Disneyland - after holding out for all those years

Finally, after successfully dodging it for years, I am due to visit Disneyland. I will probably enjoy it and wonder why I held out so long but the inevitable happens in August. I say inevitable because two kids (8 and 3) and a wife who loves the cartoons almost as much as the little ones have voted against all the other destinations I have tried to entice them with. These included, Norway, Switzerland, Madeira, Holland - all to no avail - Paris or tears!

My eldest is already a veteran of Disneyland Hong Kong, I managed to stay in Macau the day she and my wife went there. We had run out of time during our stay in Hong Kong  and as my elderly mother was with us it was felt another trip on the Macau-HK hydrofoil would be too much coupled with Mickey and Goofy. Mum and I had a delightful lunch in a Portuguese restaurant with not a hotdog in sight.

I am busily researching some reasonably priced restaurants to visit while in Paris. It's years since I was in Paris. Not since a spur of the moment trip to see the 24 hour race at Le Mans in 1982. It was expensive then and Franc or Euro it won't be any cheaper now.

Talking of Euros, I've never even seen one, 10 years in Thailand taking holidays in Asia or Australia and New Zealand meant I have never been in a Euro using country since it was introduced.

Police Cyclists in York

The fastest way across town is by bicycle as the ambulance service already know. The police too have realised this and there are a number of rugged all terrain bikes (ATBs) to be seen in York decked out in police livery. I must say I'd prefer a z-cars type mark 2 Jaguar but these look pretty cool.

A day in the life of George, a railway engine driver

Another piece of creative writing.

Four thirty in the morning, dark, cold, it’s November. George’s alarm has just jolted him from slumber. He shuffles to the kitchen; tea, a slice of toast.

‘Where’s that new marmalade? I like that.”
No paper yet, he’ll get one in Birmingham. The 5.37 to New Street awaits George. A second cup of tea while constructing the sarnies.
Into the car, streets deserted, an uneventful drive to the depot to pick up his train, Cherry red, two doors, 3,800 horse power, 50,000 pounds plus of tractive effort;16 years old but well maintained.

5.24, he pulls the train up to platform 8. Just enough time for a quick smoke before the off. He has a green, the guard has belled him, ease off, gently does it, public on board now. George is thinking about his allotment, some flowers but mostly vegetables; leeks, cabbages, carrots.
“Potatoes will need lifting this weekend”, he thought. “I’ll do it Sunday, I’m on cover but Pete is fit as a fiddle, never off sick.”
Kings Junction, check the clock, bang on time. Kingsbridge in 3 minutes.
“I’ll have pie and peas for lunch, at the Shipwrights Arms, a glass of lemon and lime too.” He decided, “I’ll have the sarnies on the flip run.”

A shrill whistle from the dapper looking stationmaster at Kingsbridge and another green. Smoothly off, and George pulls away for the long straight towards the summit, not much of a summit but enough to slow the old girl down a bit.

“Bugger! I can’t go to the allotment Sunday” he realized, “Promised Elsie I’d paper the living room.”
Garret’s Green in 4 minutes, past the pretty signal box.
“I wish my allotment looked like the garden around it”, thought George, more than a little jealously.

Half an hour later he was snugging up the loco to the buffers on platform 6 at New Street; an hour and forty minutes before the reverse leg of his day. Pie and peas, read the paper, back to the station.

George was pulling on the car handbrake in his drive at 3.28 in the afternoon. He realized he had not spoken a word to another soul all day, other than to order his lunch; and that only by chance. He could have eaten the sarnies in the drivers den, never a body in there weekdays.

“Never mind, Elsie always says I’m an anti-social, old git anyway.” He chuckled to himself and made up his mind to lift the potatoes that afternoon.

Of tea mugs, steam engines and VW microbuses

I recently bought a new mug for my cups of tea at work. It featured that work horse of surfers, the Kiwi's home from home, the 60s icon that is the VW microbus. I popped a teabag in and poured in boiling water. A loud 'crack' emanated from the vessel and brown liquid began to ooze onto the work surface. Disaster, the mug had cracked almost severing itself into two pieces. I took it back to the shop; the parsimonious Scots half of me I guess; well it had cost nearly four whole English pounds! The lady in the shop, so demure and helpful while I was a purchaser turned harridan when confronted with a complaint. Result: no refund, no replacement and a warning about using ornamental display pieces with handles for real tea.

