J5: University Challenged

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

The Marine Biology field course arrived, and with my tooth being so painful I really struggled with the work.  I submitted an incomplete report, managed to attend all the trips, but really struggled to motivate myself for the work.  It was not all doom and gloom, as I met Nicola Brown, well kind of.  I was feeling something completely different.  Her vibrant smile met my eye. I barely spoke to her but could not stop thinking about her throughout the field-course.  I felt I had to get talking to her somehow, someway, someewhere but chance never came my way, my injured tooth ruling out possibilities, and my lack of confidence to talk with her.  I did find her name via a friend, Rob Palmer, who was also in her Marine Biology field course group.  Nikki, Lisa Bates, and Rob soon hung around together very often.

 

My own football would go well for me, post tooth-extraction.  Having only managed three university Dig’s league games, a 4-2 win where I hit the woodwork twice! A 2-1 win, here I bagged my first university strike in ages!  And, a 2-1 win where I had to come off as my head was killing me!  On the 18th of November me and Rob, went to see Scouse comedian, Jeff Green (From A-Z) live at the Art’s Centre.  As comedians go he was the bee’s knees!  Rob later gave me the live at the West End DVD for Christmas, equally wonderful!.  On Saturday the 20th of November, I was working behind the bar, my first full night of being in charge.  The place only bloody had a fire (in the lounge bar, not the function room we were working in).  Anyway, Jonathan (Buzza), me and the two bouncers evacuated the Club house even though we extinguished the first fire.  Sadly, the fire must have reignited whilst we had been clearing the building.  Before long the lounge bar was devastated!  A sad day for the football club, and its interior decorated in historical memorabilia. I remember the sad eyes of Rhun Owens, then-long serving and devoted club secretary when he arrived to the smouldering remains.

 

On the 27th of November my-then brief ex-girlfriend Lisa Bates held a video night at her house in Borth.  She had provided enough of a buffet spread to serve a Glastonbury crowd twice-over, alongside enough spirits and wine to provide Borth with a new pub.  There was at one tsage twelve people watching movies in her lounge.  By sleeping time, Claire and Paul had gone to use Lisa’s bed, Lisa had gone to her spare room, Nikki, Rob, Rich and I were camped in the lounge.  I fell asleep the soonest; shattered by incessant tooth pain.

 

The funfair used to arrive in Aberystwyth on the last two Mondays of November, and the first Monday of December.  Never-the-less, Nikki, Rob, Lisa, Louise, Laura and Wyn joined me for the final two Mondays.  The Crazy Mouse rollercoaster (it claimed to be the largest mobile rollercoaster in Europe) and the extremely high G-Force were brilliant but I enjoyed going on other smaller rides, usually with Nikki, who was the most daring of the group! Our group being who they are we went on some fairground stalls and won some raffles.  I won three Caterpillars (of which I asked Nikki to mind one) and Rob, Lisa, Louise, and Nikki all won cuddly toys ranging from unicorns to monkeys. I never had luck with these stalls, usually.

 

The 7th of December arrived.  The day the tooth was to be removed.  I was so nervous I couldn’t eat breakfast.  At 12pm, the dental surgeon/devil was deep into the process of making me feel as uncomfortable as possible.  I have to say, that day was one of the scariest days of my life.  Did it hurt?  IT BLOODY WELL DID!  Half hour of X-rays, 15 minutes of assessment, 10 minutes of numbing my jaw off, and the final quick extraction, followed by a click as a crack in the jaw slammed shut, alongside me fainting on the way downstairs, did not make for an entertaining day.  The headache I had upon to then, for at least 4 months vanished immediately, and I will admit I was a tad dazed, confused, and physically tired.  Mentally I was shattered, but that didn’t take much.  That day I was driven back to Aber, via Bangor City versus Aberystwyth Town’s games (shhhh!), after all I just wanted my own bed, and to get back to normal.  On arrival back into Aber, I went round to Nikki’s and chilled with her and Rob.  I didn’t want to be alone.  I wanted to see Nikki, and get a good hug!  The next day I missed the 1-2pm lecture, favouring sleep.  I was going to for a gentle stroll in the evening, but decided on going to training with Penparcau FC.  You know how it is.  That was the best three-hour evening session I’ve ever done.  In reality, I was back, back and ready to go.  After that session, Nikki came around and gave me the best hug I had ever had, lasting a good few hours.  For some unknown reason we watched Santa Clause 2, The Aristocats, and GCSE Bytesize until 4am.  I let Nikki use Nige’s room (whilst he was away) for some sleep, as I collapsed in bed.  On Thursday night, Nikki came around again, which was wonderful, as she is great company and really friendly lass.  Yet again we watched DVDs into the early hours, but this time the hug was more warmly, and the urge to kiss her became overpowering.  However, all the signs were there for a kiss, but I didn’t want to risk our friendship.  I mean I’d fancied her since I set eyes on her in September’s Marine Biology field course.  Hands were close, arms wrapped around each other, heads leaning by each other, cheeks rubbing, and eventually the courage came to share a kiss.

On Saturday, I played for Penparcau out in Llanrhystud, scoring a crucial extra-time goal, we won 5-2.  That evening Nikki invited me to her friend Krissey’s roast dinner.  We went all the way to Trawsgoed.  The journey was a pleasant drive through the backs and beyond of Welsh countryside.  An excellent meal cooked by Krissey and her boyfriend later, a long chat with Nikki’s mates Harvey and Deanna before setting off back to Aber under the cloudless black sky. On the Sunday I missed playing football for the UWA Greens in the Dig’s League.  I took Nikki for Sunday lunch at Harley’s.  Things felt amazing.  I mean I’ve had strong feelings before for particular ladies, but at that time it was off the Richter scale.  On Tuesday night, Nikki made me stir-fry at mine.  It certainly beat the pasta I made for her on Wednesday night!  Ah, Wednesday night, a night of torture in training.  A 20-minute beach shuttle-run session, and long jog just to punish players for not turning up to training, proved to tire me out.  I could feel the aches and strains long into the evening!  I always give my excuses in well before not turning up!  But still teams get punished not individuals, but it does make you feel a damn bit fitter!

On Friday we went out for Nikki’s birthday, dressed as angels and devils.  Naturally I’m an angel, so I fancied a change and was as a devil (even though I hate red!).  We started at Nikki’s flat drinking Taboo etc.  In the Academy we met Gav Allen and a few other footy lads.  Not many drinks later we arrived at a heaving Varsity, where I lost my white-chocolate-vodka-virginity.  Interesting drink, looks like Rhino semen, tastes like rubber-chocolate.  In the Cambrian we had a few cocktails, as Laura and Debbie chatted up the bar stewards.  One taxi journey uphill later, and into the Union we went.  Good old Move night, and a great night.  Eventually 12am came And Nikki turned 22.  An amazing night and the Union managed an extra half hour of Christmas songs post-bar-closing.  On Nikki’s birthday we went for a cooked-breakfast, and then we strolled up the seafront and generally enjoyed the day.  I cooked a pizza (cheating with pre-made bases this time!) and we watched a film, and then Match of the Day. A leopard can’t change spots for stripes.  On Sunday, we separated for awhile.  Nikki had to tidy her house, and I had to tidy mine.  On Monday morning Nikki went home (Cornwall!) and so did I – for Christmas!   Over the Christmas holidays, I was mostly working on my University project work, and ringing the land of pasties to see how Nikki was. The easy thing about being with Nikki was we both allowed time to get to know each other and never rushed into anything.  The hugs and kisses we shared made me tingle and feel wanted; something I cannot claim to have felt before sharing these special moments with Nikki.

I haven’t really described Nikki, but even if I did, so I might as well try to remember her bac k then.  Nikki was kind, caring, interesting, articulate, cheeky as a monkey, lovely, warm, gentle, and everything a dream about a great partner would contain.  Nikki spent a year away from University working in New Zealand and seemed an expert on there!  Nikki and I got on so well because our interests were alike, she loves comedy as much as I do (but she quoted Little Britain more than I cared for!).  She was sporty (plays netball, watches rugby etc), and I’m football crazy, football mad!  There were lots of things for us to do, see and learn, and at the time I believed Nikki would be the one! At one time I was a city boy, lost in its vastness and devoid of any feelings for someone, but in the town of Aberystwyth I fell for Nikki.  That secluded spot revealed that I was no longer concealed behind a window, peering out at the views below and across. For then, I was free from that prison, free to dream once more, free to feel hope and push aside fear.  I didn’t feel like the luckiest guy in Aberystwyth, more like the luckiest person on Earth, or maybe the Universe, because somebody believed in me and cared for me, in ways that I hadn’t experienced.

Regular phone talk of when we would see each other again, and desires for the day to arrive carried us through the Christmas period.  We had arranged to spend the New Year in Aber.  The last hours of 2004, and the first few of 2005 were to be spent in the Glengower.  New Year’s celebrations at The Glengower’s Western Night were quieter than we all anticipated, however with me and Nikki, Rob and Lisa, Laura and Wyn, and Susan it was a fun night.  I was content with spending those moments in Aber. Back home, my one-time secondary school friend Emma looked at a picture of Nikki.  Em accused Nikki of being just a pretty face, which wasn’t fair as Nikki had a great arse and lovely legs too!  Nikki departed Aber on the Bank Holiday Monday of the 3rd; the day Penrhyncoch Reserves beat Penparcau 2-1 (They did field four Cymru Alliance players and a Welsh Premier player! It was a hellish hard game.).  Nikki had to finish her family holiday away. At least at home in Cornwall, she could concentrate on revision without having Mr Procrastinator 2001-4 distracting her. My personal revision was chugging along slowly.  One exam was so mentally hard, because I had tunnel-vision and desired to read up on other subjects too. I’d even spent hours writing a season of ideas for Aberystwyth Town’s football programme. I was not cut out for studying… or focused…

TO BE CONTINUED

W.M.D. problems

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

Oh. My. God. I write it this way, to exaggerate a point and a half. There is a huge problem in the world and we need to address it now. Get it out in the open. No more hiding in the shadows. The time is now. Right here, right now. No more. We can’t go on this way. Renunciation, disavowal, denial and abjuration may well all be good enough for President Trump but not for me. No, no, no. And not for us. Not for the greater good. There is a menace to society and it threatens our ways of life. So. Let us talk. Now. About, well, I best add a disclaimer because I know some of my readers have complained about my graphic levels of details. DON’T READ ON if you are eaily disturbed. Back the flip up, whilst we shatter the realms of acceptance for good. Your world will change after this. Are you ready? I don’t believe you are. Nobody is. Nobody ever has been. I imagine this matter inspired Depeche Mode’s Where’s the Revolution? Religions have fell for less. Question everything. Okay, let’s stop beating around the bush. Like Catholicism, it is time to discuss rubber… erasers, to be precise.

 

Nobody can deny the Hollocaust. It was a monstrosity of modern times. The horror cannot be joked about. So many people lost their lives. Anne Frank was one such example, aged, just 15. 15 years on this Earth is too little time. Thankfully her words were never erased for all to learn about. Her life lives on in the form of an educational legacy. Thankfully she never took an eraser to her writing and we are left with a glimpse into dark times and a beautiful young mind. Other key moments in humanity faced threats. The Mona Lisa has been x-rayed, studied to death, infra-red inspected and UV examined. Beneath the serene lips of La Gioconda is a previous work, evidence of Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci’s inability to control himself with an eraser. Martin Luther King Jr may not have had a dream had he whipped out an ice cream-shaped eraser from the nearest Toys ‘r’ Us branch. Sir Winston Churchill loved writing. His scribbles, books and doodles were everywhere from his bunker and he led Britain against invasion and eradication before pushing on to defeat an enemy of freedom. As partitioning a figure as he may be, Churchill’s writing evaded the eraser and is mostly a fascinating look into an often complex and contadictive mind.

In class 1F there isn’t a more dangerous thing than the eraser. It is to my class as the nuclear warhead is to North Korea, Japan and America. This material and its rubbery consistency represent almost every argument and disagreement within the four walls of the classroom.

In bygone days, wax, bread crusts, sandstone, pumice and other coarse-pieces would wipe away mistakes from parchment to ancient almost-Powerpoint-like wall displays in cave dwellings. By 1770 and Mathematical Instrument-Maker Mr Nairne’s invention of the rubber, more people, with better education, meant more mistakes. The rubber had arrived. But it would take 69 years of perishable rubber problems before Charles Goodyear would fix it with curing, in vulcanisation. Not long after pencils had them attachecd to the end. The weapon was unleashed.

Some of these vinyl plastics, synthetic and soy-based gum devices come in a variety of shapes, sizes and colours. They started out erasing pencil-based mistakes before eradicating the odd inky blotch. Now these act as devices of conflict. Electric erasers, like an electric toothbrush, bringing to minds, a torture device more at home in a James Bond movie. In class 1F, these tools are used for gouging out eyeballs and enforcing turf boundaries. Until the batteries run out.

Erasers, whether missing, being projectile-launched from rulers, eaten, or lost are a huge problem to global security. I vote that all free nations launch their airborne outfits and bomb the shit out of those who hold erasers. Don’t take any chances.

#NUKEeraserESTABLISHMENTSnow

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Mulan, Yuè Fēi, Dragon Boats, Qi Xi & Qing Ming Jie

RECOVERED FROM THE DEMISE OF HUBHAO.COM

Badasses of Chinese History:  Huā Mùlán

 

One of my favourite legends surrounds Ahmad ibn Fadlan’s and his journey north from Baghdad with and observations of Vikings.  Ever since reading the novelisation Eaters of the Dead by Michael Crichton, I have been fascinated by folklores, myths and fables.  In legends we can relate to their accounts, discover our own histories and create a personality we can never possibly know.  In Michael Crichton’s afterword he gave the view that history and legend can be interesting “if presented in the correct way.”  The story he wrote surrounded the legend of Beowulf – in response to a close personal friend lecturing on the “Bores of Literature.”

I’ve never seen Disney’s Mulan, nor have I seen several of the other film adaptations studios have spewed out since the early 1920’s.  The works just do not interest me.  Fascination in China surrounding the story of Huā Mùlán (sometimes referred to as Fa Mulan – Huā means flower) continued with a modern play starring Méi Lánfāng – a man playing the heroine.  Prior to that legends and stories told of this unlikely lass’s rise to the fore.  Disney’s animated effort was the first ever Disney DVD release – and the first cartoon by the same production company to tackle warfare openly.  For many people outside of China it may have also been the first chance to see a little of China’s vast culture and history.  Without it, we’d probably not have heard of Christina Aguilera too (she sang on the soundtrack).

 

The original legend was transliterated in “The Ballad of Mulan” more than a thousand years ago by an author who was never named amongst an anthology that has subsequently stayed mislaid to history.  The oldest copy of the narrative, comprised of just 31 couplets, portrays Mulan’s triumphant military career throughout which she masked her gender from her fellow combatants.  Ultimately she led a war-winning battle and is given reverence by the Emperor.  The Emperor furnishes a cash reward and a senior post in the army.  After twelve years of service and a bucketful of praise, she sought retirement.  Instead of rewards, she opted to live out her days in her hometown.  Home is where the heart is.  Even on returning to her hometown, her companions from the armed forces did not know she was a she, they still thought she was in fact a he.  Twelve years of poor observations on their part.

The famous poem, limited to around 31 couplets, received stage treatment in the 12th century, lay dormant for five centuries before returning to the frontage.  Another stage adaptation and the novel Sui Tang Yanyi pushed Huā Mùlán back into discussion.  Historical bases debated Mùlán’s family name.

Sui Tang Yanyi, Guō Màoqiàn and Chu Renho have the honours for most adapted and printed versions of the Huā Mùlán story.  When was Huā Mùlán around?  Somewhere before the Tang Dynasty and strewth knows when.  There isn’t really anything written down prior to the poem, Ballad of Mulan.  Where did Huā Mùlán reside?  Again, scholars and literary critics will argue until they’re blue in the face.  The Northern Wei (Běi Wèi) is argued by Xu Wei’s play, whereas, the Sui Tang Yanyi romantic novel has her as a founder of the Tang Dynasty.  The poem was written prior to the latter option.  Guō Màoqiàn, a specialist in poetry and written art, compiled original material somewhere around what is now called Shāndōng… …BUT, his existence even evades evidence.  Her name isn’t always the same either – across novels and accounts, with surnames mentioned as Hua, Zhu, Wei, Ren to Han.

Most stories note Mùlán was sat at a loom (an old fashioned clothing weaving device).  She was worried.  One male from each family must be enlisted to the regional army.  Her father was vulnerable and old, her younger brother too young.  Somehow, Mùlán manages to join in their place through some old-fashioned cross-dressing.  Other stories claim that Mùlán would rather fall on her own sword than be ruled by a foreigner.  Chinese culture is deeply rooted with patriotism – and pride, and massively swayed to family loyalty.  I admire this, and many stories of Mùlán echo this sentiment.  In Disney’s film, Mulan has a dog named “Little Brother” as a nod to her younger sibling joining the army – I hear “Little Brother” means something more phallic here.  Chu Renho’s story follows this but diverts in as that Mùlán is captured by troops loyal to Dòu Jiàndé and his quest to be king.  His daughter and self-titled Princess Xianniang tried to recruit her.  On discovering she wasn’t a man, she blew a gasket of excitement.  They became the female equivalent of blood brothers – sworn sisters.

Amongst the Sui Tang Yanyi, Guō Màoqiàn and Chu Renho visions of Mùlán, there are names like Chi Fu mentioned in the story, translating into English as “to bully”.  The central theme seems to be one Confucian virtue grasped atop all others.  Bravery and loyalty sub-themes easily mask this to a degree but respect for one’s elders, ancestors and ultimately one father stand out.  Perhaps in western families with one parent families, it is not so easy to relate but here in China the story is fiercely relative [pun intended].  The big three authors’ incarnations develop an idea of mass casualties, often at the hands of Mùlán’s armies.

Chu Renho’s romantic book Sui Tang Yanyi actually kills the heroine off.  In a twist A Game of Thrones would be proud of, she commits suicide.  Mùlán’s bad luck starts with her return to her hometown.  Her father had long since died and her mother was re-wed.  The bombshell dropped that she’d have to be a concubine for Heshana Khan of the Western Khaganate.  With that she departed this life for the next, so to speak.  Other works give Mùlán a far healthier and happier sending off.  Chu Renho’s previous incarnation had portrayed Xi tūjué (Western Turkic Khaganate, one of many Turkic peoples present in China back in the Early Middle Ages) as siding with the eventual winners of the Tang Dynasty formation.  As sworn sisters their capture in place of the legging-it-for-his-own-life Dòu Jiàndé could have shocked many.  The nature of their surrender included providing their captor, Li Yuan – Emperor Gaozu of Tang, with knives.  In their mouths.  Instead the Emperor and his wife give the captured money.  Princess Xianniang can return to her beloved Luo Cheng and get hitched whilst Mùlán can go and provide for her parents.

 

In researching and reading more about Mùlán via textbooks downloaded, poems, online biographies, questioning my school’s history teachers, observing debates via Chinese language internet forums and several history documentaries obtained via shady copyright-ignorant backstreet DVD shops…. I have come to little conclusion.  Mùlán and the myths that surround her have accomplished almost as much as she originally set out to do.  Her deception and disguise has hidden the truth, so has legend.  Those who know tales of Robin Hood and the folklores around King Arthur will be fascinated forever.

Swathes of legend mask the story of Mùlán.  Whether you believe that the crown Princess Xianniang’s father was vanquished after buddying up with the enemy in the Tang dynasty leading to the proposed execution or not; or whether you believe Mùlán supported her parents; or whether the story has been lost in so many forms of translation is up to you; and did she really fight for twelve years?!  For me, every incarnation is like the next chapter in the James Bond movie franchise, our heroine grows in stature and delivers a piece of action sometimes a little far-fetched, sometimes embellished and often with an amplified degree of life.

In my opinion, I would advise you to go back to the Dr. No of Mulan.  Read the original 31 couplet poem and relish this scarce but valuable specimen of a fervently strapping woman deep from the annals of Chinese legendary literature and possibly a parody on real unconfirmed history etc.  I challenge you not to take inspiration from Mùlán, the first real embodiment of Superman.  Now we can look to the skies and think about the planet Venus, with a huge crater named after Huā Mùlán – that and behold the future live action Disney release by the same moniker; or we can nip over to the city of Xīnxiāng (Hénán) for a statue entitled Statue of Mulan.  All remains a beautifully stoic mystery that has slipped into popular culture and remains debated.

Wei Yuanfu’s, “Song of Mulan” from the 11th-12th century sums up the vagueness of the story by concentrating on the key point:

 

If in this world the hearts of officials and sons

Could display the same principled virtue as Mulan’s,

Their loyalty and filiality [NB:  the relation or attitude of a child to a parent] would be unbroken;

Their fame would last through the ages—how could it be destroyed?

 

For further reading or vieiwing:

  • Mulan: Rise of a Warrior (2009 film) – Live action film about the Chinese legend. Stars Chén ZǔMíng (Jaycee Chan, son of Jacky Chan) and Zhào Wēi (Vicki Zhao) – who holds around 12 internationally recognised Ambassadorships.

The Legend of Mu Lan:  A Heroine of Ancient China, written and illustrated by Jiang, Wei and Jiang, Cheng An.  ISBN: 1-878217-00-3. (You can even buy a boxset with a doll http://www.heroinesinhistory.com/mulan.html)

The Ballad of Mulan, retold and illustrated by Song Nan Zhang

Pan Asian Publications 1998

The Song of Mulan, Front Street Press

China’s Bravest Girl, Children’s Book Press

Fa Mulan: The Story of a Woman Warrior, Robert D. San Souci, Hyperion Books for Children 1998

The true story of Mulan.    Retrieved May 10th 2015.  (There is a good powerpoint for use in school classes too).

And if you like graphic novels, look up the surreal Deadpool Killustrated (2013), Hua Mulan joins an Avengers Assemble-style cast with Natty Bumppo, Beowulf Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson in H.G. Wells’ time machine.


Badasses of Chinese History:  General Yuè Fēi (岳飞) and four characters (utmost, loyalty, serve and nation:  精忠报国)

 

What is loyalty to you?  Following your rugby or American football team through thick and thin from birth?  Remaining in a job where you barely make ends meet, despite offers from elsewhere?  Collecting the latest batch of belly button challenge website links on your WeChat wall, regardless of the fact the challenge has become boring to most?  When I ask colleagues and friends about General Yuè Fēi, they all mention his undivided loyalty.  I guess that is why he is rumoured to have been tattooed with the phrase “serve the country with the utmost loyalty” (精忠报国 / jìn zhōng bào guó) by his mother.

The four words of Yuè Fēi’s tattoos are noted as appearing on the 1489 stele (a kind of annual rock carving on a slab) placing him in contact with the small Kaifeng Jewish community.  Many communities would encounter him through his time.  Often depicted as a poet, Yuè Fēi has no quotable poetry, according to Princeton University Prof. James T.C. Liu.  The wording on questionable poetry was almost certainly written fair later in history.  His combat inevitably led him to self-repair and a brief study of traditional Chinese medicines.  His teachings hereafter had further depth, assisting his troops on the field.  His other strengths lay in encouraging scholars to come to his troops’ camps and lecture about champions of old, heroes of the nation and deeds done in the name of good.  The double-edged sword meant the scholars would undoubtedly pass on his name and conquests.

Praying Mantis Fist (螳螂拳 / tánglángquán) or Praying Mantis Boxing is a form of aggressive combat created by The 18 Masters invited to improve Shaolin martial arts.  The style of attack is speedy and would probably leave Floyd Mayweather, Jr standing still.  There are knee, elbow and wrist and arm strikes like no other – fittingly reflecting the agility of the praying mantis insects.  Like many legends lost in translation, Yuè Fēi’s part in creating this style is hyperbole.  A historical fiction novel Water Margin (水滸傳Shui Hu Zhuan) and other texts link Yuè Fēi to the noted creators but not as the creator himself.  That said, the movement “Black Tiger Steeling” is accredited to him by the famous Mantis master Yuen Man Kai.  Yuè Fēi’s name is heavily linked to the creation of Eagle Claw (鷹爪派 / yīng zhǎo pài) and XíngYì Quán Boxing 形意拳).  The former was created for low ranking soldiers, whilst the latter became a necessary tool for his officers.

In legend and fiction Yuè Fēi is noted to have studied under Zhōu Tóng (周同) learning varied techniques of combat underscoring brutal skills like joint-locking and something called elephant style boxing (which sounds cumbersome at best).  His methods and teaching conveyed to the battle field with armies swept aside during the Jin dynasty.  His name is attached to several boxing techniques Yue Family Fist (岳家拳 / Yuejiaquan).  Whether he studied Buddhism to adapt things complexly named as the “Tendon Changing and Marrow Washing QiGong” routines into his own methods is up to the academics to debate, but one thing for sure is Yuè Fēi is deeply embedded in martial arts forming in and around his time.

Yuè Fēi’s birth is also subject to mystery and legend.  The book, History of Song (宋史; /Sòng Shǐ) details some interesting stories.  At the time of the parturition his parent’s neighbours ran over with buckets of water to douse a fire on the horizon.  There was no fire.  Péng (鹏), a mystical bird creature, landed before ascending out of sight and hence the name Fēi (飛) meaning fly was given to the new born child by his father.  Yuè Fēi’s father was advised by a local monk (reported to be the immortal Chén Tuán) to dip both mother and Yuè Fēi in a water tank should the small Yuè Fēi start crying.  After several days, baby Yuè Fēi cried.  Mother and baby went for a bath.  The bath washed away as the Yellow Rover burst its banks.  Mother and child remained safe.  Sadly, his father perished in the terrible floods.  The story goes that Yuè Fēi was in a previous life, a Péng.  On hearing of this, an enemy dragon (once blinded by the Péng that would eventually become Yuè Fēi) flooded the river as an act of revenge.  It failed.  Struggling for money, his mother did some needlework for the family housing them.  Nearby to their dwelling was a cave.  As a teenager Yuè Fēi is said to have gone into a cave, enraged a colossal snake, and as he dodged the snake’s probing strikes it vanished.  Puff.  Gone.  A magic spear of the flowering spring (沥泉神矛/ Lìquán Shénmáo) is said to have been left behind following this.  This led him to seek weaponry and combat teachings.

Zhōu Tóng is noted to have led Yuè Fēi to a Buddhist recluse who passed down the skills of his combats.  Around this time teachings by the master archer Zhōu Tóng led to great skills with the bow and arrow, military tactics and spear work.  Skirmishing with hand skills and horse-riding likely came about too.  Yuè Fēi’s alleged inner strengths came from his wisdom of Buddhism.  Zhōu Tóng was his Jedi Master prodigy.  Yuè Fēi seemed to soak up skills and knowledge.  In Hellmut Wilhelm’s From Myth to Myth: The Case of Yueh Fei’s Biography Yuè Fēi is reputed to have sought replication of famous national heroes and had been influenced by reading works by Zuo Zhuan, Wu Qi and Sun Tzu.  His father Yuè He (岳和) had implanted such material on his son.  Did he simply want to mimic those he saw as his supermen?  In reading some of the accounts of Yuè Fēi, there is touch of melodrama, good versus evil and a story that could easily form the plot of a new trilogy of Star Wars movies.  There is love, hate, fights for freedom and war.

The Biography of Yue Fei and the records of E Wang Shi mention Yuè Fēi’s learning from Zhōu Tóng at an early age.  They also mention another mentor, the spear master, Chen Guang (陳廣) who was hired as a kind of Jedi Master Yoda to oversee his stick fighting skills by Yuè Fēi’s grandfather Yao Daweng (姚大翁).  This was a boy conditioned for battle.

War.  What is it good for?  Absolutely everything in a time of conflict and invasion.  From his home in Tangyin County, Henan province, Yuè Fēi was recruited by the Song military in 1122 recruited Yuè Fēi.  In 1126, his squad supressed waves of warlord rebellions in northern China.  This took away much resource from the battles against the Jin.  As the defence of Kaifeng fell, his next movement was to an army in Jiankang.  His rise was spotted as they defended the Yangtze from the invasive Jurchens.  The Song court promoted him to General in the year 1133.  His counterattack against the Jin-backed puppet state of Qi led to many regained territories.  His and other Generals’ armies beat off the invasion allowing for the continuing Song dynasty.  After defeating enemy upon enemy, and against the flow of traffic, he was called back to the Southern Song capital by the Emperor in the year 1141.  Having once defeated 100,000 invaders with only 500 men, for some reason, lost to shelves of history, he was hanged.  Falsified charges by Emperor Gaozong’s servant Qin Hui at fear of exiled Emperor Qinzong’s return no doubt playing a part.  He died aged 39 years old.

In the biography of Yuè Fēi (鄂國金佗稡编/Eguo Jintuo Zubian) written by his grandson Yue Ke (岳珂) there are several approaches that Yuè Fēi utilised efficiently to position his armies. Yuè Fēi rewarded his soldiers well and delivered punishments just as equally.  Discipline was tantamount to forming his armies.  There was to be no pillaging or destruction.  Theft was punishable by execution.  Handing out his own personal effects or threatening to execute his own bloodline for failure was not beneath him.  Clear orders were given and to be taken without a fiasco.  Training was key, and when not in battle, rigorous training and fitness regimes were met.  One day swimming through muck, the next clambering up stones and walls.  When on leave the soldiers trained because they knew how hard they would be put to a task on camp or in a battle.  The usual weaponry and movements were worked on also, but always as close to the real thing as possible.   Yuè Fēi could have started his own Marine Corp or S.A.S.  He would handpick soldiers, even sending home the unfit or elderly.  Inheriting the Han Ching and Wu Xu armies, he sent more than half packing.  For those that remained, he tried to treat them equally sharing wine, even if watered down amongst every soldier – and taking shelter only when his troops all had shelter.

After his death, former soldiers and officers spread his techniques across China, and even back to Shaolin where Li Quan (麗泉) invented Northern Ying Jow Pai boxing – something combined with Yuè Fēi’s previously formed Rotating Fist fighting style (翻子拳 / Fānziquán).  Regarded as a folk hero for defending his country from a northern invasion despite wishing to look after his elderly mother.  Yuè Fēi’s mother’s wish for him to serve his country unbrokenly led to an uncontested unbeaten run in battles.  A poem, The River Turns Red reports:  “I’ll drive a war chariot and smash apart the Helan mountain pass!”  The poem further goes on to show his strength, devotion and care for those who served under him.

