BLACK ROCK

or Pavlov’s Blog

Maybe it’s the hidebound conservative in me but I do sometimes pine for the good old days of language teaching. Grammar translation, chalk boards and the merest squeak out of the little scroats would result in the violent insertion of the board duster into their juvenile oesophagi. The fact that these days exist solely in the fevered imaginations of the only occasionally sane is neither here nor there.

I would add a few refinements of my own devising, concessions to our cruel and pitiless modern age. Random acts of even coarser brutality to keep the buggers on their toes.

“And what does your father do, János?”

“My farder he work in a…” BLAM!! Both barrels. Point blank.

“Okay, there will now be a short test. Anyone failing to score at least 75% can stay behind after class and help scrape János off the wall.”

Scoop him into the ‘Flunk Bucket’ and ship him off to his next of kin.

That should sort the little sods out.

Have you ever seen film of teacher training or group therapy sessions? Those in which a small ball or bean bag is tossed around from person to person indicating to the irretrievably feeble minded that it is their turn to speak? Well, a slow burning fuse and a small explosive charge should certainly lively that one up a bit. I would aim for a detonation somewhere between that required to merely startle and that which would be necessary to reduce everything within a one metre radius into its constituent molecules.

You could wire all their chairs up to a stack of car batteries. A set of red buttons on the teacher’s desk and one of those evil villain type levers for adjusting the intensity. Irregular verbs? Sorted. I am reminded of John Craven.

“Don’t think you know.”

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

A system of demerits might be in order. At the end of the course, certificates would be graded by the simple expedient of counting body parts still attached. Prosthetics will not be allowed into the examination room under any circumstances.

I may even consider a complementary merit system. One gold star and you can be in charge of the bolt cutters for a day.

I could never, ever work in a state school. And no, it isn’t because I have a penchant for nubile teenagers whose rowdy young buttocks are forever punching the seams of their jeans and would, therefore, have to spend most of every schoolday beating down a penile protrusion with an old copy of Newsweek, although I will admit the prospect of such debauchery is somewhat appealing. It is more that I fear I would not last longer than it took the parent teacher association to complain that their progeny were arriving home in body bags. Although why on Earth they should cavil at my eliminating the scum at the bottom of the gene pool would be quite beyond my capacity to understand.

Ah, well. Ardbeg it is then. Stress relief in a glass.

LOW RESOLUTION

I shall try not to add too much time to the 6 days 13 hours 7 minutes 49 seconds I’ve already spent on EA Sport’s Total Club Manager 2004. I shall probably achieve this by acquiring the 2005 version. Neil might like to know that the Blades are now five times Champions’ League winners and that Beautiful Downtown Bramall Lane now holds 100 000.

I shall not take firearms or trout of any description into TESCO with the intention of introducing radical reforms in the fields of public relations and customer service. I shall accept sullen staff and shoddy service as my lot. I shall smile beatifically, thank them for the ritual humiliation and return after dark with ridiculous quantities of high explosives.

I shall have more conversations which resemble the following.

“Right. One of the questions you may be asked in the oral examination concerns the reasons you have for studying English. So. Why are you studying English? What could you say?........Anybody?........No?........Okay, I’ll tell you. Three little words. ‘I…don’t…know.’ Right…moving on to….” In short, I resolve not to care.

I shall find time. Bollocks. I have time, I am just irredeemably lazy. I shall spend less time in front of the monitor or reclining on my right flank on the sofa watching all the football on Sport1 and Sport2. I shall, not to put too fine a point on it, get off my ass and deal with the following.

My IT technician friend has three children, one of whom is 12 years old and is a jazz pianist. My saxophonist friend has been teaching him since he was nine and he now says that he has taught him as much as he can. He gives concerts every Friday evening in the vineyard jazz club and I have yet to get out there to witness this prodigy. I suck.

I do not see enough of my friends. And when I do, I am listless and terrible company. Suckity suck.

