tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59889742011-04-22T06:15:18.389+02:00An Englishman in VeronaNow <a href="http://asassenachsoliloquy.blogspot.com">A Sassenach Soliloquy</a>Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.comBlogger1791100tag: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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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 wind up. Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@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 room, a Russian boy has had Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@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/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1085649257195076462004-05-27T11:12:00.000+02:002004-05-27T11:14:17.196+02:00
Oh, I forgot to add: when the band finished on Sunday night, a young lad of about 10, who I’d previously seen playing air-drums at the side of the stage, climbed into the drummer’s seat and proceeded to give an accomplished drum solo. The lad could barely reach the cymbols, put he played them as if he’d been up on stage all his life.
That, of course, only fuelled the demands for an encore, Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1085485577939071682004-05-25T13:37:00.000+02:002004-05-25T13:51:04.676+02:00It’s not every weekend that you find yourself in the middle of an ancient Roman forum, dancing to Irish folk music sung in Croatian.
Wearing kilts and tops with one orange arm, one green arm and white in the middle – the tricolours of the Irish flag – the band gave us three full hous of fun, and I especially enjoyed hearing Walzing Matilda sung in Croatian. There were occasional Pogues tracks, Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1084976896668611662004-05-19T16:25:00.000+02:002004-05-19T16:29:50.516+02:00This is just a short entry to explain (a) why I haven't posted anything for a few days; and (b) why I won't post anything for a few more days either.
With several courses finishing, I've taken the opportunity to move several of my smaller and private classes and I'm now free from tomorrow afternoon until Tuesday afternoon. So I'm off to Croatia for the weekend.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1084626353554497652004-05-15T15:04:00.000+02:002004-05-15T15:05:53.556+02:00Balls.
What have I done?
I haven’t written here for some time about my plans for next year. This is deliberate, since I decided a few months ago to stop worrying about it too much, and instead to let ideas float around in my head. When the time to make a decision comes, I’ll see which ones haven’t sunk.
That time is coming and, since doing the Masters degree is a priority, only a couple of Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1084533175534016362004-05-14T13:11:00.000+02:002004-05-14T13:12:55.533+02:00Since my former colleague vanished at Easter, I have taken on some of her classes. Today I did the last of a few painful lessons at a local school with some teenagers that have fallen out of the education system, having been expelled from a couple of schools each. Anyway, after getting some teaching done – no mean feat with these kids – I decided to show them part of a film in English with Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1084459903194292552004-05-13T16:47:00.000+02:002004-05-13T16:52:19.136+02:00What’s new then? Not much. Mind you, an Italian blog recently mentioned me and my thoughts on the shortage of modern Italian architecture. Here’s a rough translation:
The long post [my post of the 28/4/04] irritated me a bit at first (as in "what the heck does he mean to say with that?") but then, thinking again about it, I came to the conclusion that he's not *that* wrong, after all. At Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1084105700660175332004-05-09T14:28:00.000+02:002004-05-09T14:32:51.153+02:00I have been rather run down the last few days, the result of doing too many hours over the last few weeks, and culminating in spending all day yesterday in bed with digestion problems.
Regaining one’s appetite after such an experience makes one think more precisely about what they wish to eat. And, lying in bed this morning, I realised that: I’m sick of pasta.
I eat pasta most days for lunch: Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1083945311916778872004-05-07T17:55:00.000+02:002004-05-07T17:59:39.483+02:00Tired, very tired, from working too much earlier in the week. So instead of another lengthy entry (despite having lots to say, as ever), here's another picture of busy Napoli:
(The magic of Photshop: the car in the corner was originally a garish blue; I changed it to match the orange of the guy's helmet.)
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1083858587621497062004-05-06T17:49:00.000+02:002004-05-06T17:54:13.903+02:00Global warming is happening. Scientific option is converging towards this explanation of the increasingly freaky weather conditions occuring across the globe. Most of us have first-hand experience of extrordinary weather becoming ordinary. Last summer, whilst I was in London, I didn’t see rain for four months. Now it is May, I’m in Italy, and we are currently, according to the forecasts, Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1083768110469599652004-05-05T16:41:00.000+02:002004-05-05T16:46:15.390+02:00My cousin has just spent a few days in town as part of his holiday. He was asking me about Napoli, as he will be heading there shortly; this is what he has to look forward to:
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1083500715811122322004-05-01T12:22:00.000+02:002004-05-02T14:29:36.746+02:00As I write, it is Saturday morning, just before ten. Normally weekends are busy, but this one has few fixed plans. A whole day ahead of me without plans or errands to run would be welcome in England, but all the things that make such a day welcome are missing here, and subsequently, for the first time in some months, I miss a few things from home.
