tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26521987873759707192024-03-14T18:37:32.644+07:00Noodles and Ninja WhiteboardsTravels with TEFLpipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-79446572318281905402012-04-22T15:07:00.001+07:002012-04-22T15:07:27.056+07:00<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Finally - all the Princess Day vids packaged together!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nGQ_tjzNR8">Princess Day on YouTube</a> </span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-89244143143906628032012-03-26T07:40:00.001+07:002012-03-26T07:40:25.032+07:00Pippachan's photostream<div style="padding: 0; overflow: hidden; margin: 0; width: 500px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013060373/in/photostream/" title="Photo0083" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7120/7013060373_3a8da3a584_s.jpg" alt="Photo0083" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013060273/in/photostream/" title="Photo0082" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7107/7013060273_31edd89220_s.jpg" alt="Photo0082" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/6866947964/in/photostream/" title="Photo0081" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7242/6866947964_ab4568ed6d_s.jpg" alt="Photo0081" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/6866947872/in/photostream/" title="Photo0080" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7140/6866947872_50733a54d5_s.jpg" alt="Photo0080" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013059985/in/photostream/" title="Photo0079" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7244/7013059985_64e85b0660_s.jpg" alt="Photo0079" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/6866947654/in/photostream/" title="Photo0078" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7233/6866947654_aa2f81b570_s.jpg" alt="Photo0078" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013059817/in/photostream/" title="Photo0037" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7062/7013059817_7ed073f002_s.jpg" alt="Photo0037" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013059705/in/photostream/" title="Photo0036" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7270/7013059705_b74c038316_s.jpg" alt="Photo0036" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/6866947356/in/photostream/" title="Photo0035" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7262/6866947356_36af6d65f3_s.jpg" alt="Photo0035" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013059521/in/photostream/" title="Photo0034" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7234/7013059521_7e0167ea1b_s.jpg" alt="Photo0034" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013059405/in/photostream/" title="Photo0033" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7198/7013059405_cd56abf566_s.jpg" alt="Photo0033" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/6866947114/in/photostream/" title="Photo0032" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7220/6866947114_f78e5af8d2_s.jpg" alt="Photo0032" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/6866947012/in/photostream/" title="Photo0031" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7106/6866947012_2f4c0f2848_s.jpg" alt="Photo0031" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/6866946928/in/photostream/" title="Photo0030" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7052/6866946928_f87ca8f761_s.jpg" alt="Photo0030" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013059023/in/photostream/" title="Photo0029" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7247/7013059023_39eace2ca7_s.jpg" alt="Photo0029" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/6866946738/in/photostream/" title="Photo0028" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7140/6866946738_d9a8b9fdd6_s.jpg" alt="Photo0028" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013058837/in/photostream/" title="Photo0027" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7073/7013058837_66c3a459d0_s.jpg" alt="Photo0027" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013058733/in/photostream/" title="Photo0026" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7079/7013058733_f32c1e6b0b_s.jpg" alt="Photo0026" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/6866946480/in/photostream/" title="Photo0025" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7206/6866946480_c76a63a9a6_s.jpg" alt="Photo0025" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013058577/in/photostream/" title="Photo0024" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7058/7013058577_91cbc5fa97_s.jpg" alt="Photo0024" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013058485/in/photostream/" title="Photo0023" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7098/7013058485_409bb61aef_s.jpg" alt="Photo0023" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013058409/in/photostream/" title="Photo0022" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7059/7013058409_e40db4edbe_s.jpg" alt="Photo0022" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013058341/in/photostream/" title="IMG_5793" style="display: block; padding: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7224/7013058341_5e5fb7eba5_s.jpg" alt="IMG_5793" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/7013058087/in/photostream/" title="IMG_5792" style="display: block; padding: 0 0 10px 0; width: 75px; height: 75px; float: left;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7216/7013058087_beb3907737_s.jpg" alt="IMG_5792" style="border:none; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 75px; height: 75px;"/></a><br clear="all"/></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 5px"><p><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/54952245@N08/">Pippachan's photostream</a> on Flickr.</p></div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-10980231183638603502012-02-16T22:44:00.000+07:002012-02-16T22:44:07.073+07:00The Princess Diary: Part Three – The Great Day (27/012012) - The Aftermath<style>
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<h1>The Aftermath</h1><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Back in the staffroom, the jacket comes off, the heels get kicked somewhere under the desk, and feet go up on a chair. Gen is taking pictures on her mobile (most of the photos here are hers, thanks Gen). Duncan, Russell and I are going over the morning, and scrounging any of the cakes and nibbles left by the VIPs and the kids. Russell reckons he saw one teenager shovel several platefuls of cake into his schoolbag.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetiNwppaJWPIlrjPOb1ePIpV-SWW30cPpCBcIwYt-cHivc07lNiDmVf_QaWVXxGkemkOqhRKTRiiBPwviSyYbMRtbdxDF6raZBJc611S-Ah6KEMbaVEy1ssJiL1BvNY175bNS4pmYFIE/s1600/27012012505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetiNwppaJWPIlrjPOb1ePIpV-SWW30cPpCBcIwYt-cHivc07lNiDmVf_QaWVXxGkemkOqhRKTRiiBPwviSyYbMRtbdxDF6raZBJc611S-Ah6KEMbaVEy1ssJiL1BvNY175bNS4pmYFIE/s320/27012012505.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noi (cleaner), Nuainee, Me, Duncan and Gift</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGrCevkX1cQHaUXANZD-RzAOPUSxCPyv348NqSOr9LQEUEs9ii_BjqklT9-V5f5qhVYhpVrd3eqb2NLFowKmjr7MsCJo5zJwu53PC5yoR51htvlJCsjGkEd9kUcajbT9djGehfFlj0M0/s1600/27012012451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGrCevkX1cQHaUXANZD-RzAOPUSxCPyv348NqSOr9LQEUEs9ii_BjqklT9-V5f5qhVYhpVrd3eqb2NLFowKmjr7MsCJo5zJwu53PC5yoR51htvlJCsjGkEd9kUcajbT9djGehfFlj0M0/s320/27012012451.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kids in Reception</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmWSfHEMDwL5a0mQtyL-vxRTY0Hv3si4Fx_MM3l4vG0OH6CNnOrfFzHZXCHzYI9QTI7i7mf0-DQx4aqIg9Wy3bSwn-qVrngqAGyshwvp4WYoBibDJP3rQMtEHIXIgMN9NtQobBfvQoEc/s1600/27012012458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmWSfHEMDwL5a0mQtyL-vxRTY0Hv3si4Fx_MM3l4vG0OH6CNnOrfFzHZXCHzYI9QTI7i7mf0-DQx4aqIg9Wy3bSwn-qVrngqAGyshwvp4WYoBibDJP3rQMtEHIXIgMN9NtQobBfvQoEc/s320/27012012458.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Noi and Gen</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbZEWWpkkbtEqKS-Z_SKeKPHB-oxHb5SXilS-BHCXSALtTaWqyDaBgciToTs0k9afj68x2cqU-O1kHoXlp-rT5KkphdmfuyjlW08GiORfTI_6tHDsJLT2NfJltz0ssoTYep-BQAmWSkk/s1600/27012012460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbZEWWpkkbtEqKS-Z_SKeKPHB-oxHb5SXilS-BHCXSALtTaWqyDaBgciToTs0k9afj68x2cqU-O1kHoXlp-rT5KkphdmfuyjlW08GiORfTI_6tHDsJLT2NfJltz0ssoTYep-BQAmWSkk/s320/27012012460.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Gift and my student Tonkok</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8e5KgdTQCvqLaBCjZaDSqrt1ElHqWDEr8vX-daPXY38D_3uPCvG73Pem29CptsRKMFrZzAWE7VN3d6jF44p0-RH1-X63MAsSUFRX1x7C8_GMksz4J6BmjvZlJHkyuB1xh35B94fno_0/s1600/27012012466.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8e5KgdTQCvqLaBCjZaDSqrt1ElHqWDEr8vX-daPXY38D_3uPCvG73Pem29CptsRKMFrZzAWE7VN3d6jF44p0-RH1-X63MAsSUFRX1x7C8_GMksz4J6BmjvZlJHkyuB1xh35B94fno_0/s320/27012012466.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gift models the Goldilocks Mask</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4nWa_hZlOAtrqiMydi74f7CLt-wq0L3wda_mpIRrFbvo8LhSN2yo9m895i2efiOFVRu2Ib35bQwPeJ2K2OuK1OXzNWSM3wRHsoZ9EYNulvUpcB8ghXXDcnSquht_4ugEZL5w7YXhyphenhyphenXU/s1600/27012012495.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4nWa_hZlOAtrqiMydi74f7CLt-wq0L3wda_mpIRrFbvo8LhSN2yo9m895i2efiOFVRu2Ib35bQwPeJ2K2OuK1OXzNWSM3wRHsoZ9EYNulvUpcB8ghXXDcnSquht_4ugEZL5w7YXhyphenhyphenXU/s320/27012012495.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Russell, Gift and, err Guy maybe?</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Duncan goes home. After a bit of desultory tidying up, I catch myself starting to nod off at my desk, and realize if I don’t leave now, I’ll never make it down to Siam Square to meet Steve and Louise (on holiday from HCMC) for lunch.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Quick pitstop at home to ditch the tights and heels in favour of jeans and flipflops is followed by a lovely afternoon catching up with all the Vietnam gossip. Thanks guys. Wish I could have spent longer with you at the Jim Thompson House. Then back up to CW with another Louise (a senior teacher from head office) for the evening do – a cheesy but entertaining affair of scripted interviews, games and quizzes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgreolCjP5eqXFNCHZm5VsQ9C2YR8zyYNyWPtxiUqE4SlHX-PUd1eADmzwh5Bvl7NGl4Dwe_tJz93n1Bzd7znNjhJLo92qfpEpwvqEQ9bEfS5C5wxoaZbu1n84NHEIS2oG_jPchaVIFPqA/s1600/27012012540.