Category
University
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06.10.03Er…Whilst at university, I lived with a man who had a habit of going to the loo - the long trips, shall we say, rather than the short jaunts - with the light off, and leaving the door ever so slightly ajar.Once, I walked in on him, and in embarrassment said"Oh, gosh, sorry"to which his voice was heard echoing from the bathroom as I hastily shut the door"No, don't worry, it's OK"I never figured out whether it was just a linguistic twist or not.I sort of hope it was.
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05.26.03The quietest place under the sunWhen was the last time you went out dancing? Or, for that matter, the last time you danced anywhere? Subtle foot shufflings at gigs only partially count. I'm talking dancing here.I haven't been out dancing for years. Literally, years.I'm trying to remember the last time. Might have been at an office Christmas do in 1998, drunk on a boat. I remember being on the dancefloor, at least, but not actually boogying. But that could have been it. If not then, it could have been a few years before at a dire student pub called the Queen of Hearts in Fallowfield, ...
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03.12.03BirthdayWhen I was born, the doctor wasn't there. In the maternity ward, the air was thick with humidity and women hollering for relief. My mum, self-trained in National Childbirth Trust breathing techniques, from a book sent over by her mum, remained relatively quiet, panting through the pain.The doctor came to check on her and, when she saw how little pain my mum was apparently in, concluded that there was ages left to go before I made my entry. The doctor went shopping. Twenty minutes later, I popped into the world, protesting loudly.My mum always said I was born within earshot ...
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01.01.03How to Look GuiltyI must have that kind of face. No, wait, scrub that. I must have that kind of mind. I always seem to feel guilty when passing through customs, even when I've got nothing to declare - which is always.Well, I say always. I mean always as far as I know - because sometimes, you've got no way of knowing.At university in the second year, I lived with five blokes. I've mentioned them before - they were the ones who were responsible for the electricity bill nightmare and the sorry tale of the seating rule. Anyway. Five blokes, all a bit ...
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01.01.03On Visual MemoryAt one point, a few years ago, my friends used to poke gentle fun at me for always drawing maps using the objects on the table: "So imagine that this salt cellar is me, and that ashtray is the corner of the road...hand on, can you pass that fork? Ok, that fork is the zebra crossing, and the mug, I mean the bus was going along here like this..." My listening friends would start to chip in usefully: "What's this pepper pot?" "How about my lasagne?" "Can this glass be a bus stop?" and so on. Smart arses. But I can't help it: ...
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01.01.03On Voting, and Political PartiesIt was really hot that week. I remember the weather with the kind of clarity that comes with being a final year student living in a flat overlooking a park, watching people play frisbee, drink lager and loll about in the sunshine while I studied for my finals and wished plagues of pollen and midges upon them. Bastards. It was the second election I'd voted in, but the first I'd paid much attention to. In 1992, I'd been living in the Tory-for-ever-and-ever constituency of Kensington and Chelsea. I sent in my vote in a tatty envelope from Mexico - taking part ...
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01.01.03The Voice Of GodProbably the only reason Sam S (boyfriend of the girl who relieved herself in public, and my flatmate in the second year of uni) had got onto his philosophy course in the first place was that he had attended the interview off his cake on speed. When asked to ponder that old philosophical chestnut "is that chair you're sitting on really real?" Sam was in the perfect mindset to rattle on pointlessly about reality, consciousness, illusion, and all number of pontifications guaranteed to win him a place on a philosophy course, where such ramblings are tolerated - no, expected. Of ...
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01.01.03On TheftI'd been in Bolivia for almost a year, and I knew how to handle myself. I wasn't a tourist, and I wasn't a local - I was something in between, something infinitely more nebulous and difficult. Lots of things had happened - lots of good and lots of bad - but I hadn't once got angry or upset. I'd picked myself up, mentally dusted myself down and said "right, what can I learn from this?". Pragmatic to a fault, even after being attacked, even after the riots, even after being beaten. I was living out in the countryside, but I rented ...
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01.01.03On TeachingAfter three months living in La Paz, someone in a bar convinced me to take a job with the Centro Boliviano Americano, teaching English as a Foreign Language for a couple of days a week. Research was going slowly, so it didn't take much to convince me at all. The interview for this position basically consisted of a brief chat with the principal of the CBA, a formidable Boliviana with a degree from some midwestern college and an accent to match: "Oh, are you English?" "Yes..." "Right, you can start on Monday." In at the deep end, teaching four classes ...
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01.01.03On TeachersThe best teacher I ever had, since you ask, was not one of the obvious ones. I had some cracking teachers in college and university - Sylla (Spanish), Theo (English), Rosie (Sociolinguistics and Quechua) - in their own ways, each of them inspired me to learn, extending the student-teacher relationship into friendship (whether that meant eating chocolate fondue at their flat or lending favourite books and urging me to read them) and I have to thank them. But the best teacher I ever had was not my favourite. She was a woman called Ms Stacke and she was not an ...
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