tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59889742024-03-07T09:53:40.543+01:00An Englishman in VeronaNow <a href="http://asassenachsoliloquy.blogspot.com">A Sassenach Soliloquy</a>Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.comBlogger179125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1103845725932716352004-12-24T01:46:00.000+01:002004-12-24T00:50:55.250+01:00Hi. I've had a few comments lately that suggest that people don't see the archives menu on the right-hand side of this page. Just to make things clear: this page is not all of this blog; there's loads more. Just use the archives menus (underneath the blogs links).
And, as the entry below says, I'm now blogging at a new address: http://asassenachsoliloquy.blogspot.com.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1093800705837386772004-08-29T19:29:00.000+02:002004-08-29T19:31:45.836+02:00Time to move on then people: nothing more to see here.
I've changed the name of the site, and the url. So change your bookmarks, and head over to A Sassenach Soliloquy. See you there.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1093777052388234962004-08-29T12:47:00.000+02:002004-08-29T12:57:32.386+02:00Yesterday I achieved a childhood ambition: I was paid to play sport. That's right: I am now (for one day only, admittedly) a professional sportsman. Which is (in theory) more than those Olympians with all their medals can say. So boo shucks to you all.
Unfortuanately I had to sell my sole to the corporate devil to do so. Pepsi Max (Remember kids: "All the taste, with none of sugar") are Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1093543600202483432004-08-26T19:55:00.000+02:002004-08-26T20:06:40.203+02:00I know, I'm being rubbish. I've posted irregularly since I got back from Italy, and although there was good reason for that when I was in Ely, I do have a bit more time now. I guess my momentum was thwarted and I haven't regained it yet.
I'm doing some cover work for a school in London at the moment. I went into a class the other day, scanned the room for new students and located two. I Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1093210095365846072004-08-22T23:26:00.000+02:002004-08-22T23:28:15.366+02:00Urban Berlin. The older building in the middle remins me of Metropolis.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1093013068482993982004-08-20T16:35:00.000+02:002004-08-20T16:44:28.483+02:00
Two photos from Berlin. One more to follow tomorrow.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1092672193309021692004-08-16T18:01:00.000+02:002004-08-16T18:49:38.466+02:00Jeremy Paxman’s book, The English, has several interesting observations. One in particular that had me nodding in agreement was this, on our attitude to housing:
“..the obsessive English belief that the only ‘real’ England is some other version of Arthur Bryant’s land of singing milkmaids [Bryant wrote patriotic histories of England] is dangerous for three reasons. Firstly, it is Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1091611281907159382004-08-04T11:20:00.000+02:002004-08-04T11:24:08.236+02:00For the last twelve months I have earnt (or “earned”? Depends where you come from...) my living spreading the dominance of my mother tongue as the global language. And then, on Saturday evening, I found myself reading Jeremy Paxman’s The English, surrounded by twee couples enjoying picnics of wine and English raspberrries and awaiting the commencement of an summer evening’s open air performance Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1090609771765881372004-07-23T21:04:00.000+02:002004-07-23T21:20:29.040+02:00I often take reassurance when a new social group make small (harmless) jokes at my expense, as people only ever do it when they like you: when was the last time you mocked somebody you despised? However, this good nature is occasionally and unfortunately abused: in fact, many of my friends think I stand for too much. The stick often builds because, so I'm regularly told, I'm easy to Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1090338398344642082004-07-20T17:35:00.000+02:002004-07-23T21:19:55.650+02:00Crikey. I tapped my url into this machine, but typed in wrongly, getting the p and s in blogspot the wrong way round. I was somewhat surprised to find that http://anenglishmaninverona.blogpsot.com/ is a url in use. And it's run by Christian nutcases too...
In other developments, two Ukranians lads have bought a mini-fridge to keep their coke cans cool in their roomThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1089807714191618782004-07-14T14:20:00.000+02:002004-07-14T14:21:54.190+02:00Too busy. I will write something when I don't have to teach English, organise football tournaments or take 83 kids on a tour of London.
Need sleep.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1089025110221552982004-07-05T12:55:00.000+02:002004-07-05T12:58:30.220+02:00There will be a proper entry soon about what it's like being back in the UK. Unsurprisingly I've been a bit busy seeing friends and playing frisbee to blog since I got back.
In the meantime, here's another picture from Milan.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1088461047070744782004-06-29T00:14:00.000+02:002004-06-29T00:31:18.820+02:00
Taken in Milan. If I had a beautiful girlfriend, and if I had more money, I'd take her there and then buy her the dress and the shoes.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1088267979244312542004-06-26T18:37:00.000+02:002004-06-26T18:39:39.243+02:00Two friends from Verona are coming to London in August to have some fun and do a language course whilst they’re here. On Thursday I went up to town to watch the England game (no comment) and found myself thinking about what they’d make of the place.