I do not pay enough attention to Idris. There is a dynamic there that is in urgent need of adjustment and fine tuning. I shall spend less time in completely and utterly selfish bastard mode and do something about it. I shall probably phone out for pizza more often.

My daughter loves me. Now there’s a weight too heavy for anyone’s shoulders. I fear I shall never be worthy of it. It is also only recently that I have had to accept the fact that she is Hungarian. She is four and a half years old and we have communication problems. Her Hungarian is better than mine. Up to now I have always spoken to her in English and she has replied in her mother tongue. As Idris doesn’t speak English, this is the only exposure she has to the language of her father. Minority parent, minority language. Not good. As far as I can tell, her passive skills are excellent. She replies appropriately (most of the time) to what I say and she can handle English language children’s web sites with aplomb. Actively however, is another story. Vocabulary wise, she’s pretty good but her sentences are limited to, “Daddy, can I have a …..”, “Pick me up please, daddy”, “Thank you” and “Pretty please”. I don’t think I can rely on her naturally acquiring the language any more. I am going to have to take a much more active part.

For failing to deal with any of the above, I have two perfect ready made excuses. I work far too many hours and am usually drained when I arrive home. And do you have any idea of how exhausting it is to have to conduct your entire life in a foreign language? To have to actively concentrate and focus exclusively on even the most mundane of conversations?

My use of ‘have to’ in the above expresses obligation and it is true that I am obliged in the ways I explained. But. It was also my choice, my free will, my decision. I shall have to find better ways of dealing with its consequences.

I shall focus less on excuses and deal with the reasons. I am fat, I am lazy and I am a slob. I eat shit and far too much of it and get no exercise whatsoever. I am of an age now where remaining fit is an effort of will and an expenditure of time. Even if in my mind I am still 18, I shall have to come to terms with the fact that I cannot abuse my body as I did then and still be able to run for buses. I guess this is the nub. I get fit and I will have more energy. I have more energy and I will not feel as if everything is too much trouble or somehow beyond me. I will then deal with my life in a way I can be proud of. I shall remove the crates of Amstel and Stella from off the multi-gym in the conservatory. I will. Honest.

And I shall not hold out any hope of hearing anything better in 2005 than that which I could hardly believe I heard on Friday evening.

“You don’t mind if my friend joins us this evening, do you?”

You what? Birthday, Christmas and New Year all in one. Waheeeeeeeey! Life can be good sometimes.

YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS

or Past Imperfect

So, what was all that about, then?
“Whoooosh!”
“What the fuck was that?”
“That was 2004, mate.”

I seem to remember I began the year resolved to cut back on the amount of work I do. So how is it that I had five tutorials on a Saturday afternoon? Gang oft agly…too damned right.

I’ve never been much of a one for this end of year stock-taking lark so from whence comes this retrospective temper, I know not. Perhaps it has been brought on by the fact that I cannot buy most of the imported items upon which I have come so much to depend. The wholesalers are hanging on to their stocks in order to take advantage of the annual January price rises and who am I to say them nay?

So what have I learnt? What pearls of wisdom can I impart as a result of yet another year’s experience? Very little if the truth be known…unless you can count, “Never trust a geek bearing bourbon” as sound advice. And seeing as how that was responsible for one of the more memorable events of the year, a drunk to end all drunks…a drunk against which all future drunks will be measured and found sadly wanting, I would judge it about as sound as the Hutton inquiry if I were you.

High points? Meeting Lamps and Weggie in the flesh was pretty cool, and Weggie in the flesh is even larger than his cyber self…a barrel full of bonhomie and belly laughs. Not much of a kisser, though.