After his execution, the legend of Yuè Fēi grew and remains popular amongst storytellers.  Like the legend of Mulan and Zhuge Liang, within Chinese history, mythology and fact can be exaggerated or rewritten.  Yuè Fēi’s history and myths are equally as fascinating and certainly noteworthy of more cultural reading.   He is often wrongly depicted as the individual General who defeated the Juchins; someone fluent in Classical Chinese studies and a knowledgeable Confucian academic – again all likely to be balderdash.  His Grandson, Yue Ke, released a biography, which helped to fan the flames of amplification.  Still, it isn’t a bad way to get temples and shrines devoted to you; like the P.R. powers behind Tom Sawyer or Keyser Söze.

 

For further reading or vieiwing:


 

Enter the dragon’s head

 

Let’s start at the beginning, where all good and bad tales always initiate.  In this case, Thanksgiving Day 2015.  “Hey John, can you go and teach about Thanksgiving Day in an hour?”, my Head of Foreign Languages (just, English, in this case) asked me.  I responded that I know zippity-doo-dah (naff all, nowt, nothing) about said event.  I must confess to making up everything that day (hopscotch is a traditional Thanksgiving game, correct?).  Anyway, that day I met Mr Wong in the Qiáotóu village primary school [their song is called “Dragon Boat Emotion”] and since then we have been friends.

The happening takes place on the lunar calendar date 5th of the 5th month (or Gregorian date 20th June 2015), it popped around after a long day watching dragon boat races in Wàngniúdūn (望牛墩), Zhōngtáng (中堂) and Daojiao (道滘) I went to meet Mr Wong to watch a different kind of race in Qiáotóu (the village in Houjie and not the district in north-eastern Dongguan).  I was shattered but I was curious.  What was going to happen next?  I met Mr Wong in Qiáotóu military barracks, I mean Qiáotóu square.  Centrally stacked was enough ordnances to power the Chinese space programme to save Matt Damon.  Tables stood, village officials and government-looking folk lingered around.  Policeman uncoiled large red wheels of bangers and volunteers edged outwards setting a large viewing area.  Mr Wong called me just as an eruption of firecrackers hit by ear like an angry Muhammed Ali squatting a mosquito.  Through odd breaks in the sounds I was being invited to “come join my team!”  So, I did just that…

Mr Wong’s four-wheel drive vehicle bounced along the narrow streets of Qiáotóu as if we were being pursued by a Tyrannosaurus Rex.  The journey started at Qiáotóu square and ending deep in a chasm of villages that make up Qiáotóucun.  The local buildings excluded modernisation and seemed to be constructed of less plastic and concrete.  Warmth, tradition and air of care clung on like the windows in the walls.  Electrical cables formed no order, strung from building to sorry looking building.  Bricks replaced concrete and rubble replaced tarmac.  The earth infrequently offered green chutes within this area.

Here I was to join a dragon boat race of sorts.  Water not included.  Well, just drinking bottles.  Mr Wong said foreigners never enter this village, and have never had reason to – there are no multinational production companies.  I was greeted extremely warmly and asked to join the red team.  Being a Manchester City F.C. fan, I did not like that idea.  However, I was a guest welcomed to unknown traditional activity.  Whatever it was, I wanted to know about it.  Sacrifices had to be made.  I donned a red t-shirt (I had my purple Manchester City shirt underneath to prevent red t-shirt to skin contact).  It seemed they had planned my visit, the only XXXXL shirt was for me.

 

In 2016, I was invited back by Mr Wong and his friend Mr Marco Chen.  Not to be confused with the Dongguan township of Qiáotóu (桥头镇), Qiáotóu (桥头) is located in southern Houjie town, east of Fengshan park (凤山公园) and south of Houjie’s Line 2 subway station, Shanmei (珊美).  To the south of Qiáotóu is the Exhibition Centre (展览中心) Line 2 subway station.  Qiáotóucun (桥头村) is actually a village made up of seven hamlets.

The procession historically began and concluded at the village Ancestral Temple or Cítáng (池塘).  In the present day, they commence at various Cítángs finding their finale at the village square.  The view from the biggest Cítáng in Qiáotóu stands over the fish pond (池塘/Chítáng, sounds like Cítáng).  At the Cítáng, villagers gather and make important decisions.  Important blessings and ceremonies are held here.  Events gather and ancestral heritage is preserved here.

The tradition, at first, I was told, by one villager, “dated back around six generations and was brought about due to the drying up of several village creaks and two men who raced, carrying large dragon boats, down a village street.”  This stimulated my inquisitiveness much more.  Soon enough, I had a rounder story.

The most consistent account told from generation to generation is one of a severe drought.  Mr Marco Chen, an intellectual-looking chap told me, “The reservoirs and creaks dried up.  For a long time, no rain came.  People prayed and pleaded for rain.  The villagers held an event to show god how genuine their need for water was.  In desperation they displayed a wooden dragon’s head, of a very dry nature, to symbolise luck and best wishes.  Their unadulterated and sincere plea was answered.  A great rain came and the villagers felt blessed and touched deep down.  Every year that followed, the villagers repeated this as a thank you to god.”

The dragon’s head sounds like a name of a public house back home.  In actual fact there is far more at play here, there is a sacred bond between village of Qiáotóu and their dragons’ heads (there are more than one now).  It symbolises happiness, good luck, and good fortune.  There is a belief if you carry it, you shall be blessed with a baby boy [I had noticed many dragon’s head carriers have their young daughters alongside them].  Each hamlet of Qiáotóu has a dragon’s head, a flag and colours.  A privileged few have held the dragon’s heads, bringing belief confidence and many baby boys to those who have held it proudly up high.

At first it was villagers who joined this occasion, then their extended family, and long after friends of their family, until now where far more people connect.  They link into this most historic and unique South China tradition, that is still little known outside of Houjie.  Marco tells me, “A day before, twigs are gathered.  New members are encouraged to join in preparations.  In older times the eucalyptus plant was favoured but now is found to be less abundant.  There are the usual dragon boat festival foods, like Zongzi.  On the night before the event, local children take a bath with goose eggs.  The eggs are put in a net, which is placed into the bath.  This symbolises the hope of children growing up very quickly.”

My team, one of seven in Qiáotóu, was approximately 2500-strong, from toddlers to the very much elderly.  Here everyone was given either a branch (to beat the clouds away from the dragons), a flag (the red or yellow colours of the village), a drum (noises to replicate the racing beats), or replica dragon boats (finely carved but festooned with neon lights).  The team was led by a man holding a wooden dragon’s head.  I was an amateur and newcomer.  I was given a branch.  A small branch at that.  A really small branch.  It was a twig.

We soon set off, joining the red tribe.  There were yellow, blue, green, orange, black and gold tribes around the large village streets.  The object was to snake around the village.  On meeting the other tribes, firecrackers were thrown at their feet to signify the battle of the racing boats.  The team that did not dance well with those who carried the dragon heads and small boat effigies performing their moves, decided without hesitation by the opposing teams, had to turn around and snake another route.  The village’s most-eldest people watched on from doorways and seats around the area.  As a westerner, I knew I would stand out.  I was greeted with curiosity and welcomed by all.

This event happens annually but only for a few hours.  The first time I joined, I felt wave after wave of euphoria and privilege to have been invited to such a matchless and rare occurrence.  Again, at my second coming, I feel fully euphoric.  Through working for Worlda Guangzhou, I was posted to Dao Ming Foreign Language School, who sent me on a Thanksgiving Day task to Qiáotóu’s state school, where I met Mr Wong, who has friends involved in this annual event.  A set of links so finite that led to me experiencing something so exceptional and spell-bounding.  I felt joy, like never experienced for many years before, like a kid at Christmas, unwrapping a present, not suspecting that his parents have worked exceedingly hard to buy them that Lego set the kid dreamed he would never ever reach.  I was that kid once, thanks to my mum, I had that gift – and through her (and Dad’s) gift of life to me, I experienced that moment.  The moment has gone, but every now and then life throws something beautiful my way, this was that twinkling ticking trice.

Over the years, tribalism has rocketed, exploding with each clan being rewarded at the central square for their final dance.  The central Qiáotóu Square is where the judges convene and do their best Simon Cowell impressions.  The team of kinfolk from Qiáotóu that wins, receives honours and a prize for their ‘hood of Qiáotóu village.  On asking Edison to translate my questions to many locals, it became apparent that this is a totally unique form of this festival nationally.  This time around, I was interviewed for local television, asking my opinion on this unique and vibrant exclusive custom.  A rainbow with sounds, drums, whistles and firecrackers.  Friendly faces welcome me continuously a team clad in red and yellow invite me to lift the dragon’s head.  I lift it.  I will probably have a baby boy [pending ongoing logistical problems].

With backing of the government to this ritual and protection from commercialisation, outside exposure allows gentle promotion of this intangible local heritage and culture.  Fireworks and firecrackers are allowed by special permission of the government.  The powers that be strictly observe the position and routes of said fireworks ensuring all around are safe and buildings are not put at risk.  The villagers are extra careful in protecting their culture and edifices.

Mr Marco Chen highlights, “The current dragon boat traditions of Qiáotóu encourage team building and bonding.  We ensure as a team, we visit every other team’s Cítáng (池塘) to show communication of the villages and brotherhood.  Togetherness in our villages is most important.  It is a quality we want each new generation to carry forward.  We retain old world values and traditions whilst now including entertainment.  There are prizes for winning team displays and happiness is shared with family and friends.  There are skills used and learnt, tradition, generations together and positive attitudes throughout.  This teamwork is most important to Qiáotóu, and now beyond.”

 

To see the event, or to explore Qiáotóu, locate the many Ancestral Temples (Cítáng/池塘) and head around towards Qiáotóu square (alongside Guantai Lu) from 8pm to 10pm on the 5th evening of the 5th lunar month [9/6/2016; 30/5/2017; 18/6/2018].

 

Further reading:  Title: Drought Longxiang; ISBN-13: 9787536049475; ISBN-10: 7536049471; Author: BEN SHE YI MING; Binding: Paperback; Publisher: Flower City out; Published: December 1991; Price: 56RMB; Synopsis: An introduction to the festival.


 

The Case Against Qi Xi Festival

China has a rise on love dates in its ever-growing and evolving love culture, but is it all codswallop?

 

The letter l resembles the number one, and o as zero, v could be seen as the roman numeral V and e as a letter nowadays akin to electronics. Ladies and jelly spoons, I give you the October the 5th, love your electronics day. That is how some of the logic behind dates, that loosely resemble Valentine’s Day, appear to me.

I have no gripes with truly traditional dates, but it seems here the overlords of capitalism have stepped in and labelled everything according to the monthly sale of choice. The mythology behind QiXi (七夕節) and its older than 2600-year old history is interesting and worthy of a read. Sadly, an evening of sevens is like every other Valentine’s day, a chance to promote discount red panties and half-priced popcorn at the cinema.

What astounds and boggles the mind is the pick and mix of dates on offer to show your love (whether you are an abusive lover or a gentle giant). 20th and 2st of May, a is full of phonetics [“I (5) love (2) you (0/1)”]. Unlike QiXi, this date will never make National Intangible Cultural Heritage status. Regular February the 14th rears its head with standard décor and sales galore. 11/11 is a sacred date in the U.K., tied to remembrance days and mourning. Here all those ones mean single. Similarly, it could also be a digital on switch day. Lantern festival (元宵节) once carried a similar weight in ancient times for headhunting new love. Now there is a sale of lovely items tied in for fans of fanciful fondness. There seems to be a romantic date every week.

Many shops fill with bouquets of flowers, purple teddy bear crazes, tedious looking poetry pieces, chocolates (usually of bitter taste), and gifts of fancy that look at home in a very much discounted discount store. Call me the Scrooge of lust and adoration, but some tacky items are so bad, I question who came up with such ideas. It is the same for almost every occasion and often something straddles Hallowe’en, Easter and Christmas just because it has different shades of glitter.

It is great to see a happy couple minding their own business and enjoying life. Unless, they wear matching t-shirts, adorn themselves in signage to declare their commitment, or post WeChat posts of every moment they shared together (with the world), or get snagged in by supposed romantic restaurant specials. Stay at home, cook something amazing and keep it to yourselves. It isn’t a pissing competition. Tell commercialism, materialism, and face to have a day off. In the days leading up to these sort of dates, expect prices to double, treble and add on some more. Your money is wanted. Your love is the weapon for the faceless businesses. If it happens to be a case of the more expensive the gift, you give results in a feeling of the more you love him/her/it [modern world, folks] then maybe you should be investing in yellow roses, umbrellas and shoes [Symbols of a break up].

Jewel prices will rocket, fruit will be carved into heart shapes, perfumes may appear to be everywhere, and cheap looking teddy bears will breed out of hand. Resist the dark side. There may even be an imbalance of giving but not receiving, maybe that is normal, I wouldn’t know – as I avoid giving gifts on commercialised festivals.

I am off to collect WeChat numbers off rotten oranges I’ve spotted in the River Dongjiang. If you truly care about the one love in your eyes, do something from the heart on any day of the year, preferably one that doesn’t phonetically sound like the word love being whistled by a songbird perched on a daisy overlooking fern gully. Be natural. Don’t be dictated to by the shops and restaurants. Enjoy the 5th of October.


 

In Brief – Q M J

What is Qing Ming Jie? Well, firstly, it is known by many names. Qingming Jie (清明节) is most common in the English tongue. It is often referred to as Tomb Sweeping Day (扫坟节) and sometimes known as Ching Ming Festival (清明節). Some refer to it as Ancestors Day. It commemorates the onset of spring as well as one to remember forefathers. It is a date for clearness and brightness (清明节means ‘clear and bright’). Think Mexico’s Día de Muertos (Day of The Dead), Ghost Festival (Malaysia etc) and Bon Festival (Japan), Samhainn (Scotland/Ireland), or Totensonntag.

When will Tomb Sweeping Day be? It falls on Tuesday 4th of April in 2017, 2020 and 2021, and the 5th of April in 2018 and 2019. It follows the solar equinox of Spring. It is either on the dates of the 4th, 5th or 6th of April. However, across China it can differ. In Hebei, it may start a week earlier, and in Guangdong the sweeping of tombs is on the eve of the day itself.

Why is it important? This is a chance to remember past ancestors.

What happens? Relatives clean and sweep graves. Ancestors are worshiped. There is often an offering of food to the deceased. Expect to see the burning of joss paper (zhǐqián金纸). Qīngtuán(青团) is often eaten. It is a green dumpling, made of barley grasses (Hordeum murinum), mugwort (Artemisia argyi or Artemisia verlotiorum species). It is quite glutinous. Prayers are cast and flowers often given to the buried or cremated. Revolutionary martyrs are celebrated.

When did it holiday begin? It officially became a public holiday as recent as 2008. However, the origin of the festival spans as far back as 636BC. Emperor Ming of Tang (武隆基) stopped the elite from their regular homages to ancestors and decided one day a year was enough. He decided that the Cold Food Festival – Hanshi (寒食节) was a good time. Visiting old tombs, cock-fighting, swinging on children’s swings, the freshening of blankets and tugs of war filled a vibrant celebration of fallen lineages.

Is it a sad day? Yes, and no. Losing a loved one is always sad. It is also a chance to celebrate the love of life. Happiness and solemnness sit together.

Can you join in? You don’t need to kneel at a graveside prostrating to the lost. You don’t even need to offer food or wine by way of sacrifice. Whilst some offer mobile phones, you can even hire someone to go pay tribute for you. You can fly kites, celebrate the arrival of spring, and take a spring outing. This dates as far back as the Tang Dynasty. Or, you could even plant a willow tree. Some people even tell ghost stories… Hiking is also a popular pursuit.

Cup of tea? It is likely an expensive tea you are enjoying might be a prestigious ‘Pre-Qing Ming’ (清明前). After Qing Ming Jie tea is cheaper, I guess.

Key words for your Chinese:

清明节 (qīng-míng jié) Qingming Festival

扫墓 (sǎo mǜ) sweep tombs

祭祖 (jì zǔ) worship (sacrifice to) ancestors

纸钱 (zhǐ qián) joss paper: paper made to resemble money and burned as an offering to the dead

烧香 (shāo xiāng) burn joss sticks (incense)

Why did I want to write about this festival? Life is wonderful and remembering those no longer with us is part of life. Today is tomorrow’s yesterday. Today is the right time to remember the luck and fortune that has brought us to this moment. If things have been hard along the way, so be it. Just keep moving forward. But, never forget the past.

 

杜牧/Dù Mù’s poem “qīng míng”:

 

清明时节雨纷纷

qīng míng shí jié yǔ fēn fēn

A drizzling rain falls on the Mourning Day;

 

路上行人欲断魂

lù shàng xíng rén yù duàn hún

The mourner’s heart is breaking on his way.

 

借问酒家何处有

jiè wèn jiǔ jiā hé chù yǒu

Inquiring, where can a wineshop be found?

 

牧童遥指杏花村

mù tóng yáo zhǐ xìng huā cūn

A cowherd points to Apricot Flower Village in the distance.

 

Further information: Wikipedia’s guide to Qing Ming Festival.

Myths and legends of Chinese Tomb Sweeping Day via ancient-origins.net.

Travel China explains Qingming Festival.

Qing Ming according to Malaysian Digest.

Cinema Survival in China

RECOVERED FROM THE DEMISE OF HUBHAO.COM

(as true today as at the time of writing in April 2015; I watched Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, to the added soundtrack of snoring for 2 hours!!!)

The cinema, a place of magic, emotions and white-knuckle rollercoaster rides.  Often many battles are on-screen and increasingly as East meets West clashes engulf the big screen movie theatres.  Here is a guide to go in prepared and come out leaving no man behind.

  1. Some theatres sit on shopping mall roofs, others are slap-dashed onto the side of the road. Knowing the location and layout is important.  Research the journey time from the complex entrance to screen time.  Once in the scramble for seats can resemble something like Raiders of The Lost Ark.  Most times I have been to the cinema the screen has opened only ten to fifteen minutes like back home.  The difference here is that people arrive pretty much at kick off and five to ten minutes into tonight’s feature presentation.  Here a standard tut would suffice in the U.K.  Find something to bite your teeth into.  I go all-Jaws and choose the odd spectator who bugs me the most.
  2. Regarding queues, sometimes the lines (a loose definition at best) can resemble a snake (on a plane?). That is if the snake has been ran over several times by a large Monster Truck.  Ticket booths connected to numerous websites and social platforms are on the rise – thankfully.  With respect to prices, a 3D movie including recyclable glasses costs 35RMB at Xingx International Cinema, or 25RMB for a regular movie.  You must join the free VIP schemes starting from an investment of 500RMB (all this money can be used on snacks and tickets).  Just be prepared to scramble rather than queue.  Add extra padding to the elbows and stand tall for extra swipe – or study under the guidance of Bruce Lee’s gym.  Be ready.
  3. Vending points and snacks make up a good element of the cinema going experience. In China Pick ‘n’ Mix is replaced largely by a lack of choice.  Considering outside beyond the entrance to the flicks, snacks are commonplace, inside the demesne of the cinema, snacks can be limited to slightly sweet popcorn and one flavour of QQ candy gums.  The dispenser or a red and white labelled effervescent drink looks worn and is in actuality out of order.  Verity be that water is for sale here.  Salty popcorn is a rarity.
  4. Trailers often hype up the movies massively back home in the U.K. I think almost every film I have watched has been based on seeing a trailer in the movie houses.  com is your friend now.  Oddly no promos or commercials for unrelated products preluded the movie.  If you want an advertisement fix, you need to head to any major shopping mall and take a wander.  Your senses will be bombarded and you may suffer Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in response.  All because the cinema didn’t play the latest Calvin Whatever’s underwear advertisement.
  5. The lack of pre-movie trailers meant that a screen full of rules didn’t slam on the screen in your face. There was no warning.  Copyright warnings didn’t follow.  Pearl and Dean have no place here.  Amazingly, some cinema tickets display a rule about bringing Durian into the screen – and strictly no animals.  If you want a helping of rules then simply exit China for Germany, where there are too many rules in comparison.  The cost may be substantial.
  6. In the U.K. the soft rustle of popcorn packets and crunches of nachos can bet met with a stern “shhhh” or “hush.” Here in China the noises can be very loud.  Phonecalls can be pretty normal.  A phrase such as “ānjìng” may ruffle a few feathers, “Xiǎoshēng yīdiǎn” is literally quieter please and “Bì zuǐ!” is shut up – and much less polite.  These are also useful for teaching, which is just as well, because you’ll be teaching more than one cinema-goer.  I opt for the, “Néng bù néng ānjìng yīdiǎn?”  Quiet down a little.  Just don’t be a party spoiler and expect every noise – or cheers of excitement to dampen down.  Part of the experience is seeing people excited by what they are seeing in two or three dimensions.  Oh, and then there’s often a crèche of children playing at the front of the screen with the soft furnishings as behind them Christopher Waltz and co spook their menacing presence on screen with wraith.
  7. Phones are a bugbear of many a person. The piercing shrill of Nokia haunts me.  At the cinema, I recommend you place some earplugs in and just try to imagine the dialogue.  Otherwise, this is something you’ll have to get used to.  Adapt, make a long distance call, wake someone up.  Let them share your disgust at people making and taking calls in the cinema.  Join the dark side.
  8. Don’t expect to see anyone in the nip. High skirts are the norm for fashion here.  Some scenes face the chop faster than you can say, “Don’t feed them after midnight.”  Nudity and low dress cleavages are censored on television for popular shows like British yawn inducing Downton Abbey – so Tom Cruise and co won’t make out on the silver screen.  Overly sexualised films like Fast & the Furious 24 will always sneak by.  If you’re missing the nudity and beyond romance scenes, try recreating said scenes by doodling the scenes like Jack did in the epic don’t-go-by-ship yarn Titanic.
  9. Taking a large cut out of a mobile phone form, a bottle profile or the silhouette of the latest techno advance isn’t a bad idea.  Chinese releases of western movies often have added product placement.  Whilst you get more movie, you get pushed to buy the latest deoxygenised mineral waters.
  10. The latest Hollywood blockbuster might not be tailored for the Chinese. The sense of humour gap and subtitles (Lost in Translation?) can decrease a movie or even an entire genre demand. Whilst you may think Star Wars is great, spectators from more remote regions – and culturally different folk – far, far away may not.  Sometimes a movie can be released and cancelled in the same week or slated on the first day.  Time is money.  Act fast.  Get there, see it – or await the DVD release (downloads are now available to the more tech savoir-faire).

For further reading:

The History of Cinema in China – Retrieved from Wikipedia, 2015/04/21.

Lesson plan guidance – Retrieved 2015/04/19.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/film-news/10041924/Chinas-Iron-Man-3-milks-its-product-placement.html – Retrieved 2015/04/19.

Teaching with Chopsticks CONTINUED

RECOVERED FROM THE DEMISE OF HUBHAO.COM

Some things are essential to leaving the classroom, feeling not only like you did a good job but that you made a difference is key for me.  You have to be a realist and know that best laid plans will come unstuck every now and then.  To be prepared is to be ready, and ready for action you must be.

In full focus.  Some days are hot, some days are stickier than a bun factory’s spillage of extra-gummy jam, some days it don’t come easy… some days it doesn’t come at all.  Meat Loaf lyrics aside, you need focus.  Buckets of concentration melted together with motivation to perform.  You cannot walk into any class half-heartedly.  Finding the on switch is relatively easy.  A smile, a blast of some good music, a stroll around the school grounds, anything to clear you mind and feel fresh.  In the domain of teaching, insufficient time is afforded to that best buddy of the educator:  relaxation.  Daydreaming and doodling have been linked with high intelligence levels and creativity.  I like to think all my best ideas have stemmed from drawing fictitious maps and brainstorms resembling that of a biro-inscribed cyclone.  Move around the classroom, get many eyes following you!

Made from concentrate.  I hate being ignored.  I detest it when I lose one or two students to boredom, tiredness or the pressures of stacked homework lay before them.  I despise concentration being sapped by distractions.  That said, I can understand.  Empathy and sympathy are your allies.  Your movements and actions will deliver your crowd.  Think slapstick or stand-up comedy over standing up straight.

Realistic goals.  This goes for both students and teachers, because ultimately why aim to high and totally miss your targets?  The level of English in various schools or even within one grade can differ drastically.  You can’t leave behind any stragglers and similarly you cannot abandon the child geniuses.  The fine balance between testing and arduous should sit just above competence and challenging.  With experience you can find that titrated line.  If 80% of the class is at a level higher than the balance, you can over one semester encourage the inexperienced students onwards with more one-on-one assistance and praise.  Their confidence might just need your backing and reassurance.

Lesson planning.  I love to do something.  I hate to plan.  That said, a great plan gives fantastic guidance and helps you avoid stumbling into a ravine without a paddle for the creek below.  Finding a lesson plan is easy.  Then it must be tailored.  The end product needs to suit you, and you alone.  For my lesson plans I slice them into ten key components.  (1)  Do you have a clear and outlined method?  (2)  The lesson should be segmented into presentation, practice and production areas.  (3)  How big will activities be?  Teamwork versus pair work or smaller groups of four?  (4) Push for student talking time, over teacher talking time – where oral English is key.  (5)  Plainly outline the target phraseology and vocabulary.  Avoid clutter.  (6)  Handouts, activities and supporting materials need to be noted clearly.  (7)  Is an example of board work necessary?  (8)  Minimise non-essential skills such as reading or writing when pushing for oral English practice.  (9)  Ensure the students practice what you have taught them and define how you can check this.  (10)  Ensure the task pours, surges and flows as required by bringing the matter to life with a great review…

Reviews.  Perhaps, the only way you’ll ever develop as a teacher is by assessing the level of response from students in a review.  If the games or activities are dull, a poker-face laden class will stare emptily until the class bell.  If the final undertaking is too difficult, confusion and ignorance will call by for a bite to eat:  you’re on the menu!  Engaging review games can catch attention.  They will reveal how much has been learnt or bolstered.  Using characters from popular culture like those of Super Mario Brothers, the latest boybands, or famous sport stars will engage your crowd.  If it is obscure, you’ll lose the crowd.  That said, a personal touch reflecting you and your life can fascinate the gazing eyes.  Add life, add personality and add some spirit.  I have a class that have nicknamed me Tofu.  Since then an entire Powerpoint presentation was based around a dialogue revolving around the food, a fictional superhero called Fantastic Tofu and the new game Super Tofu Brothers.  If a particular class embraces something, you can play off it – it may be tedious to you, but dive in with full passion and join me in a method I like to call Teaching with Tofu!

And with those words of wisdom, I end on a quote by The Hold Steady, “We gotta stay positive”.

For further reading:

Lesson plan maker – Retrieved 2015/04/19.

Lesson plan guidance – Retrieved 2015/04/19.


RECOVERED FROM THE DEMISE OF HUBHAO.COM

Introductions are meant to be swift and to the point.  That’s my introduction over with.

Try to know your students and their knowledge.  In a more technical way I could call this heading, “Acquire relevant knowledge about students”.  Students will have their own cultural and generational backgrounds.  They will have been influenced by their parenting; their friendships; mass media and so on and so on… If you mention Japan in many classes, some closed responses shall follow, but increasingly you may find good arguments or great positivity to Japanese culture.  The beauty of using a controversial or current affairs topic is that it can help develop descriptive terminology.  Similarly, a student with a history of poor discipline can be enticed by different approaches.  What they have learned, whether correct or totally erroneous can shape how they learn new topics.  There isn’t a simple way to note how much every student or a group of students know, but having an idea is a fine way to start your preparations!  Your course design for pacing, examples and format – even the objective depends entirely on knowing your students and their ability.  With this you can flush away misconceptions and draw up clear guidance routes.

 

Teamwork.  Let’s be fair, teamwork is something we all love when it goes well.  When it doesn’t it is hard, but then you find how to develop the strengths within the ranks of a team.  Weaknesses become stronger through assistance and collaboration.  All major road cycling races have a winner, but the team that gets the winner there, does most of the work.  Be they mechanics, support staff or the cycling squad.  In a team, all are accountable.  Responsibility and pride force the hand of those trying to shirk away.  The teamwork is far more social and can heighten understanding.  Essentially students have a jigsaw and through their own methods, they can assist each other.  I’m a massive believer in questions and answers.  For every question a student asks you, try to reply clearly – before launching your own questions.  The beauty of the modern world is you’re never more than one metre from a gameshow.  Turn “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” into a classroom activity.

 

Varied learning techniques.  Variety is the spice of life.  Fact.  Monotony creates boredom.  Monotony creates boredom.  If students are forced to sit and listen, expect a disaster of biblical proportions.  What I mean is Old Testament, real wrath of God type stuff.  Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies! Rivers and seas boiling!  Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together… mass hysteria!  The students must talk.  Through talking they can connect.  They can apply the words by relating it to their experience.  Their learning will become their life and through each oral English lesson they will gain further invaluable experience.  I often devise undertakings to promote the key language skills in naturalised forms, e.g. if we’re discussing transport, why not perform a role-play based on travelling to the Sudirman Cup final (or something topical).

 

Timekeeping skills.  Class begins at 11am.  You have 40 minutes.  Remember to segment the class structure.  Tailor all to the students’ needs.  From experience energy will be highest early on.  Throw in a warm up activity then go straight into an introduction.  Now stop and review.  Slide in some more content, stop, practice and deliver.   Time for a final review?  Class is over.  Be realistic with timeframes.  Nothing great comes from too much review time, and likewise, nothing fantastic can emerge from too much introductory timing.  Only yawns.  Use timers on Powerpoint presentations, stopwatches, clocks and set clear limits for tasks.

 

Excellent!  Well done!  I recommend that you do your homework before the students even receive any homework from you.  Grab yourself a thesaurus.  Try to introduce new vocabulary, be it single words like fantastic or tremendous – or simple sentences of praise and encouragement.  “Try harder next time” can flip to “An admirable effort, but I know you can do better.”  Whether the work or task was first-rate, outstanding, exceptional, superb or poor, words are powerful tools to motivate and provide curiosity.  The students mind may ignore the praise, they may investigate it further, or they may learn an expression and fire it off at peers in the future.  That seed can fast become a network of positivity branching out in the tree of life.  Feedback should be seen as a chance to reflect on what you have asked – and not a motivator for incorrect learning.  Wisely must the force you use be.  Liam, a teacher, I know uses fist bumps, high fives and many other praising moves learnt from the ghettos of Weymouth (U.K.).  Try to vary your praising methods.  Introduce more internationally noted cultural nods of approval.


RECOVERED FROM THE DEMISE OF HUBHAO.COM

Teachers are hugely important in a community.  Education and development of youth pushes the next generation onwards.  During these impressionable years children will be imparted with facts, figures and fart jokes.  These will stay with them forever.  With their new knowledge the student can go on and be responsible, productive and a valuable member of society.  And they’ll probably still tell fart jokes.