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgreolCjP5eqXFNCHZm5VsQ9C2YR8zyYNyWPtxiUqE4SlHX-PUd1eADmzwh5Bvl7NGl4Dwe_tJz93n1Bzd7znNjhJLo92qfpEpwvqEQ9bEfS5C5wxoaZbu1n84NHEIS2oG_jPchaVIFPqA/s320/27012012540.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Johnny and Russell Interviewed</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYpgyhMjjAaE8mon8zB1biIklMmIRtGSLMYNRzrVZVCTLjLX_gEYU6xiA96R1yOmnN7UxSlkChuXtQjBmrw_DuujXCQ5gLjIXlRfxG96kU-asw0Qcq5odBnSM9aV5fFzeHJPVe11RK92s/s1600/1024_2717_36_290325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYpgyhMjjAaE8mon8zB1biIklMmIRtGSLMYNRzrVZVCTLjLX_gEYU6xiA96R1yOmnN7UxSlkChuXtQjBmrw_DuujXCQ5gLjIXlRfxG96kU-asw0Qcq5odBnSM9aV5fFzeHJPVe11RK92s/s320/1024_2717_36_290325.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Louise at the evening do.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> I’ve missed the news by the time I get home, so it takes me until Sunday evening to find it on YouTube (<i>there are actually about six reports from different channels, all slightly different, but only one on YouTube as far as I know</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I email Russell the link. A couple of hours later, I get a reply. ‘You TOTAL star!!!!’ </span></div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-90377554079817941722012-02-16T22:29:00.000+07:002012-02-16T22:29:15.023+07:00The Princess Diary: Part Three – The Great Day (27/012012) - HRH & the Lesson<style>
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<h1>HRH and the Lesson</h1><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Finally, the epic tale reaches its thrilling climax… (see, told you I’d bore you rigid with it!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">At last, as I’m beginning to run out of things for the kids to draw, and my feet are starting to ache in the heels, nine o’clock ticks round. There’s no sign of the royal party, but it has gone quieter, so I assume Russell and co., have gone downstairs to greet her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">One girl decides she needs the toilet. A YLA ushers her out into the corridor to consult a woman in khaki uniform. Khaki woman is sympathetic, but no go. HRH will be arriving any moment. Pity. I’d quite like to go too. The YLA puts an encouraging arm round the girl’s shoulder and brings her back into the classroom to wait it out. (Much later, they make a rapid exit as soon as HRH has gone!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Right,’ I say as breezily as I can muster, ‘Shall we start?’ </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The YLAs nod enthusiastically. The kids aren’t that fussed one way or the other.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">We get through the first few minutes without a hitch – (re-) introducing the characters, and predicting what Goldilocks might find in the Bears’ cottage. It seems the kids aren’t quite as familiar with the story as they claim (or they’ve forgotten it), and some of the obvious stuff is omitted in favour of more creative suggestions, such as ‘Everything in the whole world!’ It’s a very big cottage.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Ken gets his wish and we click onto the next page of the flipchart, with the hyperlink to the video and story on the BC LearnEnglish Kids website. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">We’ve barely got halfway through the first sentence, when the PA system out in the foyer starts belting out the National Anthem (though it doesn’t sound quite the same as when we have to stand up for it at the cinema) and drowns everything out. Clearly, HRH has arrived. I wonder briefly if I should perhaps stop everything, but the YLAs seem unperturbed so I press on.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The National Anthem finishes. So does the story.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Right,’ I say, even more breezily, ‘Shall we listen to the story again?’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Nooo!’ groans Ken.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I ignore him, and click on ‘Play the story again’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I turn to find a man in white and gold-braided uniform from the royal household standing in the doorway, frowning slightly. Okay, maybe I should’ve stopped everything after all. Nope, that doesn’t seem to be the problem. What <i>is </i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">the problem?! A YLA comes to my rescue.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘He says, can you turn the volume down on the IWB, please?’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Whaat?!! <i>Your</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> National Anthem drowns everything out, and <i>I’m</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> making too much noise?!!! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Duncan tells me later that they asked him to keep the teenagers quiet too. And he was in one of the back rooms.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">With the volume on the IWB turned down (just a touch – I’m not giving in that easily – it’s a kids’ class, after all), the lesson continues. A woman in pale purple walks past the window and stops outside. Russell, Boss Duncan (Deputy Country Director) and Chris (Country Director) line up behind her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">A short pause, and they disappear in through the door to look round the exhibition in reception. And at this point, something clicks over in my brain. I’m in the zone. I’m teaching. There is almost nothing and no-one except me and the kids. Nothing can throw me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I catch sight of Johnny (my immediate boss after Russell) standing just outside the door of the classroom, giving me the thumbs up. I must be doing something right.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I turn away to help some of the kids with the worksheet I’ve just handed out. (Fab YLAs just stay quietly in the background until needed to help hand out materials or shepherd the kids into position). I turn back round and… a tidal wave of photographers and cameramen wash into the room. Er, right, okay…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">There must be more of them than there are kids. I can’t see the kids and the kids can’t see the IWB. Not that the kids seem bothered.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Still unfazed I carry on, burrowing my way through this wall of suits, uniforms and cameras (some of you have seen the photo!) to reach the kids, and gesturing to the paparazzi to move out of the way. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Erm.. sorry gentlemen, but the children need to see the board for this next part.’ Very English. Very polite. Fairly ineffective. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">And they’re taking pictures of everything. Me, the kids, the kids’ worksheets, the IWB, the materials piled on my desk, the BC logo I stuck on each page of the flipchart…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The YLAs manage to persuade some of them to shift a bit. One very nice, smiley, middle-aged female photographer in that white and gold royal household uniform sits down next to a little girl and chats to her. She can come again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">And then there She is. Just behind me. Just behind her, Russell and Boss Duncan are grinning from ear to ear.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">First thought: She’s early. Twenty minutes early. This is the boring bit with worksheets. She’s not supposed to come in until they’re singing or acting out the story.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Second thought: Mmm. Yes. She does look just like her pictures.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Third thought: Better acknowledge her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><i>Russell had already told us that, as a university teacher herself, she wouldn’t want to interrupt. And I figured if she did want to talk to us, she’d ask him to call us over.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I do some kind of nod-bob, and carry on with what I’m doing. <i></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Which, to judge from all the photos that have come to light since, involved flinging my arms out wide, in ‘Big… small… tiny…’ demo-ing fashion. Aside from looking ridiculous, these pictures worry me slightly. I know which bit of the lesson that was. I just have no memory whatsoever of HRH being in the room at the time. Like I said – in the zone. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">And, no, before you ask, they are definitely not for publication.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Anyway, in the zone or not, the adrenaline is definitely pumping now and I’m having a ball. And the kids are amazing. They appear even more unfazed than me. I had wondered beforehand how they would react when HRH came in, respect for the Royal Family being what it is here in Thailand. But no, nothing, not a flicker. They hardly seem to notice, but then maybe that’s still the wall of cameramen blocking their view.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">In my memory HRH is only in the room for a few minutes. In the photos, it seems like she lingered for hours. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9-zvYJMHSYDiQncOUHIa7MffR1gJFVKaaXespat4aV7McAQetz-eyfWrSvybv8cS3-TMyY-k0l1oyU-hD5uL0WTr9iTwK4X394y1Rwl1NXtXre70vVP7LAFkVES0nQdjsaV8_hv7FVU/s1600/NUNU1221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9-zvYJMHSYDiQncOUHIa7MffR1gJFVKaaXespat4aV7McAQetz-eyfWrSvybv8cS3-TMyY-k0l1oyU-hD5uL0WTr9iTwK4X394y1Rwl1NXtXre70vVP7LAFkVES0nQdjsaV8_hv7FVU/s320/NUNU1221.