What I really want to do is put Radio 2 on andThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1083254564021048682004-04-29T18:02:00.000+02:002004-04-29T18:09:21.590+02:00The key o my keyboard appears to be broke . I have to slam it to make it work. How aoyig.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1083254401112138472004-04-29T18:00:00.000+02:002004-04-29T18:09:55.700+02:00The strangest things happen when you live abroad. In Bolivia I once found myself at a high-school graduation in a tiny village, the only gringo for miles around looking even more out of place in combat trousers and jeans; a contrast to the locals who were all in best outfits. And yesterday I found myself judging a public-speaking competition.
Given that my only experience of public speaking Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1083144178214953892004-04-28T11:22:00.000+02:002004-04-28T11:27:13.590+02:00I’ve been thinking hard about what to enter for the photography competition. Thinking about my Reflections of Italy idea I asked some friends if they knew of any large, modern, shiny pieces of architecture that sit opposite classical Renaissance buildings. There certainly aren’t any in Verona; maybe in Milan, I thought.
However one respondant pointed out to me that the Italians don’t seem to Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1083059446052029252004-04-27T11:50:00.000+02:002004-04-27T11:55:29.670+02:00Hellas Verona are the local side. However a few years ago a local businessman bought Chievo, a team from a nearby suburb, and invested lots of money in the club. In five years they climbed from non-league status to, briefly, lead Serie A. They’re currently mid-table in the top division.
In contrast, since winning the scudetto (The Italian Championship) in 1985 Hellas have been in slow but Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1082812156443818932004-04-24T15:09:00.000+02:002004-04-24T15:15:57.216+02:00My landlord is, as we Anglo-Saxons say, a super chap. Not only am I paying under the odds for my lovely, well-located flat on a nice piazza, but he’s always full of advice and suggestions for the places I go to visit and will go out of his way to help.
However yesterday, for the first time, I wasn’t so impressed.
One of our teachers (well, the only other teacher apart from our two bosses; we’Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1082643868651626142004-04-22T16:24:00.000+02:002004-04-22T16:28:36.060+02:00A few random thoughts.
After a few weeks of erratic weather, summer seems to have arrived. This times the locals, as well as myself, seem to believe it. Many more people were out on the streets as I cycled home yesterday evening; all those outdoor table and chairs that looked so sorry through the winter are now the places to be, and the air is pleasantly warm.
Teaching English damages your Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1082488329298019282004-04-20T21:12:00.000+02:002004-04-24T14:46:31.576+02:00Why...
..are all the girls I fancy in relationships?
..did one student come to school today wearing the shortest skirt with the loveliest pair of legs and sexy little heels?
..did one girl spend 30 minutes flirting with me today (and I know enough to know I didn’t misread it) only for me to find out later, via my boss, that she has a boyfriend?
..does the only female Italian I can ask for Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1082454920696736372004-04-20T11:55:00.000+02:002004-04-20T11:59:25.373+02:00After 30 minutes of thinking about what to write about Rome I gave up; I would only recount tourist stories told a thousand times over. Sadly, but predictably, Rome was heaving with us; sufficiently so that I’ve since decided to further minimise my time spent in such hotspots. Despite that I’ve more good pictures of Rome than I have of Naples; testimony to the former’s beauty and the Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1082404157532271202004-04-19T21:49:00.000+02:002004-04-19T21:53:20.686+02:00I would apologise for the lack of posts lately, but that would require me to ego-centrically believe that people are hanging on for more news of my adventures.