The landfall of Hurricane Jess in Nagykanizsa left echoes which resonate still. Two full days, one of which was spent in near death experience and shock at the realization that alcohol is, in fact, poison and yet more was said that was worth saying and worth hearing in those two days…

Meeting the MBB at the Nelson also deserves more than an honourable mention. Uncy was living proof that good things come in small packages but the shocker of the year title belongs sans doubt to Big Mart. Ah’ve sin mo’ meat on a fookin’ sparrer. Mind you, compared to Kirsty, Mart was positively wobbling with excess adipose deposit. First time I saw her, I’m sure she was hanging on a hook behind the door in Hancock’s ‘Blood Donor’ sketch. Don’t grab her too hard, Lats…tha’ll cut thissen.

Next on the list? You lot, I guess. If I have not lost you forever as a result of my recent tardiness in posting, that is. Blame pressures of work and Bill fucking Gates, anything but aim your arrows in my direction, please. You have renewed my belief in the fact that if you were to toss a small packet of ‘Intimate Wipes’ out of any four storey window in any reasonably densely populated area of the UK (even in Norfolk if it landed on JonnyB) it would land on the head or at the feet of a ‘good egg’, an all round ‘jolly good sort’. I even include (how could I not?) da Goldfish in this…anyone who can go off on one as only he can must possess more humanity in the tip of his little finger than any of the Scrutons or some such (Levin excepted) to be found on the editorial pages of the Times. You are all linked on the right, you know who you are. Friends? No. But in a very real sense, also yes. I feel better knowing you are there. And I do know you. You know I do. No one is that disciplined as to be able to write regularly and succeed in keeping that part of themselves which is essential hidden from view. I could argue that if you had a sufficient outlet for expressing your true selves in your fleshly, corporeal lives, then your blogs would be redundant. Thank god they are not.

Thanks, in no particular order go to…

Bykersink over at Wor Man in Hanoi for reaching the parts for which Amstel and Stella have no route map. Tears are not enough. A brave man and good. I hope we can meet next season in the Prem.

Bob Piper for putting me in my place. Thanks, Bob. I needed that. And keep up the good work.

Peter over at Naked Blog…an inspiration. And I mean that most sincerely, folks.

The Choobies, Karen and Pete at Uborka for their wit, wisdom and acerbic comments about Hungary.

Roger the Shrub over at the Six Dwarfs. You were okay then, Rog and you’re okay now. Less of the negative vibes, Moriarity.

The Urban Badger for giving me the opportunity of reaching the parts that only the Doctor can reach.

The UK Today and the Yorkshire Ranter for reminding me that there are more things in life than sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. No really, there are.

The Jones girl at Bridget Who? who, besides possessing the exact same name as my own particular ‘lost girl’, had the bare-faced cheek/brass neck/effrontery to publish pictures of herself in highly embarrassing, but deliciously sexy Village People mode. She could indeed, keep her hat on. I remain, hormonally yours…

And to all you other buggers, raising a smile, a grin, a chuckle, chortle or belly laugh or occasionally even tears, thank you. Thank you so much. You do make a difference.

Tomorrow (if all goes according to plan), a glimpse into the future.

BLUE MOON

I have been highly successful in keeping from my clients the delicious news that my beloved Blades will be beamed direct to my living room on the morrow. One of them however, has been made cognisant of the fact that I have a prior engagement and am quite unable to fulfill my contractual obligations. The bar will open at precisely not very long after I stumble out of bed. You are all most welcome.

PEAK OF CURIOSITY

Has the Badger been Gumboed yet, I wonder? Posted well before Xmas and yet still no news. Be so kind as to inform me of its safe arrival or the Post Office Tower may well develop a serious list. My local airport is running hang-gliding courses and I might just enrol.

AXE HIP DANCE PEACH

I do hope you won't think me too presumptious if I take this opportunity to wish myself a very happy birthday on all your behalfs.

Thank you.

Now, pray excuse me. I think I shall get roaring drunk and go and insult some clients.

Part Five

The breakfast arrangements at this hotel were of the abominable buffet variety where one is charged for the privilege of serving oneself with a selection of cold cuts and cheeses. My friend however, was in excellent spirits.