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">She leaves, the cameramen trail after her, the room clears a little and the lesson continues. Finally, we reach the ‘interesting’ bit with the song and the play. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Ken is momentarily distracted from his opposition to any form of performance art by the slow reveal game that precedes the song on the website. Even so, when Russell tells me later how thrilled he was to hear the kids singing as HRH left, what he doesn’t realize is the sound is four parts video, three parts Pippa and the YLAs, and only one part eight year olds, participating in a resigned ‘suppose we better humour the grown-ups’ kind of way. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">And it’s over. HRH has left the building. I am buzzing. The kids go wild over a board race, and there’s a stream of senior management thanking and congratulating me and Duncan. For a second I feel quite emotional, and think I’m going to well up. But there’s a much stronger euphoria underneath. When Boss Duncan asks me, ‘So, do you feel good, right now?’, I manage to breathe something like, ‘Yes, very.’ The response that’s actually whirling round my brain is more like, ‘Good?!!! I feel %$*&)@ invincible!!!’</span></div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-12082146073535644502012-02-16T22:24:00.000+07:002012-02-16T22:24:00.097+07:00The Princess Diary: Part Three – The Great Day (27/012012) - The Kids<span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><b>The Kids</b></span> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Duncan still hadn’t appeared when, as Russell, Guy and I were shifting desks out of my room, Del arrived with the kids from Satit Chula. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Where do you want them?’ he beamed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Umm, well, the teenagers in room nine with Duncan,’ I said, gesturing over my shoulder and thinking that they were actually bloody early, and I didn’t really want them anywhere just yet, ‘And the younger ones in here with me’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Okay’, he grinned, and disappeared back out to fetch them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The next thing I know, he’s shepherding some very, very large children into my room.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Shit,’ I think. ‘They’re not going to go for <i>Goldilocks and the Three Bears.</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">’ Then I realise he’s got the rooms mixed up and they’re actually Duncan’s high school students.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Mix-up sorted out, Russell appears at my side and goes all soppy over the little ones (who still aren’t actually quite as little as I’d anticipated).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Aw, Pippa, look at them. They’re so small. They’re adorable. Oh Pippa, you’re so lucky!’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Yes, Russell. I’ll remind you of these words the next time you mutter about having to do a placement test with a chronically shy six-year old, you big softie.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Cutting the boss some slack, I head back into the staffroom to call Duncan, but he has finally turned up looking somewhat flustered, to say the least. It had taken him half an hour just to get a cab. The taxi drivers in his soi, being unused to anyone wanting their services at such an ungodly hour, hadn't been sitting there waiting for a fare as they might have been later. The news that twenty-odd teenagers were already in the classroom waiting for him to start entertaining them, wasn’t exactly the greeting he needed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I go back into room 1 and start getting acquainted with the kids. Confidence in <i>Goldilocks</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> takes another small knock. These guys are good. Really good. Eight-year olds you can have a conversation with. ‘Most of us are eight. Some of us are seven, but most are eight.’ Ken, 8, who has enough confidence for all of us, takes charge, and spends much of the next couple of hours advising me on when to turn the page on the flipchart (usually long before we’d finished the activities connected with the current page). Thanks Ken.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Still, I’m undeterred. It’s a special occasion, after all, and no-one is going to mind very much, if, just this once, a class of eight-year olds spend an hour doing something that’s a bit too easy for them. It’ll just make us all look even more amazing than we really are!! And, there’s the play at the end of the lesson…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Besides, it doesn’t matter. Russell’s right. They’re lovely. The moment I start talking to them, what few nerves I have accumulated just evaporate, and I know we’re going to have fun.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Meanwhile, there’s still over an hour before the ceremony kicks off. I do a couple of rounds of ‘Guess The Drawing’ – <i>how come they always get ‘elephant’ so quickly?</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> – before getting them up and drawing for themselves in ‘Please Draw’. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">One little girl leaves the entire class (and particularly me) on our knees with laughter. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Please draw seven bananas.’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">She draws one banana.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">She draws a second banana.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">She pauses, glances around, grins and whips a real banana out from god knows where.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6s-JNcVayOFp8JoLRWjxT68CNFlAcCJpdf0K0w5EpKjyhDcji7vYUKAoesp65sfOzLqRZmQp77umOjEQxBdd-qiJiJIV9W7xmsqb_66GlUWK_PfdVR59JTF1aqPUZBYkP4qGBfwILNo/s1600/NUNU1108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6s-JNcVayOFp8JoLRWjxT68CNFlAcCJpdf0K0w5EpKjyhDcji7vYUKAoesp65sfOzLqRZmQp77umOjEQxBdd-qiJiJIV9W7xmsqb_66GlUWK_PfdVR59JTF1aqPUZBYkP4qGBfwILNo/s400/NUNU1108.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Action Shot with Banana Girl!</td></tr>
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</div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-22253405370086481232012-02-16T12:17:00.001+07:002012-02-16T12:19:14.122+07:00The Princess Diary: Part Three – The Great Day 27/01/2012 - Early<b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Early</span></b> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The day dawned bright and sunny – or at least, I think it did. To be honest, by the time it was properly light I was already in the back of a taxi, halfway to Chaengwattana. I do remember thinking it seemed to stay darker later than usual, but maybe that was just my skewed perception, having been awake since quarter past four. I’d set the alarm for 5 o’clock, but my brain decided to wake up that extra bit early just to be on the safe side.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Why so early? Well, we were all under strict instructions to be there by seven thirty at the very latest to get through the security checks. Being located inside a huge shopping centre, it does make sense logistically and security-wise to hold the ceremony <i>before</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> the centre opens to the public at eleven. Which still doesn’t really explain why we needed to be there at least an hour and a half before the princess was due to arrive at nine. Further instructions included wearing BC and Central ID at all times (us) and to have your passport/ID ready for inspection on the door (everybody). Nuainee also reckoned my plan to leave the heels at work overnight and change into them when I got there was a non-starter – ‘Maybe they’ll be checking dress code at security’, she whispered.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Though I did reason that if they threw me out for dress code violations, my lesson plan would be walking out with me – literally, in fact, as I don’t think I ever actually wrote it down.</i></span><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Anyway, heaving myself out of bed and slamming the air-con on to max to ensure the tights went on with a minimum of stickiness, I have to admit to being quietly pleased with the overall ensemble. I was even more relieved when the heels successfully carried me out of the flat, into the lift and down the drive onto Ladprao Road. Nevertheless, the slingbacks were in my bag ready to change into afterwards.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Arriving outside Central Chaengwattana, the security seemed to be gathering in the form of (amongst others) a whole troop of uniformed police listening to their instructions. They took no notice of me as I tottered past and round to the side entrance in the loading bay. Neither did the Central security staff sitting there. And a little while later, Russell walked straight in through the main entrance at the front without anyone batting an eyelid either. Hmmm…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Up on the seventh floor there was plenty of activity already (6.45am) – albeit most of it involving head office staff sitting around the staffroom, chatting, drinking coffee, and in one inexplicable case, suddenly pulling out the spare chair from the side of my desk (where Duncan and I had thrust it in a fit of pique a few days earlier to stop it getting in our way), pushing and pulling it, fiddling with the arm a bit, and then just abandoning it there in the middle of the room.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>By the by, the chair arms are a constant irritant for the male Chaengwattana staff, being allegedly impossible to fix in position for more than an hour or so – our days are punctuated by the sound of Russell trying to adjust his. Mine, on the other hand, have stayed solidly in place ever since I first fixed them there back before Christmas; even once, just to prove my point when the other two were complaining again, taking my entire weight without a flicker of movement!