Tomorrow there should be an entry about Rome. In the meantime, here's another photo that you could only take in Italy:
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1082139761031737202004-04-16T20:22:00.000+02:002004-04-16T20:26:40.340+02:00And then, after three days in Napoli, it was off to Rome, but the write-up for that will have to wait.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1082038982926078252004-04-15T16:23:00.000+02:002004-04-15T16:27:00.623+02:00
Veronese reactions to mention of Naples come in two forms, each the inverse of the other. Depending on the bent of the individual, one either hears “Ah, it’s a beautiful city, and you will eat so well (but watch the pickpockets)” or “It’s a crime-infested dirty hell-hole” grudging followed, when pressed, with the acknowledgement that, yeah, the food is great and it’s much more alive than here.Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1081946343272762592004-04-14T14:39:00.000+02:002004-04-14T14:42:59.280+02:00Back from the south.
Write up to follow tomorrow (probably).
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1081366010841926562004-04-07T21:26:00.000+02:002004-04-07T21:30:37.920+02:00Tomorrow evening I head south to Napoli for the Easter break so this is (probably) the last entry until the middle of next week. We'll be breaking the return trip in Rome. Photos and adventures to follow.
Have fun all.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1081244832787655052004-04-06T11:47:00.000+02:002004-04-06T11:50:57.543+02:00Back in October I put a picture up of the Roman Arena reflected in the window of the Louis Vuitton shop, which at the time had a picture of J-Lo in it. Well, the model's now changed, so here's a new, but similar, photo.
The Arena is still there, in the bottom-left.
And here is the first photo, to save you having to look in the archives.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1081090402603848522004-04-04T16:53:00.000+02:002004-04-04T16:57:05.590+02:00This really is a lovely town. Finding myself with an hour to spare on Friday evening I cycled around, took some photos and remembered how charming the place is.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-108091199797801212004-04-02T15:19:00.000+02:002004-04-02T15:23:37.793+02:00Contrary to what one of my friends (who thinks one of her students is a few words short of a dictionary) says, it is me that teaches The Stupidest Man In The World. (Sometime in, I think, January, I said that “Some students will never speak English well; I feel bad taking their money”. It was this very student, M., that I was thinking of.)
M. wants to do an English exam (the PET, for those Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1080847968915016332004-04-01T21:32:00.000+02:002004-04-01T21:37:16.763+02:00"You can fool all of the people some of the time, and some of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time" and its retort "You can fool all of the people all of the time if the advertising is right and the budget big enough" were just two of the quotes that appeared on a worksheet on April Fool's Day that I used in some of my lessons today.
I think the second one is funny, as Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1080745862535010752004-03-31T17:11:00.000+02:002004-03-31T17:14:39.810+02:0028.
Looking at my site stats, I see that there was a big jump in visitor numbers on Monday; I will kid myself that that’s because you all remembered it was my birthday and not because there are always more visitors on a Monday than the weekend.
I don’t feel older but that’s because, like turning 27, I’d been thinking about it long before it happened. More than once at the age of 26¾ did I Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1080239387757119082004-03-25T19:29:00.000+01:002004-03-25T19:33:16.733+01:00Yesterday evening arriving back from skiing (and what a lovely evening it was; fresh cold mountain air, beautiful snow, the slopes to ourselves and the twinkle of the city lights in the distance) I saw something I thought I’d never see in Italy: drunk Italians, and I do mean properly drunk. One of the guys had decided to climb a lamp post in the middle of the piazza and another was pissing up Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1080123445026028662004-03-24T11:17:00.000+01:002004-03-24T11:22:37.920+01:00Having just arrived at the underwear company yesterday (and whilst enjoying my weekly enjoyment of a procession of Italian beauties attending a training course at the offices) I was engaged in some small talk with my boss and one of her students, a blond girl with a quirky prettiness. An hour later, having finished my first lesson, I was waiting for my second to begin when the girl knocked on Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1079877682437179922004-03-21T15:01:00.000+01:002004-03-21T15:04:46.060+01:00As I’m sure (!) you’ve noticed, blog entries have been somewhat less frequent over the past few weeks. But, as they say, no news is good news: it’s basically because I’m too busy either working or having fun. Not going floodlit skiing last Wednesday as usual was in fact a welcome opportunity to spend a few hours doing nothing. And after today, I can only think of a couple of evenings or Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1079539734683817542004-03-17T17:08:00.000+01:002004-03-17T17:12:12.840+01:00Ok, help needed. How do I link to a specific piece of text; namely Monday's 'about' post. There's a link in the right-hand column now, ready and waiting, but I can't seem to work out what code to use.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1079536973945774622004-03-17T16:22:00.000+01:002004-03-17T21:08:38.780+01:00
Yes! It's here, finally: Summer. The damp and the wind and the grey and the cold have gone, replaced overnight by warmth, clear skys and a visit from the Bosom Fairy.
