Dwarling!!! Mmm!!! mmm!!!mmm!!!! (sniff)

My cold is definately on the run after an evening of dosing it up with Lemsip and vitamin C tabs. I also cooked my seriously hot pasta meal, as taught by au pair students at Linguarama years ago - this basically consists of a good pasta such as linguine with olive oil, garlic, and tons of fresh chilli - and nothing else. Maybe it doesn't cure a cold, but it can't make you any worse - and I certainly feel a lot better.

It's pissing down in Edinburgh today, and the place is definately filling up with pretentious lovies... many of them american... many of them surrounding me in The Cottage at this exact moment...

Who done it? (Gr error)

Back to Edinburgh with a lousy cold. Got back at 1.30 this morning and have been on autopilot all day, but none of the students seemed to notice.

I did an activity called Alibi this afternoon. This is one of the oldest and most hackneyed things in the book, but I'd actually never done it before (largely because it's one of the oldest and most hackneyed etc); however, the guide material said 'play alibi', so.... Basically you victimise several students by accusing them of a fictional crime and sending them out of the room. They then have to agree a convincing alibi between themeselves. When they come back into the room groups quiz them to try and find inconsistencies in their story. It actually worked remarkably well - one of the Saudi 'detectives' was actually alarmingly convincing....

Edinburgh is beginning to fill up for the festival. Stage fitter trucks in the streets and students giving out flyers for fringe shows - and there's still a week to go to the start. I've only been here a month myself, but I feel strangely resentful of all these incomers!!!!

Its nice to be wanted

To Sheffield to go to my Uni, Sheffield Hallam, for a recruitment fair and to meet up with my mate Romford Rob, who's up from London and off to Vietnam for a year from next weekend. I find myself behind a guy at the British Council desk who's just learning for the first time that it's possible to work abroad with EFL qualifications..... With this sort of competition I can't help but shine, and get serious interest from people recruiting for jobs in Shanghai and Cape Town - this particular one sounds a real goody, working as a senior teacher helping to set up a new school. The BC are also recruiting more teachers for Casablanca, which I just missed getting earlier this year. I'd just finished having a serious and professional chat with a (admittedly very attractive) young lady from China when Rob came up. His first words 'D'you get her number then?'

All our old lecturers are there - Steve, Alice, Angela, Sue and Mary and it's great to see them all and chew the fat. Me and Rob repair to the Cafe Rouge on Eccleshall Road with his friend Brett from Beijing days. She's on the SHU Masters and we'd be students on the direct contact phase in January if I do it then. Lots of good craic, scrummy choc and banana crepes and crab gallettes.

There's been an accident on the Snake Pass and I have to drive miles round up Winnets Pass to get home. I'll have driven about 600 miles this weekend by the time I get back to Edinburgh - it'll be nice to park up and get back on the bike again.

Broady again

Five hour drive back to Broadbottom, a long hack down the M74 and M6. I tried a new route through the borders and ended up going out of my way - this is the way of it with no one to navigate. However, I got to see Peebles which definately looked worth a second visit - particulalry the gothic looking Nidhurst (? I'll check) castle on the road out. I'm very tired, but its nice to be home. The rest of the evening looks set for checking POP3s and updating my home page - this is probably sad in the extreme after two weeks away, but then Sue wants to watch tonights' Big Brother final episode which I can well live without. I don't miss TV, but it's a drag being away from Manchester and so missing the Commonwaeth Games, so I'm going to take the portable back so at least I can see them on the box.

Anyway, it's nice not to be on a timer in a cybercafe for once.

I've had some very positive lessons this week. The students in this job are really positive and well motivated (well they've all paid upwards of £700 for the course, so they're going to be well motivated!). I had a great session today, rounding up stuff from the week, showing a video about the Shetlands and doing some ongoing vocabulary building - as my Course Director said, 'post-its are the new rock 'n roll'. However, I did actually find myself cutting up strips of paper this morning. Sentences rather than letters, but this is definately the thin end of the wedge.

I am still trying to pursuade Neil to set up his own Blog, as he sends me links to stuff like this on a virtually daily basis. Put 'em on blog boy, then people could look in and find the latest...

I've just learnt from Yahoo news that John Entwhistle's death was probably due to a heart attack brought on by cocaine use. What a bloody awful waste.

A great man

I finally found the statue of Greyfriars Bobby, the faithful hound who guarded his masters grave for fourteen years until his death - the dogs death that is.... (let it go dog; no use being stupid about these things). Wandered round Greyfriars Kirkyard, a very peaceful spot but with some awful grandiose Victorian memorials. However, on a wall in one corner was a modest tablet, erected in 1999:-

William McGonagall
Poet and Tragedian.

Died 2 Sept 1902
Buried near this spot

"I am your gracious majesty
Ever faithful to thee
William McGonagall, the Poor Poet
That lives in Dundee"

Wm McG 6 Sept 1877

Well, I don't think that's bad at all. After all, Wordsworth could write

I measured it from side to side
It was three feet long and two feet wide

and he's the national poet.