Still mugless, I left York for the North York Moors Railway with a party of Thai students who had managed to find a window in between Bangkok violence and Icelandic ash clouds. At the souvenir shop on Grosmont station platform I found the answer to my needs. A dishwasher and microwave approved tea drinking crock complete with aforementioned railway company logo and witty comment: 'Return to footplate for washout and refill'. A whisper under 5 pounds and it was mine. I've been using it for a week now and can firmly recommend the British railway carriage over a cramped German self-propelled caravan.

Writing for fifteen minutes

Hello: welcome to my latest jigsaw piece for the blogosphere. According to Boswell Dr Johnson is reputed to have said no one should write anything unless it be paid for. "No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money." I guess the Internet shows that his dictat has been well and truly blown out of the water.

I have no figures but I get the feeling that a greater part of the web is unpaid writing. Andy Warhol predicted that everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes. I suppose it depends on how many people it takes to be following you in some way that warrants the fame tag, but the Internet may well be the showcase that some have been craving.

I don't write for others, only myself. If others then want to read a little of what I clumsily type on my ageing laptop then I have no objections, indeed I cannot have any, because I have unzipped my flies, as it were, by choosing to 'publish' in a publicly accessible place.

A livewire on a creative writing course in 2008 said everyone has a book inside them - unfortunately, they are for the greater part deadly dull and should remain in dusty lofts or damp cellars forever. I have no pretentions towards creative writing as a means to support myself, but a textbook or two to pay the heating or air-conditioning bills, the nature of the electronic comfort dependant on wherever I end up grumbling away my final years, might be acceptable. So, perhaps I'll buck the trend and follow Dr Johnson's sagacity, incidentally fulfilling Warhol's oft-quoted maxim into the bargain.

My favourite photo

I thought I'd share my favourite photograph this week. It was taken with my mobile phone so the quality is not fantastic. However, I think the lighting and the Lowryesque figures work well. The bright red old-fashioned phone box works too, helping to add atmosphere, and has always reminded me of the little girl's coat in Schindler's List. It always strikes me as being from a much earlier era than it actually is.  
Where was it taken? A little way from Drury Lane in London. When? November 2008

Abstract of Presentation at IATEFL conference in Harrogate 7-11th April

An easier approach? - Basic English revisited

Ian Paul (English Language Centre, York)

Earlier last century, attempts were made to simplify English and produce a basic vocabulary. The most famous of these attempts were 'Basic English' and the closely allied 'General Service List'.

This poster argues the rationale for devising a modern, 21st Century replacement for the list. The many sound reasons, pedagogical and commercial, for adopting such a move will be illustrated.

The Decision - Please comment on this, I value your opinions.

Here it is - my final assessed creative writing exercise. Please let me know what you think of it. Don't hold back, I have broad shoulders.

Francesca Peterson was thirty-eight years old the day she made her decision. Thirty-eight years of life, and now, a day to change all that had gone before. All the heartache, so many broken hearts along the way. The debt; credit really had been much too easy to obtain. The daily drudgery that was her work, so many wrong decisions taken there too. Today would change all that.


She had thought about this day for a considerable time now, how she would feel, would it hurt? At last, on the bridge now, she looked down to the water, slowly churning its way to the sea; a pretty blue, almost like duck eggs; glacial melt-water she presumed. Would she feel the cold? Would other thoughts steal her mind? Soon she’d find out.


The bridge was high, a wonder of engineering; a product of that wandering band of technical superiority the Scottish civil engineer. It had been built one hundred and twenty-five years ago to span a gorge. The bridge was of the suspension variety, fairly elegant as far as bridges go; the institutional green paint, so different a shade to the surrounding foliage, provided a visual contrast to the blue water below, so far below.