I may not believe in Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy, but I do believe in the Busom Fairy. The English Bosom Fairy visits sometime in May, and replaces all the girls' saggy winter breasts with ample pert Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1079379558418202312004-03-15T20:39:00.000+01:002004-03-17T20:26:03.000+01:00Re-reading my Weblog Review (go on, read it; indulge me) I noticed Kacroon’s comment about there being no ‘About’ page here, and it’s something I’ve been thinking about for some time. I’m planning a redesign when I have the time in the summer, but for now I thought I’d write some frequently requested answers.
So, lets start with the pictures: where did you learn?
Nowhere. I’ve learnt Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1079038640768337102004-03-11T21:57:00.000+01:002004-04-24T14:53:56.373+02:00Two small incidents from today:
The first in class. I taught gigantic as a synonym of large and it reminded my rather attractive student of another word she's heard;
"Ah, Thom, I wanted to ask you: What does gorgeous mean?" Hmm. Obviously, it was in my interests to string this out.
"Where did you here the word?"
"In a song"
"Ah", I replied, resisting the temptation to sing and thus damageThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1078829374995155272004-03-09T11:49:00.000+01:002004-03-09T11:54:39.606+01:00Regular and/or observant readers will have noticed that my birthday is coming up fast (bottom of the right-hand column). So could I just take this opportunity to advertise my Amazon wish list? Remember, the Italian postal system is rubbish, so best give them plenty of time. By buying me something now.
(Note though that the code for the countdown in the right-hand column seems to be broken, asThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1078742837093340202004-03-08T11:47:00.000+01:002004-03-08T11:50:22.106+01:00“How old are you?” I asked one of my students last week.
“22. Why?”
“Do you remember the 80s?”. I’d had a shock that afternoon and needed somebody to relate to where I was coming from.
“Hmm... not really”.
The underwear and stockings company have released their Spring/Summer catelogue, and it represents final confirmation – if it were needed – that the 80s are back. Over Christmas I Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1078588689867682012004-03-06T16:58:00.000+01:002004-03-06T17:01:13.106+01:00As you know, I work in TEFL. TEFL stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language. Yet, as Luke Meddings pointed out in a Guardian article of 29th January, this is, in many ways, an outdated acronym, since most students wish to learn EGL – English as a Global Language – and not EFL: “[EFL] reflects an increasingly outmoded view of what English means to the world – yesterday’s foreign languageThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1078523736862652832004-03-05T22:55:00.000+01:002004-03-05T22:58:38.263+01:00As I'm sure you can tell by the lack of posts, it's been a busy week, with no time to blog, and little time to think about what to blog. I was always told as a kid that if I didn't have anything nice to say then don't say anything at all. As an adult, I've extended that to things of interest: If you don't have anything interesting to say, then shut up.
Inside one of the due torri in Bologna.Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1078331226033402202004-03-03T17:27:00.000+01:002004-03-03T17:30:04.890+01:00Pinch, punch, first-day-of-the-month.
Yes, I know it's two days old. But Monday morning bought with it not just March but also, it seems, Spring. Haven't seen a cloud since Sunday, and the temperature is positively warm (even if my students insist it's cold).
It looks just like this:
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1078153348883872552004-03-01T16:02:00.000+01:002004-03-01T16:05:25.123+01:00Romeo was banished to Mantova. In his 1996 film Baz Luhrmann updated that and instead sent Leo DiCaprio to a decreped caravan that was apparantly situated in the middle of a desert. And I can see why; having visited there yesterday afternoon, Mantova doesn’t seem such a bad place to be.
