Freya’s First Concert

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Freya went to her first proper concert tonight, Linton Kwesi Johnson. Brilliantly (at least for the greater portion of the evening), it was on the terrace of a local nightclub, Mosebacke. This allowed Freya to be able to wander around before the show, explore various bushes and rock formations, and play with another girl who had come with her English/Swedish parents.

I say for the greater part because for about fifteen minutes, just before the band started, it absolutely tipped down with rain, causing the band, who quite rightly feared being electrocuted to death when the stage became flooded, to take respite from the sheer wall of precipitation.

The concert, when it resumed, was of high quality, and Linton’s personality and presence shone through his calmness.

I had occassion to visit the portaloo about halfway through the concert. The blanket of rain we’d experienced earlier was nothing compared to the marjiuana hit I recieved when I opened the door. I’m amazed the stench had managed to contain itself to such a small area and now I wonder if the open-air concert was more than just happenstance.

Sadly, the gig didn’t get any better audibly after my toilet visit; I should have stayed for a poo.

Those Who Can’t, Teach (If You’re Lucky)

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My first proper day in school went somewhat askew today.

The first two lessons I spent in class 1. It should have been 2 x half-class English lessons, but I ended up waiting in the classroom for the arrival of pupils, who came in dribs and drabs. Eventually we had enough present to do something meaningful, but it was quite late, so I forewent the half-class scenario in favour of dishing out text- and workbooks to be monikered by the children.

All went well, and with the lesson finished I carried on my day. Not half an hour laterI was approached by class 2’s teacher, who had been wondering where I was for her English lesson. I had, I realised, spent one hour and twenty minutes with the wrong class, and had handed out the wrong books to the wrong children.

As it turns out this was not a completely idiotic mistake: both classes do have 2 x half-class English on Tuesdays; both teachers are new; I’ve never had English with either class before.

Slightly put out I went to class 4A later in the day, where I informed them of the regularity/importance of the weekly vocabulary test they are to receive. I told them that these words were not randomly picked from my (alcohol addled) brain, but were words they would meet again in the (definitely correctly assigned) texbook they had been given.

I calmly wrote the seven words on the whiteboard and sat down to wait for the class to complete the task of transfering them into their books, flicking through the textbook and looking authoritative. As I flicked, it gradually dawned on me that none of these words actually appeared in the very book I held in my hands: I had given them class 3’s words.

It was too late and too embarassing to admit my error, so I’ll just have to create some new activities that combine the material in the textbook plus the new words they had faithfully written into their brand spanking-new wordbooks.

Unlike today (six lessons in five hours), I only have three lessons tomorrow, so things surely cannot become as pear-shaped

More Reasons Why I Don’t Go Out Much Nowdays

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Today has been a strange day, filled with enough events to make for an interesting night’s dreaming.

After my first day at school, with lots of children, parents, and coffee, the weather turned inclement: thunder and lightning like I’d never heard, along with a torrential downpour. I was almost a little scared, actually, since the thunder seemed permenantly near, and rumbled with a force that suggested it meant business.

Luckily, the rain ceased when I went to pick up Freya, and, after coming home for a short while, we made our way to swimming school. Whilst waiting for the bus I noticed the front wheel of the pushchair had got a puncture.

As we almost arrived at our destination, about five minutes walk away from the swimming pool, the bus made a left turn and side-swiped a car. We were forced to ascend and walk the last couple of hundred metres.

Coming to a junction, I saw a man lying on the ground, with what looked like medicine in his hand. I had neither the time nor the inclination to help the poor bugger, but there were two other people helping him with this predicament.

A few more yards further on, I passed a woman who had noticed a few small pools of blood (probably from medicine-man. She told me that she couldn’t help the old guy, and didn’t like the sight of blood because her husband had just been diagnosed as having a tumour, and that the worst bit was the uncertainty. I left her in almost in tears with a “terrible”, and a couple of “I understand”s. It all sounds a bit rubbish, but I really do not know what to say to complete strangers who share their heart-breaking stories with me.

It’s a good job Jo’s brother is going to give us a car: I don’t think I can stand any more of this public transport malarky.

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The Reason Why We Suck Nowdays

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After last weekend’s shenanigans, we went to town once again today to see James Hollingworth. We were there in good time, and there were a lot more people sitting outside the nearby coffee shop, so expectations were high.

Despite the well-populated area, we failed to see the stage that was there last weekend (just before the beginning of the culture week), which, in light of our previous inability, heightened our suspiscions.

Of course, we had chosen the correct weekend to be here; we were just a day too late.

Freya must have some very strange ideas about James Hollingworth and his concerts. Next time he plays we shall make damn sure we have all the information before getting ourselves, and Freya, all worked up.