Francesca knew that soon, very soon, she’d have to take her decision. A myriad of thoughts coursed through her brain, would her bra keep her modesty? She wanted to be decent, afterwards – when they fished her out of that cold, blue water so far below. It really was a long way down, she panicked.


She had always been scared, to the point of phobia, of height. She had joked with friends it wasn’t so much the falling that frightened her, rather the landing. She’d find out now how landings felt. Or here, high above the water, should it be waterings? Would the shock of impact kill her, would it be by drowning? Maybe she’d be dead from shock, long before she hit that cold, oh so blue water. She thought of the word ‘long’. She was conscious of using it - ‘long before’. How long? She tried to recall physics lessons, what was the velocity, or was it acceleration, of a falling body? Francesca realized she had no idea of even where to start to calculate how ‘long’ before she hit the icy, churning water below. She added yet another shortcoming to her life of dissatisfaction.


She didn’t know why she had chosen to jump; she only knew it had to be this bridge, this elegant, old bridge: above this particular, cold, blue ribbon of meandering melt-water in this particular gorge. She thought it was as pretty a place as any to do it.


She thought of her mother, far away in England, what would she say if she could see her only child perched high above the water waiting to jump? She wished her mother was there, to hold onto, to comfort her. Had mum ever thought of doing this, she mused, would she support me in my decision or try and talk me out of it?


Then it was time; time to jump. It was easier than she had imagined, just a gentle rolling forward on the balls of her feet, too late for any more thoughts; it was done. Francesca Peterson jumped off the Kawerau Bridge, New Zealand, home of the bungee jump.

Appeal for Sponsorship - however little - it will all help

As an ex-outdoor pursuits instructor I thought I'd do my bit for this year's Sport Relief weekend by running a mile. I ran a 52 mile mountain endurance event over two days in South West Scotland during the nineties but after 10 years in Thailand, not to mention only cycling for exercise for the last few years, I feel I should get back to more strenuous exercise gradually.
My daughter will be baking cakes and biscuits to raise money for her dad's efforts. Please make a donation, however small, via the secure website below:

http://www.mysportrelief.com/ianpaul

Thank You

Suburban Dawn

Here's a little bit of creative writing I wrote for a course in 2008. I may work it up into a fuller story one of these days.

It was another seemingly ordinary day at the station; Cyril had just brought me my second coffee of the day. I had a belter of a hangover, a real humdinger, far too many beers in the police club the previous night. Then a call was put through to me, I didn’t recognise the voice at first but she knew me; that much was obvious. I listened with the detachment of what I was that morning, a jaded, hung-over copper. Then she told me about the scream she’d heard just before dawn; that stung me out of torpor. I noted down her address and got the flash of gestalt, of course, I knew her now. She was a woman I’d taken back to her house for a drunken night of debauchery about two years ago. She’d obviously quite liked the experience, left me messages for a few days; I never returned them. Move on, plenty more fish in the pond, I say.

About twenty minutes later Cyril and I drew up the car outside her house. It was an ordinary house and the neighbours’ houses looked no different, scores of nondescript suburban dwellings; ‘little houses made of ticky tacky, and they all look just the same’, swam into my head. I rang the bell of my one-night-stand and she opened it quickly and ushered us in. Cyril had been moaning about another domestic violence case in the offing; I was unconvinced, too early in the day or too late at night. Peak time for domestics is two in the morning. Lynne, my old conquest’s name, told us about her neighbour, early forties, single, kept himself to himself, no obvious female presence in his life, creepy she described him as. I smiled wryly at Cyril, no domestic this one.

Lynne told us what she’d heard earlier that morning, up at that hour to go to the khazi. Just as she was returning to her bed she’d heard a really desperate, howling scream that went on for about ten seconds, then nothing. She’d been shocked at first but as it didn’t continue, went back to bed. In the morning she looked out of the window and saw her neighbour leaving with a small suitcase, a taxi idling at the end of his drive. She pondered why he wasn’t taking his car and then phoned us a few minutes later, asking to speak to me as I was the only detective she knew.

