who wants to get out as soon as poss, can't blame him). Oddly enough, training alone has pushed me further towards the abstract goal of ' getting better'.
That's it. Now write yours and post it in the comments section!
ps. Bet you won't.
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
Some Comic Relief
Cambridge Comic relief
Well, juggling the morals of laughing at students is tough. In general, I don't do it- other studnts mocking other students sends me a tad loco. Though this example was so instantly funny it passed the ethical service station- no time for a stop, and kept on going, and going, and going.
The brief background to this story is one worth repeating as a) it sets the tone and b) my day (barring the joke) is almost identical, every Tuesday and Thursday.
I get in around 1ish, though sometimes before and sometimes after, depending on the transport and if the drivers have bothered turning up. At school I prepare, joke, eat scraps of food then 'teach' my level 5s, aka,private school punks that really need a reality slap from a big wet bacalhau (sticky, salty,wet, wide, fish, oh.... and Portuguese). I get through this class like an addict gets through rehab, kicking and screaming. For avid readers of the pearls of wisdom that are my entries on this online home of random ramblings, this was the group I 'happened' to be observed on (microscoped, prodded, and beaten with constant 'constructive'
So once I survive that 'class', and get out before preemptively chopping selective students, oh who am i kidding, all of them, into little pieces , it is on to the next section of my day. My exam class. They are all well meaning students. Though they always seem to comment, in fact, add a commentary to what is going on with me, uncannily reading me like I was an open yellow pages and they are comparing the looks of each and every ad. They do that, without me sayig a word. Soooo,. after the usual invigorating exam class I am normally famished. Eat a cheese roll(the only thing we get free at my work, oh and a free headache, but they don't seem to promote that much), then back in the 'game'- for my level shits, sorry, level pricks, sorry level 6. Dicks.
Anywho. These are also from the private school up the road, though you wouldn't know it aside from the odd mention about going to Amsterdam, smoking drugs, shockingly pretentious gems of language use I tell thee, so much so I've recommended that a few become poets.
On the whole the class is okay, though having already taught other teenagers I'm not that up for another lot. Luckily there are a few characters and it can sometimes be ok, better than the deathrow inmates (level5s) anyway.
So, the other day we were in class and one student asks me a question. It was near the end of the day, I was tired and this was a quiet student. He says, blank-straight faced, almost asking 'Jake, I have a cock,'. Hmmmm, how to respond. I honestly couldn't. I kinda just said 'hmm', then promptly laughed. He repeated, so did I. Then he said ' I toss cock'. More laughs from moi aka Mr Professional.
Turns out he wanted to say cough, cough in Portuguese, regrettably, sounds like toss. So, momentarily my normal Poker faced professionalism was shattered. Beautifully, no one else knew what was going on. So, perfect comic relief for the prison guard, sorry Tefl teacher(moi for those that can't keep up), at the end of a loooooooong day. Genius. Thanks Bernardo.
Well, juggling the morals of laughing at students is tough. In general, I don't do it- other studnts mocking other students sends me a tad loco. Though this example was so instantly funny it passed the ethical service station- no time for a stop, and kept on going, and going, and going.
The brief background to this story is one worth repeating as a) it sets the tone and b) my day (barring the joke) is almost identical, every Tuesday and Thursday.
I get in around 1ish, though sometimes before and sometimes after, depending on the transport and if the drivers have bothered turning up. At school I prepare, joke, eat scraps of food then 'teach' my level 5s, aka,private school punks that really need a reality slap from a big wet bacalhau (sticky, salty,wet, wide, fish, oh.... and Portuguese). I get through this class like an addict gets through rehab, kicking and screaming. For avid readers of the pearls of wisdom that are my entries on this online home of random ramblings, this was the group I 'happened' to be observed on (microscoped, prodded, and beaten with constant 'constructive'
So once I survive that 'class', and get out before preemptively chopping selective students, oh who am i kidding, all of them, into little pieces , it is on to the next section of my day. My exam class. They are all well meaning students. Though they always seem to comment, in fact, add a commentary to what is going on with me, uncannily reading me like I was an open yellow pages and they are comparing the looks of each and every ad. They do that, without me sayig a word. Soooo,. after the usual invigorating exam class I am normally famished. Eat a cheese roll(the only thing we get free at my work, oh and a free headache, but they don't seem to promote that much), then back in the 'game'- for my level shits, sorry, level pricks, sorry level 6. Dicks.
Anywho. These are also from the private school up the road, though you wouldn't know it aside from the odd mention about going to Amsterdam, smoking drugs, shockingly pretentious gems of language use I tell thee, so much so I've recommended that a few become poets.