 

Diversify.  Theory and practice are two different things.  Flitting between each method is a good way to engage all.  In the novel Jurassic Park, penned by Michael Crichton, a character Dr. Grant talks about two kinds of people, “There are those that want to be astronomers, and those that want to be astronauts.”  The former studies from a point of absolute safety, the other is more like the explorer.  To make a class as hands-on as possible, sometimes lessons need to be outside the box.  For beyond the territories of old-fashioned teaching gives students ways to learn and develop their talents in ways more fitting to showing it off.  Varying assignments, exercises and even the location of teaching can certainly arouse the senses.

 

Build rapport.  So many times I have seen new teachers come and expect instant enthusiasm.  It is insulting to think you’ll be respected and learnt from within the first few classes.  There will always be curiosity but once that wanes, what remains?  Beyond the classroom, keep your office door open; tell students they are welcome to talk more outside of classes; join in with activities beyond your paid time; help the quieter students feel included; take on the tough kids and distractors, find out more about them; and always be approachable.  Wear a smile.  Be professional.  If it is for a moment raining in your heart, bring sunshine to those indoors.  Students will embrace you not just as a teacher, but someone to look up to and learn from as a community member.  Teaching isn’t about being a friend or popular, it is about commanding a respect to encourage your students to learn.

 

Aim higher than the stars.  Previously I penned the importance of realistic goals.  That’s for the students.  For you, as a teacher, should be looking at something far greater: the unreachable wall of perfection.  Don’t just copy and paste last year’s work.  Think how it can be improved.  Is there a different method of review you can use?  Could I modernise or make the images more relevant to the student audience?  How can I encourage more oral English opportunities?  Your expectations can always be heightened.  To quote Nelson Mandela, “after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.”  Do this, and you’ll feel more satisfied.  Depend on older material and you’ll soon become fatigued.

 

There is no Plan B?  Of course there is a plan B.  I personally opt for plans C, D, E and F.  We’re in a subtropical region, with high humidity and build ups of saline detritus on projectors or even power-cuts may ruin a well-prepared powerpoint.  What’s more is that the humidity has rendered a box of chalk into a useless pulp of mush.  The dry wipe white board is not to be used as a previous teacher used a permanent marker and the word comparative has remained on that board for two years.  Unlike the other classrooms the board isn’t magnetised and sticky backed plastic can’t be utilised due to an invasive mouse population in your stationery draw.  Your computer has gave up the ghost too.  Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.  Games and flashcards sat in folders, pre-printed materials, pairwork activities, turning the classroom into an arena… every possibility; nothing’s left to chance.  Think on your toes.

 

Clear boundaries.  If there are two pathways, one is shorter than the other and involves little effort.  You’ll feel happy but relaxed afterwards.  The other pathway is steep, challenging and you will learn as much about yourself as the matter.  You will feel like you have worked hard on this latter path.  Which pathway do you take?  You must articulate to your students, what is acceptable in the learning process.  Recently in Wuhan, drones were used to curb cheating for the National College Entrance Exam.  Of course you want collaboration in teamwork, but in testing an individual, you need their purest response.  You don’t want answers from Professor Google and Dr. Baidu.  I’ve seen hand-written answers copied from Wikipedia complete with coloured hyperlinks and lines beneath them.  Even the red spellchecker error lines appeared.  I tend to highlight my rules early on, and address any breaches as and when with a three strikes and you’re out warning.  Plagiarism and replication of other student’s complete work can turn into a detective job at times.

 

 

 

For further reading:

“Implementing the Seven Principles: Technology as Lever” by Chickering and Ehrmann – Retrieved 2015/06/15.

Clear Learning Objectives” – Retrieved 2015/06/15.


RECOVERED FROM THE DEMISE OF HUBHAO.COM

Making money.  I dislike money, I never seem to have enough or more appropriately, I’m totally irresponsible with my hard-earned dosh.  I earn my bread and then redistribute it on a combination of soft drink addictions and the need to add bits to my bicycle having shredded one part or the other.  I’m told you can save money easier by taking on extra jobs.  “Where can I find more work?”  I’m glad you have asked.  There’s the internet with forums like Dave’s ESL Café (www.eslcafe.com), there’s more regional classified adverts (like on Hubhao), social media like QQ, Facebook and WeChat groups.  Placing an advert in a bar or public place generally gets you spotted quickly.  Beyond the school gates in amongst the masses of parents is a good place to hand out your number and simple advertisement [Disclaimer:  check with your school first, and your teaching contract if this is okay].  Asking senior teachers if they know of anybody looking for private tuition will find you work.  In sunny Houjie, I have had a dozen requests each month and I usually delegate them to my immediate colleagues or friends.  Some of us like free time too much!

 

Forward thinking.  Ever had an idea during a class?  A bright spark followed by that lightbulb moment?  Yes, we all do.  Note it down for later.  During my summer vacation I plan to tailor images, bring props, bring some real things from home, kidnap my parents and force them to move to China… and so on.  There are gaps that can be brought to life in every topic.  I just need to get a life size replica of the Eiffel Tower into China… oh, wait, that’s already been done!!!  I plan this summer to collect magnetic board games including a giant Jenga; some English story books; more things to do with Manchester and the U.K. in general; prizes for games and competitions; seashells from the U.K. and many, many new holiday photos with friends and family.  I am a guest in China, and I want my students to be guests in my life and happenings.

 

Notes.  Notes, not of the musical variety, although that does help occasionally…  “Old MacDonald had a farm… A-E-I-O-U.”  I mean notes, as in minutes, records, transcripts or observations are important.  I average an A4 sized notepad every quarter of a year for a reason.  I rarely write anything beyond words, short sentences and abbreviated squiggles.  This is my idea factory.  Some ideas never bear fruit or even blossom.  Others get filling, direction and fill Powerpoints, games, review tasks, ideas to brighten the school walls up, become performances, songs, poems etc.  Notes, to me, are the foundation blocks of teaching.  Plus, every now and then, I look back at my notes from years gone by and find a piece of gold dust that gives rise to something big and wonderful (like posters about European nations and their culture etc).  Creativity can be born from one note.  La, la, la, laaaaaa.

 

Instructions and examples.  Before travelling somewhere unfamiliar for an interview or appointment, I look at the mode of transport, costs, timings, practicalities, possible weather and climate, etc.  The same applies to teaching instructions.  My sets of instructions have to be clear, broken down into steps, with the relevant introduction and content.  Without this, I am asking for anarchy and pandemonium to visit our classroom.  Alongside the clear instructions, support must be provided and clear examples given.  From knowing my classes I select the best students (and not always the same ones each time, to keep it fair overall) to assist me with demonstrating what we must do.  On the projection wall will sit a further example too.  I will enter the arena and probe around the classroom looking to see demonstrations being practiced before calling forward students to review their collective effort.

 

Don’t jump to conclusions.  Guess what?  As a teacher, you’re not a student.  You’re a teaching expert.  Reading between the lines, filling in gaps, and applying our own comprehension is instinctive.  Sometimes we must switch from autopilot mode into something more appropriate.  We can’t cycle from Chengdu to Paris, without the adequate preparation.  Students need to avoid confusion.  We must prevent them connecting two dots to form a line that is so wonky, one dot may fall off and land in a pile of previously failed dots.  Breaking up duties ensures that each instruction is followed step-by-step along the floor, then up some stairs and high above into the mountains before flight is encouraged.  Take nothing for granted, share how you think as an expert.  The parrot copies human voices for a reason and then applies the skill with precise action.  Your students can do anything with clear, concise instructions.

 


RECOVERED FROM THE DEMISE OF HUBHAO.COM

Don’t flood the market.  Rome wasn’t built in a day.  Nor was a complete understanding of the English language or uses of said philological skills.  There are professors and scholars always trying to further this language of ours.  Don’t worry about everything.  Narrow it down to just a little by little approach.  If you blanket a subject, you’ll swamp it into a boggy, murky, twisted mess and scare the students away!  Don’t do too much in a short space of time.  We must know what to include and what to eject.  Your favourite subjects of contents, e.g. football and cycling may not be apt for the syllabus.  The semester or year needs clear division into units.  Each unit must have a focus and target language.  The students’ experiences, background and class numbers need to be accounted into the material.  I have often split a* unit* into multiple classes to get a sounder understanding of more difficult subjects.  Simply prioritising and setting purposes helps.

 

Questions and answers.  I find that just a simple question with a simple answer isn’t enough to keep a conversation flowing.  Closed questions, the kind where, yes, no and maybe arise can kill a conversation.  More open questions can lead a conversation to more questions and details.  I try to encourage my students to work in pairs and have one student as the question master and the other as questioned.  This is a great technique for reviewing a subject and also makes the students think harder about the level of detail in their answer.  If the task is limited to one minute then the student can respond strongly to prevent further questions.  If the questioned student is too simplistic with their answers the question master can launch many questions.  This makes for a good spectator competition, but use it sparingly – as too many rounds will make you question using this challenge again.

 

Are you the challenger?  Don’t agree with everything.  You can be much more than someone who nods their head and says, “Yes” or “Okay.”  We can be a commentator like of Match of the Day; we can be a challenger like in a public debate; we can be more moderate like a news presenter; or we orchestrate an argument to develop deeper conversation.  Through these characters we can guide students, change behaviours, and promote thinking critically.  It goes without saying about avoiding religious and political debate but subjects such as wildlife conservation and attitudes to animal care make for interesting discussion.  Perhaps give students roles, like a hunter, a conservation worker, a wildlife guard, the family of the hunter, the medicine maker, the police and anyone else connected directly to illegal rhino horn poaching.  You’ll maybe see and hear defences, objectiveness and bias.  Flip the roles between students and see if they can understand one another’s arguments.  Challenge each student with simple questions.  Who?  When?  What?  Why?  How?  Which?  Where?

 

Handouts.  “Save the world”, “save trees”, “recycle”, are a few cried heard all over the world.  If you pass the photocopying room at my school, close to exam time, you’ll hear a different kind of whimper.  As the photocopiers go all lifeless and silent or they spew out worthless misprints the copy staff go postal.  Handouts in classes are essential for homework.  For a class task, it is worth asking two to six students to share one sheet of A4 or A3 paper.  A shared task and prompt sheet is more likely to drive the behaviours needed for good team etiquette.  And you’ve just saved the Amazon rainforest!

 

Evaluate and evolve.  Teachers have basic principles but over the years our methods have become more and more chameleonic.  The successful teacher adapts to new technologies and new methods.  They seek new ideas and embrace them.  They also refine the tried and tested methods to a finite degree of near perfection.  There’s no resting on their laurels (or Sweet Bay leaves).  If something that did work, no longer works, changes must be made.  A variety of incidents may change your teaching methods.  A class size change from 16 to 60 certainly will make you uneasy.  The old rules may be redundant.  There may be a drive for more advanced media orientated or business connected vocabularies.  You must know what to do, usually by understanding your previous workings, exams, evaluations and student knowledge.  You may need to prepare extra base work or go off subject to bring about further knowledge teaching.  You may need a library, online resource, ask somebody for help or forum to seek new ideas or guidance.  From here we can construct content with objectives, structure, adjust and format a new range of materials.  Not everything comes from experience.  Keeping it as simple as possible will make it much more management.

 

For further reading:

*Is it an unit or a unit?  See this debate.


 

 

Teaching with Chopsticks #1

RECOVERED FROM THE DEMISE OF HUBHAO.COM

Delving into my mind can be a dangerous adventure.  There are millions of self-help guides littering shelves of local and international bookstores.  This is not intended to dictate or to be taken as gospel.  Teaching English is very much like tasting Marmite – you either fall in love with it, or you hate it.  Like most long-standing sandwich spreads, you’ll adapt, innovate and reinvent.  The cycle of normality will be broken.  Back off textbook simplicity.  I want to offer five tips, not in the fly-tipping or gratuities sense but these little boons:

 

  1. Teaching should be very personal.

When you meet someone interesting, they stand out.  Why do they stand out?  They’re interesting, you switch on.  Give the students what they want and they’ll want more.  You’re a teacher from a far off mystical land.  More is less, less is more and so on.  Using the imagination and your passion will drive their interest.

 

  1. Fear nothing. Lead the way.

The worst that can happen will only happen if you panic, the little monsters in front of you choose it or life dictates Murphy’s Law is due an appearance.  You are your class leader.  Dictate the pace, the content and the smiles.  Speak in a natural way, slow but clear and fill your words with feeling.  Acting like the latest version of Leslie Nielsen [if you’ve used Baidu to search for this, shame on you] is all part of the game.  Loosen the students up, make them aware that your class is about relaxing and stepping off the plateau of norm on to the steppes of an atypical day out.  Your class is an enjoyable escapology act and you are the next provider of mystery and queries.

 

  1. You’re having a laugh. Share it.

We all switch off 15 minutes into any presentation, apparently (source unknown, I switched off before that was presented).  Some things demand light-hearted jolliness, other things need a belly laugh or two.  English is a fantastic language and versatile as a cockroach in a kebab shop.  It can bend, it can twist and it will find some meaty content to live on.  I find students will engage you more if you’re more Patch Adams than Louis Pasteur.  Often students here sit through strict, highly rigid and lifeless mathematics or history classes.  Making a connection to the students is key, whether it is straight-faced or outright gurning.  The level of humour obviously mustn’t disturb neighbouring classes.  That said, if the neighbouring classes hear the odd chuckle, they’ll look forward to your classes…

 

  1. Game on.

Structure in a lesson is important.  Tricking students into learning by thinking they’re playing games is far more important.  From the off I tend to award points for simple tasks, like remembering my ever evolving class rules to simply giving a good example of oral English.  A warm-up game between two to four small or large groups can dictate reward points from the off.  Every now and then an actual reward, be that of the sweet kind or the stationery kind enters the classroom.  The students sit up straight, are on their proverbial collective toes and knuckle down.  Routine, expectation and a hunger to win can seriously gear up your classrooms.  I often find there is always a brainy team or each group has stand out students.  But beware.  Beware imbalanced point awarding.  Take control and steer the results in a way organisations connected with a major World Cup would take pride in.  I recommend a visiting game shops, using online resources (www.tes.co.uk; http://www.eslprintables.com/; or sites like http://learnenglishkids.britishcouncil.org/en), popping into Decathlon for softer versions of the dartboard or researching old playground favourites.  Get on it.  I have and I will never turn back.

 

  1. Realia Manchester.

Realia, is a funky latin word, for meaning real stuff.  Real stuff has several benefits.  The blackboard/chalk board/white board/projector screen can scatter.  It can properly do one, out of the room, no longer needed, make them as redundant as tone washers on the Great Wall.   The realm of authentic artefacts begins.  Be the subject winter, bring a scarf, hat and gloves.  Be it holidays, produce postcards, a backpack and some holiday snaps.  A bag is always a great way to smuggle items into class.  Place it on a raised chair, upfront and central to invoke the curiosity of your audience.  So far, my most praised classes by observing teachers have involved a Powerpoint [other methods are available] presentation entirely stocked with photographs.  Alongside this has been a carrier bag, costumes, and special effects.  Are you a budding George Lucas?  I hear you say.  No, I reply.  The classroom can be pre-prepared to have areas of interaction, props and posters or maps.  Why not go orienteering indoors?  Remember everything is possible.

 

这是所有乡亲/ Zhè shì suǒyǒu xiāngqīn (That’s all folks).

{check the above again and again}

J4: North Trafford to Aberystwyth

College began.  North Trafford College was not like school.  I had friends, of genuine qualities.  These friends would not think of me as someone lower than them.  I was an equal.  I was to enjoy great friendships with Alexis, Becci, Gemma, Danny, Serena, Jill and Darran over the coming years.  Outside of college I had my friendships with Dan and Rob.  Life seemed to be shaping up well.

Mum brought me City’s new laser blue strip for my 17th birthday, and I enjoyed a night out at Laser Quest with Dan and Rob.  I was really enjoying life.

On the 17th of November 1999 my best friend Pup died.  He had been around me for 17 years of my life.  Whenever I needed to hug, he was there.  He would always listen, and he would never judge me.  He was always there for me.  The news was heart-breaking.  I was in shock.  The Kangaroo-like, bounding, mongrel had finally passed away.  His back legs had failed him one day, and the Eccles RSPCA vets (where Rolf Harris was starring in Animal Hospital) had decided the humane thing would be to put him to sleep.  No longer would his floppy-great ears, his clumsy wagging tail, his facial glow, and his super temperament grace my presence.

I ran to my room, a tear shed for every fond memory of Pup.  So many memories of him licking me, chasing after me, fetching branches and sticks that I had thrown for him, playing outside together, and Pup sat on my lap in Dad’s car on long journeys.   Pup will never be forgotten.  He touched so many around Newton Heath and my family.  I even saved him from a fast-flowing stream in Clayton Vale one Saturday afternoon.  Pup was fearless, and so gentle.  You cannot compare him to any dog alive, or that has lived, but if you did then he would rank up there with the Red Dog of the Australian outback.

At college following a Christmas drunken kiss with Becci, things went rather unusual.  Becci was my college tutor, Elaine Lamb’s daughter.  This could have become rather complicated, but after the drunken kiss we both knew to go any further would be bad, especially seeing as Becci had a boyfriend.

The over-hyped Millennium eve came, and went.  In January 2000, I started a two day work placement at Blackpool Zoo.  This would happen every Thursday and Friday eventually curtailed by March’s foot and mouth crisis.  Soon I left my part time job at Co-op to work for Glynwebb DIY store (convenient alongside footballing commitments).

A new child was born into the Acton family in 2000.  Christina Acton was named after my late Nana.  Christina was born on Valentine’s Day, February the 14th 2000.  I now had two sisters.  Christina was born to my Dad’s partner Bernadette McWilliams from Greenock Morton.

Whilst at Blackpool Zoo however I met Caroline Wadsworth, during March 2000.  I travelled to Scarborough for a night out in her hometown.  Caroline was a Restaurant manager at a local hotel.  We met at the station, and went for a drink at a Wetherspoon’s bar.  We walked back to her flat.  We discussed our planned night out.  I would sleep on her sofa when we returned.  Caroline was five foot two tall, long black hair, round, slim build, and aged 28.  I was only 18.  That night we visited a few bars, and a club.  By midnight Caroline was extremely drunk.  We boarded a taxi and went back to hers.  On arrival I put her to bed, removing her leather jacket and covering her up with her duvet.  I could see no spare blankets.  I went to her lounge, and curled up on the sofa, draping my jacket over me.  I fell asleep. I was quite cold.

I made the text below smaller and lighter because I have been a tad graphic. But, flip it. I am not hiding anything. It has to be written.

That morning I was awoken by Caroline.  She lifted my jacket off me, took my hand and said I should have curled up with her.  She led me to her room and lay down in bed, pulling me up alongside her.  She thanked me for not taking advantage of her.  She undressed me down to my boxer shorts, and then undressed and placed a long t-shirt on.  A lengthy kiss followed.  I could feel my boxer shorts being removed.  She grasped my penis, and pulled it back and forward.  I decided to explore her with my hands, softly and carefully.  Within minutes she spoke, “Make love to me.” 
Being a virgin I panicked a little.  Once the trusted condom was on, my penis slid easily into her wetness.  I was inside her.  I could feel so much, tight around me.  She moaned and grasped my hair as I found myself going deeper and harder into her.  Her breasts were bright red with sweat.  She pushed me out of her.  Had I done something wrong?  She put me on my back, and then climbed onto me.  I slid right into her with ease.  She bounced so hard, moaning more and more each time, her breasts bouncing up and down.  She screamed and started to shudder, as I released myself.  I had lost my virginity and cum at the same time she had reached orgasm [I didn’t think that was even possible].  That day I had my breakfast.  Not long after she had elevenses.  In fact she made sure I had lunch, snacks, tea and supper for the two nights I stayed.  My penis was sore with overuse.  It had never been used before this trip to Scarborough!  The sex was amazing, and varied.  She performed oral sex, shown me many ways to make her orgasm, but I was beginning to feel used. 
The next weekend I visited again, all we did was to stay in and had sex.  We never chatted on the phone before my visit, I felt used.  It may seem like a typical blokes dream to be used, but I wanted more emotion.  I’m not just an object and detest being used as one.  She had achieved what she wanted, and boosted the local pharmacy sales of condoms but I wanted more. 

My final work placement for college was at Clayton’s Millstream Animal Sanctuary in 2001.  Here I assisted with cleaning kennels, and catteries.  I would also assist with feeding General the horse, and several goats.  I was also lucky to assist tame an extremely aggressive black rabbit.  The male rabbit had a small white patch under its neck.  It apparently was vicious to people, and had a history of biting people.  I lifted it straight up, sat it on my knee, as I sat on the floor inside the main building.  Bugsy as I affectionately called him responded well.  It never kicked out at me, or bit me once in the few months I was there.  Bugsy eventually responded well to other humans and found a home.  2000 being the year Dad had a second child with his partner Bernadette.  Shaun Paul Acton was born on the 28th of March.  I now had three brothers.

Back at Millstream, a cat named Aurora, a beautiful tortoiseshell cat, had to be kept close to the veterinary room.  Aurora suffered from a liver disease and needed regular medicine doses.  Her history was from a background of being mistreated.  She was not an ideal cat for homing, because she was so aggressive to human contact.  Within days of working up her trust, she clambered from her pen, and walked over my shoulders.  She rubbed my head with her body.  She would not allow me to touch her by hand.  This usually responded with a prompt scratch to my arm or head.  Aurora took weeks to allow me to pick her up, and stroke.  She was a beautiful cat, and I would have loved to given her a home.  Mum would not allow another cat because we already had Tigger and Sparky (Tigger’s mother).  I also had Sarah my tarantula (named after a girl I had a crush on, even if she was out of my league); Gizmo and Stripe my Russian Hamsters (who would often try to kill one another, thus resulting in me pulling them apart).  Gizmo and Stripe were adopted from an animal sanctuary.

After completing work placements at Heaton Park with college, Holland’s Exotic Pets in the Coliseum, Manchester Pets and Aquatics, and Blackpool Zoo I felt ready to take on a career.  I decided to apply for the Fire and Rescue Service.  The last few weeks of college loomed and Gemma hosted a sleepover at her house in Sale.  Becci, Danny, Alexis, Darran and I stayed.  We watched Lake Placid (Crap film) and numerous other films and gabbed whilst eating and drinking in Gem’s lounge.  Later on Gemma went upstairs to bed, Alexis fell asleep, Danny and Darran fell asleep minutes later.  I curled up in my blanket.  Becci lay behind me.  Becci kissed me.  I kissed her back.  My hands strayed, beneath her blanket, and below her jeans.  Becci was very quiet for the first five minutes.  All of a sudden she screamed and the others awoke.  She told them she had had a nightmare.  The flustered bright red face clearly lying but that beat admitting to what was really going on.  She lay back down, turned away and fell asleep.  Becci was always the selfish member of the group, insecure, and confident she could win any man’s heart over.  She would never win my heart. I am glad to have heard since then that she has grown up well.

In May I had my mobile stolen; in July I’d seen the band Wheatus again with Danny; and at this stage I had been forced to make career choices.  After passing several fire-fighters exams and tests I had a contract arrive in the post from Greater Manchester Fire Services.   On the same day I received an offer for a place in Aberystwyth University.  I had to decide between university and a career.  The decision was not easy but a few years at University would not prevent me reapplying for the Fire and Rescue Service.

During August I also returned to Barmouth for a holiday with Mum, Paul, Paul junior, and Astrid.  We stayed in Tudor House holiday flat overlooking the harbour.

On the 22nd of September 2001, 11 days after the atrocious attacks by terrorists on the U.S.A., I had departed for Aberystwyth.  Manchester City F.C. had beaten Sheffield Wednesday 6-2 at Hillsborough under the helm of Kevin Keegan. Dad’s packed Citroen headed east, packed full to the rim. Having been lost in Shrewsbury (possibly the only town populated by more roundabouts than people), we set across Eastern Wales and its many shades of grey clouds.  Many urination stops later in several bleak farm tractor entrances, and we arrived in Aberystwyth.  I and Dad unpacked all my gear into Cwrt Mawr Block B, room 15 – my home to be for an entire academic year.

Post-unpacking my Dad took me to Cwrt Mawr bar located next door to Block B.  Dad brought me my first pint in Aberystwyth.  Guinness, naturally, and served by a rather busty bar lady.  Talent spotting looked to be a good idea in this town.  Time was soon called, and we returned to my room.  Dad kipped on my bed, and I curled up under a blanket on the rock cold tiled floor.  Ah, luxury!

For Sunday morning we searched for a café or breakfast bar in the town at the foot of Penglais hill, no such luck.  We made do with Spar’s finest sausage roll and breakfast barm.  No sarcasm intended.  Dad drove me back to my highly institutional-influenced room, before he headed off for Manchester.

As I slowly unpacked, my new flatmates passed by my room.  Feelings came over me, pure shyness and unsure whether my flatmates would take to me.  I was feeling alone.  The day seemed to last forever, as I customised my imperial-institutional cell.  I fell asleep, tired and alone, wanting to escape, far from home.  Tears ran from my eyes.

The first Monday of the University term brought brighter light.  I met Mike, a fellow resident of Institution Block B, or Cwrt Mawr (if you like a more romantic tone).  We went to the students union and entered a Headways Group treasure hunt.  We started late on, overtook many teams, and still managed to finish first.  The secret clues were difficult, but we made it through to the Outback bar on the Llanbadarn campus.  I could see Mike doubted my navigational skills, but he could tell I doubted his knowledge of biology as we discussed our similar study schemes.  At the Outback, a free barbeque was provided, and we also won a £5 student union shop voucher.  This sweetened the burning sensation on my aching feet.

Many hours later I had returned to my room.  My head plummeted into my pillow.  I slept like I had not slept for a long, long, long time.  My day’s explorations with Mike, the square headed, spectacle-wearing Midlander had been fun.  To imagine what Mike looks like, simply watch the film Ghostbusters and look at Egon Spengler.  Mike was however around five-foot ten.

A night passed before Mike had arranged for a night out with several girls from Cwrt Mawr Block A (the other block next door).  Our other flatmates Dan, and Yaz joined us for a few drinks at The Glengower on Aber’s North seafront.  The girls from next door were Jen (a Southerner), Jenny (an American International Politics student), Lynette (a Brummie) and her room mate Kim (also a Brummie).  I wasn’t really interested in any of the girls (even if the theme night was Pimps and Whores night).  Naturally I wore my favourite purple shiny-top and silver dragon trousers.

The next day I met Kez (Environmental Scientist) and Mel (Drama student!), two more flatmates.  There was also Victor (computer scientist) and Lorenzo (an Italian International Politics PHD student).  That morning Mike and myself went to Block A to meet Kim and Jenny.  Lynette had been feeling unwell, and wanted to return to the Midlands and her parents’ house.  By the end of the day Kim’s double room was more spacious, as Lynette headed home from the University for the first and final time that year.  Really, I think Dan scared her off the night before at The Glengower.

Pretty soon lectures had began, and before long I and Kim were seeing each other.  Before long October popped up. POP!  On return to Manchester, I and Rob met up to watch Scary Movie 2 at the cinema.  At this stage I realised that most of my friends had moved on, William was in New Zealand, Dan was in the army with the Scots Dragoon Guards, Becci at Leeds University, and Alexis at Chester College.  It was a pleasant return to Manchester, and easy to get news.  I bloody well didn’t get much news in Ceredigion!  I rarely watched television.  I had to go on the net to discover most things or return home to watch the football (by football I mean the great Manchester City F.C.) My Manchester City FC were doing excellent and well on course to a return to the top flight where I was sure they would stay up this time.  At the time City were the best goal scorers in the U.K. football leagues too!  There was ONLY one pub in Aber which screened ITV Sports!  The Mill public house was tiny and packed solid if any game was on. 

By the end of the month, as is a tradition on my birthday I had added another year to my age.  I thought celebrating my birthday away from home would be awful as I turned 19.  Mel and Kez treated me to Profitero’s and presents.  That was very kind of them.  I was not used to surprises, so it was different and thoroughly enjoyable.  Kim returned from the Midlands with a cuddly Tigger and some chocolates.  Yummy.

During the month of October I also became involved with Aberystwyth Town F.C., a team from the then League of Wales (now Welsh Premier).

Everything seems to take 15 minutes:  getting ready to go out, cycling to work, an evening jog, having a quickie etc.  Yet getting to lectures from Block B took at the most 5 minutes.  This was convenient and had no excuse to be late.  The first year of University life wasn’t so academically productive.  I fucked up big time.  I did however enjoy University life, football, and the region so much that I would retake my year.  If I was to relive life in Cwrt Mawr Block B, there would be some brilliant or strange memories.

For a start my room was right by the kitchen, so every Tom, Dick and Harry who fancied a late night snack would likely disturb me.  We did not have a Tom, Dick or Harry living in our flat as I am aware.  Worse still, the toilet was located adjacent to my room.  An ancient proverb, probably would go as “he who sleeps lightly, be disturbed by the loo flushing.”

Our estranged flatmate Victor was proving to be rather unusual.  Several knocks on my door at 7a.m. revealed why.  Victor was revealed to be a campus stalker, who was eventually expelled from University.  This wasn’t the only trouble in Cwrt Mawr, bats in my wardrobe, and the Police calling at all hours, and this e-mail from a warden says it all: 


The University has a very strict Rule that forbids the possession of any form of weapon on its premises and grounds. Of course, this includes any form of gun or imitation weapon. Yet, I have been handed and have confiscated 3 “pistols” this term already! At least one is a BB-gun that potentially is very dangerous.  These disregards of a University Rule came to a head in the early hours of Friday, 1st February, when a student in a balaclava brandished a “gun” at another student “as a drunken lark”!
The man was arrested and may be prosecuted! Even if not, he will be subject to University discipline; as will any others caught in possession of a weapon! BE WARNED: Anyone in possession of weapon must dispose of it immediately or face the certainty of at least University discipline if caught!
Dr.R.B.Kemp, Warden.


Around Christmas time our flat shared a Christmas dinner.  Kez, Mel and Mike cooked, whilst muggings here had to wash up with Kim and Yaz.  That night I and Kim set a cuddly-musical toy, namely Frosty the Snowman, off outside Kez’s room, much to our amusement and Kez’s dismay.  Practical jokes dried up soon after Christmas.  There was only so much blown-dry cling film under toilet seats, washing up liquid down toilets, and booby traps that could be taken in one semester at University.