Flying doctors - nearly

I approve of the idea behind the smart, well-equipped, all-terrain, NHS bikes to be seen around York. As a city that is well used to seeing 7% of its commutes made by bicycle, York has not heralded these life-savers as proudly as it might. The cyclists among you know that the quickest, and most predictable, way around a busy city is by bike. My own commute, to the language school I work at, takes me 17 minutes, rain or shine. By car or bus it has taken anything from 20 to 50 minutes.
Given those figures it makes sense that to get medical aid to a vehicle accident victim, a bicycle will probably be the quickest way. A great many hold-ups are accident linked anyway, so even more reason to use a bike to gain those vital few minutes that might make all the difference.
I for one applaud the introduction and will sleep sounder knowing that a fellow cyclist may one day come to my aid.

The adaptability of humanity

A few weeks ago these three people were wondering how they would be able to survive the winter in England. Eight weeks later and they are seasoned winter sports enthusiasts.

What a difference a sprinkling of snow makes at Christmas time. Most places of interest are shut or operating on reduced programmes so a day or two outdoors was just what was needed.

Even dad had fun - no cycling but sledges can be exciting too.

The sledge cost ten pounds -  best tenner I've spent all year!

Sushi making - a great way to spend time with your loved ones

It always comes as a surprise to people that I don't like Thai food, as I lived in Thailand for ten years it must seem so, I suppose. I do like Japanese food though - a lot! I had incentive discount cards for 4 or 5 Japanese restaurant chains in Thailand. My favourite was Sukishi, a hybrid Japanese/Korean affair; very tasty Korean barbecue and excellent sushi at reasonable cost. The cost of sushi in the UK however, is unbelievable to the point of prohibitive for a lowly-paid English teacher.
There had to be an answer that would assuage my longing for unagi (smoked eel) and ebi (prawn) on delicious vinagared rice with a garnish of nori (seaweed). As so many other things in life the answer is in your own hands. Do it yourself, hmm, DIY Sushi? I'd heard that sushi chefs take years to become fully trained and the best Japanese chefs command huge salaries. Well, I may have a long way to go before being hired by a Tokyo sushi house, but I'm pleased with my efforts so far. The best thing about DIY sushi though is the fun you can have making it with your family.
We kitted ourselves out from Tesco, Sainsbury's and added a few authentic plates and sets of chopsticks from Thailand and Japan. We managed to get Japanese curry, rice, flavouring, ginger, seaweed, wasabi and miso soup from the supermarkets and supplemented a Thai sushi rolling mat with an imported Japanese one from the same source. All set to go, but how to turn all these high quality ingredients into a reasonable copy of the genuine article? I wanted curry and ebi tempura with a selection of sushi and sashimi and, of course, wasabi. Not as strange as it sounds, just think lightly smoked salmon with horseradish.
Here are the results:-

IATEFL conference in Harrogate April 2010

Some weeks ago I made a list of things I'd like to achieve in what is left of my life. At number 3 on that list was the wish to present at an international English language teaching conference. Such a conference will take place at Harrogate, about 20 miles from York, in April next year. The International Association of Teachers of English as a Foreign Language (IATEFL) annual conference. I was bold enough to send in a proposal during September, and it has just been accepted as a poster presentation. The subject is the case for teaching only a basic version of English - English Lite if you will. The intention being that students could learn to communicate quicker and have no need for such complications as idioms or question tags. I'll post the abstract here later this week.
I presented an earlier version of my work at ThaiTESOL in Khon Kaen, Thailand in 2005 and again at Thammasat University in Bangkok later that year. People either agreed with or dismissed the ideas - no fence sitters.
I'm nervous already, IATEFL is the big one - what have I done?

A link to a petition all UK based EFL teachers should sign

Following on from my letter to my MP I would urge all EFL teachers to consider signing this petition. It is an attempt to draw MPs, and in particular PM Brown's, attention towards the consequences of raising the bar on English levels for Non-EU students intending to study in the UK.
Please take a look and, hopefully, spend a few moments registering your support.

Thanks - Ian

http://petitions.number10.gov.uk/PBSReview/

More UK visa nonsense - this time for students.

I always wanted to write to an MP - this is what I wrote to Hugh Bayley (Labour MP for York) yesterday.