On the whole the class is okay, though having already taught other teenagers I'm not that up for another lot. Luckily there are a few characters and it can sometimes be ok, better than the deathrow inmates (level5s) anyway.
So, the other day we were in class and one student asks me a question. It was near the end of the day, I was tired and this was a quiet student. He says, blank-straight faced, almost asking 'Jake, I have a cock,'. Hmmmm, how to respond. I honestly couldn't. I kinda just said 'hmm', then promptly laughed. He repeated, so did I. Then he said ' I toss cock'. More laughs from moi aka Mr Professional.
Turns out he wanted to say cough, cough in Portuguese, regrettably, sounds like toss. So, momentarily my normal Poker faced professionalism was shattered. Beautifully, no one else knew what was going on. So, perfect comic relief for the prison guard, sorry Tefl teacher(moi for those that can't keep up), at the end of a loooooooong day. Genius. Thanks Bernardo.
Sunday, 23 November 2008
prior to coming to lisbon poem, written at 3am...
to lisbon to lisbon that's where i'll go
no reason no reason but that's where i'll go
escaping our winter, hail, rain and snow
to lisboa portugal, that's where i'll go
Where will i go, what will i do
i'll teach, break and surf, that's what i'll do
not in the know, without muchuva clue
where and what, i'll manage to do
i've waited,.. oh i've put off and waited...
.....now is the time, the time has come
to finally,...... yes finally
... become a tefl bum!
......................................................................
first (and possibly last poem)........
no reason no reason but that's where i'll go
escaping our winter, hail, rain and snow
to lisboa portugal, that's where i'll go
Where will i go, what will i do
i'll teach, break and surf, that's what i'll do
not in the know, without muchuva clue
where and what, i'll manage to do
i've waited,.. oh i've put off and waited...
.....now is the time, the time has come
to finally,...... yes finally
... become a tefl bum!
......................................................................
first (and possibly last poem)........
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
Eduardo scissorhands and the 'get him' haircuts
Needing a haircut in a foreign land is always odd. For women, I must say, it has to be easier. The standards are always high. Women are treated well whereever they are. No such luck for guys. For us a barbers can be VERY different, city to city, let alone country to country. And so the dark tale unfolds,....
I needed a haircut, I'd let it grow and it had grown too much, I had to put a stop to it.
Finding a cabeleireiro, was hard, pronouncing it was harder. I spent about 2 hours looking for one, and 2 weeks trying to say the damn word. I sound like a boxer who has broken his jaw trying to say something after drinking one to many,... it's attractive.
So i get directed to one, plodding on in the burning sun. I'm in a tee shirt, others are head to toe covered, I keep forgetting, its 'winter'. I arrive into what can only be described as a, well, my feeble mind can't think of a good description, apart from the fact that it was dingy, dark and looked like it was out of a weird 1970's detective film. The hair cuts, to my shock, matched. No one wanted razors, so they new I was um estrangeiro. Pity, tho i'd much prefer coming out with pride than looking like a 1970s porno reject, sorry detective film reject. Same thing. Back to the story,
I'm sitting there thinking how I can explain it, wishing I'd revised, (or rather learnt) some haircut vocab. My turn in the chair. The dude takes a phone call. Mighty professional there detective Joao Silva. Anyway, a few chuckles later and the spotlights on the dumb dude. I just say um pouco acqui, pouco aqui, and motion the length. I say for him to use, and point to the clippers.
This is when the detective morphs into a superhuman, or rather ageing odd looking. EDUARDO scissorhands. 5 motions of the scissors, with only one chop, his accuracy is shocking (note:bad)
and I'm now sitting in my chair practically saying my prays outloud, who gives a, they wouldn't undestand jake, jack i mean, anyway. So... I try and think of something to say but my limited skills can't be used. I wish I could say something, anything to calm the manic pace at which Eduardo is chopping.
Finale. Good. I'm alive. No. Funk. What's he doing. He goes to get a cut throat razor and motions over my neck, cutting fine hairs around my ears and back of the neck, this actually hurts. Someone get some help; Englishman in pain. 10 euros later and he cut my forehead(aggrevating a lovely spot) and made my hairline as a red as an embarrassed Englishman walking down the road with blood and hair mixed up on his face, sweating buckets in the middle of winter.
Well. Eduardo, despite his lack of the knack for his 'trade', is probably getting rich from his 5 minute quick wrist action, 'get him' haircuts. Another haircut done and dusted. As you can tell from my tone, I'll be seeing Eduardo again, possibly in hell.