I can't imagine C John Taylor for one instant describing himself as 'The Poor Poet' either.

See birds

James took Anna and me to North Berwick yesterday evening, giving us an interseting introduction to Bird watching on the way. We stopped off twice on the way and saw curlews, redshanks, oyster catchers, terns and a couple of other things, as well as learning about the tricky issues of twitching, surpressing and dipping a bird out. North Berwick was a fine little Scottish seaside resort. Off shore is the massive Bass Rock, a forbidding, mythic looking thing that looked like it should have a celtic saint or two living on it. From the beach the top and sides of the thing looked white, which I assumed was seagull shit. But looking through James telescope from the beach it turned out to be birds - millions and millions off gannets. Very satisfactory Chinese meal and home. Am foregoing alcoholic stimulation since the weekend and my lametable failure to even attempt getting up a munro....

Beyond belief

Highland Arts was basically a vast celebration of the personality cult of someone called C John Taylor. His picture was everywhere, gazing noblly upwards into the middle distance wearing a cap and with a little goatee beard, looking not a little like Johnny on the Fast Show - you know the guy who says 'Black, black, it's all Black'. CJT announced himself as 'Poet, Artist and Composer'. I wandered around the shop; amongst tarten kitsch to make your fillings ache, was the great man's work; shockingly bad, child-like paintings and verse which would make William McGonegal wince. As someone offered me a piece of shortbread, I realised the background music was the voice of the great man singing in a tremulous baritone his song 'The Lovely Isle of Tiree':-

"Oh the ferry goes from Oban everyday
It passes Tobermory on the way".

Not only is this a *very* bad lyric, it isn't even correct - the Coll & Tiree ferry doesn't run on Sundays - I'd checked in Oban the night before because I though it would be nice to take the bike over sometime.

Everywhere the guy's stupid bloody face. A total lack of self awareness combined with absolute self belief that actualy hints at a position somewhere on the autistic spectrum as I have previously encountered it in Social Services clients. But also clearly a ready supply of finance - apparently there are four of these shops! Room after room of excruciating kitsche - pictures with pages cut from guide books stuck to them. A huge 'Christ betrayed in the Garden of Gethsemane' in livid yellow and mauve. Books of bad poetry everywhere - vanity publishing on an industrial scale. A portrait of Margaret Thatcher looking more like Shirley Bassey (yes, that takes a lot) and Big Ben in the background. Another Thatch portrait with pencil notes down the side, something about Laurance Van der Post. Several copies of an article from the Scotsman - barely complimentary, but CJT obviously missed this he was so chuffed with the publicity. The article describes his paintings as 'the sort of thing you'd find in a local art show' - that's an insult to local artists everywhere.

The whole effect was more tragic than funny. When I think how I edit the writing and music I ever do, and how few people have heard even the best stuff...

Back in Edinburgh James tells me that CJT has now gone to a better place (let's hope they appreciate the honour) and that when James was at Uni in Stirling the old boy was a student cult. This doesn't surprise me in the slightest.

Before I left Easdal I looked in at the local seafood restaurant. Nothing can beat the Kishorn Sea Food bar and Transport Cafe, the best seafood (and the best mug of tea) on the west coast, but I had a look... I was about to go in, when I noticed the dread words 'we hope you like the background music; we are the main distributor for New World music in NW Scotland... That Gary Larson cartoon sums up how I feel about New Age music.

The Highland Arts brochure says "'A truely remarkable experience' was how one lady described her visit." I'll say.

We moved flat to a much nicer place across town, nearer to the Institute, on the ground floor, with locking doors and plumbing that works!

Because it's there

I didn't do a Munro this weekend. On Saturday it took me 1 1/2 hours to get out of Edinburgh. I drove through heavy rain to Ben Lui, west of Tyndrum. Three guys were coming down off the hill when I got to the car park, and they looked *tough*. They said Ben Lui was tricky, no paths, climbing straight across the hillside, with a long slog up through boggy pine woods before you even hit the slopes. I looked up along the long ridge, going straight up at about 30 degrees and my heart sank. The top was covered in cloud. I knew, that dispite the fact climbing the thing would be no fun at all, I was likely to be stupid enough to try and do it the following day. So I went on to Oban, checked into the Columba Hotel and set about drinking suffiecient amounts of wine to stop me even trying. And eating fish and chips while watching the boats come and go from the window of my room which was superb. At one point I came back from the shops to find some kids were playing on the lift. It was one of those open cage affairs and they'd left the doors open on the top floor, which means it couldn't be called. As I trudged up three flights of stairs it occured to me that I could achieve the same effect as going up Ben Lui by climbing the stairs, getting the lift down and starting again. For four hours.

Ben Lui won't go away. I'll get it later in the summer.

So on Sunday I went to the Slate Islands, where I'd never been before. The first one, Seil, is connected to the mainland by a perfect arched bridge over a little tidal inlet, known as the Bridge over the Atlantic. It was designed by Telford, and looks exactly like his Iron Bridge in Shropshire - except it's stone, not iron. I drove down and got the ferry across to Luing, the next island, which was very pleasant, but not spectacular. I was hoping to get down far enough to see the Corryvrekin whirlpool (this has become a long term project) but the huge slate island of Scarba was in the way.