At the time, my attitude to life had changed, and I settled into the University life with ease.  I tell you what when I left University it was a shock to the system.  I had to get up at 6am, rather than go to sleep then.  Having sex in a single bed was absurd.  There was more food than beer in my fridge.  My fantasies of having sex with three women with lesbian tendencies was soon replaced by fantasies of having sex with anyone at all.  I no longer sought to volunteer for clinical trials at the local hospital.  I then knew all of the people sleeping in my house.  The bank manager didn’t be threaten as in previous years.  My friends soon would marry and divorce instead of getting together and breaking-up.  I went from 130 days of holidays to around 20.  Jeans and a jumpers no longer qualified as ‘dressed up’.  I didn’t spend half my day strategically planning pub crawls.  I even joined the campaign to “hate scrounging students”.  I no longer had a strange attraction to road signs when I was under the influence of alcohol. I no longer took naps from noon to 6 p.m.  A £3 bottle of wine was no longer ‘pretty good stuff’.  I remembered the name of the person I’ll wake up next to.  I actually ate breakfast foods at breakfast time.  Either Way University was easier to understand than most things – okay the work was extremely hard and often led to bouts of depression, and insomnia.  It is not as cheap as I thought it would be, survival of the fittest, or Darwinian Theory is thrown full blown into contention. Not that any of this paragraph is accurate. University was different to life afterwards.

My second semester lectures started in early February and already the lectures were engaged on revision and exams.  I tried my hardest but felt a little unconfident the moment any chemistry or mathematics was thrown at me.  It was not easy being a John, but someone had to do it.  I had already signed up with 5 friends (Mike, Kez, Mel, Yaz, and my new friend Tom) for a building in the next year in town (on Baker Street), it worked out about 15% more expensive (plus electricity bills) than my first University accommodation, but second year students did not get any priority in accommodation next year.  The Baker Street maisonette was located in farting-distance of the station, town, and seafront.  It was, however, a mile from my lecture rooms on the Penglais campus.  This University has the fittest University students in the U.K.  No surprises!  It also boasted one of the U.K.’s highest suicidal rates, not really that nice a prospect.  For the second semester I had more practical work scheduled, more hours of learning (about 24 in 5 days ) and several trips to Borth Animalarium (8 miles North).

One Wednesday in February I had a football match at 2.30pm (at Blaendolau) which I seemed to dread for the fact that the team I played for (Officers’ Training Corp FC) appeared to be the most unorganised club ever.  They were 12-0 down when I came on for the second half against Gents’ Society UWA FC, we lost 12-1!  It was awful.  However, when it came to playing for University teams over the years I’d find more disorganized units as time flew by.  However the next match we won 4-0 in the league against the Beerkeepers’ FC.  I got 90 minutes to run around and chase the ball.  We played a friendly against the American Welsh FC and we were winning 5-0 when I was badly tackled.  The two players sandwiched me as I ran though on goal.  The ball left my feet and hit the net, I was crushed.  I had a bruised rib, dislocated knee, and several bruises.  They both received straight reds, we won 10-0.  I never got to play in the league or cup matches until just before Christmas where I made a start.  My knee was still troubling me a little, but seeing as only 11 people turned up, I had to fill in at Left-back position…. Well for 15 minutes until my legs were taken.  The player was only yellow carded.  I hopped around for the remainder of the game, made the odd challenge, no subs were available so I did my best – we lost 6-1 against a side we beat 4-0 (Beerkeepers’ FC).  Luckily it was only a cup game.  I managed another few games that season for the Officers’ Training Corp F.C. as we progressed to the quarter final of the Dig’s League.

Me, Mike and many other students regularly went down to Park Avenue and watch our adopted local football side Aberystwyth Town F.C. in the League of Wales; it was fun and Rhodri Giggs (brother of Ryan Giggs) played for them, and he was surprisingly good.  It was a youthful side, some old City players have been here with other League of Wales squads and Malcolm Allen played there too!  This seemed pretty amazing for a club I had never heard of, let alone seen until I came to Aberystwyth.  Aberystwyth finished 9th in season 2001/02 having beaten Connah’s Quay on the final day of the season.  Connah’s Quay had a postponed game the week later to move above Aberystwyth Town and qualify for the Football Association of Wales Premier Cup. Aberystwyth Town didn’t, but they put on a good end of season.

The Aberystwyth Arts Centre had an excellent exhibition programme and was one of the few venues in Wales acknowledged by the Arts Council as a Centre of Excellence.  It also offered you an excellent programme of exhibitions and many courses in art, drama, dance and music.  But for those who enjoy the outdoors, a bracing breeze and horizontal rain, with a football between your feet naturally.

The University playing fields represent the jewel in the crown of U.W.A.’s sporting facilities and are located on two sites.  The nationally renowned Vicarage Playing Fields, some 16 acres, are home to the U.W.A’s. first football, rugby, tennis and cricket teams.  The immaculately maintained facilities are the flagship of excellence and have been the envy of visiting teams for years, plus they were bloody good to score upon. Such was the quality, that the University was able to attract prestigious external user groups such as the Ian Rush Soccer Tournament, and even professional football teams.  The other, and larger, site is at Blaendolau where equally impressive pitches occupy some 34 acres.  Here, in addition to the many UWA team fixtures, was the venue for the Digs’ League football.  A further asset of both sites is their close proximity to the main campus, the town and student accommodation, thus making for easy accessibility.  Also, many goals were to be scored on this field.

Kim finally visited Manchester in May 2002, and we went to watch ET re-released at the cinema, and Kim met some of my family.  I had shown her the local Highfield Country Park, where somehow I managed to get splinters in my bottom-cheeks.

There was one particular walk which began like any other ordinary walk during May 2003.  Kez, Kim, Alana, Mike, and I were all walking along the south beach of Aberystwyth.  At the time I was wearing a T-shirt and shorts.  The sun was beating down keeping me very warm.  I had my sunglasses around my neck and a baseball cap on.  Tethered around my back was a small bag with a juice bottle, my mobile phone and other small keep-sakes in it.  Mike and I decided to speed up a little and explore this newly acquainted area.  We then went around the most southern point of the cove.  There before us lay rocks and crags at the foot of tall cliffs.  The cliffs looked strong.  Mike and I looked around the rocks finding the lower left mandible of a sheep and a few strange shells.  I then started to ascend my way up a sloping cliff (elevated around a 150-degree drop).  The bottom ten metres proved to be easy to climb.  The mid-section was not as easy but at the same time not too difficult.  I reached a point about five metres from the summit of the cliff face.  The ledge I was stood on became un-easy as if ready to collapse.  I turned around ready to descend slowly to the foot of the cliff.  The ledge collapsed.  Rocks tumbled beneath me.  The rocks bounced off crags in the cliffs, spiralling into the air dramatically before impacting the pebbles and crags below.  There and then I felt I could get myself back to safety.  I gasped hold of the protruding rocks to my right (southerly direction).  They crumbled.  The sea below hitting the pebble beach viciously became drowned out.  Panic had hit me.  To my left (just north) I could see Kim, Kez, Mike and Alana chatting and relaxing on flat area of rocks at the base of the cliffs.  The loneliness set in.  I thought fast what I should do next.  I waved with both hands as if needing help.  No response from the happy people below.  I signalled with nine fingers flashing them repeatedly.  Still there was no response.  I then took the extreme of launching my bag high into the sky and letting it drop half-way up the cliff.

Now they noticed me!  Then I realised that I had thrown my phone downwards inside the bag.  Luckily, Mike clambered up the cliff within four metres of me.  I could smell his aftershave.  I told him about the situation I was in.  A messy situation I was in.  He tried to tell me his situation but I exaggerated the situation I was in.  He phoned the emergency services.  As he was phoning my right foot slipped from beneath me.  The ledge had crumbled further.  I had only one place to put my left foot and use my right hand now to prop me up.  Below me loomed a fateful place to land.   I could do nothing but hold on.  Keep holding on.  Nothing else could be done, I had to hold on.  Mike chatted to me (upwind) although little of what he said registered.  My right arm was numb.  It had to support over ninety kilograms.  My left leg seemed to be slipping continually.

I constantly had to find a new footing.  Slate and stones were crumbling around me.  Rocks were tumbling down below.  I tried not to watch them.  Mike told me how the emergency services were on the way.  Kez, Kim, and Alana were sat there on the smooth rocks safely.  Even as I held onto my life I had to direct somebody to stand on the road around the side of the cliffs to wave down the emergency services.  Looking at my watch it was 1700.  I had been there around 15 minutes already.   Mike laughed, “at least it’s sunny!”  Then I looked out to see.  The sunlight became covered by clouds.  Briefly a beam of light shone through.  I pictured it as a stairway to heaven.  It felt so surreal.  I imagined a voice beckon aloud, “this way John”.  Then I imagined the Earth below tear apart to the sound of Take That singing “Relight My Fire”.  Should I choose Heaven or hell?  I’ll choose… life!  It was becoming cold; I shivered, petrified of the fall below, nervous twitches rocked my left leg repeatedly.  The leg I needed to hold myself up was numb and shivering rapidly.  It slipped off several times.  Only my quick instinct recaptured my stance of security on the cliff.

The emergency services came at 1740.  A police car led three fire engines, an ambulance (to reassure me – they told me it was a precaution), and a mountain rescue jeep.  The sound of sirens will always remind me how warm I felt as they came down the seaside road.  Within minutes, two firemen were below to my right unable to reach me.  One was above (also, unable to reach me).  The Mountain rescue team had set their winching equipment up and an abseiling man descended downwards to me.  He stood in front of me.  They than fastened a belt around me.  He hooked the belt onto the abseil line.  We both slowly walked upwards with my legs spread apart painfully to balance the weight.  I looked down at my extremely pale legs, cold.  It was very cold.  A few scratches displayed blue tints around them.  My skin was icy.  At last I reached the summit.  It was better late than never.

An RAF Air Sea Rescue Sea King thundered around above me and the rescue workers.  The noise drowned out the sea below.  Air thumped downwards causing me to collapse.  A paramedic greeted me.  He wrapped shiny tinfoil over me. The down-thrust from the helicopter above unwrapped the shiny tinfoil.  The helicopter moved into position.  A winch man manoeuvred downwards.  He hooked the paramedic onto the winch and sent him up alone first.  The winch man comforted me as we waited.  Then the winch came down empty.  He hooked himself on.  He strapped me in with two harnesses.  I loosely lay (almost floppy) as we winched up slowly.  A down thrust of air hit us, the cable span around causing me to hit my head on the helicopter.  My mouth caught on the winch man’s jacket.  Blood ran out of my mouth as I pulled forwards to avoid further injury.  They placed my on a seat in the helicopter and we thundered off to Blaendolau fields where we touched down.  They carried me to the ambulance and placed me on a stretcher.  The ambulance raced off to the hospital.  I was in a hypothermic state and tachycardia.  I had a sore head but nothing too serious.  By 1920 hours I was in hospital and being warmed up.  I was lucky.  I owe my life to my friends, the fire brigade, the RAF helicopter rescue service (coastguard), the paramedics, and the mountain rescue teams.

The 6th of June was the date that everyone looked forward to at the Student Union.  Wheatus’ tour passed the seaside town, my Wheatus album overplayed, and the atmosphere heated up.  Me, Kim, Kez and Mel were first in the queue, and the over-enthusiastic I was right at the front.  The band did not disappoint.  The disappointment came when Kez, Kim and Mel left straight after the concert.  I wasn’t confident enough to stick around asking for autographs on my own!  At times like these I wanted to escape University and join the Amy.  That was not a spelling mistake; just I’d rather have met an Amy than been with Kim.

In summer, I wanted to return home.  Home is where the heart is, and at that time my heart must have been in Sesame Street.  And then, when I did return home, I ended up returning back to Aberystwyth for the summer period. In June 2002 Mike, Yaz, Kez, Mel, Tom and I moved into a new maisonette on Baker Street.  This would be our accommodation for 2002/2003 during term.  Mike immediately started work in Clarach alongside me.  His irritating jokes, easily wound up and over competitiveness got too me.  I left work within days.

I started a job at Spar on Terrace Road, and Mike would eventually leave the Showboat in Clarach opting for work at Caffi Morgan in town.  My friend Em visited from Oldham in summer, she left having been freaked out by Mike.  She told me how he tried it on with her after she had left Aber.  This surprised me, knowing Mike and Alana had been going out for a few months.  September soon arrived, and Mike set about making me feel small.  Our new flat mate Tom steered clear of Mike.  I tried my best to avoid competition with Mike, but he insisted on reminding me how I had failed my first year and he was now a successful second year.  He was in charge of the Biological Society and was even a player for the new UWA Greens F.C.(which I had invited him to play for us).

Tom and I became good friends, and we often walked to Clarach on our free afternoons.  Tom was originally from southern England but had been living in Newport (West Wales) with his mum.  Tom studied Computer Science, enjoyed movies, liked to talk, and was ambitious.  He was also a good person to have around in order to build my confidence up.  Tom was planning on moving to Canada once he left university in 2004.

As a flat we had our Christmas lunch together.  Kim and Alana were both invited.  I was called immature by Mel for wearing my Christmas Hat on my ear.  I was pretty much told to grow up.  For some unknown reason the entire flat was turning against me.  I would walk into the lounge and a conversation descended into silence.  An argument with Mel, about a CD that had gone missing (and I said Mike had it) resulted in Mel telling me to drop my grudges against Mike, and grow up.  I said some pretty harsh words at her.  We both slammed doors, I smashed a glass.  Later Mike returned the CD to Mel.  The grudge was now in full flow.  The grudge was against Kez, Mel and Mike.

In January 2003 when there was only me and Mike at the house we cycled to Devil’s Bridge.  This took our mind off revision and allowed us to keep our friendship intact as there were many heated moments prior to this.

In May 2003 I went to the May Ball.  It was supposed to be just me and Kim, but Kez, and Mel joined us for most of the night.  Mike shown off on the bungee jump, and anywhere he could when he was with Alana or any of the girls.  The only thing I enjoyed was seeing the Blues Brothers Tribute Band, and Kim did not seem too keen.  I was made to follow her around all evening.  Kim and I were hitting rocky waters.  I was tired of being ignored when she came round, and tired of having to go to Kim’s for quality time together.  At Kim’s house on Prospect Street she would go off to talk to Jenny and leave me alone in the room.  I felt ignored.

I turned to football and watching DVDs with Tom.  At which stage Kim accused me of not wanting to spend time with her.  I wanted to escape the relationship.  I would not however as her best mates Mike, Kez, and Mel lived in my flat.  I did not want a potential split to cause repercussions in the flat – it was difficult enough already!

Kim told me how Mike, Kez, Alana, and Yaz were going to share 2 Pentre Jane Morgan together for their final year.  I was invited but did not want to join the others.  They had not liked me turning down their offer, over the fact I wanted to meet new friends being a year behind them.

For summer I went home to work, and relax.  I hoped the break apart would do me and Kim good.  It seemed to work.  We met up to go to Birmingham’s Sea Life Centre and Chester Zoo whilst taking it easy.  Kim even came to Llandudno with me for a pre-season friendly.  We stayed in a hotel, had a meal and went up the Great Orme.

Kim invited me to her cousin Emma’s wedding in Preston.  A wedding should bring people closer but it only made me feel more distant.  We arranged to go to Cardiff to see Manchester City play TNS in a UEFA Cup game next.  We stayed by the university and watched the football.  Kim finally met my brother Ace and my Dad.  She was very shy acting.  I could not work out why.  Kim had nothing to be shy about usually.

The end of September arrived and I moved from Manchester to Aber once again.  This time I was going to return to university halls.  I was to move into Ty Caron, room 3, flat 1.  I met Jon Hughes and Simon who lived in the room opposite my own.  Gemma and Rachael lived behind the door to my right.  Vicky and Sarah lived in the room to my left, by the bathroom and opposite the kitchen.

Jon Hughes was originally born in Northern Ireland in 1984.  Jon Hughes, nicknamed Buzza had lived in Liverpool from an early age.  Naturally he had no connection with Manchester.  Like many others in the World who are not connected with Manchester, he supports Manchester United.  Buzza was a student of English.  Jon shared his room with Simon, and International Politics post-graduate student.  Simon was from Poland, and interesting to talk to about world affairs.

As part of my 21st birthday present Kim brought me tickets for Dave Gorman’s Googlewhack Adventure show (at the Aber Arts Centre on December the 7th).  Kim did not come out for my 21st as she was ill.  I started my celebrations at noon in Yr Hen Gorsaf (the Wetherspoon’s in Aber).  Steve Lynno, Tom Foster, the twins and Stew Spink departed with me for Caersws.  In Caersws we started at The Red Lion public house.  We were met by Matt Hemsley, Sonny and Cher (real names unknown), Matt Cooling, Mark Cornock, Nige Carr Evans, Mike Watts, and many others.  I did not need to buy a drink that night!  Everybody seemed to buy me a drink.  We then staggered to watch Aberystwyth lose 3-1 to Caersws in a FAW Premier Cup game.  After the game we went to the Caersws F.C. Social Club, and departed by train to Aber. We spent a few hours in The Bay, where Claire Robbins joined up with us.  Afterwards we went back to Claire’s house to indulge into American Pie 2 and a few drinks.

I spent my third New Year with Kim after Christmas 2003.  This one was not as fun.  We did not really do much.  This boat was certainly going to hit the rocks soon.

By February and as a means of escapism I and my friend Matt Cooling decided to go for a day out up the Cambrian coast.  We visited Llanaber, Barmouth, and Harlech.

A small group of Behaviour Biology students was invited to Chester Zoo for a conference on Environmental Enrichment in mid-January 2004.  This was an ideal day out, and also a good way of reducing the travel time spent alone from Manchester.

Dad, Ace, and I watched and FA Cup game, in which City drew one apiece with Tottenham Hotspurs in late January.  City had already beaten Leicester City in the FA Cup.  The replay was screened live on Sky Sports in the Snooker Club.  Nige (City season ticket holder and university porter), Wattsy (season ticket holder at City, and a university porter), Tom (from my flat in second year), and Adriano (co-owner of Evola hairdressers in Aber, and a keen City fan) watched the replay in which City was three nil down at half time.  Joey Barton had been sent off.  City came out in the second half scoring through Distin, Bosvelt and Wright-Phillips.  City’s keeper Arni Arason (the Icelandic number one) made some superb saves to keep City in with a slim chance of reaching extra time and penalties.  Jon Macken produced a fourth goal in the dying minutes sending City through to a FA Cup at Old Trafford.  The game versus Spurs was amazing, and they did eventually bring a DVD out!

On the day of February the 18th 2004, Wales beat Scotland 4-0.  I went to Cardiff with Sidelights (who does know where the accelerator is).  We watched Wales and then returned to Aber.  Kim had a go at me for preferring football to a Valentine’s meal.  I tried explaining why I do not celebrate Valentine’s Day.  Valentine’s Day gives a neglectful or aggressive husband or boyfriend the opportunity to be romantic by sending a commercialised card or gift to a supposed love one.  That idea to me does not suggest romance or love.  I secretly did not want Kim to think I loved her, in case she loved me.  We were going to split up, but not whilst she was deep into her year three project work.  She did not have time to talk to me, so I was stubborn and would wait until after her work was handed in.

On the 26th I waited for Kim to come and join me at the Football Club.  There was snow knee deep, but Kim decided she would rather sledge with Mike and Alana than see me.  This created major tension. Kim handed her Dissertation work in on the 12th of March.  We split up on the 13th of March.  On the 14th of March Bangor City beat Aberystwyth 2-1 at Park Avenue Stadium.  I had found Kim’s presents for her birthday (31st of March) in my cupboard.

I decided to pass these onto Kim the day after I went to Manchester to City win 4-1 in the home derby game.  Manchester United was turned over thanks to goals from Fowler, Macken, Sinclair and Wright-Phillips.  I was sat two rows from the goal-end where Macken and Fowler had scored.  I was feet away from Macken when he celebrated his goal.  The 15th came and I met Kim on the seafront.  We walked towards the castle, I handed her the presents and some personal possessions.  Kim handed me a bag with a T-shirt and jacket I had left at hers.  We hugged and said goodbye.

Mike Bagnall came around the next night.  He was dressed up for a night out.  He asked if he could go in, I offered him a drink.  I looked outside the window to see Harry (Jenny’s boyfriend stood across the road).  I knew Mike was looking for trouble.  He wanted to know why I had split with Kim.  I said how it was not meant to be.  He started to get personal, saying how “I had to retake first year and had nothing but resentment for him.”  He even accused me of not having a best friend called Dan back home.  Because Dan worked for the Army and the Iraqi crisis was going on, Dan could not visit.  Mike told me I made him up, and he is just in my mind.  He asked to see a photograph of Dan.  I did not have one to hand.  I asked him if he was looking for a fight.  He said, “Yes, let’s go outside.”  I replied with, “If you want a fight, we will have one right here, and I guarantee you will not walk away.”  That reply must have scared him because he was quiet for a few moments.  He then said, “Right mate, I’m going to have to go, as I am going out tonight with friends.”  I liked the way he exaggerated the word friends, it reminded me how I had lots of friends from football, university lectures (e.g. Rob, and Susan), and home!  He offered to shake hands, but I would not.  He was no friend.  I showed him the door.  I had shown great resilience in my room, as he was probably the first person I have ever wanted to hit full force in the face, and then continue beating him to a pulp until he no longer made a sound.  The difference between me and him then was I’m capable yet restrained.  He was incapable yet a loose cannon, looking for a battle he could never have won.

Term passed quickly, lectures with my imaginary friends Laura Baker and Rob Palmer passed quickly.  On May the 22nd Aberystwyth Town Football Club held its annual club dinner awards night.  I received the David Pugh Sportsman of the Year and the Clubman of the year award alongside a Spar Mid Wales Winners cup.  I received these awards for helping the club progress in the previous season.  I had assisted with advertising, managing the Astroturf, helping with the matchday programme, and being available on matchdays etc.  The committee of Glan Davies, Rhun Owens, Jim Edwards, Ian Pugh “Sidelights”, Anne Jones, John Dunn, Alan Cookson, and company had voted for me to be Clubman of the year.

On the 2nd day of June 2004, a good friend, Chris Howells assisted me in moving into 48 Gerddi Rheidol.  Another good friend, Nige Carr Evans was renting a spare room out to me.  My final year in University was to be spent living across the river Rheidol in Trefechan.  48 Gerddi Rheidol housed a recently decorated kitchen, a luxurious lounge with two leather settees, a cool bathroom, and my room located facing North into the town.  The view was of many gardens from a nearby terraced housing street, with a brief glimpse of the Kiln Bridge (opening in 2004, and spanning the river Rheidol).  I returned to Manchester on the 3rd in order to spend a few days relaxing at home before my new job for the University Managed & Leased Properties services as a Porter.

On the 5th of June 2004, I was supposed to watching England F.C. face the Icelandic football association team at the City of Manchester Stadium.  England would win 6-1.  But due to a few drinks the night before with Pete, and his mates this never happened.  We started off rolling dice in the Goose on Piccadilly to decide which public houses we would visit next.  As we could not collectively decide which public house to go to as a group, we decided on six towns in close proximity.  Stockport, Bolton, Bury, Oldham, Blackburn and Blackpool were chosen.  After we had decided many hours later, I ended up rushing home to grab my rucksack.  I packed my clothes and things ready for my return to Aber on the 6th, as I had to start work on the 7th.

By 9pm, we were on a Virgin train heading due south for a village known as London.  We had planned to stay at Pete’s friends’ house that lived in Charlton.  By 11pm we were in a bar, and slightly tipsy (the crate of beer on the train journey not helping).  Midnight passed, and somehow I became separated from Pete and his mates.  My phone battery had died, and my rucksack had disappeared.  Somehow, I ended up lost, lonely, and with only the contents of my wallet to help me get out of this mess.  I was approached by a student called Susan, who studied Engineering at Uxbridge’s Brunel University.  She brought me a few drinks, and eventually asked me if I wanted to go back to hers for a drink (in the Nescafe sense or not, I pondered?).  We headed back to her lodgings at her university.  We seemed to talk the whole night away, and then gently fall asleep, Susan in her bed, and me on her sofa in her room.  It seemed she did not just want to jump on top of me, and given the state I was in, I did not blame her.

Also, I made the text below smaller and lighter because I have been a tad graphic, again. Like I said, flip it. I am not hiding anything. It has to be written.

The next morning I woke up, crept to her bathroom, and a quick wash, using her towel, and then squeezed some toothpaste into my mouth and swilled it round as intensely as possible.  This seemed to do the trick, it certainly felt fresh.  What about deodorant?  I looked over at her Sure fragrance free roll-on.  It did the job.  I moved stealthily back in to get dressed, and managed so successfully.  At that point her bedroom door opened and in walked Susan, already dressed.  It appeared she had already been up, dressed and been to have breakfast without me knowing.  At this stage I was fully dressed.  She came over and I said thanks, and we hugged.  Hugs led to kisses, kisses led to her feeling my back, my shirt came off, and we ended up naked.  She said she wanted me in her.  She grabbed me close; I pulled away, and said, “I’ll just get a condom from my wallet.”  I said this praying I had one there.  She said, “Don’t worry we don’t need it.”  I reached into my wallet anyway, and tore the condom wrapper open.  I placed it on, better safe than sorry.  The first time we were intimate was kind of rushed, and the second time we both reached orgasm at the same time, but the third time that night lasted hours (kind of burning) but we reached orgasm and managed to finish off the three condoms in my wallet.  That is why they come in packs of three I think.  I stayed that night, and Susan gave me a lift to Heathrow station the next morning, we waved goodbye, agreed it was just fun.  Eight hours later, and three changes I arrived in sunny Aberystwyth. 

On the 7th of June 2004 I started work for the University Managed and Leased Properties as a Porter.  A Porter is just a glorified cleaner.  The boss, a Bernie Virgin was a smarmy camp guy, obsessed with targets.  The targets were always met, but he would insist on going over the targets again even if they were perfectly clean rooms in the first place.  His number two henchman was Jane Morgan, mother of staff member Will.  Jane was equally as irritating as Bernie, but with the added attribute of treating each member of staff like a child.  This did not go down very well (not like a room full of ladies in a Mardi Gras special hotel).  Many rebellions were planned, very little action occurred.  Mike and Lynwen were related to senior management and could slack off as much as possible.  Ron, a very nice American (is that a contradiction?) left in mid-July as he set off on a round the World tour starting from Bristol at his girlfriend’s house, and taking in America and China.  He was the first to leave.  Will left without telling his Mum that he was moving to Ireland to live and work alongside his fiancé.  Will had footballing experience in Carmarthen, Haverfordwest and was a very skilful footballer, but his knee injury in 2003 cut his football ambitions short.  For some unknown reason his mum Jane, and the supervisors, be they Marina or Mrs Jones, seemed to think me and Will worked hard together.  I had been working alongside Kai (Chinese super-worker from Shanghai) for the first week, and we had done more than our quota.  The supervisors mixed me with Will next, and he taught me the key to skiving off from work.  We were supposed to clean the hallways of Aberglasney house, Plynlimon, etc. but we managed to sit on the stairs chatting all day.  One day we even managed to sneak onto the beach and watch the day go by.  Mike left next, after Will.  Jurah (a Kiwi, based in Gloucester) departed next as he wanted more time with his Taiwanese girlfriend for travelling.

Little Andy had worked there in the previous two summers, and had already learnt how to avoid work to a perfection from Will.  He was always twinned with big Andy “Dogs” who soon learnt where to skive, smoke as many roll-ups as possible, and relax away from the superior staff sights.  This was some comparison to doctorate student Julie and Lynwen who seemed to enjoy working hard all day without breaking, yet achieving the same results as the lazy many.  There was also Vicky and Lindsay, who worked slow but steadily as they were always victims of supervision.

Ouday was also working in Aber for yet another summer.  He explained he wanted to achieve his masters in Business Studies so that he would not have to return to India to a pre-arranged marriage.  Ouday may have been the quietest guy in the group but he was a very interesting person to talk to (naturally whilst skiving from work).

I, Kai, little Andy, and Jurah met up with Jon Hughes to watch the Castell Rock outdoor bands perform on the 19th of August 2004.  It was the laziest Saturday on the Aber Castle grounds I’ve ever spent with some of the friendliest co-workers I have known.  We even met up to see the odd film at the cinema, Kai especially enjoying Kill Bill volume two.  He, like me being a big kid at the time, except he was twenty-six years of age!

On the day Aberystwyth Town faced Dinaburg in the UEFA Intertoto Cup, I was selling matchday programmes (as edited by myself, but poorly assembled by the club photocopier), and trying to avoid Mum, Paul, Astrid and Paul who had travelled to Newtown to watch the game.  A parent’s partner in front of team-mates, friends, and colleagues whilst clearly under the affect of a few local bitters was funny, yet a bit irritating when all you want to do is watch the game!  Still it was fun.  Aber drew a goalless game with Dinaburg on the 19th of June 2004, but lost 4-0 away in Latvia.  Sadly, I was working that day and could also not afford the trip.

In 2004/05, I was determined to return to playing regular football one way or another.  On the 17th Of August training at Penparcau F.C.’s Min-y-Ddol began. The first session went well, however in my second session a football hit me on the lower side of my left jaw.  The impact had caused a molar tooth to crack, and had also forced the tooth deep into my jaw.  At first it was not too bad.  Eventually pieces would fall out, and the pain would be agonising beyond belief.  A constant headache was with me for a long time.  I could not find a dentist locally or in Manchester.

On the 7th of August, Matt Cooling drove me and Mike Watts up to see Manchester City F.C. in a home friendly versus Lazio.  City won 3-1.  The journey was hot, the day was hot, and the wasp that landed on my ear causing me to run 100m faster than athlete made me feel hot. A summer worked towards a close, my final year of university was due to begin…

TO BE CONTINUED.

J3: The Secondary School Years

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

I woke up one morning in September drenched in my own urine.  The bullying had gotten so bad that I was physically shaking.  It was seven-thirty in the morning and I did not want to return to school.  I was scared.  The very few people I had talked with since entering the school were not strong enough to stand up to the bullies, with me or for me.  Since entering Mr Redmond’s class (7DR) I did not know where to turn to.  I was not enjoying my arrival to Reddish Vale High School at all. If I seemed to be smiling, during my first year at school, it was superficial. It was a lie. Inside my head was dizzy, lost and full of fear.