I needed a haircut, I'd let it grow and it had grown too much, I had to put a stop to it.
Finding a cabeleireiro, was hard, pronouncing it was harder. I spent about 2 hours looking for one, and 2 weeks trying to say the damn word. I sound like a boxer who has broken his jaw trying to say something after drinking one to many,... it's attractive.
So i get directed to one, plodding on in the burning sun. I'm in a tee shirt, others are head to toe covered, I keep forgetting, its 'winter'. I arrive into what can only be described as a, well, my feeble mind can't think of a good description, apart from the fact that it was dingy, dark and looked like it was out of a weird 1970's detective film. The hair cuts, to my shock, matched. No one wanted razors, so they new I was um estrangeiro. Pity, tho i'd much prefer coming out with pride than looking like a 1970s porno reject, sorry detective film reject. Same thing. Back to the story,
I'm sitting there thinking how I can explain it, wishing I'd revised, (or rather learnt) some haircut vocab. My turn in the chair. The dude takes a phone call. Mighty professional there detective Joao Silva. Anyway, a few chuckles later and the spotlights on the dumb dude. I just say um pouco acqui, pouco aqui, and motion the length. I say for him to use, and point to the clippers.
This is when the detective morphs into a superhuman, or rather ageing odd looking. EDUARDO scissorhands. 5 motions of the scissors, with only one chop, his accuracy is shocking (note:bad)
and I'm now sitting in my chair practically saying my prays outloud, who gives a, they wouldn't undestand jake, jack i mean, anyway. So... I try and think of something to say but my limited skills can't be used. I wish I could say something, anything to calm the manic pace at which Eduardo is chopping.
Finale. Good. I'm alive. No. Funk. What's he doing. He goes to get a cut throat razor and motions over my neck, cutting fine hairs around my ears and back of the neck, this actually hurts. Someone get some help; Englishman in pain. 10 euros later and he cut my forehead(aggrevating a lovely spot) and made my hairline as a red as an embarrassed Englishman walking down the road with blood and hair mixed up on his face, sweating buckets in the middle of winter.
Well. Eduardo, despite his lack of the knack for his 'trade', is probably getting rich from his 5 minute quick wrist action, 'get him' haircuts. Another haircut done and dusted. As you can tell from my tone, I'll be seeing Eduardo again, possibly in hell.
The call was answered, by someone else
The call was answered, by someone else
So it was answered. After nights awake thinking about how i could do it, refurbish, rent etc nothing came to fruition as the day my people were to look at it, it sold! This wasn't my soul I'm talking abot, just in case you got confused, it was the under priced gem of a repossessed property on the edge of Bournville, my old stomping ground.
Dreams of property empires have been put on the backburner. Damn right, need a new mp3 player anyway,...... (inadvertently helps to keep the Portuguese economy alive),...........
So it was answered. After nights awake thinking about how i could do it, refurbish, rent etc nothing came to fruition as the day my people were to look at it, it sold! This wasn't my soul I'm talking abot, just in case you got confused, it was the under priced gem of a repossessed property on the edge of Bournville, my old stomping ground.
Dreams of property empires have been put on the backburner. Damn right, need a new mp3 player anyway,...... (inadvertently helps to keep the Portuguese economy alive),...........
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
call of the repossessed
Call of the repossessed
When I was at university, demoralized from projections of rejection when applying for jobs (turned out to be right, how far can one get with a dub standard film degree?) I thought to myself that I needed to find other ways of making some coins,..
I was a bit down, I had plenty of time so started frequenting the living room and watching the golden box. On this golden box, back in 2004ish were plenty of shows about property. This started something in me. I was seeing before my very eyes punks without two brain cells between them making moolah from buying and selling property. That's not too say it's easy, certainly the last 5 years(well 2002ish to 2006/7) any schmuck has been able to turn a profit with the rising tide in prices, not now though. The tide has turned and boats are getting sunk, big time.
So I when I was at uni, I bought a few books on the matter. Delved into them with a fervor that should've been equaled with desire to do well at my degree course........ anywho,..... Realised that this property game was for any schmo, but that schmo needed money, and lots of it. To the eager student, with no cash, a 10k deposit seems to be unsurmountable.
I wanted to get work, earning a decent wage once I'd graduated. Unfortunately the receipts in life (things we add up and inscribe on god awful cvs )meant that my grade (my receipt for the astronomical debt I'd accumulated) was not sufficient for the gleaming, golden graduate scheme. Hmmm.... hard nut to crack.