“Behold! An all you can eat affair, is it not? Yet they are obviously of the opinion that providing plates the size of saucers will prevent me from extracting as much value as is possible from the cost of our room. Very well. The gauntlet has been thrown. I accept the challenge.”

In all, I witnessed him make three passes of the table; on each occasion he returned with a plate heaped so high that I feared for the carpet and the safety of other guests. I need not have worried; his dexterity when it came to the consumption of a hotel’s profit margin was a wonder to behold.

His repast was curtailed only by the imminent arrival of our jarvey who was to take us through the city to the venue of my friend’s lectures.

The journey through the city was no less traumatic than had been the one into it, our frenetic passage broken only as we crossed the majestic Danube into the bustle of Pesth. I left my friend at the door with a promise to return for luncheon.

It was on the stroke of one that he burst out of the building, took me by the arm and led me away at some speed.

“Did it not go well?”

“On the contrary. It went swimmingly. They were agog. I feel in need of heroic company. Let us away to the square!”

I regretted not having followed his example when we had broken our fast. Luncheon was a rapidly fading prospect.

“Just look at this lot. We’ve got Nelson and the bloody lions and they’ve got this. No fucking contest whatsoever.”

It was indeed impressive. A monumental square dedicated to Heroes of the Republic. From the first Hungarian king all the way to Kossuth who had called the people of Alföld to arms against the Hapsburgs. All represented in bronze within a semi-circular colonnade but it was to the centerpiece of the square that my friend hied me. Here were huge figures on horseback, pagans all. The leaders of the original seven tribes who had first settled this area, although conquered would probably be more accurate; and judging by their fearsome appearance, none would have willingly stood in the way of their progress.

“Get a load of these guys. Christ, I’d’ve loved to have had the chance of a revel or two with this lot. A history like this and it took them 40 odd years to get rid of the Red Army; probably too busy wassailing to notice, I shouldn’t wonder. Woke up one morning with the mother of all hangovers, realized Ivan was still here and kicked him back to the Caucasus before breakfast, I expect. Jeez, this is something.”

Indeed it was, and is. But I am old and tired and my deadline approaches relentlessly. Maybe I can prevail upon my friend to continue this narrative at some later date on his own account.
Until such time, I must remain,

Your faithful servant,

Part Four


Our lodgings were basic but comfortable and I took the opportunity to have a brief nap in order to recover from the travails of our journey. When I awoke, it was to find the bird had flown. I performed a perfunctory toilette and went in search.

I found him in the bar in earnest discourse with a rather comely barmaid who already seemed to have become accustomed to the rhythm of his drinking and was sliding schooners of ale across the polished wooden surface without need of any request.

“A three star establishment only, I’m afraid. And, apart from ourselves, it would appear that the clientele is of a decidedly lower order. Probably East German or Slavic, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The guest book?”

“You do me a disservice. The lack of any single malt gives the star and the fact that all the spirits are kept under refrigeration should tell you all you need to know of the standard of guest. Should you need further verification, cast your eyes about you. What do you see? Acres of heaving female décolletage promising sweaty delights for an extortionate fee? I think not. Eastern Europeans on very tight expense accounts, therefore. The only plus I have thus far been able to ascertain is the fact that this rather attractive wench has allowed herself to be persuaded that this guest at least would prefer his glass of refreshment without the standard thirty percent froth content. A small triumph but a victory nonetheless. Do be so kind and pay the girl, would you? I must away to bed."

Part 3

My friend cut across four lanes of motorway with a nonchalance I could not share and moments later we pulled into the courtyard of the Ventura Hotel in the XI district of Buda. My companion alighted with gusto and set off jauntily for the main entrance. I followed behind somewhat encumbered by our impedimenta. I caught up and found him in animated conversation with the doorman who seemed to be attempting to persuade my friend to avail himself of an ashtray situated some sixty feet to the east of our intended route into the establishment. My Magyar is scant, but I do believe I caught a reference to somebody's mother as my friend rather theatrically allowed his cigarette to drop to the pavement and ground it underfoot. I followed him through the revolving door.

