An Attempt At Socialising

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We’ve just had a visit from Rich (the father of Freya’s school friend, Ester), who came over to watch the Wolves v Sunderland match on TV. He’s a West Brom supporter, but geographically and alphabetically the two teams are brothers. I suppose this, with the added delight of an evening’s drinking, became the excuse he needed.

As it turned out, Rich chose Guinness as his poison, and quaffed three cans during the evening. I, only wishing to be sociable, kept pace with some 7.5% lager. I could easily have stopped at two, knowing I was to drive the next day to pick up a free washing machine, but I was the host, and the atmosphere was good.

Next morning I felt a bit rough. I’m not sure if it was the alcohol or an oncoming illness that has now kept me away from work (this is being written on the Tuesday after). I did my best, under the circumstances to tidy up, and it was only then that I noticed the Guinness was 3.5%. I had been consuming the same quantity of beer as someone who had been lightweighting it.

Despite my regret at needlessly overdoing the alcohol it was a really enjoyable evening. We refrained from talking endlessly about our daughters and their school, instead finding other areas of combined interest to discuss. Perhaps the most intriguing of all Rich’s confessions is his ability to perform some hip-hop dance moves (did he mention spinning on his head?), which he has promised to show us on another occasion.

Roll on, next time!

A Signature Could Change My Life

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I was called in to the headmaster’s office today, to “renew” my contract. It was, apparently, something that the school’s insurance company wanted, but it fulfilled another purpose.

My new contract is a temporary one (two years), which is now fully legal, since I am working without a teacher’s exam. This also means that they can, at any time, get rid of me. This is, I believe, an important point.

I think the school is having economic problems, and is trying to decrease the amount of employees to survive this crisis. They have already dismissed a few, and I feel that, when/if the time is right, I shall be one of the next to go. Not because I’m a bad teacher (that much even I know), but that I can be easily replaced by the class-teachers.

When I was presented with the contract I made an unusual choice: I signed, fully conscious of the situation. I had decided, in the short space of time I was given, not to take away the contract and ring my union. This I did because of a gut-feeling.

For a while now, I have wanted to get the education needed to be a fully-fledged teacher, but I have had problems getting the correct information from the university that deals with teachers’ education. Each time I have been in contact with them I have been given different advice, so i eventually stopped asking, knowing that I was safe in my current employment.

My choice to sign a potential death-warrant has now allowed me the opportunity to get off my arse and study, should the worst happen. Which actually may not be the worst at all. Also, if I am given the sack, I shall know that the school does not really appreciate the hard work I carry out, and it is just as well that i do not work for them.

All in all, I think this is a gift. Either way I win, with a temporary loss (economically).

Body language

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We’ve noticed that when Freya is sad or angry she sometimes points to her arm or finger and says she has pain. This may well be a sign of pent-up emotions since, when we kiss the afflicted body-part better, she goes back to what she is doing without a tear or further complaint.

Janet’s former teacher also pointed out a while ago that Freya tends to put her fingers in her mouth in uncomfortable situations. We’d not noticed this unconscious movement, but we’re glad to say that this does not occur so often.

Your Neck Is Worth It

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The market is awash with gaming-related t- and sweatshirts (with varying quality), but when it comes to surviving the minus 40 winters that the north of Sweden can offer, then there is very, very little in the way of showing your allegiance without freezing your nuts off.

Today I was browsing one of my favourite games-blogs, Wonderland, when I saw an entry that immediately melted my heart. A company called “bits2die4” is selling a range of scarves, all with 70s and 80s style gaming motifs.

Of the five styles being sold, I should like the Space Invaders, Pong and Scramble versions. Space Invaders and Pong are well-known classics of their time, and I have very special memories of playing Scramble in Bournemouth when I had just become a teenager. I have a feeling I played most in the back section of a chip shop, where both Scramble and Space Invaders stole a fair bit of my free-time and a lot of my pocket money.

These scarves ooze style, and the only thing preventing me from fetching my credit-card right now is that they are made of wool. I may find myself wrestling with my vegan conscience over this one, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I were to let slip my ideology just to own these little chappies.

I suppose I could live easier if, say, I received them (notice the plurality) as a Christmas or birthday present. I’m not saying this would be acceptable (it would, though), and I really hope that I don’t get them some time in the near future.

Let’s just hope that no-one evil reads this who wishes me to look wicked and feel shit.

A Few Things To Say

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Well, I’ve been speaking for what seems like an eternity now. I can’t even remember the first words I spoke, but I’m quite happy to speak both English and Swedish, often confusing the two languages; it doesn’t seem to matter: Mum and Dad understand me, and that’s all that counts for the moment.

Dad thinks it’s quite cute when I try to pronounce the fruit/vegetable, motato. No, wait, I mean motat…mot…piss-holes! Why he has this notion I know not, and he is far from innocent, himself. Between you and me, Dad used to say “par-cark” (hehe).

Another “big” event for the parents is that today I’ve started to say “Yes”, whereas before I’d always reply with the Swedish “Ja”. I can’t see what the fuss is all about. “Yes” is hardly pushing my neurons, and yet I said “radiator” months ago.

I’m still getting to grips with what makes my Mum and Dad happy.