The high school had a farm located close-by to our tutorial room.  I would often go here at lunchtime throughout my first three years in Reddish Vale.  To protect myself from getting hurt I would not allow people to become too close a friend.  I sat on the 177 bus to school with James Cliff and Ben McGreavy but would not really associate myself with them in school.  James was a hit with the girls, I was not.  Ben was in a different class, and had his own interests with other groups, I did not want to intrude.  The armed forces of the U.K. mustn’t have had have more ranks than Reddish Vale High School, there was Peggy Rowe (head teacher), Mr Fowler (Deputy head teacher), Mrs Huntingdon (our head of year from year 7 to 11), and numerous teachers.  Yet I could not speak to anyone about the bullying. And when I tried to do so, I was watched.  I felt trapped, unsure of what to do.  I did what Mum advised me to, that being to get my head down and work.  So in classes I worked.  I competed for our tutor group in the Science Challenge, the Inter-Tutor group, and played as much football as feasible.  65 merit points, and 99.5 percent attendance later, and July arrived.  I, Ben, and James as a treat for great attendance were taken with many other 99% upwards students to Alton Towers for free.  That early summer’s day was mostly spent avoiding queues and riding the new ride, the Nemesis. We had to force James Cliff onto the ride but he went back for more. He was a good friend.

Every high school student around me had heroes, be they from bands, sports teams, the movies, family and friends, etc.  I chose to have several heroes, Morecambe & Wise, and my Nana amongst them.   One such hero was a German footballer called Uwe Rosler.  Uwe was brought into Manchester City F.C.’s line-up by Brian Horton from Bundesliga club FC Nurnburg.  Uwe was a holder of five East German international caps.  Rosler’s enthusiasm, and 64 goals, made him hugely popular with City followers like me – in his first three full seasons he was the top scorer with 22, 13 and 17 goals respectively.  His performance even outshone his more illustrious countryman Jurgen Klinsmann and won him City’s Player of the Year trophy in 1995.  In April 1998 he returned home when he joined Bundesliga leaders Kaiserslautern.  He was not a glamour-loving footballer, nor a man who asked too much, but he always gave his all, and his spirit encouraged others to give theirs too.  That is why he was my hero, and remained a hero even in 2005 when he was a football club manager in Norway.  He even battled off cancer.  Uwe Rosler is a true living City legend. He now manages Fleetwood Town, and his sons play at City. Colin and Tony are named after City legends Colin Bell and Tony Book.

By June of 1996, I was rewarded a prize for my effort and work in English by Reddish Vale High School.  This was similar to the Nobel Peace Prize, but much smaller and of less of an international recognition.  I would have also won the Inter-tutor group athletics long-jump had someone not jumped that extra centimetre beating me!  During the course of year eight I lowered my guard to Michael Clews, William Duncan, James Cliff, and David Jackson.  Occasionally, I even allowed the highly immature Adam “Madman” Morris into our group.  Me, William and Adam became known to our P.E. teachers Mr Moore and Mr Short.  I would only ever do P.E. if it was swimming, or football.  They would have to find me spare kit and force me into other sports, as I would purposely forget my kit on other occasions.  However, they would always seem to find me kit.  It also meant evading bullies. Adam and William were compulsive users of excuse-notes from their homes.  My effort grades were above average in everything, with the exceptions being the nothing subjects (drama, art, and music).  These grades carried on into year 9, by which bullying and bed-wetting was rife.  I did however manage to gain an award for I.T. in year 9.  Something they would later regret in year 10, as I crashed every school PC calling for many technicians to repair PCs.  Well it beats Adam putting Smarties in the floppy disk drives to see what would happen!

Out of school during years 7-9, I was close friends with Dan and Peter Ridyard who lived on Crayfield Road (having moved half a mile from Broom Lane).  This was convenient as they both lived around the corner from me.  Peter was the eldest, a few months younger than I.  Dan was a year younger, cheekier and bolder.  Over time we would get into trouble playing knock a door run, trespassing on golf courses, stealing golf balls, making dens, making bonfires, playing in builders’ sand, etc.  Dan and I became close friends as Peter drifted off.  Dan and Peter both attended Burnage High School for boys only.  Dan introduced me to Rob Hanna his school mate.  Rob kept a huge distance between himself and personal hygiene in 1997.  He is most definitely not gay.  Rob remained this way until in 2002 when he moved to Cleethorpes! I’m sure since then he has discovered soap and a tooth brush.

By September of year 9, Mr Rob Oxley had taken over from Mr Redmond.  Mr Oxley was tall, loud, and strict.  However, he was easy to fool or pushover.  He did not have full control of our class.  Graham Rothwell, Barry Rhodes, John Duncan, and Chris Grimes were expelled from our class.  He was now taking more control of class.  The exceptions being the lunch hour we opened up the tower lockers, removed the inner-shelves and locked James Cliff in there for a laugh.  Sadly, David Jackson found James too easy a victim for a laugh, and James would not defend himself.  After a month of this going on, I stepped in and ended up with a steal toe-cap in my face bruising my face and alleviating James’ bullying problem.  Who better to go for than defender of the victim?!  I could easily fight people off if needed to, but found the verbal name calling and constant taunting too much.  The teachers themselves seemed too afraid to help stop the bullies and this allowed the bullies the upper hand.  When alone the bullies would befriend me, but in their packs they would pick on me.

The Sunday afternoon that followed Asa’s 19th birthday celebration night would scar me for life, and cause me to miss two weeks of school.  I was on Scotland Hall Road Park playing field near my Nana’s home.  The park was behind Seven Acres Lane, in Newton Heath.  Me, a lad called Noel I’d met and his two friends were talking whilst I cycled around the swings they sat upon.  A large group of thirty or so males (ages ranging from 11 to 19) entered the park from an illegal pathway beyond the Clayton Vale railway track.  The group looked intimidating so Noel, his friends and I moved to the park edge.  My mountain bike would not go any faster, and I could see that the large group was running at us.  I jumped off the bike leaving it on the ground.  I ran as fast as I could onto the road, just behind Noel.

Noel and I returned to the park field twenty minutes later.  My mountain bike was where I had left it.  Without a worry I ran to the bike, grabbed it, lifted it up, and turned ready to leave the park.  From behind several trees behind me emerged several of the large group.  They had been waiting to ambush somebody.  Rocks hurtled past me, stones and sticks hitting the ground around me.  As I turned around to see how far behind me they were, a large piece of tarmac thrown from about 10m slammed into my face.  I fell over.  I was dazed and unsure.  I could hear them getting closer.  Confusion set in.  Panic did not set in.  I was dazed.  I looked up.  I was ready to die there and then.  I was awaiting torture.  My attackers closed in.  They looked at me.  They could see how they damaged me.  They could see how I was.  They ran.  I was ready to collapse.  I wanted to pass out.

An arm reached down to me, Noel had returned.  He lifted me up so I could stand.  All my weight was on him.  I was floppy, exhausted and dazed.  He helped me back to Nana’s house.  Nana rang Dad, who was now at his house at the top of Ludgate Road.  Nana called for an ambulance.  I collapsed.

I awoke in the bathroom upstairs, Nana holding a cloth over my face.  I was shaking, tortured, shocked, and deep into fear.  I could see my burgundy and white Manchester City shirt was below the blood that covered it.  Nana was rubbing my back trying to calm me.  I could taste the blood running down my lips.  I looked up and saw myself in the mirror.  The left-hand side of my cheek was swollen up as large as a tennis ball.  A gash stretched from under my eye to the side of my face.  Small cuts punched red patches around my eyebrow.  Blood poured from the top of my nose.  Below which I had no distinguishable nose features down to my nostrils.  The nostrils were flaps of skin waving about.  I could see fragments of my nose bone.  Blood was everywhere.  I could not see through my left eye.  I was horrified.  I panicked more.

Dad came rushing in.  He told me not to worry.  Dad rubbed my back, covered my nose in the cloth, and lifted me up.  He helped me down the stairs.  A taxi drove us to Asa’s nearby house.  Ace drove us to Crumpsall Hospital.  From here on a combination of nausea, dizziness, and confusion make the story patchy.

I remember waking up in Nana’s house and spending several days recovering in the same room.  Despite two witnesses and details I could remember the Police failed to catch anyone.  Many stitches, and some nose surgery later and I recovered.  I returned to school slightly traumatised but none the less more determined to avoid problems.

During year 11, my careers advisor Jenny Edge had persuaded me that there were more routes after school than A-levels or working full time at McDonalds.  She had told me of the BTEC National Diploma in Animal Care, and even found me several colleges to which I could study at.  This talk had also advised me where to do my work experience.  I was to carry my placement out at Manchester Pets and Aquatics in Ardwick.  This placement came and went, and Ron Bale (the manager) offered me a part-time job.  This job lasted until the following summer, where I worked full time until August 1999.

On the day Manchester City beat Macclesfield Town two goals to nil, I contemplated buying a pet mouse.  I wanted to name any new pets after the goal-scorers that day (Gareth Taylor and Shaun Goater).  The next day I went to work, and returned with three mice.  Silverside, Redcoat, and Dash were the three male mice.  Speedy Gonzales was a female mouse amongst them.  Speedy Gonzales killed all the males except for Dash.  They lived in my room happily for a long time, and reproduced several times (allowing me to sell them to Manchester Pets and Aquatics).  Mice will always make brilliant pets, as they are active, rarely aggressive and inquisitive little friends.

On a Sunday in January 1999, Manchester Pets and Aquatics experienced an armed robbery.  The criminals forced staff member Lee into the store with a knife to his back.  They had bats, knifes, and a sword in their possession.  They forced us to the ground.  Debbie was forced to the ground behind me, and one thuggish member spotted the phone nearby to me.  He lifted the phone, slamming it onto my right knee.  As he walked past he kicked Debbie in the back.  They forced Ron the manager up the stairs.  He was forced to hand over the days takings.  The criminals left with their new found wealth.  Within minutes half of Manchester’s Police force was on the doorstep.  It was too little, too late. I broke down in tears much later.

On the 9th of March, 1999, City beat Burnley by six goals to nil at Turf Moor Stadium.  Shaun Goater bagged a hat-trick, with Andy Morrison heading home, Horlock curling one in, and Allsop bagging a strike.  This gave City hope of returning to the Nationwide Division One.

Nana had been unwell for many months.  She had always suffered from Diabetes since I was born.  A silent car pulled into the farthest car park at Crumpsall Hospital.  Dad, Ace, Uncle Pud, and I climbed out of the car doors.  We walked into the hospital, neither of us speaking.  Our feet slapping the cold concrete ground echoing down long corridors.  We walked directly to a ward.  A body lay still, motionless on a bed three beds to our right.  “Come on Nana, get up. Let’s leave here now,” I thought.  Her silence, unconsciousness, peaceful body beneath the blankets did not remind me of how Nana would act.  This was the first time Nana had not offered me a Vanilla Slice or packet of Chewitts on my arrival to the same room as her.  A tear trickled down my cheek.  I could see Dad, Uncle Pud and Ace struggling to hold back their tears.  Ace was crying, he had moved into Nana’s spare room in recent years whilst he was studying at Salford University.  Nana’s battle with Cancer was coming to an end.  Her body was being pumped with Morphine to alleviate her final pain.

The phone rang on the 29th of April, 1999.  Mum answered the call.  She could not hear anyone.  Bernadette took the phone.  She told Mum that Nana had died.  I knew she was dieing, but I did not know to react when she had died.  Nobody so close had died, whilst I was over the age of five.  My wise, humorous, loving, caring, and hugely influential Nana had died.  I could talk openly with Nana about my ambitions, and we would talk about animals all day, whether in Morecambe, Morrison’s supermarket or Newton Heath market or even her family home.

I did not cry immediately.  I walked up the stairs at our home on Broom Avenue.  I opened my door, closed my door.  I sat by my bed, and pulled the quilt onto myself.  A torrent of tears released over me.  I cried myself to sleep.

The funeral of my Nana was to be held midweek during the spring school term.  I wanted to go to the funeral.  My Dad had passed the message about where the funeral would be held, and the time it was to be held.  I would have to make my own way.  I wanted to go, but did not have a black tie or white shirt.  I decided I did not want to let Nana down by going to the funeral in my scruffy clothes, so I would go to school instead.  I started walking to school, across the Highfield Country Park.  I could not walk anymore, I wanted to break down and cry.  I found a spot in some bushes to sit down.  I sat there all day crying.  Had my Dad or some other family member collected me, I would have gone to the funeral.  I wanted to say my goodbyes at the funeral, and Nana’s final resting place.  It would take me almost six whole years to visit Nana’s final resting place.  My memory of where it was wiped away and I was too afraid to ask Dad for the location.  I would visit Nana’s house and expect to see her, and for her to offer a friendly hello.  The once warm house grew cold, and Granddad grew lonely by the day.  I’d sit on the three-cushion settee by Granddad and expect Nana to come around the glass lounge door and offer biscuits and cherryade.  I hope there is a heaven, for Nana will be caring for everybody there.

In May 1999, City looked to be remaining in the Nationwide Division Two.  89 minutes had passed at Wembley Stadium, and Gillingham was leading by two goals to none.  Kevin Horlock hit a lucky strike in, the deficit had been halved but time was running out.  City were dominating, but time was against them.  Somehow in the moments of injury time, Paul “Crocus” Dickov had broken away from the defenders.  Goater’s shot ricocheted off the defence, before Paul Dickov fired the ball into the net.  City was level when the full time whistle went.  Thirty agonising minutes of extra time was played.  The penalty shoot out went ahead.  Dickov’s penalty hit the right post, and ran behind Bartram hitting the left post.  It never crossed the line.  Nicky Weaver saved a shot from the Gillingham striker moments later.  City had won 3-1 on penalties.  City was back in Division One for the 1999/2000 season. What a day!

In June 1999, following my year 11 exams, I met Joanna Fallows at work.  She was on work experience from a school in Hyde.  She lived in Gee Cross.  We would enjoy many nights at 10-pin bowling, the cinema, Pizza Hut, and Lazer Quest (where Dan and I often went each weekend).  Joanna was a tall lady, brunette, 36DD, and a very sporty lady.  We enjoyed swimming at the Hyde Leisure pools a few times together.  This was a very good relationship, especially as I did not feel anyone would ever like me.  We drifted apart by August, as I had quit Manchester Pets and Aquatics to spend more time with Joanna.  This backfired as Joanna seemed intent on just shopping.  I hated shopping.  We split up, and I started work at Co-op Pioneer in Gorton.  My first kiss and my first taste of foreplay came with Joanna. I was too young though. Young and naive.

In August 1999, Mum and Paul took Astrid, Paul and I to Barmouth (Abermaw).  The Welsh town is located on the west coast of Wales south of the legendary village of Harlech.  We stayed at a holiday village called Sunnysands.  The sandy beaches were clean and white.  The sea was warm and clear.  I would often walk south down the coast six miles into Barmouth.  In the mornings the beach was often undisturbed, and many a Cormorant or Blue-Velvet Swimmer Crab would be observed.  I would leave Barmouth with sunburn and a perfectly relaxed state of mind.

Registration for college was looming, and on the day I received 8 grades Cs, a grade B in Geography, and a grade D in Electronics at GCSE level. Not the best, but by far not the worst. I hadn’t revised at all, ever, not once.  I attended North Trafford College, handed my grades to Elaine Lamb (the potential tutor) and agreed I wanted to be part of this college (even if it was in the shadows of Old Trafford football ground).

John II

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

Mum and Paul soon needed a larger house; there were five of us and only two rooms.  We arrived at Broom Avenue, off Broom Lane in 1991.  This road was located in the district of Levenshulme.  Levenshulme was famed for its antiques village, and very little else.  I started at a new primary school, this time Chapel Street Primary.  The new challenge of making friends was not easy.  Year 3 was not easy.  The bullies soon discovered new prey.  Who better to pick on than a dictionary-crazed, mathematically-ahead-of-them, wildlife-loving kid who was way ahead of them, or seemed to be because he didn’t eat erasers or fart the national anthem using his armpit as an instrument. I never thought I was better than anyone. They projected this onto me. Made me feel inferior by appearing superior. I hurt lots. Every day. Every year for nearly four years straight.  I became more and more distant from the other kids, as I often found people would reject me as a friend. I didn’t trust anyone, initially.  Troublesome Peter Ridyard, and snobby Alex Muir became my friends.  It was rare I would play out with them until year 5, as they lived far away at the other end of Broom Lane [although just 2km away, it seemed, back then, to be closer to London].

Within days of moving into Levenshulme, Pup had run from the house, and Astrid had run after him between parked cars.  Astrid was hit and landed many feet from the point of impact as the car screeched to a halt.  I remember the day as it was so confusing for me.  I had been taken to see trains go by with Ernie (my Granny Ivy’s partner) at Levenshulme station.  We were eating Gregg’s Bakery pasties on the platform and he was telling me and Grannyny Ivy all about how trains worked and the good old days of steam.  We returned to my house to discover from the neighbour’s Mary and Bill that they had all rushed to hospital with Astrid.  Later that day Paul returned with Paul junior.  He told us how it had happened, and how Astrid was.  She had suffered severe head injuries and a broken leg.  It would take weeks at Booth Hall Children’s Hospital (where I had my hernia operation aged 7), and months of intense physiotherapy and treatment at Rodney House Specialist Support & Outreach School before Astrid with recover.

The day after the accident Dad collected Pup from our home.  The only way I would now see my closest friend was when Dad would pick me up.

During May 1991, within days of starting school I finally swam my length at Levenshulme swimming baths.  It was apparent I was not going to be a channel swimmer, but I did progress from a width to a length.  Class 4PC as dictated by the tyrant Miss Clegg started with a bang.  Within two weeks I had many things confiscated by the hairy-nosed teacher.  Two Lego men, countless Micro Machine cars, and twenty pence (as provided by the tooth-fairy) went into her large laundry-bag-come-personal-suitcase.  My attendance at school however was excellent.  I did enjoy learning even if I hated the bullies.  Miss Clegg referred to me as a loner on many occasions but made no effort to help me make new friends.  I was behaving sensibly (to mix and mingle amongst the other monsters may have got me into trouble and maybe even eaten by Miss Clegg).

Miss Clegg was an enforcer of learning.  Whilst under her control, our class worked as hard as possible.  We worked on as many ways as to wind her up on the class trip to Levenshulme library [a place of dreams], we sneak off and hunt down the Anne Hooper’s books for a giggle.  We also rotated the “who can throw a rubber [eraser] at Cleggy and get away with it” game amongst ourselves.  At parents’ evening as with many years of schooling, I’d be told alongside my parents that my work was great, and my work rate was above average but my handwriting was poor.  Maybe then I had foreseen the Computer-typed work age.  Besides in Miss Cleggs class would I shiver often at the thought of being told to slow down and let others catch up.  That, and I had to keep an eye on my back, at the bullies. How could my handwriting be neat under those conditions?

In September 1993, a wise and witty teacher by the name Andrew Jones began to teach us.  He allowed us more room with our imaginations and helped us with our vocabularies.  This teacher was dedicated to his job.  He helped my confidence, encouraged me to be recognised by the class in teams, and congratulated me on a determined improvement of my handwriting.  During this academic year several pupils visited Ghyll Head Outdoor Education Centre, close to Lake Windermere.  The car park view looked over the great lake.  Our supervisory teachers included Mr Jones, Mrs Treanor (the deputy head-teacher), and Miss Spencer.

On the Monday we explored the site grounds of Ghyll Head, climbed the rope course, and I also met numerous mallard ducks.  They were already hand tame and loved the bread I had brought them.  On the Tuesday, we enjoyed rock scrambling on Humphrey Head overlooking Morecambe Bay.  We also kayaked across Lake Windermere seeing several swan eggs along an island to the West of the lake.  The other days varied from horse-riding like John Wayne, to gorge walking, tunnelling two miles up an underground flood drain, caving in Ingleside (Yorkshire) and singing on many mini-buses.  On the final night we had a barbeque and Mr Jones claimed he was drinker a Larger drink, but we all knew it was Lager!  During my stay at Ghyll Head, I had to sleep for five nights in room Gimmer.  There was also five others there, and we chatted late into the night with mad post-mushy-peas farting epidemics. The older kids were friendlier than the younger students there. I didn’t feel threatened.

The end of year five arrived, and before departing for home for the summer period, Mr Jones very kindly gave me a set of encyclopaedias he had learnt from as a child.  It was a very generous and touching gift, and I thanked him.  Mr Jones was my greatest Primary school teacher.  In fact he remains my greatest teacher of all time, and I hope he is doing very well for himself.

Miriam Roe was our next teacher.  6MR was a very lively year, with me, Osman and Alex always doing Smashy and Nicey impressions (characters from the TV show, Harry Enfield and Chums).  We even allowed Evangalia Votski into our group, she was a very kind friendly Greek girl. She was also the first girl I ever found attractive and wanted to kiss. It wasn’t to be. Miss Roe taught me that even when I wish to be independent that asking for help at times when I required it would not be frowned upon.  I survived a year of bullying, and Chapel Street Primary school with its giant six-foot-plus headteacher that was Mr Gary Kershaw.  I no longer had Mr Kershaw to guide me through school, and help me avoid trouble.  After Summer, I would enter high school in Reddish Vale with classmate James Cliff.

To summarise my early years, I had a coin ride obsession when I was a wee toddler; I most likely kept Professor Peabody’s in Blackpool’s Winter Gardens open for trade; enjoyed many a holiday in Cleveleys and Morecambe with Nana and Dad, and many other family members; I remember getting drenched one birthday in Blackpool with Neil Fanning and my Mum;  I even remember pushing my sister Astrid, aged two, up the Great Orme in Llandudno; and if anyone invites you to Scarborough for a holiday, say no.  Scarborough can boast grey skies that would rival the likes of a winter in Wales. But now, after three primary schools and years of relative comfort, the ride of life would begin…

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter John.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

On the 28th of October 1982 I was born.  I cannot remember it, nor wish to remember it.  My birth certificate was to arrive several days after my birth.  Either the registrar was busy, or my parents were contemplating such names as “Eric”, “Steven”, “Bert”, or “Joe”.  The prospect of being called Peter Eric Acton over my real name is not something I’d have desired – after all my initials would spell out a green garden seed.  Thankfully this was avoided when Mum decided on naming me after a line of Grandparents – John Robert was named.  I have a Mr Tom Danson (Registrar of Births & Deaths) for approving my given name, and also confirming I was born.  I’m sure Mr Danson was a terribly nice bloke, his signature on my birth certificate was stylish!

I was born a male, and thankfully still remain one [I checked earlier, and have been doing so since I was a teenager].  Crumpsall Hospital, now North Manchester General Hospital, gave rise to me.  I imagine I was a terrible burden on my parents, probably burping, farting, and vomiting to a strict schedule.  Something I may have carried on with throughout life, but cannot confirm.

After my birth and entrance to life, my parents returned to Margate Avenue in Newton of the Heath [a greyer place there was not].  There was no peaceful return, screams and wails ruled now.  Newton Heath, the origin of a certain controversial Trafford based football team, and was also made up of many railway workers.  The area was not an ideal Conservative Party recruitment point.  The house was also home to Beaut, a German Shepard dog, who sadly passed away with old age in early 1983.  Mum had Basil, a black and white cat whose hobbies included Samurai sword fighting and bingo.  We all uprooted to Warbeck Road in Moston.  We were joined by a new family addition, he was young, black with golden patches, and available for free donkey rides.  Pup Acton, our wee dog had arrived, and he grew at an alarming rate over the years, keeping his big floppy ears.  He would lick many people, and always be by made side for many years.  Basil and Pup loved each other, in a cat chases the dog, dog chases cat kind of way.  On the 13th of August 1985, my Grannydfather John Roberts died aged sixty.  The family was devastated.

As I grew older, my parents grew apart.  Divorce soon followed.  My Dad moved back to  Ludgate Road, in Newton Heath, with Nana and Granddad.  A crappy settlement was agreed upon whereby Dad could only pick me up on Saturdays.  A primary school child would always feel worry, when Dad would not ring, nor arrive on Saturdays.  A waiting child would regularly sit watching through the front lounge window, without even a hint by phone that my Dad would not be turning up.  After twenty minutes of waiting past the time of his expected arrival Mum would tell me he was probably working.  Still I’d wait until long after the sun would set.  I’d expect every diesel engine car that turned onto our road to be his car.  I’d often cry myself to sleep, crying for wanting to see my Dad, hoping for him to arrive.  There was one night I remember when I was young when Dad visited late one night, full of excuses.  I did not care for his excuses.  I just wanted to see him.  He brought with him a Goblin head, which when you pulled its eye out, it made a gurgling sound.  It was a really heavy toy, with bright and thick orange hair set on a green head littered with scars. I wish I had that toy but am most satisfied that I have the memory. I hope the good moments never leave my skull.

I would not care whether we went to watch football [be it Man City or Oldham Atheltic, Maine Road F.C. or whoever], go to the allotment (Pup could tag along too), or visit Nana and Granddad.  Time with Dad was always enjoyable.  We would spend many days on the allotment.  The allotment on Brookdale Park may not have seemed a magical place, but my imagination and the company of Pup made it wonderful.  Dad would provide fizzy pop, cooled in a barrel of rainwater, as a treat.  I and Pup would trek into Brookdale Park and its wilderness, whilst Dad would build a greenhouse or dig up his plot.  We’d plod over imaginary mountains, I’d climb trees whilst Pup bounded around below, we’d play hide and seek, and walk up the park stream.  And when I became tired we would ascend the highest point of the stream embankment looking down onto the allotment.  We would sit on the peak and look down at Dad working hard.

After a day out or at the allotment, Dad would take me to Nana and Granddad’s house for our evening meal.  Nana would cook something homemade and always wonderful to the taste buds.  Nana would spoil me with sweets, usually Chewitts, Vanilla slices or Boost chocolate bars.  Granddad would treat me to some yellow tomatoes which were his specially grown variety.  I miss the stew, dumplings and delights. The return home would not fill me with joy, because I never knew how long it would be before I could see my Dad again.  How long would it be before I would see Nana and Granddad again?  Nana was an amazing lady, always treating the younger family members, and spoiling the dogs she kept over the years:  Snowy (a West Highland terrier, for which breed Nana loved), Nomaz (a Yorkshire terrier short hair, of which breed Nana also adored), Suzie (also a West Highland Terrier and perhaps the oldest of Nana’s dogs during my lifetime), Pup (when he visited), and even the neighbours dog Nobby (who was clearly the offspring of Pup, as were the majority of Newton Heath’s mongrel dogs – sorry, RSPCA!).

A bowl of Nana’s homemade stew alongside some potato croquettes or chips and you would soon feel full.  There would always be room for desert, and desert always came with custard, warm or cold.  There was no need for posh restaurants as far as I was concerned; a meal at Nana’s was luxury.

One year, Dad drove me and Mum to Knowsley Safari Park.  On arrival we sat in the car, watching the Peacocks outside.  Dad suggested we had some food in the car, and handed out Spam sandwiches.  We watched the Peacocks for hours.  The zoological park had closed eventually.  I think Dad was a little short of cash and could not afford to go in.  I loved the day trip never-the-less.

My New Moston Primary School days hold little memory for me.  I just remember playing catch the girl, kiss the girl and catching my classmate Claire at the time; a friend called Anthony; and me having a pooh in a classroom because the teacher would not allow me to go to the toilet.  I whipped my trousers down, squatted in a playroom kitchen pen and laid one down.  Sadly, a fellow pupil and classroom whinge-bag Kelly spotted me and promptly enlightened the teacher to my doings.  I never got away with it.

A couple of weeks prior to my seventh birthday I learned to swim.  The school enforced visits to Broadway swimming baths enabled schoolchildren back then to combat the risk of drowning.  They simply subject you to water deeper than your body height, throw you in, and watch you learn that no kicking of the legs or motion in the arms will ultimately result in swallowing excessive amounts of water towards the lungs and belly.  My first width certificate was in the bag on the 13th of October 1989.  It was also noted that you could leave a yellow slipstream behind you if the teacher would not allow you to the toilet.  Had she not learned from my earlier primary school actions!?

Not that my teacher was the only victim of my terror, the dentist who had not warned of his intentions to probe my mouth, soon found his hand littered with a John-size bite mark.  Having someone else’s hand in your mouth will always seem wrong to me.  Even Mum became a victim of me pouring cornflakes down the toilet, blocking it with old toilet roll tubes, and also seeing exactly how much washing up liquid would empty from the bottle in one squeeze (naturally onto a clean surface, for example the carpet).

My craze for Thomas the Tank Engine was quickly topped by Ghostbusters, and before long Dangermouse, Count Duckula, and eventually the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  Lego remained faithfully by my side throughout the years. Secret showings of The Gremlins on video at my Nana’s house when Nana was away, under Dad’s supervision had me praying for a Mogwai for my birthday.  Instead Dad allowed me to choose a present at Morrison’s superstore in Fallowfield.  Naturally, I went for a small Lego pirate set along with a large truck space carrier.  The next day Mum invited my friend Neil and another friend who like Turtles too around for a birthday meal.  I was allowed the choice of food, so we had Bangers and Mash with beans.  This was my favourite at the time.  Mum had brought me a Lego castle set, as she was always trying to bring out my imaginative side.  Neil came from several doors down.  His mum Miriam knew my mum.  To get to Neil you could walk along the front road, or run to the back of the garden and cut through the back of several gardens past the man who always recited “Peter Piper picked a pepper…” to us and made us giggle.  One day on the route down to Neil’s house I discovered a dead gull.  It looked lifeless as expected, and when prodded with a stick, it was rock hard and crawling with small beetles.  There was a lesson to be leant, but it passed me by whatever it was.

In 1988, Astrid was born.  I now had a little sister to fight with, and to love and cherish.  It was around this time that Basil the cat had left home, and moved a few doors away to be fed.

Mum, met Paul Mathers in early 1990, and we moved to 2 Range Street, Openshaw.  Dad moved from Nana and Granddad’s house into 76 Warbeck Road, and I often visited to share bowls of Frosties for an evening meal!  Plus, the new neighbours to my Dad were of Chinese origin and loved to share Lego with me.  My new primary school was to be Clayton Brook Primary.  They made me retake my width certificate on the 8th of October 1990, the idiots were holding my progress back with P.E.  However, I could zoom far further ahead with mathematics and science in classes.

We added Ben the cat to the family; and Mum and Paul also added a new child to the family.  Paul Anthony Mathers junior was born on the 15th day of November 1990.  After escaping to my room to play with Lego and eventually exhausting my supply of bricks, I decided to play out in the new area.  Originally I was only allowed to the park around the corner, and to the top of my street.  I did make one friend, but he was banned from playing with me by his parents one day, as a result of me hitting his head off the opposite side to a see-saw I was on.  Accidents do happen.  I did not like Openshaw, I knew very few people there, and the area was riddled with good for nothing kids and derelict factory buildings.

