The Weird and Wonderful Imaginings of Many

On the never ending quest to improve my writing and gain inspiration, I've recently joined the website You Write On. It's quite a basic set up, but I really like the idea behind it. You upload the opening chapters of a story you're working on, then review other people's stories in exchange for having your story reviewed. It's really a two way thing, as 1 review you write rewards you with a credit, which you use to get another review for your story.
I've been finding great joy in this part all on it's own; feeling a wonderful sense of smugness at 'banking' my credits, much like in The Weakest Link. The aim of all this, the real pinnacle of the adventure however, is not to bank as many credits as possible (note to self) but to get the most good ratings and make it into the top ten charts. The excitement! Actually it is quite, as the number one spot gets a real review by publishers at Random House and Orion.
The small matter of how on Gods earth you make it to the top spot is a bit of a mystery to me, as the competition starts afresh each month and therefore surely the stats must be wiped. How many reviews can one girl realistically do in a mere thirty days? So far I've managed four and bearing in mind it takes 8 to even rank in the charts, it's a little alarming how exhausted I feel!
I must say it's been good for me to be reviewed, as it's something that easily slips into non-existence as a writer, your work becoming to you like the ring to Lord of the Rings' Gollum. My precious! Being reviewed/critiqued is a tricky business though. However much I prepare for it and attempt to be 'cool' it's still hard not to feel pissed of by the STUPID F*CKING COMMENTS!!!!
Ha ha only joking. Sort of. No, generally it really is useful and very interesting to get feedback, I guess I just object to someone called Betty lecturing me on my inability to replicate real teenage speech. 'Maybe you should consider getting a job that involves working with them.' Only what I've been doing for the last seven years! 'Or see how they interact with each other on facebook.' Doesn't that constitute stalking?
Anyway, enough of that. I promise you I'm striving to become less of a baby and actually listen to my peers.
I'm very much enjoying the complete randomness of the entries I've reviewed so far. It's great that whether I like or loathe a piece, I can always learn something from it, be it in the realm of plot, dialogue or description. The extracts are only small (between 5 and 7 thousand words), so can be read fairly quickly, which has had the effect of sending my head into a whirl. The four extracts I've read to date are so different, but have begun to intertwine and merge in my brain. What an interesting story that would make for! Imagine the scene: A battered and deflated housewife in 1920's far reaching Scotland, working for the FBI and hot on the heals of a bloodthirsty mass murderer. But as she waits for the killer, her work is interrupted by an explosion in her block of flats, which merges her brain (in her body) with a Polish builder. And all this during the stress of an impending visit from Ofsted....
I think I have a best seller on my hands.

An entirely different tongue

My new language venture (which will inevitably end in failure and disappointment but hey I'll give it a go), is Arabic. I know it'll be exceptionally hard, but it has more use potentially than learning say, Korean, so hopefully my motivation will be higher. Especially now that my new favourite book's been delivered from Amazon.
Ladies and Gentleman I introduce to you, The Usborne, First thousand words in Arabic!
How amazing.

We had the English one of these at home when I was little- and I love this version because it's exactly the same, complete with western faces and British scenarios, just with Arabic words instead. I particularly like that there's a page devoted to 'the fair ground' but in the whole book there is no mention of a head scarf. Nothing has been altered to be culturally or socially more appropriate. I guess that's why I love it.

On a related note, I recently found an old dictionary from school. This is no ordinary dictionary, mind, but one that me and a friend compiled for our secret language, Flugen. Not content with back slang as a way of communicating- it being an entirely crackable code, we decided to make up our own language, word for word. This was serious business; hours were spent sitting in a bedroom or even up the ladder in the loft for added privacy, writing page upon page of Flugen words. And practising speaking to each other. In the end the project was short lived and we gave up, but looking back at the book made me laugh a lot, especially seeing what our priorities were in terms of important words or phrases. The main reason for Flugen’s existence was to allow us a forum for talking about people, especially boys. Perusing the Flugen dictionary, I discovered a definite trend towards a certain theme. Some favourites included: myben (fancy), ib (kiss), zlig (love) and zlup (vagina!). I think this last one is certainly a contender for a new addition to the Oxford English Dictionary.
And more important than even all that, the Flugen dictionary included a list of code names for all the people we wanted to talk about. Perfect.

The best phrase I remember practising was Le geebe tof gi funkle. I think you are fit. On reflection, however, it seems a bit of a silly one to learn, as if I said it to anyone I thought was 'fit' then they simply wouldn't understand and my efforts would be wasted.  
Apparently Jimba (my friend) and Jamba (me) had way too much free time as fourteen-year -olds. You gotta hand it to us though, it was genius. I wonder where we'd be now if we'd kept it up... Probably in a mental hospital somewhere jabbering rubbish at each other.