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Duncan, Russell, Nuainee and the girls hadn’t arrived yet, so not really having anything better to do I wandered into Classroom 1 to start setting up. (I’d pulled the short straw and was getting to do my demo lesson in the Goldfish Bowl, though that also meant I did get to see some of the ceremony.) The security guard, who had probably been in there all night, smiled sheepishly at me, moved his stuff off the desk and wandered out.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>We’d had to have security in overnight because the alarm system had had to be disabled to allow the doors to be changed round so that they opened inwards rather than outwards – more respectful and polite, apparently.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I switched on the computer and started loading up the flipchart. And discovered that Internet Explorer was still the default web browser, and there was no sign of Google Chrome anywhere on the machine. Now, I’m sure there’s nothing inherently <i>that</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> bad about IE, but back in the staffroom the day before, I knew, everything worked just fine on Chrome, and today was not the day to trust to fate. Luckily, just then I heard Russell’s voice in the corridor, so I went out to catch him to do a little last minute installation (being only a mere teacher, I don’t have administrator’s rights on the classroom computers).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">He saw me coming towards him, and … ‘Waaaay!’… which I think meant The Princess Outfit had got the boss’s seal of approval. <i>As it should. Hell, I was even wearing lipstick.</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Dealing with technical hitches seems to have become a major part of his job description, so having sorted Chrome out for me, he did then look a little panicky when he noticed the projector was flashing up the message ‘No source found’ on the screen. ‘Is that a problem?’ he asked. ‘Nah, it always says that’, I said and jiggled the pen against the board to get rid of the screensaver. He sighed, grinned, and went off to fret about the fact that (a) there was still no sign of Duncan, and (b) the computer in Duncan’s room didn’t seem to be working at all.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-89765324788877200092012-02-09T12:08:00.000+07:002012-02-09T12:08:39.481+07:00The Princess Diary Part Two – The Day Before<span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Preparations were already well under way when I arrived at work on Thursday. There was a man draping purple and silver cloth over the escalators and another two were apparently busy turning my classroom (naturally) into a throne room without bothering to remove the students’ work I’d left on the wall the night before. They just looked at me blankly as I clambered over the cluttered desks to retrieve the dictionaries I’d left next to the computer. Meanwhile, the main foyer outside was filling with white-draped chairs and a dais.</span> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">But really, planning for that night’s lesson was a minor consideration next to having had just a few days notice that Duncan and I would be teaching demo lessons during the ceremony, and that the princess would come in and watch for a few minutes each. And just to make it that little bit more challenging – they wouldn’t be our own students. They would bus kids in from Satit Chula, the BC’s partnership school in central Bangkok. The numbers, approximate ages and levels were only confirmed late Wednesday afternoon. At which life at Chaengwattana settled into its accustomed pattern – I do the kids, Duncan does the teenagers.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">To be honest, I wasn’t ever really that nervous about it. Right until virtually the last minute, in my head it was just Russell and HRH coming into the class. No thought given to all the other hangers-on.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Russell and Del (the BC’s Senior Teacher at Satit Chula) suggested I do some kind of storytelling activity with the eight year olds. So, this really not being the moment to re-invent the wheel, from the depths of my hard drive, and with a little bit of help (well, ok, quite a lot) from the BC’s LearnEnglish Kids website, I reconstructed the ‘Goldilocks’ lesson I used with the Jumpies in Vietnam, making full use of the Interactive Whiteboard to cut and paste bits of the handouts, and hyperlink to the story and song on the website.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">While Duncan and I were busy tweaking lesson plans and making up our flipcharts (like a PowerPoint presentation but specifically for IWBs), Russell announced that his role for the day was to help us with any additional preparation we needed. Thus, he was sent off into Classroom 1 (aka the Goldfish Bowl on account of the huge window passing shoppers can stop and gawp at your lesson through) to put up the pictures my (real) kids had done for the princess at the weekend. <i>I’m particularly proud of the Kids Green class and their road signs using imperatives and ‘you must/mustn’t’ for royal etiquette.</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">And while Russell was doing that, Gift from reception and Noi, the cleaner, (we’re just one big happy family here!) were settled in a corner of the classroom sellotaping drinking straw handles to the Goldilocks and the Three Bears masks I’d printed out for the ‘play’ (anyone who remembers the fluttery butterflies I did with the Jumpies at ILA will know the effect I was going for).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">And of course, in the midst of all this, a higher power declared it was the perfect time for Gen and I to make our more minor claim to fame, and record the Outgoing Message for the automated switchboard. Sitting in the middle of reception reading the ‘press one for English’ script in your best Radio Four announcer’s voice would be mildly embarrassing at the best of times. With a waiting area full of customers, florists trundling huge arrangements in and out on trolleys (before planting them slap bang in the middle of the corridor) and Russell bouncing around, loudly teasing the kids he was placement testing, it’s frankly a miracle it only took us three attempts.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 12pt;">Starting to feel swept up in the excitement, as you can see, I began wandering around with my camera phone - my real camera being poorly sick at the doctors </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt;"><span>:-(</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 12pt;">. Coming back from the loo, I was particularly taken with the ribbon HRH was to cut. ‘Must get a picture of that’, I thought, and came within a whisker of picking my scissors up off the desk, instead of my phone. Now that <i>would</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 12pt;"> have been embarrassing, wouldn’t it?! </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCA0sQ1R-o7stPzDMYDq8jbV4urdPTJvoSHJN6kkDQvmZzsn00Y7lYGBezVWRoURg_jqfOotfa-aYpDlK0Em22H23OetcwA2H7L3vFdcPRg3Oyj_4SX9fChqT8UtWiWsjitM9eEXy1kf8/s1600/Photo0062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCA0sQ1R-o7stPzDMYDq8jbV4urdPTJvoSHJN6kkDQvmZzsn00Y7lYGBezVWRoURg_jqfOotfa-aYpDlK0Em22H23OetcwA2H7L3vFdcPRg3Oyj_4SX9fChqT8UtWiWsjitM9eEXy1kf8/s320/Photo0062.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFk8CHSwgxzS8wNLiRvBM3lEn17rufgF759pD_zWGuOBkGKcqn75-ynFv6aBiLNyImraGgNWWjY6fOcc6Pd3AKSUCVfUrxnani0fG8QOS2PAaOFYplT_Ka0imIAT6Vef42um2sEOh0NQ/s1600/Photo0063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFk8CHSwgxzS8wNLiRvBM3lEn17rufgF759pD_zWGuOBkGKcqn75-ynFv6aBiLNyImraGgNWWjY6fOcc6Pd3AKSUCVfUrxnani0fG8QOS2PAaOFYplT_Ka0imIAT6Vef42um2sEOh0NQ/s320/Photo0063.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 12pt;"> </span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-12565587243791270862012-02-09T08:31:00.000+07:002012-02-09T08:31:06.048+07:00The shoes, the clothes, the outfit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRV66FYDsTWBEM7R6icpcjly74mSESXGc_CSb9Ij_nF6pPoO6uw8FnbYNXcylb2OipLvpw_8Vei39MBf0o9DI3SyHQ1sQghn0JSdzCGMr5U0ABUEH2Xiivohnem6qvPdg4jyX2ygWX58/s1600/Photo0051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRV66FYDsTWBEM7R6icpcjly74mSESXGc_CSb9Ij_nF6pPoO6uw8FnbYNXcylb2OipLvpw_8Vei39MBf0o9DI3SyHQ1sQghn0JSdzCGMr5U0ABUEH2Xiivohnem6qvPdg4jyX2ygWX58/s320/Photo0051.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZPgI6Fyi6LHDU8HlsT2OmCIVsvEVzJ6cB2t_362bjaZzczsmzZFaDoKOvTt3nTS5F5LUUnkptj7LWcg8UZIlrV2uLTYpBTFgpI4pBMDyUIx5ut2yxzLPn_XPCZUp7iTpNyKr48CjMpw/s1600/Photo0070.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZPgI6Fyi6LHDU8HlsT2OmCIVsvEVzJ6cB2t_362bjaZzczsmzZFaDoKOvTt3nTS5F5LUUnkptj7LWcg8UZIlrV2uLTYpBTFgpI4pBMDyUIx5ut2yxzLPn_XPCZUp7iTpNyKr48CjMpw/s320/Photo0070.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-82017754803110186052012-02-08T09:58:00.000+07:002012-02-08T09:58:38.396+07:00The Princess Diary (Friday 27th January 2012): Part One<span style="font-family: Tahoma;">So, lots to tell you about. But first (and obviously most importantly) it’s got to be my brush with fame, celebrity and the Thai Royal Family last week. And this alone will take so much telling I’m going to have to split it into instalments.</span> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Some of you may have already seen the TV news clip on Facebook and YouTube. I make no apologies for posting it here too; being mildly obsessed, having watched it umpteen times, and downloading it for posterity. There is actually a much better one from another channel somewhere on my boss’s hard drive – you get to see my legs in that one!!! Be assured too, gentle reader, there will be plenty of photos to come as soon as I’ve cadged them off my boss! I <i>will</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> bore you rigid with it!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPhMIHc2r0s&feature=endscreen&NR=1">Princess Day TV News</a> </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Though I have to admit there are several photos, which have entirely skewed my recollection of the day, and may not be deemed suitable for publication!