TO BE CONTINUED?

The Price of Competition?

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

Everyone who follows football knows that transfer fees are getting out of hand – and transfer caps or salary restrictions would be detrimental to the game unless imposed globally. As one league implements caps, another league benefits. The best players will inevitably follow the cash, glamour and sponsorship deals. Veron was £28m in 2001, when he joined Man U. Rio Ferdinand cost £30m in 2002…. that was around the price of striker Robinho in 2008 (£32m). Judging by some paper talk. Anyone would think paying over the odds is new? Was De Bruyne worth £55m in 2015? Ex-City midfielder and Liverpool legend Steve McManaman put his writing seems as bad as Paul Merson’s comments now. Merson wrote “Manchester City paying so much money for Kevin De Bruyne is an absolute joke.” After all, De Bruyne was, “out of his depth at Chelsea”. City had bid for Eden Hazard in 2015 and refused to pay £32 million. What is that player’s valuation today?

West Brom’s owner has an 87%+ share and is estimated to have US$6.2bn. Arsenal’s majority owners are valued at US$22bn. The Glazers have a value of US$4bn. Everton’s Farhad has a wealth of US$2.3bn. Money is everywhere in a league that has TV rights/sponsorship deals in the billions. Barnsley, Aston Villa, Bristol City, Fulham, Derby County, WPR, Sunderland and Wolves all have billionnaire backers (in fact, Wolves have a richer backing than Manchester City!). Even Portsmouth have billionaire owners.

92 million Euros Cristiano Ronaldo was reportedly upset that Gareth Bale cost 6 million Euros more than him. Zinedine Zidane’s 75-million Euro transfer and Luis Figo’s transfer at 62-million Euros back in 2001 and 2000 respectedly aren’t small numbers. Many label players as world-class or not good enough. Surely, the result of their contracted time, is the time to judge if a transfer is good value. Joe Hart cost Manchester City £100,000 and a Gregg’s sausage roll. 266 appearances with 97 plus appearances out on loan and appearances for the national side have followed. Having battled for the number one jersey against Andreas Isaksson, Nicky Weaver, Shay Given, and Kasper Schmeichal he battled back, holding 29 clean sheets in 2011/12. He managed four Golden Glove awards in 5 seasons. Two league titles, the FA Cup and two Football League Cups added potency to his name. He was great value for a transfer fee. Vincent Kompany cost £6 million. Only 7 of City’s 24-man squad are valued below £20 million. Clubs have long been paying money for youth players, young players and future stars. It is nothing new.

In 1999, Thierry Henry cost Arsenal £11 million. Niclas Anelka joined Arsenal for £500,000 two years previous. Anelka would go on to be subject to transfer in the regions of £22 million (twice), £15 million, £13 million, £8 million, and €12 million. Since his youth days at Paris Saint-Germain, Anelka has amassed transfers in excess of £85 million. His total salary on top probably equated to that of a small nation. Nowadays some players transfer fees have exceded these collective figures. With shirt sales and commercial deals at an all time high, these disgusting figures are quite small when compared to revenue and income received as a result of that particular player coming in. Also, clubs and players are starting to form their own conscience and donate money to charity or foundations. Most banks and private companies do this to offset tax or develop their public image. Movie stars, another form of entertainment, do the same. Is football any different?

Does a successful team create an inferiority complex for some opposition teams? Possibly, yes. For years, Man U dominated the league and domestic front, whilst strengthening their name globally, sacrificing appearances in the prestigious FA Cup one season. They chased cups and money, and sometimes clubs didn’t believe they could beat the juggernaut of a club. Right now, Jose Mourinho, the most whimpering, whining, nit-picking, moaning, grousing, griping, groaning, fault-finding, complaining, carping, bemoaning, of managers is using every lamentable accusation and dissatisfaction possible aimed at City and Pep Guardiola is responding like it is water off a duck’s back. Some clubs spend almost £300 million on players, and complain it is not enough.

In Summer 2017, City invested heavily in fullbacks. Fullbacks Zabaleta, Kolorov, Clichy, and Sagna formed the 11-man exit of City’s senior squad last season. Around £57 million was raised from those players’ sales. 5 went for free. City paid out over £198.7 million on just 5 players. In the previous season City paid out £167.2 million on 8 players. Man U paid £160.7 million for 3 new players; up from £145.3 million the previous season, again for 3 players. There isn’t much in it, in terms of outlay. Arguably City’s 13 players [an average purchase of £28 million] to Utd’s captured £51 million per player. With little digging, almost every excuse falls apart.

It is really pleasing to see City investing deeply in community, global communities and charities and the future of Manchester. We are very propitious fans to see so much building for a long-term future. To be partnered with Girona FC, Melbourne City FC, New York City FC, Club Atlético Torque, and Yokohama F. Marinos – alongside a plethora of academies is a dream. Overseas, like so many clubs, hearty supporters’ clubs, and even teams like Manchester City F.C. (Sierra Leone) carry the flag of Manchester City. Maine Road F.C., long stood as a supporters’ team since 1955 have hugged City’s history. City, so often flogged as a club with no history, have a deep binding with English football history. The Revie Plan was a tactical system used in the 1950’s. It was used by Hungary to beat England at Wembley in 1953. We’re Not Really Here, is one of a handful of cult songs, even the catchy Yaya/Kolo version of 2Unlimited’s No Limit has been sung by rival fans – and isn’t unsual at darts tournaments. City have shot a long way since their inception by Rev. Arthur Connell and William Beastow as St. Mark’s (West Gorton). Not that the international scene is the only focus.

City as a club has maintained roots. The Connell Sixth Form College, fanzines such as King of the Kippax. There is a historical movie called Trautmann, and then there is the movie, There’s Only One Jimmy Grimble, which showcases how dire City were at one stage, yet the spirit shines on. Each football kit under Umbro had a piece of Manchester and a feel close to the heart of the City. The Academy Stadium is a short step from the Etihad Campus to the Etihad Stadium via footbridge. All are commercial, yet a clear vision from childhood football to juniors to that of a senior level is in place. The Manchester skyline is setback and every now and then a Lancaster bomber flies over the visable Pennines to the east. The successful Women’s team also have platforms to progress and a sizeable crowd is following them. The sites of the old Hyde Road and Maine Road grounds are a stone’s throw away.

Artist L.S. Lowry painted a piece called Going to the match, and was a keen City fan. Yes, we’ve had Curly Watts and other celebrity fans like Ricky Hatton and the Gallagher brothers. Real fans have become feature stars in Blue Moon Rising. This movie was updated the following season to show City’s first major trophy in a gap of 34 years. The sky-blue colour, mostly with white, sometimes with a dash of maroon or dark blue has been synonymous with Manchester City incessantly. Fans with yellow bananas, singing renditions of Blue Moon (after years of singing You’ll Never Walk Alone) have followed City home and away, loyally. For long periods City were known as everyone’s second favourite club. Typical City and doing things the hard way had made City loveable over the years. The club’s ability to be a soap opera and our fans’ die-hard approach, following in lower leagues and glory days makes up our DNA. Yes, there are new fans, but that is the wider world and how the internet and TV have changed things. Historically, City have yet to beat Wycombe Wanderers and Bristol Rovers, in over 4500 league games against many opponents. We know where we were, know where we are and are excited by the endless possibilities ahead.

Journalist Eric Todd, said of City fans in 1968, “like patience on a monument smiling at grief”; Joe Mercer was quoted as saying, “Like the players they deserve to have their perseverance rewarded”; BBC’s Mark Radcliffe in 2001, “when we are bad we’re just as bad as we always used to be, so that’s got to be good hasn’t it?”; journalist Paul Morley in 1998, “To support United is too easy. It’s convenience supporting.” Bands such as Doves, 10CC, Badly Drawn Boy, and photographers such as Kevin Cummins have used their materials to lighten up Manchester City. Comedians have shown along the way like Jason Manford, Chris “Frank Sidebottom” Sievey and Eddie Large. James Bond’s Timothy Dalton, John Henshaw, Alan Rickman, David Threlfall, Ian Cheeseman, Andrew Flintoff, Mary Anne-Hibbs, Natalie Pike, David Green, Marco Pierre White, Sir Howard Bernstein, Sir Richard Leese, money saving expert Martin Lewis and Princess Beatrice of York join fans that range as far as Arsenal F.C.’s CEO Ivan Gazidis (a former Mancunian school student). Beyond fame, a working class fanbase and supporters loyal for twenty five or more years remain. City have, in recent years, capped seasoncard sales at 36,000 seats and have sold-out. There is a waiting list. Even in the late 90s (City spent one season in the third tier of football), City gates averaged gates of 30,000. Gallows humour has always been present. Cult status has been awarded from benchwarmers Gláuber Berti to ever-presents Pablo Zabaleta and even visiting players like now Guangzhou Evergrande forward Alan. Being a City fan means you can have a laugh. Some comments may be tongue in cheek, or off the cuff – after all, winding up opposition fans is part of the parcel of being a City fan. Talking and drinking with them before or after a game, is also essential.

In 1881, St. Mark’s (West Gorton) lost 3-0 to Newtown Heath LYR. The Ashton Reporter noted it to be “a pleasant game”. The first recognised derby in Manchester. Derby games became central to Mancunian spirits, and in 1889, the first floodlit derby (at Belle Vue Athletic Ground) was held to support the Hyde Coal Mine disaster fund. In 2017, City and United sported the Manchester bee following a terrorist attack in the city that year. Each club came together, and it filled many with pride. After that, normal rivalry resumed, and why not? After all, attacks shouldn’t change out way of life. In the 1970s derby games added bite and controversy, legs were broken and cards dished out. United were reportedly relegated by Law’s backheel. Perhaps, when their fans invaded the field and caused the game to be called off, it was a factor? Who knows. It wasn’t as simple as Law’s backheel. It added, but it wasn’t the cause. City were underdogs for decades following this. From 1989’s 5-1 win over Ferguson’s side until 2002’s win at the last Maine Road derby, City hadn’t won a game against Utd. This is the period of time I grew up in. Every Red Arrogant Git made themselves known. Welcome to Manchester?

I worry that City are upsetting too many football fans. It is a shame really. There are 6 billion people on Earth and a reported 12 billion United fans. Maybe like other club supporters they feel threatened. Man U have more than double the value on Forbes, as City. More than 160 million Euros difference on Deloitte. They have board members on the Premier League and UEFA. If power is a worry for The World’s Greatest Football Team™ – then you have to worry. If you christen your ground, The Theatre of Dreams, you must live up to that, surely?

For the first time since April 1974, City enjoyed a monumental win at Old Trafford in February 2008. Since 2008, the derby games have been more level with Sir Alex Ferguson proclaiming the 09/10 derby at Old Trafford as “probably, the best derby of all time” but I would argue the 6-1 away win in 2011 or the two dominant wins under Guardiola as far better games. The blue line of City, since World War 2 has sat below Manchester Utd’s red line for far too long. Oddly City have scored far more goals than United, but lost a staggering 72 games to 51. Roll on derby day 176. History and the derby go hand in hand.

On October the 21st 2010, City allowed Lech Poznań a larger than usual away support. Their Grecque bounce soon became known as doing the Poznań. Just like that movement and style had been seen time and time before, and after, fads like transfers fees come and go, and shape the game. They keep the debate and pub arguments alive and kicking. I’ll never support Man Utd and I’d never expect their fans to back us, but this is the beautiful game, put aside your differences and agree to disagree, or agree that football and money are out of control – and it is not a new phase to the game! You’ve gotta roll with it…

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

圣诞节快乐 ( Shèngdàn jié kuàilè / Merry Christmas ) Christmas in China#4

2014: 圣诞节快乐 ( Shèngdàn jié kuàilè / Merry Christmas )
2015: Shèng dàn kuài lè [MERRY CHRISTMAS] 圣诞快乐
2016: 我永远不会放弃 (wǒ yǒngyuǎn bú huì fàngqì [I will never give up!]
2017…

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. The yuletide arrived upon us, beating down on us like the summer sun on exposed earth. The relentless flow of festive cheer and cash registers slamming shut full of your hard-earned dough began and flashed by. Santa bar crawls, logo-covered bunting, and piss-poor parodies of Frostie The Snowman were go, go go. Repeated movies, dusty and scratchy Christmas songs and badly replicated versions of last year’s over-priced toy sat side-by-side with tinsel so dusty that it could line a funeral procession and not look out of place.

In some cities, villages and places around the world, there was loneliness and feelings of being so lost, poor, destitute or sad. It shouldn’t have to be this way. Jerusalem was unified and completely calm. So, we as people must also put aside differences and make those who feel alone, feel part of something bigger. Christmas 2017 was my fourth Christmas in China. I vowed last Christmas (2016) to go home, to Blighty. For reasons, visa-related and the like, that wasn’t likely to happen. It won’t be like this in 2018. I don’t feel that bad about being away from family at this most festive time. I hope that they can understand me. I hope they don’t think that I don’t want to leave gifts under Christmas trees or fill their Christmas stockings with a little thank you for their wonderful warm natures (Well, mostly! You know who you are!). I wouldn’t mind a Christmas tipple with my family-folk, but it wasn’t to be this year. Instead we can share one on the next occasion.

This Christmas, I made a charitable donation to a good cause and that was my main gift I gave, save for stockpiling thoughtful things to deliver to family and friends.

Anyway, I waffled on, I don’t have purpose to this blog post, aside from wishing everyone a late happy Christmas and a wonderful new year. Tomorrow is another day. I hope it brings joy and smiles for you and your family.

Christmas Eve was spent in Shenzhen watching the Hollywood Movie Orchestra perform themes such as Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, a James Bond medly, Somewhere In Time, Superman, Harry Potter, The Lord Of The Rings, and so many more great movements. I shed tears in the themes of Schindler’s List and Forrest Gump. They have always pulled on my heartstrings, just like E.T. and Bambi. It is mostly sentimental but always reminds me of how lucky I am. I feel really fecking lucky. At times, I have felt low, then I dig up a wonderful memory and all is good again. Lately, in periods of deep relaxation (sat reading The Fortress by Andy McNab, or during an Ox-horn massage etc) I have dug up some memories that may have slipped away for far too long. I think my 2018 resoultion is to write more. So, in January, I will write about my history, a kind of release of warts and all, with some love and hugs along the way. This isn’t showing off. I really like writing and there is no vanity intended. Each month I’ll slap some words on a palette and call it writing. A thematic bubbling pot of pish.

January: The Life of John

February: Manchester [Our City]

March: My favourite writers [musicians, journalists, authors and more]

April: Ambition.

May: MCFC, Okay.

June: The U.K.

July: Cycling.

August: The family tree.

September: Music.

October: Travels.

November: Movies.

December: Happy holidays.

To be continued…

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Balfour 100: Need a little time to wake up…

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

A few days ago, I sat down and ate a Twix for breakfast. A cheeky cup of McDonald’s coffee (there are no coffee shops open in the morning) sat alongside. Salad and healthy living had no need to visit that morning. Having played football the night before, my body ached. The exploits of Cool Breeze F.C. (Changping) had worn me right out. Shattered. The morning has in for many months involved reading news and waking up slowly. As per the Oasis lyrics to Morning Glory, “Need a little time to wake up…”

Is it me or has everything just become a larger stinking pile of danger than it needed to be? There is a clash of ideals on an epic scale. In historic times, brutality, pillaging, plundering and ransacking was not an ideal way to live but it was generally expected, as groups of different people moved around the world seeking resource, slaves and valuables. Then came a time when people stood up to one another and said things like, “Stop. Wait a minute. [insert minority, ethnicity or different people here] are just like us. They’re human.” It was the turn from being retarded cave-creatures into proper decent people. Civilized. But, wait the new minority didn’t get the memo. They in turn preached and disturbed the evolution of knuckle-dragging folk into enlightened beings. And now, one of their own runs a rather large country.

I don’t need Wikipedia to inform me that the U.S. of A. houses around 320 million people. Americans have roughly a 75% white and 70% Christian background. Around 20% of the country has no recognised faith. The U.K.’s 65 million people has about 85% of its people as being Caucasian (that’s polite for white). About 76% of the people of Christian background, about 22% don’t identify or follow a faith. I think from my experiences; the U.K. is very much multicultural and on the cusp of a post-Christian society. All faiths seem massively tolerant and open to inter-faith mingling. However, I believe social integration is a bigger problem. Cracks in communities are there but they are there by class more than religion. Unless you read The Sun or Daily Mail or The Telegraph…, there are more to choose from. Anyway, U.S.A. formed in 1776 on a date in July. I forget the date because their modest history doesn’t give us any celebrations to hold for this matter. After obliterating the natives, they had expansions, a huge Civil War, an era called the Reconstruction Era, mass immigration, an industrial boom, a Great Depression that followed The Great War (far away in Europe), and the Cold War with bitter rivals (and now possible electoral friends) U.S.S.R. (now Russia). Civil rights arrived late.

Speeches and deaths followed as the U.S. opposed China and Korea in the 50s overseas, and the following decade brought about the Civil Rights Act of 1968. Sexual revolution, black nationalism and opposition of the Vietnam War preceded a war against poverty. 8 U.S. Presidents presided over the U.S. fed conflict in Vietnam. The U.S. seemed at this stage to be moving closer to a role of World Police, and freedom. Their stubborn grasp of their right to bear arms has seen this supposedly developed nation top the charts for gun violence consistently. Each atrocity has been ignored by their senate and government, save for the standard press release.

President Obama said his final year of presidency would feature a dominance in the theme of gun control. He had no chance. No backing by the lawmakers. As money poured into research, lives were shed in their hundreds. Three of the five highest death tolls occurred in 2016 and 2017. So, with stupidity ruling the controversial and contentious debate on gun control, it was with no surprise that U.S.A. voted in a fuckwit as the 45th (and worst to date) President of the Utd. States. The wigged man has had a hattrick of wives, a barrel of offspring and invested his assets everywhere. Controversy is his bed-fellow and walls he seeks to build.

Now, Trump blows a powerful horn, the top seat of a major country. He has possibly sought company in Alex Jones and Roger Stone. He has pandered to white nationalists, time and time again, whilst blowing raspberries and race debates. The F.B.I., busy with Hilary Clinton’s emails seemed to back Trump by dealing their hand at an odd time. A shadow of sexual misconduct, pussy grabbing, non-consensual kisses, gropes and much ill-timed words have been documented by many media sources. I imagine they are all entirely as fake as the man who self-proclaimed that he invented the word fake.

Before his election Trump has had no political history or military background. It is likely that he shadow-wrote his books and at most organised letters into his name quite often enough to remember how to spell it. Plus, Trump means fart in British English. The clue was in the name. But, still he was elected. A fairly-elected President deserves respect. He has exercised all the humility and modesty of bull in a China shop, during an earthquake, as Earth implodes, whilst being sucked into a black hole and total-plutonic reversal.

“Try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light.” – Egon Spengler, Ghostbusters

So, what does a 71-year old man get out of being U.S. President? Well, think of the endorsements. The legacy. The legend. The power. The control. And Trump is in that seat until 2020…

So, now to the big fish lurking in murky deep waters. This week, U.S. of A. recognised Jerusalem as the capital of Israel. Great news? A peace deal was reached? The international community backed this? All sides are happy?

Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas used the word deplorable. Not a weak word there. Deplorable sits in the thesaurus around great words such as appalling, unacceptable, shocking unpardonable, shameful and the antonym praiseworthy. Perhaps he was mistranslated. Why do 8/15 of the U.N. Security Council want an urgent meeting by the end of the week? Perhaps, they have another pressing matter? The final stages of the peace processes stated in 1993 that the Israel-Palestinian peace accords would justify Jerusalem’s status at the latter stages. Are they there yet? Judaism, Islam and Christianity have been hotly contesting Jerusalem for thousands of years. Did Trump just do the unthinkable and deliver on a presidential campaign promise? Yes, he did. He didn’t lie. Mostly, he endorsed Israel and shied away from Palestine. As Mr Abbas, spoke of “eternal capital of the state of Palestine” and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu tweeted, “Jerusalem has been the focus of our hopes, our dreams, our prayers for three millennia” it was clear to many that dangerous consequences were on the horizon. The Islamist Hamas at their Gaza nightclubs probably didn’t have a party, and phrases such as “open the doors of hell” aimed at Americans seemed to be banded around. Saudi Arabia was pissed off too, King Salman mentioned something that “would constitute a flagrant provocation of Muslims, all over the world”.

Istanbul’s U.S. consulate needed added security as crowds gathered to cheer and enjoy the decision? Theresa May may or may not be leader of the U.K. in the future, but her sound words about being “unhelpful in terms of prospects for peace in the region” sounded solid enough as she broke further away from being friends with Europe. French President Emmanuel Macron sounded like a Scouser, “Calm down!” Turkish Foreign Minister Mevlut Cavusoglu tweeted (the media of everything nowadays), “the decision is against international law and relevant UN resolutions”. The Arab League (nothing to do with football) asked if the U.S. could remain as a “trusted mediator” in the future. Qatar mentioned something about death sentences, which seems terribly dramatic for a place so respectful of human rights. Jordan (the state and not the model) seemed to add constructive words, whilst Iran slipped in a worry of a “new intifada” – meaning uprising. The shitty Man Utd went to Rome to see the Pope and this is what he said, “I cannot silence my deep concern”. He hasn’t spoken much since. I think he is sleeping. China, Germany and Russia mentioned possible tensions. Hell, if the Devil was nonfictional, he’d probably congratulate Trump.

2017 will be remembered for North Korea playing advanced versions of darts; Harvey Weinstein and a billion other Hollywood abusers; Trump playing God (he also had 528 protest marches against him in January); Brexit actually being used as a word; the Yemen, Somalia, South Sudan and Nigeria humanitarian crisis getting little coverage; Syria (ongoing as always) and chemical weapons; cyber and ransomware attacks; America exiting the Paris Climate Agreement; ISIL attacks globally; possible textbook Rohingya Muslim extermination; Hurricanes Harvey, Irma, Maria; U.S. and Israel exiting UNESCO; Fats Domino, Roger Moore and Adam West departed life; Catalonia departing Spain, illegally; but at least Robert Mugabe is gone.

 

MMXVII, you suck (That’s American for bobbins). Mostly, due to Trump – and much down to the Balfour Declaration (created 2nd November 1917)

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

How are the Yazidis doing?

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

To the tune of Jingle Bells:

Dashing through the town, not looking to play, mowing all down, it doesn’t matter today… Genocide, genocide, happens every day… Oh, how the west, would wish it went away… Oh, genocide, genocide, happening every day…

Okay, not the most uplifting topic to begin writing with on a Friday morning. How did I even start thinking such satirical bollocks? Simple. I read the news. The thing about genocide is that there is always one happening. When stubborn and often stupid leaders want to wipe away opposition, that is one thing, but eradicating an entire race is utterly evil. It didn’t just begin with the Holocaust but the word did stem from Raphael Lemkin’s book Axis Rule in Occupied Europe, published in 1944. Before that the largest recorded account would probably be the European colonisation of the Americas. This is a large and less civilised piece of modern history. The Dzungar (准噶尔灭族; Zhǔngá’ěr mièzú), Circassian, Manifest Destiny, California, Selk’nam, Namaqua and Herero, Green, Assyrian, Armenian, Libyan, Soviet famine, and Kazakhstan genocides filled a period of time form the 1750s to 1933. Bleak, right? Did it end in World War Two with the Holocaust and Porajmos? Not at all! People from Bangladesh, Burundi, East Timor, Cambodia, Guatamala, Kurdish, and Isaaq fell from the 1970s to late 1980s.

Now, there is the crisis of the Rohingya Muslims and the fallout from the Ratko Mladic era of pain and suffering in Bosnia (and Yugoslavia). How are the Yazidis doing in northern Iraq and Syria?

In 1994, the world seemingly stood by and watched Rwanda explode as the Hutu majority squashed the Tutsi population, Twa, and moderate Hutus into oblivion. The cause was hugely complex and the after effects are still drastic today. It has been estimated that in the 50 years leading up to 2016 that 43 genocides have led to 50 million deaths. An equally large number of people have been displaced and sought resettlement. The International Court of Justice has held countless and expensive court cases against numerous war criminals. They have costs taxpayers millions and their remaining victims have often been left feeling tortured and humiliated. Ever since I read the book We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with Our Families, by Philip Gourevitch, I have paid more attention to ethnic cleansing news. The book had made me physically sick but opened my mind to horrors in ways that history teaching, news broadcasts of theYugoslavia conflict could not convey. I wasn’t a teenager when the serious Rwanda genocide hit the news. I read this book much later, when I was at university, in a spell of procrastination, where I would read everything and anything. This book strangled my attention. The movie Hotel Rwanda barely touched on the horror and affect on the people. Whilst Don Cheadle on the supporting cast were wonderful, it simply felt like a lighter take on hell. Not that we, as cinema-goers, want to see a quarter to half a million rape scenes as happened, or the genital mutilation of men. Nor did we want to see the HIV-riddled and AIDS fall-out that followed, or pygmy people (Batwa/Twa) being eliminated categorically. The 400,000 orphans of the years that followed are now likely in their twenties and thirties, if living. A quarter would have become the head of their family.

The world watched news. The big countries and strength looked away, worried of a new Battle of Mogadishu. That Somalian killing field and the U.N.’s Assistance Mission for Rwanda led to utter failure on the part of supposed world policing. Israel’s documentation regarding arms sales to Rwanda remains sealed. Since then there has been the Great Lakes refugee crisis, the First and Second Congo Wars. The Gacaca Courts and the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda have dwindled away. The horrors as fresh as the small Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre, which holds a quarter of a million remains!

So, what is genocide? Brutal, generation-affecting and ill-meaning to all. It has effects on the leaders, their victims and those who carry out the atrocities. The ripple of the pool spreads globally. Those who had power to act and did not, are equally to blame. If their aim is to deliberately murder a whole community or race and they fail, but come close, they have aready changed the dynamics of that community and race. Each massacre, slaughter and eradication attempt towards a nationality or ethnic race, should have been the end. The final act.

 

There are quotes galore about this horrid subject and matter, and discussion comes and goes, but more choose to focus on iPods, the latest running trainers and what’s hot in the kid’s Christmas aisle. Wars and poverty have hugely influenced a vacuum, and in vaccums hate thrives. This isn’t an argument or thought-rich piece of writing I convey, it is just a simple, open up your minds. Those who don’t act, witness the slaughter of other peoples. Nobody wants to see bad news, day in, day out, but right now the media are being guided by leaders like Trump and matters so trivial that the viewer is patronised. A Victoria’s Secret model that falls on the catwalk is not news. Nor is the denial of a visa to a pop megastar to China. Perhaps Yemen might feature on the next genocide, or the Philipines… or Cambodia again. The warnings of history are there to be read, but we’re all reading about insects made into bread.


“You have to understand what caused genocide to happen. Or it will happen again.” Tim Walz


“Rwanda can be a paradise again, but it will take the love of the entire world to heal my homeland. And that’s as it should be, for what happened in Rwanda happened to us all – humanity was wounded by the genocide.” Immaculee Ilibagiza


“The 20th century taught us how far unbridled evil can and will go when the world fails to confront it. It is time that we heed the lessons of the 20th century and stand up to these murderers. It is time that we end genocide in the 21st century.” Allyson Schwartz


“My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain…There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory.” Chief Seattle, The Chief Seattle’s Speech


“We must win in Iraq. If we withdraw, there will be chaos; there will be genocide; and they will follow us home.” John McCain


“They want us to be afraid.

They want us to be afraid of leaving our homes.

They want us to barricade our doors

and hide our children.

Their aim is to make us fear life itself!

They want us to hate.

They want us to hate ‘the other’.

They want us to practice aggression

and perfect antagonism.

Their aim is to divide us all!

They want us to be inhuman.

They want us to throw out our kindness.

They want us to bury our love

and burn our hope.

Their aim is to take all our light!

They think their bricked walls

will separate us.

They think their damned bombs

will defeat us.

They are so ignorant they don’t understand

that my soul and your soul are old friends.

They are so ignorant they don’t understand

that when they cut you I bleed.

They are so ignorant they don’t understand

that we will never be afraid,

we will never hate

and we will never be silent

for life is ours!” Kamand Kojouri


“First, they came for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics, and I didn’t speak up because I was a Protestant. Then they came for me, and by that time no one was left to speak up.” Martin Niemöller, from the poem “First they came…”


 

To quote Coldplay, open up your eyes, but more importantly, our minds need to be exercised not nullified. I don’t claim to understand genocide at all. I don’t. I just think some things need a spot of time to think about, no matter how tough a subject they are. Perhaps next time, I can rip into cancer…

 

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

28 Degrees (Later?)

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

For everything else there is Mastercard.

I heard a story that goes a little like this. A man spent a considerable amount of time validating his university degree certificate and police check in summer. It cost him far too much for two pieces of paper (£5 at the solicitors, £30 at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, and £30 at the Chinese consulate) – £130 for two pieces of paper. With that he left for Hong Kong, he met someone from his new school, obtaining a 60-day double-entry visa by the third day, and then entered China as a tourist. He had to exit China on the 30th day and on the 60th day, once again. This time the next visa was for only 14 days. On that 13th day, he exited and returned the same day, with a 30-day business visa in hand. Strangely, that man is now wondering what will happen next?

The man’s dreams of a life in China are fading, his insurance has been voided, he cannot obtain local medical treatment (if ever needed), and he has not rented an apartment. Is this illegal worker a hobo? Should he stay, or should he go? Previously, he worked for just under 4 years without a hitch – on a legal work and residence permit. As a native speaker, he has a university degree, the requisite TEFL, wants to learn Chinese and contribute to international relations. His years of experience gained count for diddly squat right now. I even heard he had to sign another form to say that his name is his name and to his knowledge, there is no other in China by that name.


Anyway, enough about him, let’s talk weather. Chilly in Carlisle? Icy in Ingleton? Yesterday, the mercury hit 28°C, which seems crazy for the 12th of November. Today, it is a fairly-humid 20°C, the downpours have been with us since 9am, making for a soggy ground and a real feel temperature of 27°C. The highest it will reach today is 25°C. For the remainder of the week, it is expected to hit 28°C, with lows of 18°C. Winter is coming, but nobody seems sure as to when…


“Don’t eat my little friends.” 27 tangerines to be precise. Each gifted to a student, on the basis that if they behave very well, they will be rewarded team by team. If not, they must give their tangerines to another student in a different team. It forms just one small segment of bringing the students together – and eradicating a simmering tension between one half-Japanese student (half-Chinese too) and his classmates. Many students are from Singapore, Taiwan, Hong Kong and Macau too. One student is half-French. One student is half-Australian.