It’s hard - less than 48 hours later - to explain what felt different after nine months in a relatively tiny and quiet place; I’m from London, so Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1088000774271925732004-06-23T16:18:00.000+02:002004-06-23T16:26:14.273+02:00I am back in England and in my parents house.
Things I have noticed since I landed:
(i) It is cold, grey and windy. And it was raining when I landed.
(ii) Everybody seems to have a beer gut.
(iii) I don't like these pounds and pence. I miss my Euro and I want it back.
(iv) The English are a bunch of stupid, xenophobic bastards. The very first conversation I overheard after landing involved Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1087811169093527172004-06-21T11:38:00.000+02:002004-06-21T11:46:09.093+02:00I recently read something an aquataince had written about having two previous Italian girlfriends: he said they were lovely but, secretly, he couldn’t forgive them for not being Spanish. I nodded in recognition; I think too that I, secretly, can’t forgive Italy for not being Spain.
We English perceive the two countries in a similar light, and certainly I expected Italy – of which I had far lessThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1087664281380200592004-06-19T18:57:00.000+02:002004-06-21T11:37:39.330+02:00I watched Italy’s Euro 2004 game with Sweden yesterday at a friend’s flat, with other some English teachers. When Italy scored we heard car horns beeping in celebration. When Sweden got their freak equaliser we all, inpulsively and genuinely, cheered, before realising our faux pas. Yet all of us we following our instincts and supporting Sweden. Or, more precisely, supporting whoever Italy areThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1087312189320502972004-06-15T16:59:00.000+02:002004-06-15T17:09:49.320+02:00Ha! Well, I have no idea who said that imitation is the greatest form of flattery, but I hope it's true: A new blog, written by a Welshman living in Milan has popped up. You can guess what it's called.
Indeed, the site's very first entry makes it plain that the title must in some way be inspired by mine:
"Firstly, I must just say that the only reason for my publishing a weblog on here was Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1086860414994323812004-06-10T11:37:00.000+02:002004-06-10T11:40:14.996+02:00So, I'm moving on, and this site needs a new name.
"An Englishman in Edinburgh" is the obvious one, but I'm not sure I like it, and besides, there's still the summer to go when I'll be somewhere else (London, Bristol or Dublin, it seems).
So: suggestions. Tell me them. Anything that does something clever with The Evolution of Language (since that's the course I'll be studying) particularly Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1086722765140266822004-06-08T21:24:00.000+02:002004-06-08T21:26:05.140+02:00Ooo, I forgot I'd taken this picture of the harbourside in Rovinj, Croatia. Time to post it up:
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1086527430175063682004-06-06T15:07:00.000+02:002004-06-07T11:57:31.926+02:00
The football season may be all over in England, the play-offs finished and the nation looking forward to next week’s Euro 2004 clash with France, but here Serie B is still running and the local side, Hellas Verona, are in a position metaphorically similar to the conditions in which they played yesterday: bogged down in the quagmire of a relegation dog-fight.
A month ago, playing poorly and Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1086442073823186812004-06-05T15:25:00.000+02:002004-06-06T16:39:46.453+02:00The decision is made: I’ve turned down Lithuania and I’m going to Edinburgh.
So now my mind has turned to my last few weeks in Verona. There are some exciting things happening: we’re going to the opening night of the summer Opera season in the Roman Arena, and a few days before that I’ll be seeing the George Benson Group at the Roman Theatre.
But equally there are things that excite me about Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1086278251840369422004-06-03T17:54:00.000+02:002004-06-03T21:26:09.166+02:00
If I learnt one thing at Uni it was how to pace an all day drinking session.
And yesterday, a Bank Holiday in Italy, I put that expertise into practise for the first time in years. Fantastic it was too. Mind you, I'm less able to cope with even mild hangovers these days, and despite not really getting drunk (see, I told you I knew how to pace it) I still felt rather drowsy this morning. I Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1086089185259351522004-06-01T13:25:00.000+02:002004-06-01T13:26:25.260+02:00It’s time for an update on M., the goldfish I am trying to teach to fly.
Regular readers may remember me writing about M., a student of mine, a couple of months ago. Although he’s not ready to do the exam he wants to his mother insisted that he did; he needs to pass so that he can, finally, graduate from University. He’s 28.
I like M. He’s a jolly chap, and, although he is no linguist, he Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1085923038683935132004-05-30T15:12:00.000+02:002004-05-30T15:17:18.683+02:00“Lets make it into a competition” said Thom, not for the first time. If anybody was pissed off by Thom’s existence, it was his younger brother. Why, wondered Ben, is every tin can a football? Why does every ride on the sled have to be a race? And why do Mum and Dad have to judge who’s model plane is better?
“Coz it’s impooortant” whined Thom.
“No it’s not”, complained Ben.
“Yes it is”. Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05886163808655732964noreply@blogger.com0