The Great British eccentric or the Great British Jerk?

Coming back to Seil I stopped off at the main village, Easdale. The car park was attached to a shop called Highland Arts, so I wandered inside thinking it would be the usual collection of craft stuff - usally prodced by what the locals call 'White Settlers' - generally New Age English people. What I saw was beyond all belief.... Unfortuantely I've left my notes back at the flat and I can't find these people's web page; more follows...

Why Cut up letters?

The Cottage is great, but they charge by the half hour, and I've overrun.

There are two types of EFL Teacher:-

1. The ones who spend a great deal of their time making worksheets, laminating pictures, cutting articles into single sentences and putting strips of paper in envelopes for their students to sort out. Generally seen with scissors and glue. Often youthful, female and idealistic.

2. The ones that don't. Frequently older, male, darkly cynical and yet with a certain worldweary charm, panache, and dry wit.

I belong to one of these groups.

Right. Have relocated to the excellent Cottage Cybercaff, where the machines are fast and the coffee runs free.

Why am I here?

the machines are fast and the coffee runs free.... but why am I in Edinburgh, Scotland, UK not Broadbottom, Derbyshire, England, UK? (no, really).

Some two years ago I returned to the dodgy field of Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) after 12 years doing more sensible things. This at an age when I should be old enough to know better. The reasons for my doing this may become apparent - if they do, for God's sake let me know what they are...

I'm working at the Institute for Applied Language Studies (IALS) for the summer and so far it's been great fun. And I'll be here for the Edinburgh Festival! Yip! Yip ! Yip!

I'm working with a nice bunch of students, mostly undergraduates, mostly from Spain and Japan. This makes a great change from the Afghani and Iranian asylum seekers I was teaching at a couple of rather tough FE colleges in Manchester, Lancashire, UK. (Enough already - I'm sure you've got the point I'm a UK Brit based in Greater UK Britland.)

Last night we had the Celidh for the first group of students to complete their three week block and depart - Scottish Dancers, addressing the haggis, kilts and pipes, all that stuff. Watching Japanese girls dancing the Gay Gordons, Strip the Willow and the rest in kimonos was a whole new experience...

I didn't join in the dancing, but will next time. Scottish country dancing is a killer; age, however, is only a state of mind.

Munro Bagging

In case you don't know, a Munro is one of the 284 (I think) mountains in Scotland over 3000 feet (900 metres). The sport of Munro bagging involves climbing as many of the things as possible and ticking them off. Three thousand feet sounds nothing hah? I certainly didn't think so before I did my first Munro, Ben Vorlich, two Sundays ago. I should add that I'm not a climber or mountaineer - the only thing I've ever climbed before was the northern ridge of Mt Hymettos, when I lived in Athens, which was fun, but not especailly steep or strenuous. Oh, and Pen Y Fan in the Brecon Beacons with my Dad when I was a kid. Anyway, this is what I wrote to my freind Neil after the Ben Vorlich adventure:-

"Did my first Munro yesterday. Ben Vorlich, 985
metres. Quite possibly my last. Almost my last
*anything* I thought for a while up there. A quite
entrancing combination of about 5 hours grinding
physical agony, followed by 45 mins of sheer
unadulterated terror. I mean, you know, it's supposed
to be hill walking; this felt like it was serious
mountain climbing. Last 600 feet absolutely
terrifying. Thought afterwards I should have savoured
moment on top, Rocky Mountain High, spirit of the
thing, spiritual journey to summit ect, instead my
thoughts were exclusively of the 'how the f___ do I
get down off of this thing' nature, together with 'oh
f___ oh f___ oh f___ this is high'. You ever get the
thing when you're about to go to sleep and you imagine
yourself falling off of an extremely high mountain?
Oh, right, that must just be me then....
Anyway, if you fancy having a go up a Munro this
summer, I'll be happy to watch... "

So why am I doing it again? Well, because I had expected it to be strenuous last time, but I hadn't expected to be scared stupid. That was a surpirse. Going back, knowing it's scarry might be... less... scarry. Sort of. And because I've got 283 Munros to go. I think. Anyway it's pssing down in Edinburgh this afternoon and I have to move flat across town - how do I move my stuff, my car and my bike without walking? This was the problem I set my class this morning... So I may not do the Munro I've got in mind... this one's called Ben Lui (pronounced Ben Louis - didn't he used to play trombone with Count Basie?)

Watch this space.
Viv

Well (how many blogs begin with the word 'well' I wonder?)... well, this is my first blog posting and by way of being an experiment. I learnt about the blog phenonmenon on the Guardian site last week and thought about doing it myself, adding to my own pages at www.bankgatetutors.co.uk/vivcentral.html - will that come up as a link? However not easy to FTP stuff when you're on the move, as I am at the moment, staying in Edinburgh for the summer. Hence Blogger. Right, lets see how this first entry looks....