ROWLOCKS

It would appear I am unable to post anything longer than a sentence right now...parts 3 and 4 will have to wait until such time as either blogger or my browser or my computer decide to refrain from being, how shall I say...up it.

I WILL NOT SWEAR. I WILL NOT...

Why is it that every time I try and cut and paste from Word or even when I click on Publish, my browser crashes? Pray enlighten me someone...I fear I shall go mad.

Part 2

(Part 1 below)

I awoke in the forenoon, pulled on my robe and sallied forth into the kitchen where I found my friend quite naked save for a pair of the most threadbare of undergarments. It appeared that he had emptied most of the contents of our Frigidaire into a heavy bottomed skillet and was wielding this in a most alarming fashion over an intense flame.
"Spot of breakfast?"
I would have declined anyway but I must confess that the sight of him attempting to remove fallen ash from an egg yolk did nothing to improve my appetite.
"Suit yourself."
He shrugged and quite spectacularly broke wind from both orifices simultaneously. His delight at the accomplishment of this feat was not, I am proud to reveal, in the slightest degree infectious.
"My engagements. Do remind me."
"Well, you did contract to provide the Badger with a phongraphic recording of a Dr John recital."
"So I did. Fuck, fuck and thrice fuck. Much as I am loathe to disappoint, That will remain a set the Badger will have to live without for a few days. Gonads and possum droppings."
"Have you given any thought to our means of transportation?"
"None whatsoever. Minutae are your department."
"Well, there is the problem of the proximity of the available stations to our intended destination to consider; the 1745, whilst being an express, would involve a disembarkation at Balatonszentgyörgy whereas the 1857 would..."
"Bugger that. We'll take the motor."
My eager anticipation of the journey was thuswise brought to a sudden and abrupt halt. I always find it exceeding difficult to take in the pleasures of the passing countryside with both legs and arms constantly braced against the eventuality of sudden impact and even 'Frank's Wild Years' played at excrutiatingly high volume is seldom enough to completely drown out the anguished screams of unfortunate pedestrians.
So it is to spare your sensibilities that I will gloss over the journey and resume the narrative at 2045 on Thursday evening as we negotiated the junction of the two major westward highways into the capital.
"Ah, Gazdagrét...there we go."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE RAMPANT SEMI-COLON