There and back again- a taxi mans tale

In the last two weeks I've been to Heathrow Airport three times, to drop off and pick up students. Hanging around in airports is a familiar concept to me, but waiting to collect unknown children-who don't know you from Adam either- is weird. I've always liked arrivals, as it's a place where people are reunited, but after the first hour or so it loses its charm.
The 'unacompanied minor' situation involves children being passed on from one adult to the next, each hoping that the others will do their job properly. Some parents, understandably enough, come to England for a visit so they can accompany their children on the journeys. I think I would do the same, rather than putting my ten year old on a plane alone. The set up I witnessed on Saturday, however, was nothing short of ridiculous. I had to wait at the terminal with a German girl for her Mum's 'man friend' to arrive on a plane from Dusseldorf, to then take her off my hands and fly straight back. Madness. Not only was it totally over the top (I mean, if you are so worried about your child, maybe you shouldn't be sending them away at all?) but it was also risky. What if his plane had been delayed? But then again buying a new ticket is not a problem for the rich.
Anyway, the main inspiration for this post is that as a result of these airport trips, I have spent around 9 hours in taxis, with taxi drivers who wanted to tell me everything and learn everything and generally chat shit for the entire journey- there and back. Saturday was a classic. Shane-I'll call him that to protect his identity-talked so much that I think I could give you at least 30 facts about his life. Like that his long term girlfriend left in March, taking the kids and leaving him with nothing but a blow up bed. Now is that really something you share with a stranger? Also that he hasn't seen his kids (13 and 16) since then, but that he pays his child maintenance. And that he's been having various online and text conversations with women, some of which 'he just simply couldn't repeat.' Thank God for that. And that he's going on holiday to meet a woman 'probably just for friendship' and then moving to Australia. Then there was the conversation about the psychology behind the text kiss. And the smiley. At what point is it right to start putting a kiss, and should it be one or two? What would you do regarding kisses if a bloke was texting you? How should I know? I'm bloody married! At one point I was reassured 'I'm not looking for anything serious right now, Rachel.' Great, really good to know, cheers.  
And then there was also the incessant questions. When are you going to settle down? What are you doing after this? What is the pay like here, and in Saudi. So many questions, forcing me to talk more about myself than I would ever choose to do with someone I'd just met. But in the passenger seat it's exhausting trying to deflect or ignore direct questions. The real high point of all this was when he asked me if I'm thinking of having children yet. Not knowing how the hell to respond, I told him I thought it was a strange question, to which he replied, 'Well, that body clock's gonna start ticking soon.'
ARGHH!
I know being a taxi man must be a boring and lonely job at times, but is that really my problem? You're paid to drive, damn it, so leave me alone to read my book/sleep/stare at the road in peace!

The Joys of the Job

Working with children is something I don't think I could ever live without. Don't get me wrong, they're irritating and overly energetic and they pick their noses all the time, but they are just too funny. And, as is the reason for this blog, they make me happy and help me to remember what's good in life.
Anyway, enough mush. A Polish boy in my class aged 8, is hyperactive and asks about a million questions a day. When everyone else is quietly working, he will have a monologue going on that can't be stopped, directed at no one in particular. He has an incredible memory, and when he wants to do something, there's no persuading him otherwise- a combination that can be a real pain in the butt. The other day we were drawing pictures of central London. I'd told the students a few days before that there was once a whale stuck in the River Thames. The Polish boy came over to me half way through drawing, showing me 'in secret' the tiny whale he'd drawn in his river. Then he said, "shh, or the others will want whale in river too."
The other kids in the class drew their London eye, Buckingham palace, telephone box and taxi the same size as each other on the page, but not him. When I suggested he draw the taxi big to fill up the space, he immediately pointed disapprovingly, "No, but London eye is this big, taxi is on the road."
My suggestion that perhaps it didn't matter, fell on deaf ears.
So here's the picture- can you spot the phone box, the taxi and the whale? I love it.

Today I was left in the office while the kids went to Cambridge. For the first two hours the tranquillity was pure heaven, but after a while I got a bit lonely. Finally I heard the sound of children in the distance, gradually getting louder until in they all burst down the corridor. As if to give me a big slap in the face reminder of why I do this job, a rather tubby Russian boy turned the corner wearing his newly purchased items- a union Jack t-shirt, with matching hat and bag. When I saw him and started laughing (I couldn't help it) he just beamed proudly from ear to ear.
Then last night we watched some of the opening ceremony of the Olympics. It was past bed time and I went to turn the TV off, to be met with a chorus of pleas from 24 little faces, begging me to let them watch a bit longer. But it was when a nine year old Thai boy said (in his lispy voice and with perfect English), "Please Rachel, it's a once in a lifetime opportunity," my heart just melted. Because he is so right; the ceremony was special and it made me proud. But more than that, I am so happy that I get to work with children. They are just great.

