What to get, what to get?

Every bloody year it's the same.
I have very little idea on what to chose as a suitable Christmas present for SWMBO.

Making peace with Nuclear Weapons seems sensible

Bad Day

I thought it would be a good day, however, I was wrong incorrect misinformed proved incorrect.

Moving House

We bought a new house at the start of the year.

Music

I know that Richard(of RBB) thinks that I'm an old reactionary when it comes to my taste in music.

I actually managed to hide his guitar last week when he was going to play our bloody school Karakia as an introduction to our usual Wednesday morning torture session called "Professional Development".  I know it's not his fault.  He has been told to play, to accompany the 'Dedicated singing of the dedicated teachers at Nuova Lazio High School in their morning paean to the f*cking non-existent spirits/gods of our Maori colleagues.

I don't believe in any Gods, gods, spirits, ghosts, invisible beings of any type, so I don't sing.  I stand mute.  All the staff know of my attitide.

I'm not demonstrating against the palaeolithic culture of our Maori, just making a stand against any sort of spiritualism.

Knowing that Richard(of RBB) is also a rabid atheist, I'm surprised that he even allows himself to play the bloody music, but he does.

It's Okay, Richard (of RBB), I forgive you.  After all, as the Germans said in 1945, Befehl ist Befehl.

But I do like music.

Growing up in Scotland in the 50s (20th century, I'm not that bloody old) I was introduced to the music my Mum and Dad liked.

We were a working class family.  My Dad was a cop in Glasgow, my Mum was a nurse, then a school secretary.  We had TV, a radio and a basic record player.

The good old Dansette, I think every home in the UK had one in the 50/60s

Our music was the nostalgic type.  The Black and White Minstrel Show was required viewing every week.  (Let the PC police sort that lot out.  Caucasians, in black-face, singing songs of the 30s.)

We just didn't know any better.

Mum and Dad used to play their kind of songs.  South Pacific.  And Nelson Eddy.

I now live within easy travelling distance to Tahiti, but SWMBO won't let me go ... sob

Then the Beatles began to become well-known. 

My first ever record purchase was a Parlophone 45rpm of "She Loves You" and my second was a copy of  Freddie and the Dreamers playing "If You Gotta Make A Fool of Somebody"

I cannot express the direness of those songs.  They were truly awful, and I cannot even listen to them now.

What a dick

Most modern music leaves me cold, but there are exceptions.

One is a song that I want played at my funeral.  I know I won't be there at all, in any form, but I want my old friends and relatives to remember me, so I'll make them cry.

It's Hallelujah, written by the late Leonard Cohen, and played beautifully by the late Jeff Buckley.
There are many  versions of this song, but I find this one the most emotive.

Enjoy.

Who the Hell are YOU?

A normal morning at NLHS.

Normal for me means getting in at 7:00.  Most staff and all students are warmly wrapped up in their fetid pits, but TSB has to be in nice and early, to prepare the school for the 8:45 start when the students amble in at their usual glacier pace.

Our kids walk faster than this ...JUST

I have to check which of my weak and malingering colleagues have decided to take the day off, and to arrange cover for their classes.

The excuses I get given by these poor souls vary.

My Mum just passed away (sympathy, but I try to convey the bad timing.. Couldn't they arrange the passing during the holidays?)

Aww, sorry.  Get back to work.

• 
  My son/daughter/partner/hamster has a runny nose, and I don't feel I should leave them alone. (Why not?  Is your presence going to make them feel better?  Just leave them with a TV cartoon/Barbie Doll/glass of malt/bowl of nuts.  They don't need mollycoddling, for goodness sake)
• Having to attend Jury Service (Why?  Couldn't they just send in the guilty verdict by email?
  
  
• Going on a training course they have forgotten to mention to me (FFS, they should be sent on a course on Memory Strategies (during a weekend of course) to help the poor bugger in remembering to tell me the day before)
• I've got to take my dog to the vet (Bloody Hell man, I thought Kiwis were hard.  Couldn't they just rip off the dog's bollocks with their bare teeth like the sheep cockies do?)

However, I digress.

As I walked towards the admin block, at my usual brisk pace, exhibiting a tall, erect military posture, I noticed something odd.

I very rarely notice something nice at NLHS.  I do remember the mother of one of my year 11 boys at a Learning Conference (the newfangled bloody name for parent's night) who was very, very nice.  But not often.

This was very nice.

I must admit that I very often notice something odd at NLHS.

I notice Colin the Groundsman meandering in his usual wobbling manner (tie your f*cking boots man, that's why they invented shoelaces for f*ck's sake) toward wherever it is he'll be hiding from everyone for that day.  It's no use shouting at him, he's got a pair of extra-padded ear muffs with integral radio permanently glued to his ears, so he won't even notice a Richter 8 earthquake, unless it ruffles the paddock.

I notice Richard [of RBB] arriving in his clapped out old motor, mumbling mispronounced Italian phrases to himself whilst whistling some very obscure (and out-of-tune) tune for his Gloria.

I notice one of the band of feral ex-students who haunt the premises, trying to scavenge food, water and the fag and cigar doubts, trying to hide behind the gym.



This time however, what I saw was extremely odd.

Odd, man ...like weird

An old bloke, in his mid eighties I would guess, slowly ambling over the back car park towards the gym.  I should say that it is not unusual to see some of the local denizens of Nuova Lazio using the school as a public thoroughfare (and occasionally as a public toilet) at some times during the day, but rarely so early in the morning.

It was so odd, that even Colin the Groundsman stopped to stare before heading for his hide.