Although in the way of tourist attractions it’s a little limited – two impressive Palazzo’s not withstandingThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1078075323993596342004-02-29T18:22:00.000+01:002004-02-29T19:23:09.780+01:00I have these funny ideals of love; or rather, of relationships. I went shopping this afternoon – vegetables (two-and-a-half-euros for a week’s worth at the Greengrocer; why does anybody buy veg at the supermarket?) and cds (I haven’t heard Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On for years; wow, it’s good) – and, arriving back in the flat, I let my imagination take me – again – to the small world of Thom’sThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1077882611665857472004-02-27T12:50:00.000+01:002004-02-27T13:09:43.403+01:00I’ve been having a rather good time of late. I’m skiing most Wednesdays – it’s even more fun under floodlights – and some weekends. Work is good, even if I do have too many small groups and not enough larger ones. And I’m busy socially: we have a regular Thursday night haunt (where they’ve started giving us freebies, although I’m not sure that coffee and vodka shots are a good idea when your Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1077807446166350932004-02-26T15:57:00.000+01:002004-02-26T16:00:16.153+01:00
This is the reflection of the church in the middle of Lake Bled in north-western Slovenia. See the mid-December entries for some similar stuff.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1077720283722235252004-02-25T15:44:00.000+01:002004-02-26T15:58:26.996+01:00Oo-er. Blimey. Er, I've just been reviewed in The Weblog Review. And, um, it's rather flattering. So: thank you Kacroon. (And look: just as you said you wanted more photos...).
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1077719579022397032004-02-25T15:32:00.000+01:002004-02-25T15:35:48.076+01:00The camera arrived in the UK ten days ago (so that's four weeks from A to B; the Italian postal system is officially shit) and I'm bored of waiting for it to get repaired and returned to me. So I looked around my old photos of Italy yesterday so I could post a few up. Here's the first, and it's of Lago di Garda:
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1077718122210186662004-02-25T15:08:00.000+01:002004-02-25T15:33:10.576+01:00Unlike some of my teaching counterparts – and many others that don’t work in offices – I’m very wary of lambasting the life of the office worker. I spent a few years working in offices and it can be rewarding, fulfilling and fun. Obviously that depends upon your role and the company, but it’s certainly not necessarily true, as a friend of mine, bored with her own office job, said in a email to Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1077644936336415822004-02-24T18:48:00.000+01:002004-02-24T18:51:44.046+01:00"Thom...", my friend said to me in the pub yesterday, "..what are you doing tomorrow evening?".
"Having pancakes at S's place", I replied.
"Ah. S. doesn't seem to know anything about that."
"Oh. She must have been drunk when she offered then."
"Thing is, we - N. and I - were thinking of doing something for Pancake Day but... [information cut out for reasons of boredom].. so we can't do it Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1077530986585561322004-02-23T11:09:00.000+01:002004-02-23T11:12:32.856+01:00Ha ha. Well, there may be a rather democratically European solution to the local pollution issue but never let it be said that the Veronese let their austere friends from the mountaineous north over-influence. Just as I posted about the anti-pollution car-banning measures last week, they were suspended because of, ahem, gnocchi Friday.
A few weeks ago I was awoken from my Sunday morning Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1077299799323272992004-02-20T18:56:00.000+01:002004-02-20T19:05:28.763+01:00Tim Parks - the Verona-based writer - once wrote a novel about an English teacher in Verona. The Daily Telegraph article I linked to a few days quoted it:
"No, it was awful. He was living from hand-to-mouth, from one day to the next, one month to another, week in week out. From the point of view of career, social advances, financial gain, the last two-and-a-half years had been completely wastedThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1077203961309797662004-02-19T16:19:00.000+01:002004-02-19T16:22:02.293+01:00North of Verona are the Appenines, an extension of the Alps. To the west and south, albeit at further distance, are the Dolomites, the mountain range that runs from north-western Italy all the way down the middle of the boot. And to the east is Venice and the northern end of the Adriatic Sea, well-protected in a sea - the Med - known for being placid and quiet. Consequently we’re shielded in Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1076945147743139372004-02-16T16:25:00.000+01:002004-02-16T16:28:24.483+01:00Friends at home know that I love cooking and also that, sometimes, I’m pretty damn good at it. However I was a little nervous yesterday when, for the first time, I cooked dinner for Italians; people who I last week described as knowing food, whether they personally enjoy cooking or not: the standard-bar had been raised.