The whole Japan and China thing is instilled in culture, and is not a subject to approach lightly. My only concern is that a six-year old boy is being cruelly singled out for something he never experienced, nor did his father, and likely another generation after that too. Just like the 1917 Balfour Declaration, the actions of others cause an affect on the lives of those down on the ground. This being 72 years later than the conclusion of World War Two; even longer after the 1931 Japanese invasion of Manchuria; 74 years following the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese War.

The Marco Polo Bridge Incident may have been 80 years ago, sparking up the bloody and cruel Second Sino-Japanese War. This war became popularised as the War of Resistance (抗日战争) and the eight years’ war of resistance (八年抗战). Even now the name has changed to reflect a conflict stemming back to 1931 (十四年抗战) – the 14 years’ war of resistance. The War of Jiǎwǔ (甲午戰爭; Jiǎwǔ Zhànzhēng) lasted around 8.5 months from 1894-1895. It is vastly confusing and a bitter time resulting in around 37,000 deaths. This period is often referred to as the First Sino-Japanese War. To complicate matters entirely China had been a in state of civil war from around 1927, following the April 12th Incident (四一二慘案). Even that stems back to the 1923 alliance by Nationalist Party of China (中國國民黨; Zhōngguó Guómíndǎng), with the Soviet Union. Only in 1912 had the Qing Dynasty (大清) ended, having started in 1636! So, after 276 years of stability, recent memory of the Middle Kingdom’s rule has been shaped drastically by times of warfare and leadership battles.

The People’s Republic of China (中华人民共和国; Zhōnghuá Rénmín Gònghéguó), founded on October 1st, 1949 followed almost a century of uncertainty, turbulence and conflict. To conclude, the past should affect not one child, but sadly it does. There is only one certainty in life and that is death. As a teacher we must protect, fight for and defend our students, supporting them in ways like a parent, but also that of a guardian of their galaxy. As a seed finds its way into the soil, it is protected from the environment overhead, and predation. We as teachers must be the soil to allow our seeds to grow. Without getting too convoluted or dull, the past is just that, and everything needs to be focused on turning the now into a great future, for each of us, our community, our countries, and ultimately our world – environment and all! Politics and history isn’t a place for a six-year old kid learning how to say, “I can play.” That’s not his place. He needs to focus on schooling, playing and growing up without distraction and fear. Twenty-eight degree temperatures can’t be enjoyed otherwise

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Kind of Personal Views (Teaching)

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

School requested an article on education, experience or some such similar subject. So, I drafted the following:

Personal Views of Teaching

Hey, hey, my name is Mr John. I come from Manchester, the northern powerhouse of England. The industrial revolution and communism have origins in my hometown. Aside from links to Friedrich Engels, Karl Marx and the first railway station, my city is famous for music, football and cycling now. That and a T.V. show called Coronation Street! My interests include writing, reading, history and Chinese culture. I enjoy swimming, football, cycling and eating. You can see from my stomach that I like eating. I am not slim.

For me there are few things more rewarding than introducing new words, topics, and questions – only to see the students embrace these and use these frequently. The ostrich and kangaroo cannot walk backwards, and this is an approach to speaking English, I hope all students will hold. I believe teaching is far more than textbooks and games. Confidence, belief and an interesting and engaging classroom environment deepen learning in a way black and white words cannot. I believe in investment in classroom materials, the classroom decoration and books.

To make the learning environment bright and bold, is to awaken the imagination. Stories, the skill of questioning and a hunger to want more from each class goa long way to releasing a students’ full potential. Taking elements from great comedians like Laurel and Hardy, or Morecambe and Wise and applying slapstick humour, appropriate dialogue and real world uses of language is important. Communication through body language is equally as important as the words we speak.

A happy teacher is one free of out-of-school distractions, settled in a home and passionate from morning to evening. There are many great non-native speaking teachers but to be perfect, a school must headhunt the best available teachers. In an ideal world they must all be native speakers, or educated at the highest levels in order to offer genuine and authentic pronunciation. On top of this the foreign teacher must offer a glimpse of their cultures. There is a vast difference between many peoples, and the people of the U.S.A., U.K., Ireland and Australia have also very much distinct heritages.

A cosy work environment makes for a settled teacher. Schools should work tirelessly to retain their best teachers, whether Chinese, foreign or alien! We all remember our best teachers from our times in schools. Few former students will remember ever-changing lines of teachers. Teachers should feel valued and wanted. A steady teacher can settle and offer support to students, parents and colleagues alike.

From my experiences within China, I have an understanding, of face, the love for food and other intangible cultural facts. However, my attitude is that the world is changing. We must preserve our heritage but not at the expense of the future. I hope to push our students to respect key areas of conversation such as recycling, the importance of our environmental, conservation, and more daily matters like brushing your teeth and eating less sugar. In my classrooms there is no flag of one nation, there is an international door welcoming all nations as one. To be stronger, for China, we must work together as one and put aside history or politics. We must respect one another and make our students prepared for the world ahead.

Students are central to schools, like water is to life. To that end we must protect and maintain the purity and safety of our students. A safe area of studies, where each student will spend the majority of their week, is one in which they can blossom. In the classroom, facts, figures and essential life skills can be honed. Parents can support and provide common sense which together with schooling will enhance a child’s future prospects.

My time in China has been enjoyable and inspiring. Each positive day pushes me on, and makes me hungry to not just do my best, but to want to try new things and make a difference. I hope each and every day in school features a plethora of smiles for students and just reward at the end of the road. Some days it won’t come easy, some days it won’t come at all, but these are days that make and break us. Being broken isn’t the end, it can be the foundation for a grand building, a great future and to that end, every student can succeed. Every student has potential and it is up to us, the teachers, the guardians, the parents, the guides to help each student find their feet. They can do it. We can do it. You can do it.

From the above, I then edited it down to the below:

Personal Views: Teaching

Hey, hey, my name is Mr John. I come from the city of Manchester, in the U.K. It is two hours north of the city of London. My city is famous as the birthplace of industry, great music, and sports such as football and cycling. There is also a famous T.V. show that many people learn English by watching it. It is called Coronation Street. My interests include writing, reading, history and Chinese culture. I enjoy swimming, football, cycling and eating. You can see from my stomach that I like eating. I am not slim.

I get great satisfaction from teaching. I enjoy introducing new words, topics, and questions. It makes me smile to see the students embrace new classes and use these often. Together we can make our classes more exciting and colourful. We can make the black and white world of homework and tests into something different. My time in China has been enjoyable and inspiring. Each positive day pushes me on, and makes me hungry to not just do my best, but to want to try new things and make a difference.

The ostrich and kangaroo cannot walk backwards. This is how I want my students to be. To speak English, by only going forwards. Learning is far more than textbooks and games. I want my students to feel confidence. They can do it. We can do it. I can do it. Everything is possible with each student’s powerful minds. We all must believe.

I believe in investment in classroom materials, the classroom decoration and books. White walls can be rainbows. Chalkboards can be frames of artwork. The ceiling can be a place to hang and celebrate great work by students. Students should be inspired to ask questions and be curious. Stories and reading can help better their minds. Using comedy along the way, we can bring laughter and sunshine both inside and outside school. Each student can share their stories of school for days and years to come.

A happy foreign teacher is one free of out-of-school distractions. They are settled in a home and passionate from morning to evening. They have energy and engage their students. They push students to enhance their language skills. They are free from worry and distraction and focus on their students. They always try to improve their classes, classroom and students. They share their culture and believe they can make a difference. We all remember our best teachers from our times in schools. My hope and beliefs are to make our students better, each and every day.

Students are central to schools, like water is to life. We must make schools a place for students to want to go. We must open the gates to their minds and happiness. A happy home life and a happy school life can help students be ready for life. Teachers, parents and students can work as a team to turn paper into thought. The future will be brighter with good study experiences and a better understanding of the world. I believe every student can succeed. Their potential is in our hands. We won’t let them down.

The content changes may reflect my moods on each day of writing. Or perhaps, in hindsight I was too politically-charged in one piece and less conservative in another. It is important to know your audience, if in fact you have one, when you write. Writing from the heart is all good in one situation, but in another it may cause offence. And if you take something you have read by me personal, I have some expletive words and directions for you to take. Oh, and grow up. If you get offended by words, even if I contradict myself from time to time, I never look to offend anyone. Okay, maybe some knobhead singing boybands, Manchester Utd. fans are fair game too, and people who quote books without ever reading them, but not Scousers. I’ll have nothing said against high-pitched bin-dippers [tonge firmly in cheek]. Banter.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Modesty and humility (went into a bar)

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

somebody

[suhm-bod-ee, -buhd-ee, -buh-dee]
pronoun
1. Some person.
noun, plural somebodies.
2. A person of some note or importance. A person of greater importance than others: he seems to be somebody in this town.
[ Collins English Dictionary – Complete & Unabridged 2012 Digital Edition]

What makes a somebody? I’ve heard this term banded around so freely in China. It bugs me, because not everyone has had the fortune to rise-up the social classes or has been afforded a chance, a real shot at life. Some are born into poverty, some grit their teeth in a no frills lifestyle and almost everyone tries their hardest to improve themselves. No single person wants to awake each day in shit. Yes, many paths are different, some opt for crime, fraud and treachery, others seek out lawful means. In my humble opinion, saying “he is a somebody” or “she is a somebody” discounts the fact that people are always somebody. I also find that most of the time being a somebody means having money. Yeah, I get business and success, hats off to them for working hard and pushing on. My gripe is along the way, is the questions.

  • Were they paying their staff fairly?
  • Were they putting profit before quality?
  • Did they compete fairly?
  • Were laws and regulations followed fairly?
  • How clear was their conscience?
  • Who did the real work?

The list could go on and on, and I’m not lecturing. Did they recycle more than a box of plastic bottles in their career? Does this make me ethical? I don’t know. I just don’t rate this capitalism lark. The rich get richer and the poorer fall further behind. Life quality may improve but equality is a dream, that has eluded many for many generations and will continue to without a focus on community and bringing balance. Wouldn’t we be much stronger if we supported our poorer communities globally and brought more education to the table? Or should we stay focused on me, myself and I? I get little satisfaction from tunnel-vision about rewarding myself. Don’t get me wrong, I love to improve but seeing others rewarded for teamwork and togetherness is far more nourishing to my soul. So, when I meet people and they are immediately introduced as a “somebody”, I generally think, “I literally couldn’t give a fuck, knobhead.” To others they may inspire, support and do something for the greater good, but wearing a shiny gold watch and belt, parading their flashy investments is not enough for me. Their crocodile skin shoes may be as fake as their smile. For me human kindness is more genuine.

You can either make money fast, or steady in a highly competitive world but at some stage values, principles and moralities must come into focus. Having attended the opening of a Multinational Conglomerate Corporation Group Worldwide’s new mega-city-one-shopping-mall-effort once, one guy played Top Trumps with me. I didn’t enter the game. Still he persisted with, “I ate champagne and drank snails on the Seine.” I’d soon learn how Big Ben looks from The Shard and the London Eye’s V.I.P. suites. If only he knew that Big Ben was the bell, and not the tower. I interjected that the Thames now has octopus and is much cleaner than many years ago. He looked unimpressed. I asked where he visited in the U.K. Just the city of London. Just the centre. He spent five weeks there. Not one museum or walk around the heart if the city. All business. No play. This Panini sticker album of boasts kept going on and on. Eventually Business Man Of The Year from the Province of Most Wonderfulness, asked me, “so what was your best view of a city?” I said, whilst I am from Manchester – the Northern Powerhouse of England, I don’t think cities are the be all and end all of life. I explained how farmers in the U.K are admired and not looked on as peasants like in some countries. I said many aspire to hold idyllic homes built by Transnational Cosmopolitan holdings in quieter places with less traffic and smog. His jaw seemed to drop. He pushed for my greatest city view. I said aside from working in an office overlooking the great Manchester Town Hall, and views of football stadiums, old architecture and the like, cities for me were not amazing. So, then he said his greatest moment was to sit in an office at Trump Towers and see New York. Whilst I admit, New York is a great city, for me the view lacks nature, green and blue. His great moment reeked of cliché. That pong, not only had New York’s wonderful skyline, attached to many romance movies and stories, history etc, but also Donald “Fake-word inventor” Trump added extra buoyancy to it. He pushed me again for my greatest view. Eventually I caved in, and told him, “I had a shit that froze in the Himalayas. The view from the small wooden toilet window was breathtaking. I shed a tear of joy. It was pure beauty.” He didn’t ask for my WeChat I.D.

If the next James Bond novelist needs an inspiration for a baddie, there are loads here in China. Not bad people out-right. Just they fir the platitude and formula required to face up to 007. Between many of them, none have checked a fire extinguisher. Some have probably moved said item to fit a company logo made of copious amounts of precious stone. They’re the sort that open their business with a fashion show of pre-teen girls (and one stand alone boy for good measure). The inappropriate catwalk of minors. Many men, usually in their thirties and upwards, the ones who made illegal massage parlour culture popular, whip out their camera phones and snap away. There is no hint that they are paedophilic in nature. This is not always true. They are just plain improper in their actions. Their snapps line their social media moments, probably unprotected from those they have rarely met. As the skimpy-clad clothing of teenagers departs, on steps a man. He’s usually in his 40’s. He wouldn’t stand out in a street ordinarily. But today, today, he is wearing all white. He has dance moves that everyone’s uncle and father could pull off after a hip replacement. His voice isn’t too bad. It isn’t too good either. The song evolves from Cantopop to a segment of rap which he pulls of in the antonymical meaning of flawlessly. He departs to applause. Singular. His partner is obliged.

Next up comes two children. The cutest ones from the class. They hum and mime a song by TF Boys. Like the TF Boys, they are one voice drop from disappearing forever. Their catchy pop songs will reign eternal as they inject the royalties into their veins. After a talent competition hate-filled juvenile eyes look on at their winning rivals. Throughout the audience product placement is as barefaced – totally unashamed. The latest overly-gassy alcopop sits next to a the most colourful of children’s sweet confectionaries. By the end of the night, the event highlights will have included a smoke machine clashing with a bubble machine. You had to be there. In closing there is a group photoshop and individual photos with a selction of glass phallus-shaped trophies.

Occasionally, through the excessive lighting comes a bright spark of talent and a real clap appears from the audience. Sadly, like Dan Brown novels, you must read many pages to enjoy a chapter or paragraph. Can you get the two hours of time back no? Did you enjoy it? Yes, maybe, but perhaps not in the ways that others did. And that is life. Enjoy every moment, write aggressively and angrily when required or nod, smile and carry on. Do what you love. Love what you do. Hate nothing, but observe and report in your own ways. You never know. You could be talking to Mr Business Man Of The Year from the Province of Most Wonderfulness tomorrow. It doesn’t mean it will all be bad. Share your favourite view from a bathroom.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Here’s to you Nige Carr Evans…

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / S’mae / Hello / How do,

WeChat Image_20171107210611

[Image: Let’s not forget past blues, Facebook]

Nige, oh Nige, I am sorry to hear you are no longer with us. I remember some time ago when you said you hadn’t long left, and we were sat chatting in your apartment that I rented from you. One thing about you, you were always genuine and loved a natter. Those brews and beers that went with the chat were great. Down to earth at the best of times and uplifting in the worst of times. After my Grandfather passed away, and then my other Grandfather passed away… you were there to talk with in dark hours. Between a tooth problem that I needed fixing, you helped me, despite having worries of your own. You seemingly always wanted to make others happier than yourself.

I loved the car journeys with Mike Wattsy, the other Nigel and many others up to the then City of Manchester Stadium, having met you through uni mates, who spotted a blue working at Aberystwyth. Those nights watching away games in the Pier, Kane’s or wherever we could find City on screen, and the odd game watched at Park Avenue, I could listen to your rants about football over-and-over again. The thing with us footy fans is, that we all know better. We’re a breed of coach that didn’t do our badges, and decided to experience the emotional ride. That ride was one where you let me use your seasoncard in the early days of the City of Manchester Stadium – and helped drive us to Thomas Cook Trophy games, League Cup games on a midweek night and a fair few away jaunts too. Eventually, you convinced me to move from the East Stand into the South Stand and I never regretted that move.

I always got the impression you were massively dedicated to many things. Family, friends and football. You roped me into a sponsored headshave at Headlines with Maria. After you moved in with Maria, you seemed so happy and your world had a glow to it. You supported each other so well. I’ve not seen many couples that close, ever! Your banter with opposition football fans was there, and the twinkle in your eye shined through. I was lucky enough to meet many great people through knowing you and had the pleasure of meeting your daughter ever so briefly, and other relatives. I offer my solace to all of Nige’s family, my love and my gratitude to Nige himself, for taking time to be a friend. Sadly, years away from Aberystwyth means friends grow apart, but catching up with Nige at the Etihad for brief moments was like seeing him only yesterday. I can still feel the growl of the red (why red?) Seat as he gunned the engine and headed us to Manchester via The Whistling Kettle for a fry up.

You even pushed me to join Penparcau F.C. when quite frankly I was ready to give up kicking a football. Training there was a memorable experience with Mike Gilbert, and Colin Bitchell. At that time, I knew I wasn’t good enough, but you said, “go and have fun in training.” So, I did. I had a few chances and bagged a few goals at the highest level I had ever played. Everyone needs a Nige in their life. That little gentle friendly shove and suddenly you feel at home, suddenly you feel you can do something extra and be that little bit better. Here’s to you Nige Carr Evans, your mates love you more than you will know…

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

On Andy Morrison, bee-ing 35 and diarrhea

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

On the 29th of October 1998, one man arrived at Manchester City F.C. He would go on to make a difference in ways unmatched by many since.

To set the scene, City were struggling, properly striving to continue running day to day. They had fell two flights of football, following Francis Lee stepping aside as Chairman for David Bernstein. Francis Lee had inherited a club in a dire state from Peter Swales. Franny “One Pen”, the former City forward presided over the club for a year and a half. Bernstein arrived with a vision of stabilising the sleeping giant of City. But, it wasn’t going to start smoothly. After seven seasons in the top flight, City petered out of the elite league, holding on for a 2-2 draw with Liverpool at Maine Road. On that day, it was firmly believed a draw was enough. City woefully dropped down to Division One. Coventry City and Southampton’s greater goal difference condemned City. The following season City finished midtable and then the major cracks began to show. Alan Ball, Steve Coppell (for 33 days), and Frank Clark  (with two other caretaker managers) featured as managers in a rollercoaster season. As City failed to bid for promotion, a second season in Division One loomed.

CITY DOWN

Frank Clark’s battle wasn’t helped, in inheriting 40 senior players on good contracts, he could not reduce the squad. He was often looked at a bad manager. Most of it wasn’t his fault. He hit the nail on the head, when speaking to the Sunday Times in August 1997, “Because we’ve got to fill the reserves with senior pros needing match practice or players we’re trying to sell, the youngsters’ development is held up.” The Sunday Times 6/1 favourites to win the Divison One title stumbled. A 63-year association with shirt-makers Umbro and a new crest didn’t help the feeling that City’s heartbeat was on life support. Even laser blue replaced sky blue. City loaned out numerous senior players and released many. Big Joe Royle came home to City as manager in spring. His signings Richard Jobson, Jamie Pollock, a little known Bermudan called Shaun Goater and Ian Bishop didn’t have enough to City from the drop to Division Two.

So, by October 1998, City had recorded just 5 wins from 15 games. Hardly promotion form. Their debut season in the third tier of football had began woefully. Players left in an exodus and Big Joe Royle signed Big Andy Morrison. And he was big. He didn’t have a slim typical football figure about him. He’d have been more at home on a rugby field, perhaps. But, one thing he did have was a pair of eyes that could be read. He did not want to lose a thing. Not a tackle. Not a game. His beady intense stare shone with heart and strength. A debut goal, after arriving on loan from Huddersfield Town, was only the start of something special.

city 99

Andy Morrison was a tackler, from the off, he loved to smash an opponent by putting his foot through the ball – and sometimes player. City paid just £80,000 for the centre half. Within a handful if games he had made the Captain’s armband his own. Three goals in just four games helped showcase his leadership and bravery. His tooth and claw attitude made him a cult player very quickly. With losses at York City (watched by a record crowd of almost every Mancunian on Earth), Lincoln City, Barnsley, and Stockport County in recent years, every game could have ended in defeat. Home games were just as dogged-ugly and a dismal mood seemed to swamp City like the insurers of Georgi Kinkladze’s Ferrari.

17 wins from 31 games, with just 4 defeats helped City to reach the play-off finals, by finishing third. City then drew at Wigan’s Springfield Road before Goater’s goal at Maine Road sealed a trip to Wembley. Having led City out against Gillingham in the Play Off Final, he was forced off with injury after 61 minutes. Local lad Michael Brown (still playing at Port Vale) also made way for Tony Vaughn and veteran Ian Bishop. The scores locked at 0-0 until 81 minutes passed, then Carl Asaba stabbed a knife into every City fans’ heart. All belief seemed to evaporate in that moment. Tony Pulis’s side went one better, six minutes later, with Bobby Taylor scoring the second goal. Surely it was over. How could City compete without their Captain? “Party time in Kent tonight” suddenly became in doubt as Dickov flicked the ball to Goater. Goater skipped through the centre of the Gillingham defence, but was upended and as he picked himself up tentatively, Super Kevin Horlock had rifled the ball into the net. His super left foot, stranding man of the match Vince Bartram. A few half-hopeful balls from Bishop, hooked into the defence; a misguided cross from Terry Cooke high over the crossbar; Gillingham playing the ball into touch at every opportunity – and the five added minutes of stoppage time seemed to be dwindliung away. City looked condemned to another year in Division Two. On 93:48 City’s Cooke, slid over the right-hand byline, chasing a seemingkly lost cause. Weaver played the ball back from his goalline, having seen the ball bobble all the way back to almost the corner flag. The throw-in fed back to Wiekens who lofted the ball upfield reaching a midfielder’s head for a flick on to a yellow and blue-striped hero. The Sky Sports commentators, “its not over until the final whistle…” as Goater received the ball, threading it beautifully out to Paul Dickov, who entered the box. His shot hit the net and the laser blue end of Wembley erupted. 94:09 showing on the clock. City went on to win on penalties with heroes from goal to the bench, to behind the scenes. All of this was possible because of a man at the back, who gave hope and was part of something special: City’s first true team in my lifetime. A City team with heart and belief. My first glimpse of that never say never attitude, that would come again in 2011/12. As Weaver runs around crazily, he runs into Andy Morrison had Morrison’s face is ecstatic. He deserved to lift that trophy – and become embedded deep in City folklore thereafter.

P1090329

My Dad mentions Mike Doyle and Gerry Gow as hard men in the game, that played at City. Since Andy Morrison, I’d only add Richard Dunne, Nigel De Jong and Pablo Zabaleta in there. Now, Andy is Manager at Welsh Premier League club Connah’s Quay – and remains close to City’s heart in his role as official Fan Ambassador of Manchester City. More importantly, every player that has followed can see his images, his videos and his passion. Whilst not always the cleanest player, he was certainly one of the most spirited, at a time when it would have been easy to collect wages and look for a bigger club. Bumping into BlueMoonRisingTV, Andy Morrison said, “play me with John Stones” and has always continued a down to earth relationship with City. I bumped into Andy after City’s win over QPR in May 2012, and he was happy to allow me a photo with him.

Morrison’s junior years at Southampton (alongside Le Tissier and Shearer) couldn’t deliver. He moved on to Plymouth, with six good years before leaving Peter Shilton’s team to Blackburn Rovers for a record fee. Colin Hendry (then Captain of Scotland), Henning Berg, David May, Patrick Berger, Ian Pearce, Kevin Moran etc stood in his way. His potential never had a chance. A move to Huddersfield followed and his off the field character shut a door. City called. The rest is as they say history. Back to back promotions at City allowed City to return to the Premier League. Nervous players suddenly found their calm nerve under the captaincy of Morrison. Maine Road’s gloom lifted-off and the excitement factor returned.

Between fights with Paulo Wanchope and licking Stan Collymore, several “clearing of the air” incidents added to Andy Morrison’s fearsome character. Professionally, Andy placed himself “in the top 1%” for training and professionalism. His off the field antics, ups, downs and lows are captured throughout his autobiography, The Good, the Mad and the Ugly – The Andy Morrison Story. Rather than slip off the rails and do bad, Morrison enlightens all on demons that many have lurking at the end of the bed. The warnings came time and time again. It made his character who he is, no doubt, and nobody with a sensible mind can argue, that fighters fight more with their minds, than their bodies. His battles with depression, finding new directions, money management and mental health can lead, as he did on the field. Hundreds of footballers have had chances, and many make it work – but few as well as the household names like Messi and Ronaldo, and ever fewer ride the storm to sail onwards like our Andy.

Speaking to CityTV’s Chappy, in November 2014, “It was just a very surreal feeling in the changing room afterwards and I was one of the last people to leave. I just felt, I just felt a fulfilment. You know that sacrifices made – that there was a reward for it.” To new fans joining City’s growing football family, I implore you to look at the story of City, in every corner, era and decade. Embrace our future – together with our history. Grasp the community and the folk who featured. It isn’t just cups and titles. City are much more than that.

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Oh, and yesterday, I turned 35 years of age. I didn’t party as such. I awoke. Having slept in late. The middle of the night diarrhea hadn’t gave me any motive to move much. The movements had been pretty-damn uncomfortable. Not only that, but the school’s apartment stank of shit from the off. A leaking waterpipe had meant not even a shower was possible. Thankfully I had somewhere to go and escape to, after waking up. After losing my voice on Tuesday, struggling through MC duties at school’s Dance Extravaganza and avoiding doing the YMCA the following night, I again took up MC duties on Thursday night. Almost every day I had a combination of a bad belly and headaches coupled with other niggling annoyances. Last Sunday night’s game of football may have been a win, for my new team Cool Breeze (Dongguan) F.C. but I came off the field needing rest. The trip to Hong Kong last week had hammered my immune system.

images

So, without breakfast in my belly (and the maximum allowance of anti-diarrhea tablets), a light snack and a wasted afternoon of napping, I headed to Dongcheng. There I met Ched, Mrs Ched, and Jodie. A quick stop at The Treehouse, around 6pm, for the Artisan’s market and an equally brief stop at Irene’s Bar’s extremely cool Halloween grotto followed. From there 10pm had arrived on the watch. Dark o’clock meant City were on the tele-box, so on arriving to Murray’s Irish Pub, that meant flicking the switch to on. Two hot-whiskey lemon drinks with cloves were needed. They sat well. They calmed an aching rumbling stomach. Two bowls of excellent chilli con carne at Irene’s Bar had been needed. The combination, pooled-together, simultaneously, at the same time, to settle my stomach. Following the footy, I watched the Mighty Orphans and the house band before eventually scattering for a reasonably-early night at 3am. Not bad for just two alcoholic beverages all night. Oh, and I dressed as a bee, but everyone Asian thought it was Pikachu from Pokémon. I do like the idea of someone drunk mistaking me for a short, chubby rodent on their night out. For photos, I refused to smile, unless the request had the word please. Hardly the scariest outfit of the night but I shocked a few people. This is perhaps the closest I have come to wearing a onesie. I am not having a midlife crisis.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Spatial awareness, cuddling goblins and common sense.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

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So, the first Friday of my return I met my students for the 2017/18 academic year. They are all grade one students. There seemed to be an age range from 6 to 7 years old. There are considerable differences in height and physique. Spoken English ability appears to very high, with only a limited vocabulary restricting conversations flowing with perfection. They are learning fast and have a great foundation.

I first met several students in the days leading up to Friday, whilst I was preparing the classroom. My students seem to have a range of normal names, not often witnessed in Chinese primary schools. Rain, Christie, Natalie, Lawson, and Evan are a few examples of ordinary names, for extraordinary students. Soffy, whose older sister Waffy, is an oddity of a name, however, her English ability is magnificent. I suspect the names relate to something that I am yet to understand.

Today was my 28th day of school. Many fine moments have been had, and many questions have formed along the short jouney to date. How far up a nose can a finger reach? If a student is hyperactive and responds to other positive stimulus, should they receive different treatment? How funny is a music teacher using a mobile phone to play music over a tiny megaphone device? In China those little portable voice amplifiers are the size of an old Sony Walkman. They will happily distort any old sound. They’re even partial to a bit of feedback that even the Gallagher Brothers would be proud of. How many potatoes are too many? Why do my textbooks and pens keep taking nightly tours away from the classroom? Which children’s books are the best?

One potato, two potatoes, three potatoes… it seems my stomach is the world’s biggest patting board, and if hitting my stomach was an Olympic sport, then China would secure gold. Desciptions of places beyond my stomach, such as my head have ranged from a big white cabbage to that of a potato. My legs have been described as a sack of mashed potatoes. It is great to know your students have learnt the word potato, and have a knowledge of how to cook said root vegetable. If I put on a jacket, they’ll no doubt call me a jacket potato.

So, on this day in 2005, I wrote an article for ATFC.org.uk. Today, I am reminded of it. It feels good knowing that ATFC.org.uk is running and supporting the football club Aberystwyth Town after 13 years. I think ATFCnews.co.uk ran for about 5 years and before that there were a few other dated websites. The team that run ATFC.org.uk are doing a fantastic job. Unlike the national team of Wales and their bid for the World Cup, the ATFC.org.uk team are well and truly in the ball.