</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I’ve been posted to a brand new BC teaching centre in the north of the city which is a quite an exciting opportunity in itself. We pretty much get to build the school from scratch. At the moment there’s just the three of us full-time – Russell, my boss; me and Duncan, another new teacher – although that’s already set to grow in the next couple of months.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Long before we even moved into the premises, Friday 27<sup>th</sup> January had been fixed as our Official Opening with HRH Princess Sirindhorn, King Bhumibol’s eldest daughter, agreeing to come and open the centre. As well as being a university teacher herself, she does have a personal connection with the BC, which made her agreement to open Chaengwattana teaching centre extra special. It felt like an old friend or your favourite aunt was coming to visit. </span></div><h1 style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dress Code Red</span></h1><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">In the long build up, the only real issue for me was ‘what to wear?’ Way back in November, the Head of HR visiting from London had whispered ‘Sounds like a good excuse for a new frock!’ in my ear when it was mentioned at a staff meeting. Nic came over from Vietnam at Christmas fully expecting to spend at least part of her trip acting as wardrobe adviser and personal shopper. But despite several futile wanders round shopping centres, I couldn’t seem to muster the enthusiasm at the time. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Eventually, just after term started in January I kicked myself into action and dedicated an entire day-off to the search. Nothing too elaborate, just a touch dressier than usual work clothes. I ummed and erred over a few things in ‘British India’ (lots of lovely embroidered cotton – but as the name might suggest, basically tunics which either made me look shapeless or six-months pregnant) - and I found a gorgeous blue dress which was literally millimetres too small (this is Asia, there’s no point asking for a bigger size, you’ve already got it). Eventually I found a lovely slinky, silky, red wrap-round effect top that fitted perfectly and could be combined with a skirt I’d had made in Vietnam. After that the rest of the day was easy. Tights from Top Shop, check; vest top from Zara to prevent any embarrassing royal flashes, check; earrings and necklace from Accessorize, check; collapse in a heap in an empty cinema for ‘Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’, check.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Continuing niggles about finishing touches later that week did see me find myself a little black jacket in the G2000 sale. Hair and nails were also attended to on my next day off (top taken along to ensure colour match).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">But then, oh horror! On Wednesday 25<sup>th</sup> – just two days before the ceremony - we get an email from head office detailing the dress code for the day. ‘<i>Jacket and skirt must match</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">’ was bad enough, but ‘<i>shoes must cover the whole foot’</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">? What the…? (I’d been planning to wear the sling-backs I’d had made in HCMC).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Close textual analysis and in-depth discussion with Nuainee, the office manager, saw us (along with Gen and Gift, her assistants) playing a panicked game of ‘Run and buy’ – like ‘run and touch’ but with money and goods changing hands. I must say, Russell and Duncan were very good, and displayed an impressive level of apparently genuine interest in the results!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">And I could hardly believe my luck. Thank god for Marks and Spencer!!! As a western woman in Asia I am generally pessimistic about finding shoes to fit, even in branches of western stores. But M&S Chaengwattana came up trumps! The very first pair I tried on – size 6<sup>1</sup>/<sub>2</sub>, wide fitting – were a perfect fit. Okay, so patent leather, 2-inch heels, with velvet crossovers on the toes, wouldn’t ordinarily be my first choice for teaching but this was a special occasion; and the unexpectedness of finding anything so quickly was too great to put me off, even when it turned out I’d mis-read the price label and they were getting on for eighty quid!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Sighs of relief on the shoe front were still off-set by nervousness on the ‘matching’ side, despite emails to the event organiser at head office. So much so, I actually took the entire ensemble to work with me on Thursday to show Nuainee and check the skirt and jacket were a close enough match. Finally, the addition of another pair of tights (tum, bum and thigh firming ones from M&S) – the Top Shop ones being perhaps a touch too thick for this climate – completed the shopping spree.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Now all I had to worry about was the demo lesson I was expected to teach. Twenty-two eight-year olds I’d never met before, four YLA’s (young learner assistants) ditto, royalty, VIP's, BC management and the massed ranks of the Thai media. What could possibly go wrong?!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">But that, gentle reader, must be a tale for another post… </span></div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0Bangkok, Thailand13.862979168035995 100.5878058031250913.632472168035996 100.28247030312509 14.093486168035994 100.89314130312509tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-87354994168782331092012-02-07T12:52:00.000+07:002012-02-07T12:52:50.281+07:00Sawadee Ka!<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hi!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Sorry for the long silence. Loads of stuff's been happening in the last few months. And the most important has been my change of location. I've left Vietnam and hopped over to Thailand where I'm now working for the British Council in Bangkok.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">New big post to follow but first I just want to say 'Congratulations' to Matt, Debbie and Toad (and their trusty bikes) for finally making it to Cape Town. Well done, guys. I'm proud of you. It even seems a bit poignant that it's all over, and your blog is coming to an end. Good luck for your return to the UK. xx</span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-37712718672229076452011-03-17T10:27:00.000+07:002011-03-17T10:27:30.527+07:00Teaching the TKT Course<span style="font-family: Tahoma;">My late evening pre-int students have asked for more ‘energy’ in their lessons (I suspect that means games). On Friday evenings at least, for the next few weeks, I’m afraid they’re going to be disappointed. With a 9am-9.30pm split shift, they’ll be lucky if their teacher is still awake.</span> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">It is, however, my choice to do this. After endless postponements, the TKT course is finally up and running, and I’m team-teaching it with another teacher from our centre. Hence the 9am start for the morning session at centre 3, followed by my regular evening shift at centre 1. The break in the middle isn’t really long enough to go home, so lunch in Backpackerville…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">So far, it has only been a week but I am loving it. The <b>TKT (Teaching Knowledge Test)</b></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> is a modular test run by Cambridge aimed mainly (though not exclusively) at non-native speaker teachers of English. There are three main modules, which we are teaching, each consisting of eighty-minute tests containing eighty multiple choice and matching questions, covering everything from grammar and phonology to classroom management, learner motivation, assessment and language acquisition. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">It is, as this suggests, all theory and terminology (the glossary provided by Cambridge runs to forty pages), which must represent quite a challenge to the intermediate+ level students we have in the group. In my post-lesson feedback last week the training manager and I both agreed that they are going to need a great deal of review and recycling. Last week’s introductory lesson saw them go quite quiet during what should have been fun quizzes introducing some of the terminology! But they are a lovely, friendly group, and clearly very motivated – two of them travel eight hours overnight to come to the class!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">With no previous teacher training experience, it could be quite daunting. But the training manager has said he wants it to be a training experience for us too. So he’s asked us to send him post-lesson evaluations each week, and later in the course he’ll observe us. And teaching a truckload of terminology to non-native speakers isn’t so very far from what we do normally – they just happen to be better at it than my beginners! Road-testing materials on Adrian and Phil in the staffroom has been fun too!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">And it finally gives an outlet to all the stuff that’s been washing around in my head for the last 3 years of Masters and Delta. It kind of confirms my thought that in the future I want to be a Delta tutor, and, when I finally go home, a tutor on the Open University’s linguistics courses.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><b>Postscript:</b></span></div><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 12pt;">It seems trivial to be writing about anything other than Japan right now. However happy things are here, the situation there is constantly in my thoughts.</span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-6308151900650756002011-03-16T08:40:00.000+07:002011-03-16T08:40:16.418+07:00Who Let The Sheep In? - Our First Vietnamese Lesson<span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I couldn’t look at Carolyn and Amy, sitting either side of me. The urge to giggle was becoming unbearable. </span> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The previous hour and a half of ‘Survival Vietnamese’ had been baffling enough, struggling to make sense of address forms and any number other than 3 (333 being the name of a brand of Vietnamese beer, it was the one number we all knew already). But then our teacher, Ms. Khanh, began to introduce the six tones of Vietnamese. One by one they were added to a diagram like the one below, with examples from the vocabulary we’d learnt earlier. Then the drilling started…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Ma… ma… ma-ah… maah… ma-aa-argh… Eighteen English teachers? No. We had been transformed into a flock of mildly embarrassed sheep. And Carolyn was starting to add a touch of vibrato to her ma’s for that extra hint of sheepiness… </span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZOlLx_kOWc2qkvGMa9-mIbPa4tLESb-SP2TGGtdOE7QTDskaXqkF5ahAuKEz0TO8FL2xhuXA1Tmczxv2Jj1L8VO_bgZLioBY3lXKM78z3hIbh4IuG5fHOkFR-bZ1NUyIy_it73VeDdI/s1600/page0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZOlLx_kOWc2qkvGMa9-mIbPa4tLESb-SP2TGGtdOE7QTDskaXqkF5ahAuKEz0TO8FL2xhuXA1Tmczxv2Jj1L8VO_bgZLioBY3lXKM78z3hIbh4IuG5fHOkFR-bZ1NUyIy_it73VeDdI/s320/page0001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>(yes, I know the dotted line for the Hanoi ma is missing. It went AWOL somewhere in the process of converting to PDF).<br />