TEFL! I had developed an interest in languages through teaching some Japanese friends breakdancing, leanrt a bit and thought it a good idea to go bumming around the world for a bit. Fast forward to now and I'm in Portugal, bored at 2am looking online randomly at house prices. I see a very cheap house. 3 beds, 65k. Excited at high yields and everything greedy, I can't sleep (how bad is that?).
This property, it turns out, is in dire state, and has been repossessed, hence the rock bottom price. The ill effects of the harshness of the market system mean that repossessions are possible, unfortunately, and let schmos with no money onto the highly inflated (due to other schmos with money) property market,
Traveling, learning languages, generally larking about in the sun, bboying etc, is what I like doing. I always thought this impossible with the other dream of financial freedom, working for one self and being truly free from all the b/s that dependency on employed work brings. I'm not a big fan of feeling powerless, renting makes me feel like that. Dependency on a job also makes me feel that way. There's always things I know I could do better, and being a schmo at the bottom of the pecking order means I have to ask for permission to do grand magnificent acts like photocopying. Graduate skills shining here.
So. For the chastened poor, repossessed property is the way to go. Cheap, a project (freedom ) and the possibility of financial freedom, clout and a bit of pride at the end of the tunnel. Maybe this house won't work for me, no big deal. I'm patient, well, if forced to be! I'll wait on the sideline, though the call of the repossessed is pretty compelling!
When I was at university, demoralized from projections of rejection when applying for jobs (turned out to be right, how far can one get with a dub standard film degree?) I thought to myself that I needed to find other ways of making some coins,..
I was a bit down, I had plenty of time so started frequenting the living room and watching the golden box. On this golden box, back in 2004ish were plenty of shows about property. This started something in me. I was seeing before my very eyes punks without two brain cells between them making moolah from buying and selling property. That's not too say it's easy, certainly the last 5 years(well 2002ish to 2006/7) any schmuck has been able to turn a profit with the rising tide in prices, not now though. The tide has turned and boats are getting sunk, big time.
So I when I was at uni, I bought a few books on the matter. Delved into them with a fervor that should've been equaled with desire to do well at my degree course........ anywho,..... Realised that this property game was for any schmo, but that schmo needed money, and lots of it. To the eager student, with no cash, a 10k deposit seems to be unsurmountable.
I wanted to get work, earning a decent wage once I'd graduated. Unfortunately the receipts in life (things we add up and inscribe on god awful cvs )meant that my grade (my receipt for the astronomical debt I'd accumulated) was not sufficient for the gleaming, golden graduate scheme. Hmmm.... hard nut to crack.
TEFL! I had developed an interest in languages through teaching some Japanese friends breakdancing, leanrt a bit and thought it a good idea to go bumming around the world for a bit. Fast forward to now and I'm in Portugal, bored at 2am looking online randomly at house prices. I see a very cheap house. 3 beds, 65k. Excited at high yields and everything greedy, I can't sleep (how bad is that?).
This property, it turns out, is in dire state, and has been repossessed, hence the rock bottom price. The ill effects of the harshness of the market system mean that repossessions are possible, unfortunately, and let schmos with no money onto the highly inflated (due to other schmos with money) property market,
Traveling, learning languages, generally larking about in the sun, bboying etc, is what I like doing. I always thought this impossible with the other dream of financial freedom, working for one self and being truly free from all the b/s that dependency on employed work brings. I'm not a big fan of feeling powerless, renting makes me feel like that. Dependency on a job also makes me feel that way. There's always things I know I could do better, and being a schmo at the bottom of the pecking order means I have to ask for permission to do grand magnificent acts like photocopying. Graduate skills shining here.
So. For the chastened poor, repossessed property is the way to go. Cheap, a project (freedom ) and the possibility of financial freedom, clout and a bit of pride at the end of the tunnel. Maybe this house won't work for me, no big deal. I'm patient, well, if forced to be! I'll wait on the sideline, though the call of the repossessed is pretty compelling!
Sunday, 2 November 2008
a good day
A good day
Today I was a bit worried as my monthly bus, tram and metro card ran out and a) i didn't know where to renew it on a Saturday b) I didn't want mammoth 5 hour queues like last time c) couldn;'t really be bothered to find the energy to find out what to do.
In the morning the sun was shining. Unfortunately I got up at the slap my wrist hour of 12, midday. With my daily schedule changing everyday, and days off midweek, plus good tv on in the evenings, I find it hard to get up before 11, which I'm told is normal here (if you are an English teacher and don't get home till 11 or midnight everyday).