"Ah Well" I said to myself as I turned to head back to my office, "There's nowt so queer as folk"
(Especially the late unlamented Brendon, who was as queer as a 3 pound note and eventually left before he got charged for grooming some of our more sensitive senior students)

Ten minutes later while struggling to re-re-arrange that days relief cover (I've got to wait until the electrician comes.  Never heard that one before. ... NOT) I heard someone trying to open the doors to the admin block.

It was that old bloke again.

I talked to him ... sort of.

I talked, he talked, but no communication was established.
I asked simple questions.

"Who are you?"

"The girls aren't working"
(Thinks, what girls, is he some sort of pimp?)

"Why are you here?"

"I work here making sure the jobs get done"

"I've worked her for almost 15 years. and I don't recognise you" "Why are you here?"

"Right along that road and around the corner"

"What?"

"That's where they go you know, it takes ages to get them back again"

"Get who?"

"That's my job, I've always worked here"

"What do you do?"

"That ground's not flat you  know, you've to work at it"

It dawned on me that this bloke was completely away with the fairies.
Eventually (another 5 minutes of non-communicative talk) I persuaded him to f*ck off.

One of my colleagues (who were beginning to arrive by now [the lazy buggers] phoned the cops and told them to keep an eye out for the poor old bugger.

It wasn't until much later that I suddenly realised I had made a grave error.

He would have been ideal as a relief teacher.
He wouldn't have taken any notice of the crap said to him by our kids.
He would have been talking gibberish, but the kids would just have thought that they didn't understand, a usual state of being for many of them, so no harm done there.
AND the poor old soul wouldn't have realised that he was supposed to be getting paid, and I could have pocketed the lot, about $250 each day.  I could have made a nice wee nest egg for my semi-immanent retirement.

Bugger.

Things that go Thump in the Night

Did the Earth Move for You?

Last week, at 12:04 on Monday morning, we had a wee Earthquake.
For any Kiwi or even Japanese readers of m'blog, an explanation of what being in a major earthquake feels like would be superfluous, but for most others, let me say

IT WAS BLOODY SCARY.

When the first trembling started, it was enough to wake me up, but it wasn't too bad.  The worst was when my Beloved hit me.

She thought that I was "mucking about" or just turning over in bed by bouncing on the mattress, so she does what she normally does when she gets upset with me (a more than rare occurrence) she hits me. 

I've still got the bruise.

However, back to the earthquake.

The movements began to escalate, accompanied by a baso-profundo rumble.  The house started to sway, we could hear the joints creaking and moaning, and IT DIDN'TSTOP.  It went on for bloody ages.

My Beloved began to fart (a sure sign of semi-terminal stress), the dog began to howl, alarms were going off all around, and I said "Goodness" "Isn't this exciting"

My Beloved hit me again.

It stopped (The hitting as well as the quake)

I went back to sleep, and slept right through the next, slightly smaller one at about 2:30am.

DeepSleep

Next morning at school, a bit earlier than usual, around 6:30am, just to check the bloody place was still there.

Nuova Lazio High School is built in the slum Garden Suburb of Nuova Lazio (funny that, must be a coincidence) which happens to be built on a drained swamp in the middle of an ancient caldera, so when the shaky Gods of Aoteroa start feeling their oats, nobody's quite sure whether the whole place will disappear into a stinking 200m deep quagmire,

or be blown to Kingdom F*cking Come.

It does lead to some trepidation amongst the citizenry.


This time however, all seemed OK, no obvious damage, so the Boss-Man (not me, I hasten to add, I'm just an assistant Boss) said the school would be open for business (Teaching and Learning ....HAHAHHAHAHAHA) that day.

We are having our big end-of-year exams, run by the NZQA (my job to organise and administer) and set in our Auditorium.  When I had a look in there, it looked OK, apart from a couple of big, free-standing wooden back-of-stage thingies, which had fallen down and crushed a couple of desks. (Luckily, the quake was in the middle of the night.  If it had happened during an exam, we would probably have lost a couple of students)

We might have had a squashed student

So the exams went on.

We got blasted by parents who thought we should have closed the school.
We got praised by parents who were gratified at our efforts to allow the students to complete their exams.

Some days, you just can't win.

I had to shut the Auditorium that afternoon, as there were some tiles hanging loose in the ceiling.
We all saw them, but thought they were polystyrene, and no threat. 

However.

One fell down at lunchtime, and it proved to be made of a fibre-reinforced plaster, backed by plywood, and each tile weighed about 30kg.

So we shut the bloody death trap before someone got killed, and moved the exams into some other rooms, displacing Richard {of RBB], but that doesn't matter, it's only Music.

Restarting the Machine

It's been some time since I visited these cyberspace annals.
Since I got appointed as an Acting Deputy Principal, then a Deputy Principal, then an Acting Assistant Principal, and then finally as an Assistant Principal (it's a long, complex and mildly depressing story, so please don't ask) I have found myself being inhibited from posting my normal style of blog.

I'm a Boss

Anything I used to say as a 'normal' teacher could be interpreted in a different way  as a posting from a member of the 'Senior Management Team'

That was what I was told anyway, by a member of said SMT.

I, however have come to a conclusion.

Fück it.

I'll write what I bloody want.

I've only got another year or two to go, then the heady ambrosial plains of retirement beckon, and anything I do/write will have little effect on my colleagues or Stalag Luft III in Nuova Lazio where I work.

(BTW, DO NOT do an Image search for "Prison School" unless you have feelings of a paedophilic and sadistic bent.)


During the intervening time since I paused in posting, I have been very busy on an infamous UK-based forum called ARRSE.
This is mostly populated by serving and retired British Army personnel, so you may find that my posts have gone a touch cruder, exposed as I have been to the licentious, debased but very amusing soldiery.

I'll really get it going tomorrow, when I can think up a suitably engrossing and disgusting topic.