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<span style="font-style: normal;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal;"></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The follow-up activity lost me completely. Momentarily distracted, by the time I zoned back in, the ‘Identify the Tone’ Quiz was moving too quickly for me to keep up. I’ve got a feeling the next fifteen weeks of lessons are going to be a bit of a slog.</span> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">To be fair, I had been doing alright earlier in the lesson. The basic forms of address Ms Khanh presented, weren’t too complicated if you’ve already struggled with Japanese politeness forms, and if, like me (and Ms Khanh apparently), you are prone to drawing pictures and diagrams on the board which make sense in <i>your</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> head as you draw them, but which are greeted with furrowed brows and perplexed expressions from your students.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">And Carolyn and I won a lolly each in a numbers game. Ms Khanh called out a number and you had to hold hands with that number of people. If you couldn’t find a group to join, Ms Khanh dotted your arm with a red board marker. We escaped with only one dot each (thereby winning the lollies) by standing hand-in-hand in the corner looking nervous, and just reaching out and grabbing the hand of the next nearest person whenever Ms Khanh called out a number greater than two.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">If nothing else it’s going to be interesting comparing these lessons with my other language learning experiences, as well as mentally making notes on and stealing ideas from Ms Khanh.</span></div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-64306483052536166502011-03-12T00:43:00.000+07:002011-03-12T00:43:21.429+07:00Japan<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I know I sometimes give the impression of being rather blasé about earthquakes but I'm not really. It's actually more a mixture of practicality and not letting fear rule your life</span>. <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Tonight my heart is in Japan. It is, and always will be, my second home.</span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-67537362135748404882011-03-08T22:30:00.000+07:002011-03-08T22:30:32.441+07:00Afterthought...It's not such a bad life...<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I should probably say (before this blog gets blocked!) that the previous post was more a reflection of my experiences of Women's Day in Italy than Vietnam. That nightmare weekend near Paestum... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Life is actually going pretty well here at the moment. Work is getting more interesting with level testing and teaching the TKT course starting this week - I'm very excited about that!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">And the days off - when not spent going into school to plan aforementioned TKT course or just slobbing round the house because it's too hot to do <i>anything</i> - have involved open air swimming pools, hour long massages and sitting reading in coffee shops...It's really not such a bad life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-31907800043501950222011-03-08T20:59:00.000+07:002011-03-08T20:59:43.310+07:00International Women's Day<span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Current status: Accepting flowers from students through gritted teeth, and muttering ‘Don’t get me started’ as people shout ‘Happy International Women’s Day’ to each other across the staffroom, before asking each other what the hell it is, why don’t men have one, and – the real killer – why is it international? <i>Ask Pip a stupid question and you will get a <u>very</u> sarcastic answer…</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"></span> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">After enduring two years of the Italian <i>Festa della Donna</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">, I had, perhaps naively, entertained hopes that here in Vietnam, if it was marked, it would be a rather more political affair. Vietnam is, after all, still a nominally communist country, and communism has historic ties to the date. The 8<sup>th</sup> March 1917 was deliberately chosen as the start of that year of revolutions in Russia because of the demonstrations due to take place to mark Women’s Day. </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 10pt;"><i>OK, different countries, different regimes and nearly 100 hundred years of water under that bridge, but you see my point?</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">So I was a little disappointed last week when my students described something very similar to the Italian version. A sickly sort of middle ground between Mothers’ Day and Valentine’s Day, but with (to my admittedly jaundiced mind) a darker undercurrent. Give the Little Lady some flowers and chocolate, pat her on the head, tell her she’s <i>bella</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">, and turn a determinedly blind eye to the lump in the middle of the carpet from all the crap you’ve just swept under it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">We may lack an awareness of the day in Britain and the States, but at least when it is marked it tends to be with the sense of anger and righteous indignation that it really deserves – that equal pay has still not been fully achieved, that political representation is still not truly representative, and that rape is a weapon of war. For a far better argument than I can give here, take a look at Mariella Frostrup’s article in <i>The Observer</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> last weekend [</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% fuchsia; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2011/mar/06/feminism-global-challenge-one-voice?" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Feminism's Global Challenge</a></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">]. Tell me, please, how giving flowers, or granting a day’s free admission to Graeco-Roman ruins really contributes anything to redressing those imbalances?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 12pt;">It's not about hating men, it's about justice - for everyone. So, for God’s sake – no, for the sake of both sexes – stop simpering and get angry!</span> <br />
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<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2011/mar/06/feminism-global-challenge-one-voice?" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</a>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-24316948054878490212011-03-05T22:34:00.000+07:002011-03-05T22:34:12.649+07:00Cats with Thumbs - awesome!<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Just come across this on Oye's Facebook page - awesome!</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/h6CcxJQq1x8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-86898169597068848012011-03-03T19:02:00.003+07:002011-03-03T19:03:46.690+07:00Another YouTube Masterpiece!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/t6W0mVxrvP4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-76285125888797546232011-02-04T12:11:00.000+07:002011-02-04T12:11:46.100+07:00Tet Visitors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLgZouyciWI9C_dXG96Y0VDnqj-YOliZVjB8MW15_od0InnK9ef63xFQ1J6iwQELu7nz2xD_KXkYv1OwgjX1OfiG4WTu_yLmYOO8yhZnQg72XTaSR09X1aHTDiUeNkGDDSeLM7VQlDAQ/s1600/MVI_4639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLgZouyciWI9C_dXG96Y0VDnqj-YOliZVjB8MW15_od0InnK9ef63xFQ1J6iwQELu7nz2xD_KXkYv1OwgjX1OfiG4WTu_yLmYOO8yhZnQg72XTaSR09X1aHTDiUeNkGDDSeLM7VQlDAQ/s200/MVI_4639.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGjfG7ifVFGiRDGMH2wexsK9h_5T1ki8ESePq10bITpfVhO3o7wDXBfbgQCGpNQpMp0ikNsvhtqJsQh_GjxT7tlc3S0ctdD5q_HvVt2WDitc0TtQ1TzEhPQBc7nJD2kK7ItbXt_GW9N7o/s1600/MVI_4639%253A2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGjfG7ifVFGiRDGMH2wexsK9h_5T1ki8ESePq10bITpfVhO3o7wDXBfbgQCGpNQpMp0ikNsvhtqJsQh_GjxT7tlc3S0ctdD5q_HvVt2WDitc0TtQ1TzEhPQBc7nJD2kK7ItbXt_GW9N7o/s200/MVI_4639%253A2.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtIedcHgfrNOMjTTSjd5tDYT2DJTVptwswu-n_d2DVxrzeCFiNaDVH6vTD_0lF6wJViiQjGaeT_mMHBb2Bj8PhPZFSViIUSS7RBV0-3LLhcK829mQHR2525yxpzIv33Cd0liw7CGNH4bU/s1600/MVI_4639%253A3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtIedcHgfrNOMjTTSjd5tDYT2DJTVptwswu-n_d2DVxrzeCFiNaDVH6vTD_0lF6wJViiQjGaeT_mMHBb2Bj8PhPZFSViIUSS7RBV0-3LLhcK829mQHR2525yxpzIv33Cd0liw7CGNH4bU/s200/MVI_4639%253A3.