Part 1

"It's really quite simple, old boy. Once you have dealt with the possible, all that remains is bullshit."
Thus my friend explained his easy dismissal of the two little monographs he was preparing.
"But, Kan!" I expostulated, "Have you no respect for your audience?"
"None whatsoever."
Much to my chagrin, I observed him sluice rather an excessive quantity of malt into a glass he had unearthed from beneath the disorder of his research material. He slumped heavily into his armchair and busied himself with his smoking accoutrements. Whether it was as a result of the alcohol or the nicotine, I cannot say; but the brown study that he had so recently fallen into seemed to abate somewhat and I was able to discern some small trace of a smile playing about his lips. I hesitated to engage him immediately in conversation; the memory of the wounds I had incurred on the last such occasion remained ever fresh in my mind.
"Even your limited powers of observation should allow you to notice the fact that besides this rather heavy cut-glass beaker, which could without doubt be the cause of a rather unseemly contusion were it not that its being outside of a good few fingers of Scotland's finest tends to mitigate against my using it as a projectile, I remain at this present moment entirely unarmed. Out with it, man!"
I considered, but only for the briefest of moments, subjecting this utterance to keen grammatical analysis but to risk losing the fleshy components of my other ear would have been foolhardy in the extreme.
"Well, far be it from me to..."
"Oh, let distance be no object. The further, the infinitely more preferable."
"Surely it cannot have escaped your attention that..."
"There are, fortunately, quite a sufficiency of items which escape my attention for the very good reason that they are entirely unworthy of receiving it. Pray continue, but only after you have lobbed me that bottle of Caol Ila. Thank you."
"Well, it seems to me that the very facts that you are to be handsomely remunerated for your services and that those wishing to attend your expositions are to be charged a registration fee, should lead towards your treating the situation with considerably more gravity."
"As ever, you are hidebound in your thinking. You have allowed yourself to be cowed by convention. Your vision is sorely limited; your reasoning, bobbins of the highest order."
He sank back even further into the upholstery and it was with no small sense of foreboding that I noticed he had dispensed with the glass and was drawing sustenance directly from the bottle.
"Surely their ready acceptance of my outrageous fee would indicate a rather unseemly desperation on their part, would it not? And as for my audience; well, we can discount that proportion whose limited grasp of the language would automatically dispose them to nod their heads in sage agreement with whatever utterance I might care to make, planned or otherwise; so too may we ignore those whose sole motivation for attending is to avail themselves of the opportunity of visiting the, shall we say less salubrious dens of the capital. They will be all too preoccupied with the fine tuning of the numerous inventions necessary for the apparently adventitious completion of their expenses forms."
"Adventitious?"
The beaker had fallen off the arm of the chair and was thus, out of his reach.
"Not in the sense of accidental, I admit but rather in the sense of unplanned, you tit."
I could see him weighing the equation in his mind. The effort that should be expended in retrieving the beaker measured against the pleasure of scoring a direct hit upon my person. Lethargy prevailed.
"And the remainder?"
I sensed that his train had been momentarily de-railed by my interjection and was desirous of trammelling his thoughts to the matter in hand. His predilection for committing acts of random brutality when unfocussed was uppermost in my mind.
"You appear, in your haste to find fault with my reasoning, to have overlooked the fact that my grasp of the subject matter is so complete as to allow me to make of even the most banal observation a scintillating gem of science and convolution. They will be impressed even if they do not wholly follow. Your gainsaying and constant pessimism disgust me. Pray excuse me whilst I expectorate."
And so I took my leave. The relief I felt was not entirely due to my having escaped without physical injury but more because it always pained me to witness the gradual descent into shameless depravity which inevitably resulted from his submission to the temptation of the malt. Besides, another few fingers and he would start misquoting Aeschylus. I knew from bitter experience that my desire to correct him would get the better of me and I had no wish to reacquaint myself with the prosthetics so soon after the last occasion. I donned my nightdress and retired for the night.

IF T'WERE DONE...

Right, they're finished and right little bobby dazzlers they are, too. The Capital awaits and I'm off. Don't wish me luck. Awfully bad form, dontcha know?

Pip pip!

NOPE...DEFINITELY NOT WAVING

Before I go down for the third and, quite probably, the last time, I rather thought a cry for help might be in order.

Unusually for me, my powers of persuasion have proved too weak to convince the client that changing the titles of my two lectures might not be all that disastrous an idea. I was up against the power of advertising you see. I am informed that my presence in the capital has already been heralded as indeed, have the titles of my little presentations. Hot diggedy spange-wanglers.

Doubtless the Kan visage is, at this very moment, adorning every lamppost on the faux parisienne boulevards of Pest; Buda is snowed under with tacky leaflets dropped at very little expense by hang-glider pilots suicidal enough to take off from Gellért Hill and throngs of eager participants are already building up to multiple orgasm at the mere thought of whatever pearls of wisdom I may have to impart.

Now before I reveal to you the full extent of my plight, I would ask you to bear in mind that my client is an internationally renowned company and that my audience will, in all probability, entirely consist of fully qualified teachers.

The forenoon, three-hour apéritif is entitled, 'All You Need to Know about Communicative Activities to Guarantee Success in Client's Examinations'.

Okay, not altogether inspiring but I am, nevertheless, confident in my abilities to bullshit upon it in an extremely convincing manner for however long it is they manage to stay awake.