Thankfully it was a success: nobody left any. Even better, there were lotsThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1076769382475631522004-02-14T15:36:00.000+01:002004-02-14T15:38:56.246+01:00
(Courtesy of Me(ish))
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1076697675916529822004-02-13T19:41:00.000+01:002004-02-13T19:48:09.310+01:00I was recently pointed in the direction of an article published in The Daily Telegraph last month about the TEFL industry. A few choice quotes should sum it up: "We [EFL teachers] are beggars, after all - the lowest of the low", "No one with a scrap of ambition can possibly consider it", "..language schools are miserable places, bucket shops whose owners shamelessly claim that the flotsam and Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1076511479816565302004-02-11T15:57:00.000+01:002004-02-11T16:00:29.966+01:00A English friend of mine, who has been here for four years, said to me recently that: “They say they love football, but they don’t. They love the azzurri, they love watching the national team play, and some of them love their local team. But they don’t love football; they don’t love football for football’s sake. As soon as Italy are knocked out of a major tournament, everybody stops watching”.Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1076321933381334362004-02-09T11:18:00.000+01:002004-02-09T11:22:10.483+01:00Inspired by a friend sending me a copy of Rapper's Delight by The Sugarhill Gang last week, which I have since been unable to stop playing, I have finally got around to compiling my definitive list of 15 favourite songs, as demanded by another friend last summer. However after choosing 12 I was left with too many options to fill the remaining three spaces and I couldn't choose between them, so IThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1076089634954841002004-02-06T18:47:00.000+01:002004-04-24T14:57:32.466+02:00Valentine’s Day is looming on the horizon, and I suspect it's too late to send a card home to England. Lucky, then, that there’s nobody I really want to send one to.
I like making and sending Valentine’s cards. Making them is definately better than buying them; much more personal and significant. As I once read, it’s an essential part of loving somebody, along with cooking potato-and-leek Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1076089357772965012004-02-06T18:42:00.000+01:002004-02-06T18:45:00.733+01:00I have a bump on my head. I can’t remember the last time I had an Unidentified Drinking Injury.
I should have known when we left our regular Thursday night haunt that it was time to stop; “Why are we paying for four bottles of wine when we only had two?” I asked. “Actually, I think we may have had all four” came the reply. When it was suggested we carry on (why does somebody always know “..Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1075991278576750332004-02-05T15:27:00.000+01:002004-02-05T15:30:20.123+01:00Skiing by floodlight.
That's right: yesterday evening, after work, I took a trip 40 minutes up the road to the nearby slopes, where they have evening, floodlit skiing. What a great idea.
Otherwise, the lack of posts lately is due, as ever, to being busy. I may, shortly, have to do the rather uncomfortable task of dumping some lessons. But that's what schools get if they pay you by the hour Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1075472951171014102004-01-30T15:29:00.000+01:002004-01-30T15:32:47.560+01:00I have discovered that if I position my shiny kettle (that's not a metaphor, you perverts) in the right place, it perfectly reflects the rest of my flat in a goldfish bowl style. And then, when you start dancing around the room, it looks great - as you get closer to the kettle you get proportionally bigger, a bit like a Jamiroquai video. Cool.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1075472393492078732004-01-30T15:19:00.000+01:002004-01-30T15:22:06.860+01:00Great novels and huge discourses have been written about the pursuit of happiness, and so I don’t pretend that what I’m about to write will say anything truly original. But writing down my thoughts is carthatic, and by doing so maybe I can get a better grip on them.
I was happy – actually, make that Happy, with a capital H – last summer. Why? Superficially, because I was regularly doing Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1075473020701545312004-01-30T15:00:00.000+01:002004-01-30T15:32:33.983+01:00As an appendum to what's above, can I just say that I wrote that two days ago and I'm in a very different mood. It's funny how much your moods change. I guess that's the point of a diary.
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1075308995781146762004-01-28T17:56:00.000+01:002004-01-28T21:18:25.873+01:00"Our public transport is rubbish" is the common complaint from Brits. "Everything runs so much more smoothly on the continent". No it fucking doesn't.
I work for two seperate schools. About ten days ago I got a call from another asking if I could do some hours for them at the offices of a major car manufacturer just outside of town. I said yes, because: (a) it's larger group lessons (nine orThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1075303267836757652004-01-28T16:21:00.000+01:002004-01-28T16:24:06.890+01:00A common frustration of language teachers is students who don’t engage with the material. “What did you do at the weekend?”, I asked a student;
“Nothing”.