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NlU9dk2mIwtSJkGPd9AH74-R-JNwpogA2eHLj5xC9sJ5PxUN0Z3xOaJjNFL2QM6krVgQyOEDvhxywyONuC59zoJNjcvUsG-8F0il52YE7vIvGD8vtsoRg1fswlaxStQPVRsRcBQ5Urs/s1600/MVI_4639%253A4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NlU9dk2mIwtSJkGPd9AH74-R-JNwpogA2eHLj5xC9sJ5PxUN0Z3xOaJjNFL2QM6krVgQyOEDvhxywyONuC59zoJNjcvUsG-8F0il52YE7vIvGD8vtsoRg1fswlaxStQPVRsRcBQ5Urs/s200/MVI_4639%253A4.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-35402590725291244852011-02-03T22:04:00.000+07:002011-02-03T22:04:10.165+07:00Chúc Mừng Năm Mới!<span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Midnight. The air is filled with the sound of church bells, the boom and sparkle of distant fireworks and a smell of incense heavier than I have ever known outside a temple, let alone out in the open air. Over beyond the lake, the upper half of the Cantavil building has suddenly been covered in twinkling red and green lights. And from the neighbouring balcony, Quy shouts ‘Happy New Year’ to me, as we hang over the railings to watch the people milling down in the street, setting light to fake money, mirroring as they do so the candles, incense sticks and offerings being burnt in neighbours’ courtyards.</span> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Tet, the Vietnamese Lunar New Year, (2011, the year of the cat) has begun.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7TXWfrIUjtlsR4JhNrRS4-mptrD6JFPP9HUNKigbu4zCc5X4jTpCgW0s6pfJf7mcEw5F5hRT0KAtlFKPdaCO75qBLaqroaM6dFb0Sev61t02A13HpnGy_SFhNCv_9r3Y7jD08_CBSlo/s1600/IMG_4568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7TXWfrIUjtlsR4JhNrRS4-mptrD6JFPP9HUNKigbu4zCc5X4jTpCgW0s6pfJf7mcEw5F5hRT0KAtlFKPdaCO75qBLaqroaM6dFb0Sev61t02A13HpnGy_SFhNCv_9r3Y7jD08_CBSlo/s320/IMG_4568.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">In the early evening I’d been for a walk around the neighbourhood, exploring a bit more. I was surprised by how many people there were still around, and how many shops and street market stalls were still open. As I walked in what I thought might be the direction of the swimming pool Steve and Louise go to, I found myself in a narrow street overflowing with scooters, people, chickens alive and dead, and huge assortments of vegetables spilling across the road. Saigon (or this bit of it at least) certainly wasn’t the Tet holiday ghost town that staffroom rumour had claimed it would be. I should know by now to take such claims with a pinch of salt. Most of them are spread by people who have never actually hung around long enough to find out what a place is like during a holiday season.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">In fact I was roused from my torpor and encouraged to go out for a walk, by the sound of drumming getting nearer. Investigation (hanging over the balcony) revealed a small procession of young men dressed in red wheeling a cart with a tin drum on it, accompanying two figures in traditional costume (also red) who were dancing and skipping from house to house, banging on doors, waiting to be invited in. They were slowly gathering a crowd of excited children round them too. Despite spending a lot of today trawling the Internet for information, I can’t seem to find out who these characters are meant to be. Are they the Kitchen Gods returning? (Just before Tet the Kitchen God leaves the household and returns to heaven to report on the family to the Jade Emperor). Or are they something else? Are they delivering Lucky Money or demanding it? I remember seeing a similar figure during the Chinese New Year procession in London, but I can’t remember what he was called. Please let me know…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I did video this little procession but the file was too big and it would’ve taken until next Lunar New Year to upload. I will try to copy a still from it instead.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">In the meantime, and stepping back a further twenty-four hours in time, you might care to cast your eyes upon some of the 89 (yes, I know, I overdid it again, but even that is down from the original 140 odd) photos I took while wandering around the city centre on Tuesday afternoon. Not only do we have lights equal to or even better than Christmas, but the city is a mass of flowers. </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">One of my neighbours at the other end of the corridor has a big pot of chrysanths outside their door. </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">There are flower festivals in several parks and squares, and in the park by Backpackerville there is a flower market, selling everything from bonsai to chrysanthemums and sunflowers. This has also meant the frequent sight of people riding past with fruit trees tied to the backs of their scooters.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ9VeFLV3r4lteTXKar1CFjvJr1Vgrqe6RD62uTqHy4CneIymQBx5PjhE8Qn92-bUqwbi7dfPYo6rkLeTxQQMTYVdWkvnc6qR8Y4NZNzLUp20U3sQK93qn4UCkZLkS_BMR9CforHB-avM/s1600/IMG_4583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ9VeFLV3r4lteTXKar1CFjvJr1Vgrqe6RD62uTqHy4CneIymQBx5PjhE8Qn92-bUqwbi7dfPYo6rkLeTxQQMTYVdWkvnc6qR8Y4NZNzLUp20U3sQK93qn4UCkZLkS_BMR9CforHB-avM/s320/IMG_4583.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Tet is seen as the official start of spring, with bamboos, kumquats and other trees sold on the side of the road by people up from the country who sleep out with their stock. These are decorated with red and gold decorations (a bit like Christmas Trees) and Lucky Money red envelopes, along with their own yellow blossoms, orange fruit and so on. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIrr0ovX2sGv7CNmiT9D-U8jlqSCQlkJOPo6Ze3dho_yZLqE8YmcgBUAsMrVWZAm_v_1b-klz_itybm5fiSm4zPIui7xo2_dpiQO2-i2Ki_O5TW9gdNCiPoRU5OY9bsvcMC4maxZ24BQ/s1600/IMG_4581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIrr0ovX2sGv7CNmiT9D-U8jlqSCQlkJOPo6Ze3dho_yZLqE8YmcgBUAsMrVWZAm_v_1b-klz_itybm5fiSm4zPIui7xo2_dpiQO2-i2Ki_O5TW9gdNCiPoRU5OY9bsvcMC4maxZ24BQ/s320/IMG_4581.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>As a bit of a marketing gimmick last week, the school gave all students a pack of Lucky Money envelopes. The students affected humorous disappointment that they were just packs of envelopes, and did not, in fact, contain any Lucky Money!</i></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCC74cci4RGjU0V_MQwfwMoDaaKNFhldz21AEqqPG7yFRA4nJN1jpKV7EijTP8DufNGY45F9O4wQkDT0pShcgGUp5ce4WJtuR70XfR1ItQVrgUxa1onUIxzJvqE7vdpqOk0Tgo_Y4cBEk/s1600/IMG_4591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCC74cci4RGjU0V_MQwfwMoDaaKNFhldz21AEqqPG7yFRA4nJN1jpKV7EijTP8DufNGY45F9O4wQkDT0pShcgGUp5ce4WJtuR70XfR1ItQVrgUxa1onUIxzJvqE7vdpqOk0Tgo_Y4cBEk/s320/IMG_4591.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-35094520829814370452011-02-01T23:54:00.000+07:002011-02-01T23:54:26.873+07:00making learning fun<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Love this video I just stumbled across on a teaching blog (<a href="http://www.teachingvillage.org/2011/01/23/the-fun-theory-in-language-learning/">Teaching Village</a>)</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/2lXh2n0aPyw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div id="embed-holder"> <br />
</div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Blog to accompany Tet photos opposite probably later in the week.</span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-68427216790641579052011-01-27T00:06:00.000+07:002011-01-27T00:06:12.537+07:00Earthquake!!<span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Delirious from lack of sleep, it took me a few moments, and the effort of looking around me to gauge other people’s reactions, to twig that the gentle swaying sensation I detected was not a figment of my imagination.</span> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">It was twenty-five past two. I was sitting in the cafeteria on the ninth floor, just tucking into my Cajun chicken sandwich. 200km out to sea, and 10km down, (ref:</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><a href="http://www.emsc-csem.org/Earthquake/earthquake.php?id=207444#summary">European-Mediterranean Seismological Centre</a>) tectonic plates shifted a bit to rustle up a 4.7 magnitude earthquake to lift us out of our pre-Tet torpor.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">It was a relatively small earthquake, lasting no more than a minute, and it produced a not unpleasant feeling that the building was swaying gently in the breeze. Two of the younger teachers (who clearly don’t have my vast experience of such things) got quite excited but I remained unfazed and soon turned my attention back to my sandwich.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">But it does leave me wondering if maybe I am a factor. When I first arrived students told me that Vietnam doesn’t have earthquakes. Am I some kind of seismological jinx? It occurs to me that I’ve now been in Vietnam about the same length of time I’d been in Japan when the Niigata Earthquake happened in 2004. And I’d been in Italy just a couple of months longer than that before the Abruzzo Earthquake in 2009… Oh yeah. Stick with me, baby. I’ll make the earth move for you…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span>§</span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Monotype Sorts";"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Monotype Sorts";"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Monotype Sorts";"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Monotype Sorts";"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Monotype Sorts";"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Monotype Sorts";"><span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I was, as I say, delirious from lack of sleep (<i>always a good starting point for yet another set of peer observers in your class – my beginners are beginning to feel persecuted</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">). And this time I know exactly who to blame for it – my landlady.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Nice woman, very helpful, but a bit of a faffer. And, like most Vietnamese it seems, she’s a ridiculously early riser. So it came as no particular surprise on Monday when she texted me offering to come round at 7.10am the following morning and collect the documents needed to re-register my residency with the local police. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Wonderful. Tuesday’s my day off. I do have to go into school for a workshop but that’s not until three. Do I really have to get up and drag myself downstairs to meet her <i>sooo</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"> early? And, for a bonus round, all being well, she’d return at the same time on Wednesday morning to bring the documents back.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Now, there is one teensy-weensy little problem with this master plan. My passport is currently in some undefined location getting my visa renewed. Not sure the police will accept a photocopy. Hmm… oh well, we can try, and here – take my work contract too, legend has it that sometimes they’ll accept that instead.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">7.10am ticks round and up she scoots on her scooter. She looks at the photocopy of the passport and frowns, pointing at the expiry date on the visa – 23<sup>rd</sup> January. ‘It is old’. Yes, I know. I told you. My passport has gone away to have the visa renewed. Did she think when I said photocopy that I’d somehow manage to get one of a new visa I don’t have yet?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Anyway, off she goes to try her luck with what we've got. I hear nothing until I get to school later in the afternoon. Another text. ‘Sorry. The police won't accept photocopy and work contract. Please let me know when you have new visa.’ </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">- So, are you still coming back tomorrow morning?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">- No, I will wait and keep things until new visa comes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">- Right. OK. But what if the police come to the flat in the meantime?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><i>The police periodically do sweeps of apartment buildings, checking that all the inhabitants are registered with them</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">. <i>With no passport, no visa, no work permit, no registration book, and now no work contract, I start to have visions of being thrown into some communist jail for the rest of my life, or being deported to die in a British snowdrift like great-great granny Mills…</i></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">- Don’t worry. If they come, just call me. I will talk to the police.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Then sometime later another text:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">- Maybe I will come 7.10am tomorrow and give back work contract.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">‘Maybe’??!! What do you mean, ‘maybe’?!! Do I have to get up at 6.30 again just on the off-chance?!! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Grudgingly, I set the alarm. I sleep badly, tossing and turning with an increasingly sore back. 6.30am the alarm goes off. I crawl out of bed and struggle into some clothes. 6.53am a text:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">- Sorry, today I am busy. I will come 7.10am tomorrow.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 12pt;">Somehow I refrain from telling her precisely what I think of that idea and instead politely negotiate a postponement until 8.30am on Saturday, when at least I have to get up early anyway.</span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-67801131837906163682011-01-25T12:33:00.000+07:002011-01-25T12:33:57.081+07:00Signs That Tet Is Overdue<span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Signs that it has been a very long, tiring, sickly month since being told I hadn’t got the AC job, and that the Tet (New Year) holiday next week can’t come soon enough:</span> <br />
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</div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The most interesting thing I could think of to write about last week was the purchase of a frying pan.</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">A growing sense of paranoia and frustration at the lack of movement on all my strategic plans to get that next AC job. Coupled with lethargy from this cold that just won’t shift.</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I had to spend the whole of Sunday plugged into my iPod whenever I was in the staffroom, to stop me ripping someone’s head off. As it was, I managed to make an eleven year-old girl cry.</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I didn’t bother adapting or finding anything more interesting for my S6’s (13 year old advanced class) but made them do the book’s long (and very boring) listening and writing exercises about the Incas.</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Last weekend a trainee TA was treated to me jumping up and down and flapping my arms in front of her, shrieking ‘Stop running away from me, I’m trying to talk to you!’ She’d obviously got it into her head that when monitoring we couldn’t both be in the same part of the classroom at once.</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Waking up to dense white smog every morning is pretty depressing. To British eyes it looks like a cold, wet, miserable day in November. Only warm. And with more carcinogens…</span></li>
</ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLGFmVEdyLjmCHeTIbSTKU-u7iqo7RAON9eYiBYHEJ2NVo5zRPuPqDXHuGM_JsnqwwFIDNieavOERToIPJJL7B8wwV3VBp7xByk23up7cGB2Yj6c3dtsVgHGKnr7IjnZ63Mz4aQOuFYI/s1600/IMG_4527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLGFmVEdyLjmCHeTIbSTKU-u7iqo7RAON9eYiBYHEJ2NVo5zRPuPqDXHuGM_JsnqwwFIDNieavOERToIPJJL7B8wwV3VBp7xByk23up7cGB2Yj6c3dtsVgHGKnr7IjnZ63Mz4aQOuFYI/s320/IMG_4527.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smog</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"><br />
</div><ul style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">I’m missing Italy… Yes, you read that right… I’m missing Italy. Or more specifically, the light, the clear blue skies and the sea. Briefly worried that I would have to get Baggy, Oye and Jacques to give me a good email/skype talking to, to stop me teetering over the edge into checking flights to Rome.</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Instead, I’ve been spending late nights downloading Laura Pausini and Tiziano Ferro tracks from iTunes. Whatever that admission might do for my street cred, it’s actually been strangely soothing. A couple of days of those two on the iPod and I now feel much better.</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">Some of the neighbours held an all-day party in the street yesterday. By the time I went to bed their out of tune singing was quite endearing. I was tempted to go down and join in.</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">The neighbourhood kids have developed their own local version of Welly-Wanging… Flip-flop Flinging. All very professional and competitive, with lines chalked out and everything.</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma;">And (fingers crossed) perhaps as Saigonites escape the city for Tet, the traffic will clear and the smog will lift – there are already traces of blue in the sky. Might not need to head back to Italy after all…</span></li>
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Chúc Mung Nam Moi 2011!!</b></span></div>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-9343271258816534242011-01-18T19:53:00.000+07:002011-01-18T19:53:27.196+07:00Eureka! A frying pan that works!<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I should perhaps explain. In the last few months Little Sis and I have both found ourselves in new apartments with kitchen hobs that refuse to cooperate with the other kitchen utensils. In other words, we have both unwittingly acquired induction hobs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I didn't discover this until Christmas when Rachel tried to do some bacon in my new frying pan, only to have the hob just sit there, beep at us for a bit and then switch itself off. Since then I've been fretting about investing in any more pots and pans until I know exactly what I need. And not knowing the Vietnamese for 'induction hob' was a bit of a drawback.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Anyway, finally tonight I made a foray into the Japanese supermarket on Le Thanh Ton and found a whole range of frying pans bearing an I H symbol. Could this possibly stand for Induction Heat? The Vietnamese shop assistant giggled an apology. 'Sorry, I don't know. They're Japanese.' </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So with fingers crossed, prayers offered and good luck wishes from the British couple queuing behind me, I bit the bullet and bought one. And hey presto! I've just dined on a properly cooked fried egg made by my own fair hand! Yippee!!</span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-35028705479468899222011-01-18T18:24:00.001+07:002011-01-18T18:26:19.477+07:00Matt & the Lion<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Not me or Vietnam, but can't resist! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">With Debbie temporarily back in the UK, Matt seems to be having a few boredom/sanity issues, if today's post on their blog is anything to go by...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> <a href="http://ontheroadwithatoad.blogspot.com/2011/01/day-121-turkey-1712011-antalya-trip-to.html">http://ontheroadwithatoad.blogspot.com/2011/01/day-121-turkey-1712011-antalya-trip-to.html</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Brilliant! Personally, I think he should continue the blog in a similar manner for the rest of their trip. Maybe a different poem for each town en route?!</span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652198787375970719.post-53790441080490403762011-01-16T07:27:00.001+07:002011-01-16T09:30:39.729+07:001000th Visitor!<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Sometime in the night this blog got its 1000th visitor! <i>Not bad for just 2 months.</i> Don't know who you are, but welcome!</span>pipsqueak1705http://www.blogger.com/profile/07057041731766665021noreply@blogger.com0