The post-prandial cocktail however, is an equus of a not altogether similar hue. Going under the rather snappy title of, 'All You Need to Know about the Use of Mono-Lingual Dictionaries and Text Books to Guarantee Success in Client's Examinations', it has me completely stumped for the minute.

Excuse me? You did say that I have to explain to teachers how to use dictionaries and text books, didn't you? Thought so. Then might I be the first today to accuse you of such a display of supreme Friday Fuckwittedness on the receiving end of which I never imagined it would be my pleasure to be?

So...your challenge for today is...well, it's quite simple really. Help.

Advice along the lines of, "Get 'em all bladdered at lunch time and they'll never notice" has already been voted down as being impractical. I was brave and quoted what I thought was a hefty sum. They didn't even blink. Buggers can get pissed on their own money, then.

Hey ho.

NOT WAVING...

Not wanting to appear presumptious or anything but for those of you who, for one reason or another, actually give a shit, I am in fact alive and well but am also, unfortunately, snowed under with more work than it may lie within my capacity to handle right now.

Notwithstanding the fact that I might well be outside the best part of a bottle of Chardonnay and am indulging of a rather delicious home and self made pizza (I am such a good cook) as I type, time is rather a precious commodity these days.

On top of my duties as an examiner and extra to the 22 lessons a week I already have, I have allowed myself to be persuaded into the devising, designing and subsequent teaching of a 14×45 minute, 3 or 4 week English course specific to the needs of Polish and Hungarian oil industry workers...those involved in the drilling for, to be precise.

Not a problem per se, but when the boss desirous of procuring such a course, upon hearing my quotation for provision of same, reacts thusly, "Is that all?", one may be forgiven the odd expletive or two and even the subsequent lack of any motivation whatsoever. I guess I must lack the killer, capitalist instinct or somesuch. Whatever.

The Town Hall was also kind enough to get in touch this week to sound me out as to the possibility of the future provision of translation and interpreting services. My original thought was to reply, in a Robin Williams type Scottish accent, "Fuck off!", but I managed to check myself in time...told him that although I am diarrhoeatically fluent in the Hungarian that I know, that which I don't could fill volumes equivalent in capacity to the Encyclopaedia Brittanica...and informed him that I would be only too happy (you little fibber) to act as a 'lector' and check any translations that have been carried out by Hungarian nationals and are, therefore, as eny fule know, absolute bollocks. As the guy was obviously in doubt as to his ability to give good phone, he took my e-mail address and promised to be back in touch. Sad thing is, I think he will.

Strange being an ex-pat. You daren't turn down too much work in case everybody forgets about you. And although I am spread pretty thin at the moment...rather like Marmite should be in fact...from little acorns...

Talking about acorns, I had one of the 'Ice Age' variety (nowt but a shed load o' fuckin' trouble) drop on my electronic doorstep the other day. An international, and internationally renowned, company...the one my company is under contract to examine for, to be exact...has invited me to Budapest for Friday, December the third. Although one might think such a trip has a certain attraction, there is, as always, a catch.

The catch this time is that I would have to lecture to Hungarian teachers for two sessions of three hours each on 'All you need to know about communicative activities which guarantee success in ESOL and SESOL examinations' and 'All you need to know about the effective use of dictionaries and course books for ESOL and SESOL examinations'. All you need to know, eh? I know I'm a teacher nonpareil but...

Oh well, I think I'll go for it. Even if it is hardly an offer I can't refuse.