So sleepy...must write

I've been thinking recently about my writing ups and downs, the peaks and troughs of my production levels. It seems that it's true that when I am either too busy or too free, my writing is not at its best or most frequent. When I'm busy, I'm don't write and when I'm not, I find myself lacking in inspiration and drive. Somewhere in between is a good place for me as it creates a situation where I have lots of ideas from my work and life in general and also have the time to actually write them down. The job I'm doing right now has allowed me to do none of these things, and even now as I write I find myself itching to get off the computer. That's one of the problems with lesson planning and recording: I sometimes can't face going on the computer to write after I've done all my work. It may be a different forum and altogether a more interesting task, but it still unfortunately involves staring at the same damn screen.
What baffles me about working this hard is that some people just see it as normal, i.e their day jobs are as demanding as this throughout the year. How do they do it? I guess some people just love their job that much. My problem is that I'm trying to get my dream job underway on the side of my normal job. Sometimes I envy those people, I really do...
So far it's been a year of extremes- starting in Korea, where turning up and bouncing around the classroom was enough to get paid. Being on time and standing up for all seven 45 minute classes were the only things that really mattered. 
Then came the CELTA, during which I thought I was going to die. I remember saying 'nothing will seem hard after this' and I think it's weird how I genuinely believed it at the time, but now that the pain has subsided I've moved on to more current grievances. 
Then there was the dreaded Vaughan Systems in Spain which gave 'going to die' a whole new meaning. 9am- 3am flat out working day, with so little time to eat that I actually had to teach with my stomach growling like a monster, to the point where one of my students, unable to ignore it, offered me some food. 
And after that came nothing. The big void where days turned into weeks, a vast blur of menial tasks and general existence.
And now my current job with the Cambridge Academy of English. Fun but intense, non stop and exhausting.
On the plus side, the CELTA, Vaughan Systems and CAE have all contributed to this year feeling really long, as they all lasted (and are lasting) for a lifetime. So at least I'm getting my moneys worth!
In conclusion I will say this: Dear Saudi Arabia, please give me enough work to be challenged and to develop, but not so much that I get cross eyed and dizzy and don't have time to sleep. Thanks!

A pondering on money

Wealth and privilege are funny things, especially when it comes to children. Funny because no matter how rich a child is, they are still a child. An example that comes to mind is Ritchie Rich (which I watched recently- a classic never dies!) who has everything he ever wanted but isn't happy because he doesn't have friends. The children I have been working with in the last two weeks are from the wealthiest backgrounds. They wear designer clothes and have travelled around the world, each without really being aware of the difference between them and other children, I guess because they don't know anyone that is not like them.
But the designer jeans still get grass stains, the children still cry through homesickness, they complain about the vegetables at dinner, laugh at stupid things (mainly farts etc), and want desperately to dance with each other to the slow songs at the disco. But I also feel like I've slipped into a parallel universe when I see 8 year olds taking fifty pound notes out with them casually on day trips and buying designer watches as if they were penny sweets. Some are spoilt, but most are well mannered and strangely unaware of the lives they are lucky enough to lead.
In a similar way, I'm always struck when I go somewhere new that places can be more alike than I ever imagined. Invariably there is water, food, people, trees and sky. The world is a small place.
I guess the point of all this is that maybe it is only when children grow up that the gaps really start to show, turning gradually into voids that prevent people from understanding or empathising with each other. But for now, while only today is important, grass stains and paint smears and chocolate round mouths are universal and fun is all that matters.

Busy doing... A lot!

As you know, I've been busy doing not a whole lot of late. Until suddenly, whaddya know? I got a job. Employed on Wednesday, to arrive somewhere in the sticks outside of Cambridge on Thursday! After being unemployed and stretching tasks out to last over a number of days, it was a total shock to get everything ready and to get there in such a short space of time. But somehow, I did it. And am hence reminded of how much can be achieved in a mere 24 hours, as well as how nice it is not to have big gaps of nothingness in between all the bits of action in your day.

So here I am at my new job, where things are busy, there’s a lot to take in and a lot to do and things like showers, talking on the phone (there’s hardly any signal) and blogging have to be squeezed in to little pockets of the day.
What a yo-yo my life is turning out to be, from one extreme to another. 

A snapshot now into my first impressions- as written in a 'random diary entry'- on my first night here at Morton Hall:
Well I knew it might be a bit old school, but seriously? My room is a girls changing room, with a bed shoved in it. Creepy and a bit gross too! There are loads of cobwebs above my head. Not to be a total baby but I’m in the main building away from everyone else (except someone I haven’t met before), I’m in the basement so my signal cut out and has disappeared completely, and the toilets are upstairs in the darkness under the stairs! And to get to the bathroom to get ready in the morning I will pretty much have to go past everyone in the kitchen or bump into people coming into the offices. Oh dear god.
Best thing to do is to get to sleep—absolutely shattered. Things usually look better in the morning. And if not then I will be seeing if there’s anywhere ANYWHERE else they can put me. Arghhhhh.

Looking back I think I did quite well to put myself across quite so calmly. Thankfully I have now been moved from 'the dungeon' to a much more amiable room, be it sandwiched between the two girls dorms.
More grievances to follow I'm sure when the kids (affluent children aged 9-13 from around the world) arrive...