As an ex-employee of the British Council (Thailand) now working in York at the English Language Centre I am concerned by the present government's alarming anouncements regarding further student visa regulation tightening. I hope it is just sabre rattling, but fear Mr Brown is attempting to win the BNP deserters back into the Labour fold and may actually try to make them happen!.

While working for the British Council, a UK government funded organisation under the directorship of Neil Kinnock, I was always given to understand that the idea was to attract as many students to the UK as possible. The reasons were manifold but can be summed up briefly: foreign students equal cash for the UK via:- tuition fees, VAT and other taxes paid by the students, text books sales - largely UK publishing houses, use of British made products in the students' fields of study fostering a familiarity and trust of that product therefore lifelong trade with the UK, accomodation fees paid to UK citizens, etc, etc.

Non-EU nationals are now about to be squeezed again and made to jump through more UKBA hoops. This will drive prospective students to other English speaking nations offering less stringent visa conditions.

For example; an uplift in required level of English before being accepted for a study visa is ridiculous - surely the students want to study here in order to become proficient at English.

I implore you to bring the utmost pressure to bear on Mr Brown to abandon these ill thought through ideas. Liase with the right honourable Mr Kinnock and get his angle on attracting foreign students.

There must be hundreds and possibly thousands of your constituents who would be directly affected by such measures, and many more indirectly. Look at the language schools, universities, landlords, shopkeepers etc. in York who rely on foreign students for all or some of their livelihood.

Oxford University Course

This week sees me embarking on another course with Oxford University, this is my fourth. This course does not carry any transferable credits but is a CPD or continuing professional development course. Don't you just hate TLAs?  A prize for the first reader to identify what a TLA is.
So, what is this course about? It's entitled Effective Online Tutoring. So far it looks great, based around Moodle; explore the link below if you'd like to know more about what that is. It uses blogs, wikis, VLEs (there's another one), and all manner of e-learning type tools. I figured it was time to update my knowledge in this area as the future is definitely along this path. Who knows, if I enjoy it I may pursue some postgraduate modules in e-learning. I've taken a peek at some blogs written by one of my old colleagues from the British Council and the content of these e-learning degrees interests me greatly. 
The best thing about this course though, is that the certificate will be in my name but the invoice will be in my employer's name. 

 Here is a link to the Moodle website  

Season of mellow fruitfulness

England is a lovely place! I had forgotten the smells of autumn, the colours of  deciduous leaves and the sounds of dried leaves underfoot. I watched my girls playing in dried leaves today; throwing them up and laughing as they fell all around them. Clad in warm jackets, scarves, hats and gloves; so different from Thailand, where I swear it was hotter when I left than the day I arrived. We bought pumpkins on the way home to carve into lanterns.  I'm very glad to be back again in England.

Air battle of the gulf states

England once more. Home this time via Manchester airport and train to York. I will never understand airline fare structures and have stopped trying to see through the illogicality to the kernel of sense; I don't believe there is one anymore. Those of you who know me will know that I have travelled inter-continentally by Emirates for many years. Sometimes another airline may undercut them a little but the good service and growing number of air-miles I am amassing on their system outweigh any serious financial considerations. Not so this trip. My wife and family were returning with me so we were going to book them on the same Emirates flight as I was booked on. Shock! even horror at the quoted prices. Suffice to say I flew home via Doha on Qatar Airlines. Even paying for train-fares from Manchester for four, then to Newcastle for one (my car was in Northumberland), it was cheaper by Qatar for me to forget my paid-for return and buy four new tickets plus rail fares. How much cheaper?
Well, I'm writing this on a brand new Acer Timeline Laptop, bought with the remaining difference. As I say airline pricing is a black art to me.

Visa at last!!

After months of waiting, my wife now has a settlement visa for the UK. She can now get on with life in the UK. The last few weeks have seen the whole family in limbo; not able to get on with anything. Now she can apply for a national insurance number, apply for further education courses, etc.; in other words - get on with life.
I appreciate that the new stringent regulations are to protect the country from 'undesirables', but the vast majority of applicants, particularly those asking for spouse visas, are not exactly high risk. You and I can see this, why can't the immigration authorities?