So, basketball. We couldn't play yesterday as the clouds above looked angry. We went out, but it rained so we came back. Oddly the rain lasted for a whole 20 mins to leave the sky clear and sunny for the rest of the day. I swear that kind of sky in England would cause at least a days rain. I'm still learning things about here.
So we played basketball at our local courts. Then, we came home. I ate some of my spectacular soup (tad biased) and chilled out for a bit. I opened my window/door and sat on the window ledge overlooking Lisbon whilst bathing/reading (John Grisham's 'A Firma' Portguese version)in the sun. Part of the package that allured me to Lisbon was their mellow half-arsed winters (hopes he doesn't tempt fate).
Next we went shopping (new place I've never been to), always fun. Managed to buy the elusive travel card at the local newsagent! Easier than hating my boss, bonus! Then, picked up a watch for the wholesome price of 10E and went on the thrice weekly food shop.
Home. Pull ups, food and some Portuguese chatter. Doesn't sound like much, but for me, today was a good day.
Today I was a bit worried as my monthly bus, tram and metro card ran out and a) i didn't know where to renew it on a Saturday b) I didn't want mammoth 5 hour queues like last time c) couldn;'t really be bothered to find the energy to find out what to do.
In the morning the sun was shining. Unfortunately I got up at the slap my wrist hour of 12, midday. With my daily schedule changing everyday, and days off midweek, plus good tv on in the evenings, I find it hard to get up before 11, which I'm told is normal here (if you are an English teacher and don't get home till 11 or midnight everyday).
So, basketball. We couldn't play yesterday as the clouds above looked angry. We went out, but it rained so we came back. Oddly the rain lasted for a whole 20 mins to leave the sky clear and sunny for the rest of the day. I swear that kind of sky in England would cause at least a days rain. I'm still learning things about here.
So we played basketball at our local courts. Then, we came home. I ate some of my spectacular soup (tad biased) and chilled out for a bit. I opened my window/door and sat on the window ledge overlooking Lisbon whilst bathing/reading (John Grisham's 'A Firma' Portguese version)in the sun. Part of the package that allured me to Lisbon was their mellow half-arsed winters (hopes he doesn't tempt fate).
Next we went shopping (new place I've never been to), always fun. Managed to buy the elusive travel card at the local newsagent! Easier than hating my boss, bonus! Then, picked up a watch for the wholesome price of 10E and went on the thrice weekly food shop.
Home. Pull ups, food and some Portuguese chatter. Doesn't sound like much, but for me, today was a good day.
Saturday, 1 November 2008
Trouble in Paradise
Trouble in Paradise
Paradise being where I'm living, trouble being where I'm at. Work is piling on the pressure. Saturday observation. Sunday break. Monday work. Tuesday observation, by dickhead dave. Wednesday day off. Thursday observation by delta, higher qualified, teacher (in training).
An observation is a bit like a test for teachers where every task, explanation, behavioural trait, joke, even body language is judged and duly scrutinised. It's about as fun as being unarmed on the front line with a 10ft sign saying shoot me. For those not liking that imagery it's similar to a test for teachers, though it's normally one per month, not three in a week, or five in two, for yours truly.
The effect on this has meant my nerves have gone slightly. Over the past few days and weeks I have had problems sleeping, hands sweaty and dreaming of teaching. A tefl bums' nightmare.
Writing this it's actually been a few days since the pressure and things have slightly improved, but as Monday showed, there may be more n store. (Meticulous)Preparation, as they say, is key. Though paradise is not usually synonymous with hard work.
Paradise being where I'm living, trouble being where I'm at. Work is piling on the pressure. Saturday observation. Sunday break. Monday work. Tuesday observation, by dickhead dave. Wednesday day off. Thursday observation by delta, higher qualified, teacher (in training).
An observation is a bit like a test for teachers where every task, explanation, behavioural trait, joke, even body language is judged and duly scrutinised. It's about as fun as being unarmed on the front line with a 10ft sign saying shoot me. For those not liking that imagery it's similar to a test for teachers, though it's normally one per month, not three in a week, or five in two, for yours truly.
The effect on this has meant my nerves have gone slightly. Over the past few days and weeks I have had problems sleeping, hands sweaty and dreaming of teaching. A tefl bums' nightmare.
Writing this it's actually been a few days since the pressure and things have slightly improved, but as Monday showed, there may be more n store. (Meticulous)Preparation, as they say, is key. Though paradise is not usually synonymous with hard work.
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