Can’t they make it up? We’ve been learning and practising the past simple for a couple of lessons now; it should be obvious I’m giving them an opportunity to practise using it in open conversation. They’ve paid for lessons; now why don’t Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1075212705758322402004-01-27T15:11:00.000+01:002004-01-27T15:22:17.170+01:00I am ill, and have spent much of the last 24 hours in bed. I am worried about the size of my glands. I do, however, feel better right now than this time yesterday.
Whilst lying in bed, unable to sleep, one’s mind wanders. So here is a collection of random things that crossed my mind during yesterday's small hours.
1. I find loopy earrings very attractive, and I cannot explain why.
2. The Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1075040728926047152004-01-25T15:25:00.000+01:002004-01-25T15:27:35.293+01:00There is no word in Italian for hangover.
Went to an excellent party last night where I shared two bottles of soave with an Italian. Why, then, did my head hurt so much this morning?
Well, I had thought that we were sharing the wine, making our way through the bottle together. I’ve since discovered that she only had two glasses all evening, so I must have had the rest. They don’t know how toThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1075040693086818832004-01-25T15:24:00.000+01:002004-01-25T15:26:59.593+01:00The “What am I going to do next year?” question is occupying significant chunks of my thinking space at the moment.
I’m almost certain that I want to pursue a career in academia, and am in the process of applying for a place at Edinburgh to do an MSc in the Evolution of Language and Cognition. However I think it would be good to get another year’s teaching experience and, besides, I like the Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1074882341325648122004-01-23T19:25:00.000+01:002004-01-23T19:27:45.170+01:00I’ve used this Will Hutton article a few time over the last week or so (thanks to Do You Dream in Colour? for the original link) with some of my advanced students. If you can’t be bothered to read the link, you can catch the drift from the title - “The new sick man of Europe” - and the tagline: “Corruption in politics and the media is turning the once core EU state of Italy into an internationalThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1074696357141807452004-01-21T15:45:00.000+01:002004-01-21T15:47:57.920+01:00No day is the same in this job. (Well, ok, this Wednesday may be very similar to last Wednesday, but you know what I mean). Here, for example, is a typical Thursday:
My 10.30 private lesson isn’t happening, because this week it was moved to Tuesday. It’s for an hour, and I then have 30 minutes to get some planning or something else done before meeting my boss and colleagues at 12 to go to theThomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1074537914695129852004-01-19T19:45:00.000+01:002004-01-19T20:27:45.996+01:00Skiing again yesterday, and I’ve come back with a miserable cold.
Over lunch I got talking to an Italian friend about pasta. “The thing is...” I said, “..the Italians take the shapes of their pasta very seriously: they talk, with all seriousness, about preferring spaghetti over penne, for example. Yet the differences are minimal”. She was laughing out loud at this point, so I thought she Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1074541901939839362004-01-18T20:40:00.000+01:002004-01-19T20:54:20.860+01:00[boring post]
Ok, BlogSpeak died. However all the comments were moved over to HaloScan, so everything's ok again. Except that the archives don't have the old comments on them. I've mailed Blogger and hopefully all will be sorted soon.
[/boring post]
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1074361119576042662004-01-17T18:38:00.000+01:002004-01-27T15:18:13.500+01:00I’m due a lengthy blog entry. I’ve decided to write about what happened with the girl in England, because I think I’ve learnt an important lesson and I should get that down on paper, so to speak. It maybe good for me to reread this in the future.
I’ve been guilty many times over the last five or so years of getting out of prospective relationships too early; if the girl doesn’t seem right, I’Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1074183641318213622004-01-15T17:20:00.000+01:002004-01-15T17:24:14.246+01:00I have taken to checking my recent referrers with obsessive regularity. There was another search for female circumsition, complete with incorrect spelling, plenty of hits from Google with people searching for words like Verona and Vespa, and one with my real name. Who? Why? What do they want from me?
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5988974.post-1074094208906547652004-01-14T16:30:00.000+01:002004-01-14T16:32:00.310+01:00In a car on a long, straight, 3-lane stretch of road. Only three other cars on the road. How - how? - did all four cars come to desire the same five-square-metre piece of road at the same time?
Thomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06063920531457507514noreply@blogger.com0