FROGGY GOES A COURTIN'

- Why are you crying, sweetheart?
- Because I miss Jess. Where is she? Is she in America?
- That's right.
- Well, can we get on a bus to America and go and see her?
- I don't think there are any buses to America, sausage. We'd have to get on a plane.
- Can we get on a plane, then?
- I don't think mummy and daddy have got enough money for that right now.
- Will we have enough money before Christmas?
- I don't think so.
- I'll open my piggy bank.
- I still don't think we'll have enough.
- Mmmmm. Can I send something to Ann, then?
- Of course you can, sweetheart. What would you like to send?
- Something for Christmas. I know. A Krampusz!
- I don't think she'll know what that is.
- Why not?
- I don't think they have Krampusz in America.
- Oh. I could go with the postman and tell her about it.
- It's a very long way, darling. Across a really big sea.
- Really, really big?
- Very big.
- Too big to swim?
- I'm afraid so.
- How does the postman get there, then?
- In a big ship.
- Hey, I forgot Tim. I'll have to send something for Tim, too.
- That's okay, sweetheart.
- How can we send it?
- In a big box.
- A big box?
- Yes.
- A really big box?
- If you like.
- Then what if I get in the box and you can send me?

etc etc etc.

MARKER PENS

An electronic correspondence. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.

From: Simon
Date: 11/11/04 12:19:03
To: Perky Secretary
Subject: Re: exams

...and a jolly good day to you, P.S.!

I did indeed receive the box this morning but unless you can convince me that only 32% of the total candidates for the recent examination entered the spoken part, I will find it exceeding difficult to escape the conclusion that I have been right royally shafted with regard to my polite request for more SESOL than ESOL. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I ought to thank you for providing me with an opportunity to practice my Hungarian. I now find I can swear for at least a minute without once repeating myself.

But, never fear. I shall not start marking them until my desire to, "Fail them all!" has subsided. This may take some time.

Oh well, I had better stop now, take a few deep breaths and silently count to a very large number indeed. If this fails, I shall pull on the biggest pair of boots I can find, go outside and kick the dog.

More SESOL please, or the dog gets it.

Toodle pip,

Simon

From: Perky Secretary
Date: 11/11/04 16:01:51
To: Simon
Subject: RE: exams

Hello Simon!

Let me see, what can I do for you…? You can haggle with me over this matter. Ok, I will try to send more SESL than ESOL but as you are so smart that you can mark both of them, you can help me if you mark the ESOL scripts also so please forgive me if you find some ESOL exams. I promise, next time you can get only SESL. Is it good for you?

Regard,

Perky Secretary

From: Simon
Date: 11/11/04 16:23:47
To: Perky Secretary
Subject: RE: exams

Hello my little flowering rhododendron,

Who told you that flattering me always works? I'll bet it was that Bosswoman. May her armpits be infested with the fleas of a thousand camels.

Anyway, you have brought a rosy glow of pride to my cheeks and have made my dog very happy.

Thousands of blessings be upon you,

Simon

From: Perky Secretary
Date: 11/11/04 16:51:02
To: Simon
Subject: RE: exams

Well, nobody told me this trick, I’m sneaky alone. I was just off the top of my head. It can be successfull with a man.

Cheers,

Perky Secretary


Perky secretary is new. It would appear she is a very fast learner.

VIDEO NICIES

Thanks to Lamps and those wonderful people over at gprime, it gives me great pleasure to present the following for your viewing delight and delectation.

First up, footage of an experimental mass barber robot developed by the RAF as a military cost-cutting exercise. The plan was to line up all the squaddies and then...here.

Next up, in the category of 'engage brain before turning ignition key' we have what can only be described as a "Hey! Look at me! Look at me! Ooooops" moment. Here.

Those of you who have been saving up your spare change since you were three and a half and are at a bit of a loose end as to what to do with it, could follow the example of this guy who, with little or no thought to his own personal development or social skills, has single-handedly kept the arcade owners of Japan in sake and sushi as a result of the take from this machine alone. Here.

And finally, in the category of 'way too much time on one's hands' comes a nifty little manoeuvre you never thought you'd see in a game of table football. Here.

I realise that I'm a day late regarding the birthday but, what the hell. I'm going to have a bath anyway.

I WISH, I WISH...

This blog is one year old today and I have absolutely nothing to say. So, anyone care to join me in raising a glass of Bunnahabhain? Cheers. Your very good health. Thank you.