“Caersws 5-1 ATFC – FAW Premier Cup Round 1, 11/10/05
Newyddion/News / Contact Report Author
Demolition Derby or Caersws Curse
Referee: Mr Whitby. Attendance: 182. Entertainment value: 1/5 stars.
An early goal always helps the side who scores. Aber had no such luck as Neville Thompson helped the Bluebirds to start brightly. The ball had not crossed into the Caersws half before Caersws had the lead. Poor concentration and a strong finish around Richard Morgan allowed Thompson to score. Within ten minutes Stuart Roberts sprinted clear to almost test ex-Taff’s Well shot-stopper David Jones. Jones had some luck as Roberts’ shot clipped the post and rebounded clear.
Aber lose track of striker Neville Thompson
Caersws liked scoring so much they did it again…
Did the scoreline flatter Caersws? Quite the opposite. Caersws made use of the ball, played some neat passes and made what they deserved. Goal number two came from Neil Mitchell. Mitchell added to his one WPL goal for this season. Maybe Aber could have had some attacks and split Caersws open? Caersws were solid at the back… and determined. Their determination gave Aber no time on the ball, and their sheer graft was an example of how hard-working football should be. Even at two nil up, they rolled their sleeves up and got dirty. They played fair football and did what they like to do best, in that of frustrating their neighbours.
Now nobody knows the importance of the derby game more than Sean Jehu, the veteran Caersws player marked the game with a goal after 40 minutes sending Aber in at half-time three goals down. Half-time: Caersws 3-0 ATFC. No nobody can argue that the Aber concentration has room for improvement because yet again Aber were caught wide open. Neville Thompson bagged his second of the game after 46 minutes. The striker paced through and upset the visiting team’s hope of a come-back.
…and again.
Coates looks to pressure the Bluebird defence.
Aber had one shot on target (what I think correctly as being their first on target) soon after the 4-0 mark. Substitute Glyndwr Hughes firing past debutee David Jones from a cross. Minutes later Mr Whitby and his assistant failed to spot Jason Rees’ shot cleared from inside the goal by Andy Thomas. Thomas was clearly shielded behind his keeper and another defender. The referee waved play on much to the disbelief of Aber. With under ten minutes to go Caersws’ Venables headed home to put the icing on the Bluebird fairy cake.
Tonight Aber were watched by Tomi Morgan (Friday looms for another Mid-Wales derby game) and Ken McKenna tonight (who is looking forward to a win at Treflan?). Interesting to see a warm cuppa is still served in cups at Caersws – delicious. Bari Morgan will likely be absent from the coming games due to severe bruising to his thigh. Glyndwr Hughes is shaking off his achilles injury.”

In some ways, I miss writing football reports and watching copious amounts of football. In other ways, I don’t. I like writing about variety and having made the decision to exit HubHao – I can safely say I need a new and local challenge, after a break since issue 27. There is a series of novels in the pipeline with provisional interest in the text from a few choice publishers. And something akin to being a textbook… The Very Hungry Caterpillar it is not.

I love how people often cross the road here, without stopping, looking and listening. Heck, drivers seem instinctive at entering flowing traffic without looking. Their yellow flashing lights are at no risk of a bulb blowing from overuse, or actual use for that matter. Today, m\ny students entering class with pull-along wheely backpacks. They turned up the aisles, and each one hit the first desk, dragging it out of position. I watched most students hit two to four desks in the process. The ones who managed to hit one desk, had a desk on the front row. Those who hit no desks, carried smaller backpacks. These backpacks are often too heavy to be hung on the students’ wooden chairs. Yet, they do. Throughout the day when seated, they are balanced out. When they stand, a seat upends. Despite demonstrations on how to steer around desks, place heavier bags away from unstable seats… it isn’t going so well.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

The Muppet Show 2017.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

It’s time to play the music, I fancy a spot of live music. Zhuhai-based band Sun Yat Sens are in town on a double header. It’s time to light the lights, both at Treehouse on Friday night and then at reportedly the best sound system in Dongguan, at One For The Road – Traditional English Pub.
It’s time to meet the Muppets on the Muppet Show tonight. Well, it should be. If I can find a few episodes and get chance to kick back and relax. It’s time to put on make up and design some more classes. It’s time to dress up right, using waterproofs and all manner of attire to prevent my body from resembling a swimming pool. It’s time to raise the curtain on the Muppet Show tonight…

Why do we always come here? A thought I always visit when it gets like this. I guess we’ll never know. It’s like a kind of torture when your mind hits that point, again and again, and you think that is the last time. To have to watch the show of life go on and on, with no clear instruction booklet, is a challenge and a half.

But now let’s get things started on North Korea. It would be very easy to say to China and South Korea, “Why don’t you get things started?” Some news reports say, “It’s time to get things started,” but they are usually American-based reports. In truth the Democratic Republic of North Korea, are messing with heavy shit. A nuclear test that triggers an earthquake on a scale of 6.3 is not to be pissed around with. The estimated blast is around ten-fold of Hiroshima’s 15 kilotonnes of painful destruction. The effects are still felt today. Besides, is it in the interest of China to unify Korea and allow the Americans a military presence bordering mainland China. Or, do they already have that in their perimeter with Russia? On the most sensational, inspirational, celebrational, muppetational dealings between Russia and Trump. This is what we call the Muppet Show.

The world needs less physical borders, more unity and more communication. China’s Xi Jinping opened a delegation in Xiamen (the BRICS summit (between Brazil, Russia, India and South Africa) just as North Korea rumbled the ground. Back in March, United States Secretary of State Rex Tillerson in Beijing met Xi Jinping, as North Korea successfully tested a rocket engine prototype. Fast forward two months as leaders gathered with Xi Jinping to showcase the capital’s One Belt One Road conference, rockets again stole the newspaper headlines. Maybe a a few memos or WeChat messages need pinging on. Perhaps, someone, somewhere in the land of vagueness, could hail a string of sentences to Pyongyang in support of nuclear research for energy to end the rolling-blackouts experienced by power shortages. A copy of Raymond Briggs’s When The Wind Blows wouldn’t go amiss too…

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Previously Now.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

SUMMER DAYS

In the week, I visited Dan and his tribe, I made my third consecutive visit to The Pantry, Parton as it is Dan’s most local of shops. I tell my mate I am going to see him and his family. It is all lies. I am there secretly for the delicious flapjacks and scones at The Pantry. That, or the slabs of chocolate delight. I will return one day soon. I guess I should call in at my mates again too…

For one night only, whilst watching comedian Ross Noble, with my brother Paul I headed to a village near to the cathedral city of York. Glamping is not something that has ever appealed, however, the wooden huts were surprisingly aesthetic, cosy and warm. The window allows great ventilation and the front door was perfect for the peaceful countryside nearby. The location was 10-15 minutes walk from Pocklington Station/Railway Station (now a converted leisure venue)/Aldi/Sainsburys – and a short skip from the glider airfield. The village is delightful and can be reached with ease from the X46/X36/747 buses from York and elsewhere. A barbecue area, great kitchen facilities and a simple yet effective shower block added to a strangely glamourous camping experience – without the hassle of camping. If I hadn’t have stayed with my spotty younger brother, I may have swayed to calling the location romantic. The owners at Wolds Glamping are not just friendly but clearly thoughtful in their bedding services, location of the six pods and ample groundspace nearby. Maybe, one day, I could take more than a night there…

Converesely, Dan and I did some actual camping, following on from our Morecambe Bay camp with the late Pete, and our North Wales camp with Adam, Pete, Steven and others. Whilst 2016, missed the now traditional pitch-in-the-wild due to Pete’s sad passing away, we will continue the fixture, which was accidentally skipped in 2014 as I was in China. So, with a supply of rum and whiskey we parked somewhere near Buttermere and hiked far and wide (in this case I am wide). In fact, we tried two sites but decided the watercourses and lay of the land to be unsuitable. Our chosen pitch was by a lake, overlooking beautiful forestry with the towering peak of ? behind us. The shadowy crag, coupled with blustering gales and driving drizzle added to the eerie ambience. After burning a tonne of forest debris on our camp fire, we buried the fire and drifted off to sleep, around about the time that the sun arose. I guess starting drinking and snacking, with stories of old, talking ideas and general natter around mid-afternoon wasn’t that bad. It is always great to catch up with your best friend. It is, as if, no time has been spent apart.

I intended to visit Gaint’s Causeway and ideally take my sister Astrid there for a short break. It wasn’t to be. However, summer did see me visit York, Pocklington village, Quarry Bank Mill, Cam and Dursley, Chepstow, Tintern, the International Birds of Prey Centre in Newant, Morecambe, Parton, Whitehaven, Kendal, South Lakes Safari Park, Ribblehead, Hyde, Lancaster, Bentham, Rotherham, Newport (South Wales), Brighton, Hove, Rotherdean, Shoreham-on-Sea, Arnside, Cardiff, Caerphilly, Caer, and various other parts of Cheshire, Lancashire and Manchester. My only complaint is that I didn’t get to see all my friends and family once again. Life has this nasty habit of being distracting and taking best laid plans apart. It happens.

OUR KID’S GAFF

Being home allowed me the chance to catch up with friends and family. A visit to Ace and Steph’s is always something to cherish. Not just to fuss their bounding bouncy cat Jake. A week spent down south with rhubarb crumble at least twice, trips to Chepstow Castle, Tintern Abbey, Dyrham Park and a few museums was most relaxing. Catching up with Ace’s father-in-law Pete was pleasing. Senior citizens and the older generation, not that Pete seems so old, is something I miss greatly. I feel I learn more from my elders in a moment than I do self-teaching in a month. Plus, for a Blackpool fan, Pete has a great sense of humour. Even, if he, Ace and Steph’s tribe enjoy the game of cricket.

I like catching up with our kid greatly, as he understands the family as much as I do. We might not always agree or disagree, but we certainly seem to make each other think, in between the games where Ace is cheating me out of pennies.

SHAUN OF THE DEAD

One thing for sure, is Christina, the second youngest of my siblings is working hard, doing something for herself to grow up and be a success. Having completed studies in Child Care, she is now embarking on studies towards a career in the uniformed services. I admire her ambition. However, my youngest sibling Shaun is wandering a gloomy path. He is very much growing into the Annakin Skywalker of Clan Acton. With his boyish good looks and his twinkling eyes, he should be utilising them to his credit. Instead, he has left home at Dad’s to live with his alcoholic mother. Whether she is still drinking, is a different matter, but stability she offers not. Also, is the alcoholic uncle still living there? Why was the first time I spotted Shaun and his mate in town so odd? Why did he look up to no good? Why can’t he think for himself? Why does he not go to college? What is his ambition? What will help him? Why didn’t he want to go the Manchester City versus Everton game? I offered to take him, wasted a bloody ticket for it too, and even just us two, and not Dad (as he could sit alone at the other end). But, he let his angry and aggressive mother talk, and couldn’t even look me in the eye. I hope he wakes up. Soon, he’ll be jobless, and with no solid roof over his head. Manchester has enough homeless. So, all summer, I’ve tried to see a brother who hasn’t tried once. It hurts. Shaun has a good heart. I can’t say the same for his common sense. But, I wish him well. Hope won’t help. He must do it for himself.

FOR EVERYTHING ELSE THERE IS MASTERCARD VISA?

Sandwiched from the dawn of the holiday to almost the end of the holiday, was a small task. It should have been a simple one. It wasn’t. “Submit your documents to the Chinese Embassy,” the school said. After weeks of pushing for my Non-Criminal Record certificate, I eventually received a Disclosure Scotland-issued certificate to say I had no criminal record. Step one complete.

So, with this and my University degree certificate, I attended Manchester China Town’s Visa and Document Handling Centre, twice. First mistake. It turns out they don’t deal with document validation. So, with the Manchester’s Chinese Consular’s address to hand, I trundled out past Manchester University into the area of Victoria Park. On arriving, I was told I must submit the documents to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office first, so that they can mark them as authentic. Online I went, filled in their forms as they said it should be. But first, I had to get my Disclosure Scotland form stamped as being witnessed by a solicitor, but without their company name on it. £10 (for two documents) lighter and later, I had this. I then submitted each piece to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (£30/each, so £60 for both, if I have my maths right). A week later they were returned. One was accepted and sporting a lovely legalisation slip. The Disclosure Scotland, however, did not. Previously, the solicitor had advised that hand-writing on it and stamping it with invalidate it. However, now the Foreign and Commonwealth Office had said it must be stamped and signed. So, a reluctant solicitor signed and stamped it, earning £5 for doing less than a minute’s work. With that the Foreign and Commonwealth Office earned themselves £30. To their credit, they had refunded the rejected document, less the price of postage before. After a further week, I waited and muc annoyance it arrived with me once more. I toodled off to the Chinese Consular, set in a great British detached house, amongst a tidy unassuming garden off Denison Road, Victoria Park. The red flag drooped in the Mancunian rain. The stars yellow and soggy. Far from home, yet still proudly overhead. On entering the cubicle-sized office, I joined a queue (not too dissimilar to ones witnessed across Dongguan) and waited my turn. Two photocopies of my passport (totalling a Great British Pound) and then I fast-tracked my submission at £30 a pop (my bank account now showing as £60 Felix Leiter) and away they went. They were returned within three days. I am now the owner of a legalised University certificate and Non-Criminal Disclosure form. Between which I managed trips to Morecambe, the Lake District, Gloucestershire and South Wales.

CURLY-WURLIES

Actually, I won’t write many things here. Sometimes, you can’t. Not because the words won’t spill out. They’ll plummet out like my bowels after a bad curry. It isn’t through shame or pain, just sometimes, somethings are for you to manage on your own and figure out. They may or may not concern others. The task of the brain is to sense, process and respond, with or without action or inaction. Experience like other perceptions are stored. My jetlagged mind is still dizzy and lagging time, like a webpage buffering slowly, and right now I have my emotions in check. Some things are filed under ‘Work in Progress’, others as ‘Out of My Control’ and some tucked away in a draw that refuses to close, called ‘What do I do?’ This is life. If it was easy, it’d be boring. If it was too simple, it wouldn’t be a challenge. Challenges make us stronger. For every great moment eating Curly-Wurlies with my Aunty Christine and talking to Uncle Ed about politics, there may be a thousand demands and stresses. If the simple life doesn’t want to call by, you don’t have to expect it. Just crack on, and do your best.

THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY OF LIFE – AND THAT’S YOUR OWN…

Getting Mum and Paul to accompany me to watch The Levellers was a good experience. It seemed they both enjoyed watching Billy Bragg, Dreadzone and The Waterboys support the main act. I acknowledge that they weren’t quite crowd-surfing or enjoying plush cushions at the Royal Exchange Theatre, but I hope it provided a little escape and leisure from every day life. Before being cross-examined about my favourite soup by a late-night reveller, my ears were treated to some of my favourite tunes from the album Levelling the Land. What a great it was, full of spirit and all things wonderful about my hometown Manchester – and the joys that music can bring. It was the only gig I had the pleasure of attending in eight weeks back. A few visits to the Manchester International Festival tent provided some glimpses into live music, but nothing too serious and time-filling. I joined the Manchester International Festival guided tour about the city’s revolutionary history and, also a town hall tour, a few days later, whilst visiting the unveiling of Phil Collin’s Engels statue in Tony Wilson Place. This last event, itself, having a Super Furry Animal ballad and some joyous artistry throughout the sequence, entitled Procession. Taking in Elizabeth Gaskell’s Plymouth Grove-based residence and exploring Quarry Bank Mill added to my connection with the history of my hometown. It is important not just to be passionate about where you come from, but where it can take it. Knowledge is great to share.

Oddly in pre-season, I only watched Hyde Utd F.C. host Connah’s Quay Nomads F.C. (where big Andy Morrison is manager). City’s game at Brighton was fun, followed by a stubborn Everton side battling out a draw at the Etihad Stadium. Between these ties I watched City U-21s at Rotherham Utd. F.C.’s swanky ASSEAL New York Stadium. Usually, I’d go out of my way to watch more games. Sadly, I did not. I also intended to watch some rugby league and ice-hockey. Again, this did not happen. There is always next time!

TYPHOON HATO

So, having woken Mum and Paul at Stupid O’clock, we hugged farewell and I checked in at the Etihad desk. Their kind and friendly staff instantly adding brightness to an hour where the sun was just about springing over the horizon. I boarded my flight with ease and flew to my interchange at Abu Dhabi International Airport. On arrival, it was noted that I had a minor seven-hour delay. A meal was offered for my troubles. I sought solice in a good book and put my feet up. Sleep was not an option.

On arriving in Hong Kong International Airport, I collected my 30kg of baggage and walked to the train station. From here, I changed twice before arriving at Hostel Casa, a stone’s throw from a subway exit in Tsim Tsa Tsui. I ate a light dinner, catching up with Ched (who was in H.K. for a Photoshop course) before eating gooseberry yogurts, from Marks & Spencers. Then I went to sleep in the cupboard-sized but cosy room. The whole time since arriving I had seen very few people. Earlier in the day the eye of Typhoon Hato had rolled over Hong Kong, before ploughing into Guangdong ruthlessly. Nature claimed several lives that day. The storm’s trail leaving totalled trees and clattered cladding across Hong Kong. Hong Kong Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China had issued Typhoon Warning Level 10, for the first time in over a decade. The warnings had immobilised people from going outside and probably saved countless lives. Similar warnings had been issued across Guangdong too.

With a visa arranged, two nights later, I sped, slowly, on a train from Hong Kong to Changping arriving on Friday the 25th of August 2017. My pick-up by Simon at the school was smooth and I immediately dropped things into my temporary dormitory…

ROOMS FIT FOR A KING

The dormitory has so far had a replacement fridge-freezer, fan and bedding. The shower and toilet are both in urgent need of repair. The western toilet and shower both have extremely high water-pressure. Two blasts have destroyed a shower head and a U-bend sealant! The room is quite warm and A.C. My-heartsaver has been working hard alongside a fan on the highest of near-typhoon strengths. Anyway, the plan is that the room is temporary and provided by school until I find somewhere-less-located-on-school-grounds.

DAY ONE

Standing at the gate around 7.30am for 50 minutes in blistered 32°C heat with humidity so high, wasn’t all bad. Excited new students rolled by for drop-off in high-end luxury cars, yellow school buses and the odd, lesser spotted two-wheel effort. Some skipped, merry and wide awake. Others appeared dozy and out-of-routine, with school beginning just today for most.

My new school, St. Lorraine’s Anglo-Chinese School, is attached to numerous English language programme, notably Cambridge University’s language courses. Mr Lam, the Principal, has been most-welcoming. His support and that of his right-hand man Simon has been clear and concise from day one. With Mandy overseeing the teachers, and Cici assisting me in class, the year ahead is ready to take-off. Up, up and away!

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Smart? Sea? View? Brighton?

So, I booked Smart Sea View Brighton, Brighton & Hove on Booking.com. It had 4.5/5 on that website. I’ve since seen reviews on Tripadvisor giving 2.5/5. Facebook’s new reviews system is equally low. So, here’s what I posted to all three.


The name Smart Sea View Brighton sounds bold. Does it promise sea? How is it smart? Brighton? Well, it is in Hove. I guess since Hove and Brighton, or Brighton and Hove became gay lovers, they hooked up and had a civil partnership and the City of Brighton was born. Hove is not as dominant. It happens in any relationship, I guess.


I arrived 1.30pm, joined a sizeable queue and was seen inside 30 minutes. The eastern-European ady was busy but polite, but even a smile would have made it more welcoming. Paid £1.50 for a extra locker (by the counter area) and went to the room. The room was basic. It looked like I was the first there. I left my coat on the bed, noticed no bedsheet or pillow case. Went to reception, asked for this. Was given this, with apologies by a big tall man (grey haired). Went back and prepared the bed. Left my rain jacket to mark it as being a bed taken. I was allocated room 118, bed 12. I then went and locked my valuables away.

I returned long before midnight, having enjoyed food and two (just two beers) following City’s game at Brighton and Hove Albion. It was a hot day, I’d been up since 4am with only 4 hours sleep the night before. I was due to meet my cousin the next morning. I was being, how shall we put it, sensible. I grabbed my things from the locker, and went to my room and bed. It had many belongings including a phone tucked under the pillow. I did not want to move it. I checked every other bed. All appeared taken. All had bags on them.

People drifted in, about 4 blokes, sound lads from Manchester, polite as anything and I was told their party of 9 had been split between several rooms. I couldn’t find a bed and they didn’t know of a spare bed or who had taken bed 12. So, I went to reception, a tattooed lady, went to my room and said I could use another bed. It had no sheet or duvet. It had a bag underneath it but not on it. I was tired. I tried to bunk there. After a little nattering, more people came back. I counted 16 bunks across 8 double units. From then until 3.30am, at least 30 different blokes entered the room. Each claiming to be in that dorm. At that time, I was exhausted and was in and out of sleep, disturbed constantly before about 4 or 5am when a tall-slim man, who worked there came in with two sheets of paper, he shone a torch into my eyes waking me from a troubled light sleep. I was startled. I almost reacted to defend myself, before he spoke and told everyone else that they should not be there before reading just two names. He said only two people should be in that room. My name was not on it. I shown him my paper. After some arguing he went away. From then until maybe 6am, people left because of the confusuion, and some muttered over-bookings. I checked out after sleeping from 8am to close to 10am. Shattered. I was supposed to meet my cousin in Shoreham by 9am. We met at 11.30am.

The room had a sagging ceiling, no toilet rolls in the holders either in the room or the two cubicles close to the room – at 11pm. The shower unit stank of toilet matter. The windows need to be covered to allow light to be blocked out. The breakfast is served from 8am to 9.30am, but due to that night, that was the only time I slept. Towels costs extra, which I don’t mind. Complaints are waved away and laughed off on departure. The whole hostel idea needs rethinking. I stayed in civilised and organised places where earthquakes and conflict have hit – and felt more welcome and safe. Opting to use my bag as a pillow and lay down in clothes was a choice, because frankly it needed it. I have itchy red patches where my skin had touched the bedding and my feet are sore from resting on the bars at the end of the beds (1.85m long) – and I am 1.94m tall. There are no doubt homeless people in Brighton enjoying better rest – and that says something.

A noodle unravelling in a pan of boiling water

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,


Continued…


Last Thursday I started writing this. I was at the time acutely aware you could be reading this on any of the other six days, or most likely, not at all. Print is dead, I hear. It feels like this last week has been tough. No money from two sources that should have paid up by now – and stupid requests to get what is owed. It feels like being taken for granted – and right before summer, where the money is precisionly planned to leave my account for good reasons.

Then, there is the visa nightmare. My CRB (now called Disclosure and Barring Service) application should take 14 days, it shows 23 online and there hasn’t been a reply by Disclosure Scotland, where I applied. I called them. It said on their number to check online. Online it says to call their customer services for problems. I tried that again. It said check online. Catch 22.

So, I fly to the U.K. with a signed contract, but no visa after 13th July 2017. The Foreign Expert Certificate expires on the 30th of August 2017. It will have to be sorted in Manchester or London. Exactly, what I did not want. I’m due back by the 23rd of August 2017. School starts on the 28th of August 2017. The race to return is under way…


Today, no students are at school, a typhoon (Merbok) threatened to impact the city. In fact, the day is grey with mostly calm skies. A few strong gusts last night did little, other than air the city. Better safe than sorry.

School wouldn’t let me make make a farewell speech. Instead, I plan to post this before I fly…


Dao Ming Foreign Language School has been part of my life since February 2014. I landed in a new culture, village and city not knowing how important Dao Ming would be in my life. It has been much, much more than a job. Dao Ming introduced me gently to Chinese cultures, ways of life harsh and poor, to strong and privileged. It opened my eyes to a fast-developing country and gifted me the chance of new friends. From the off, Principla Mr Wang, Bright and Miss Jiang guided me through the gates and allowed me the freedoms to teach oral English and culture. They embraced me from day one and pushed me to be better, despite my lack of singing, dancing and musical talent. To each, I say:

谢谢你给我很多建议.(Xièxie nǐ gěi wǒ hěnduō jiànyì.) Thank you for giving me so many suggestions.

There were days when the transition from a temperate climate to a sub-tropical range drained me. Adjustment took a rather long time. The team of P.E. teachers pushed me on, as did my first batch of foreign teaching colleagues in Esben, James, Liam and Bri. To each teacher that first semester:

当我消沉的时候,你鼓励了我。对此我十分感激。 (Dāng wǒ xiāochén de shíhòu, nǐ gǔlìle wǒ. Duì cǐ wǒ shífēn gǎnjī.) I really appreciate that you helped lift my spirits when I was feeling low.

My colleagues have worked tirelessly along the years and many have sadly moved on to other schools. Some to be closer to home, some to face new challenges and some due to artistic differences. The nature of education does that, but one thing that each and every teacher I have encountered throughout my time has had, is passion and a smile on a Monday morning. Not every Monday, but not far off it. To see each teacher so tired yet to passionate about making a difference, is in my eyes inspiring.

太感谢了(iài gǎn xiè le) So thankful.

In grades 5 this last year, I have worked with Alice, Orchid, Amy and Jack Armstrong. They have bubbled with enthusiasm and encouraged me despite our cultural differences, and our workload being far apart. They are the backbone of English at a most important stage of development. I have seen each teacher improve with every passing month.

万分感谢(wàn fēn gǎn xiè) Ten thousands percent (of) thankfulness.

In previous years, I have taught in Grade 6. Only Nancy now remains, from her once passionate and dedicated team. To her, I say thanks for the gift of remaining so positive and confident. It rubs off on others. She can inspire and lead.

谢谢你的礼物! (Xièxie nǐ de lǐwù!) Thank you for your gift!

In actuality, as it is, right now, I do not feel like writing anything and my ebb is out of flow, yet I know deep down in my heart, I need to express my gratitude for my time at Dao Ming Foreign Language School. It was an opportunity given to me by Worlda International Education. Jessie and Casey right at the start pushed me hard and fast from landing in Guangzhou’s airport to stepping off a sweaty coach in Houjie Square. Things moved quickly, almost like a blur and before long I was in my first class, alone – and in full control. You either sink or swim. I don’t believe I sank. I still believe I am learning to swim. Experience has led me, and instinctive calm supported me, but none of this would have been possible without Worlda presenting the opportunity and relations with Dao Ming Foreign Language School. Kimmie, and Mico have been very hands on, yet hands off in recent times, being there when needed and assisting me with the technicalities of working under foreign laws, rules and regulations.

Then there were colleagues such as Yolanda, Michael, Joy, Keith Tao, Chloe, Christine, Dan, Teresa, Ishit, David, Jessie Wang, Joanna, and Wendy who all assisted me in some shape or form. None will be forgotten. All played their part in this journey of sorts.

非常感谢你的帮助 (Fēicháng gǎnxiè nǐ de bāngzhù) Thank you very much for your help.

The students have always been a joy. Without them there would be no school. There would be no community built closely around the school. There could be no jokes about test and exams on a regular basis with vast descriptions of homework mountains. There surely would not be smiles in sunshine and delight at cooling rains as the harsh summer drains energies. There would be no requests for Acton’s Independent Sweet Store to re-open. To each student:

辛苦你了!(Máfán nǐ le!)   Thank you for your hard work!

真不知道该怎么谢你(zhēn bù zhī dào gāi zěn me xiè nǐ) I really don’t know how to thank you.

没有你我该怎么办 (méi yǒu nǐ wǒ gāi zěn me bàn) What would I do without you?!

To everyone, who has been lost, found, confused or clear in working alongside me, I want to say thank you. Please forgive me if I have confused you or even made your stay here blighted by any negative comments about humanity. This is me. I hope I cheered you on. If I didn’t, I certainly tried! To James, Liam, Esben, Bri, Mikkel, Liane, Andreas, Catherine, Emily, Micaela, Kira, Joe, Tess, Arvid, Jack, Beth, Analisa, Josie, Omar, and Alexis.

欠你一个人情 (qiàn nǐ yí gè rén qíng) I owe you one.

To all, I say:

非常感谢你 (fēi cháng gǎn xiè nǐ) thank you very much.

Have I finished in China?

没有没有,还差得远.(Méiyǒu méiyǒu, hái chà dé yuan.) No no, not at all. There is long way to go.

步步高昇 (bù bù gāoshēng): Onwards and upwards.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

“All change.” – Part One

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

 

So, on June the 16th 2017, I will leave Dao Ming Foreign Language School after 3.5 years teaching there. I am not allowed to make a farewell speech for fear of upsetting the students. I suspect it is more so that parents don’t get an incorrect message. It is a private school, afterall! I had requested the opportunity to say goodbye at the final flag-raising ceremony to which I was told, the ceremony is taken “very serious.” I guess departing and wanting to say thank you and good luck is not serious. I do feel a little more than disappointment. I am gutted. And, to confound that, I was told not to tell teachers and students. However, some students in Middle School already now. There is a fear in the school of overly-emotional students and mobbing for hugs. I suspect mostly, the fear of parents removing their students. So plans to abseil into the playground and announce in bright lights of my departure are on hold.

What next? I will free transfer to St. Lorraine Anglo-Chinese School. It isn’t religious. It just liked the name, so I gathered. They are Hong Kong-owned. They often have fencing, croquet and archery – what’s not to like?! They want a science-based English teacher. They work with schools from Wales (U.K.), Florida (U.S.), and the Gold Coast (Australia). Anyway, visa-permitting (I am awaiting – and chasing the CRB in the U.K.), that is where I should start on August the 28th.

Yesterday, I played 7-a-side football in 35°C heat, with humidity that gave it a real feel of 47-52°C. Our team, Houjie Murray’s FC lost three games on the bounce, losing the latter with no subs. We forefeited the fourth game due to pnly having 5 players. We started with 11. The Treehouse Invitational Cup was excellent but the weather was the winner.

To be continued…

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Cat Diaries – stolen from HubHao (kind of)

11th May 2017:

Have I been cat-napped? I say that because I’m going through a phase of culture shock. There I was minding my own business, knocking chopsticks around on the floor as if I was Lion Messi, and the next minute I’m in a cold barren apartment.

Where did it all begin? Well, I was stuffed into a dome-shaped box, barely big enough to swing a cat around in. I know, I tried. How do I know exactly? Well, I’m an Expat Cat. A British shorthair of upper class distinction. If you see H.R.H. The Queen has abandoned Corgi dogs one day and gone for a real animal, it’d be me, my kind. I’m practically a Duke. The Duke of Hengli. I’m on a diplomatic mission at the British-ish Embassy here is Dongguan. I can’t say who my Master Brewer is, but he lives in Hengli and manages a corner of the English aisle. I won’t say too much otherwise you’ll be a winner and guess where my Master Brewer is. The Master Brewer is from Hobbiton, in England. I’m not entirely sure why he is heading home, probably to have dinner with H.R.H. The Queen and the now retired Prince Philip. It’ll pave the way to my return to the U.K., no doubt.

Paws for thoughts?

Anyway, back to the here and now, and now and here. I’m in Houjie. My captive is a Sky-Blue Giant shiny-headed thing. I think he is human. I’m not so sure. He grunted and made weird noises when I put my paw in his mouth this morning. He also didn’t seem so keen to share a shower with me in the morning. The absurdity is that he went in without his fur on! The truth is that I shouldn’t have let him join me. Since we met yesterday evening, he buggered off with my Master Brewer and then returned without him. Either the Master Brewer is with H.R.H. The Queen now or Sky-Blue Giant has “put him in his pocket.” I use that phrase because whilst Sky-Blue Giant was sleeping, I heard him snoring and whispering the words, “Aaron, you’re in my pocket.” It seemed his gigantic pockets were the place to look for my Master Brewer. So, I snuck into his wardrobe. I’m good at opening sliding doors and latched doors. My secret is out now. I had a perusal of his pockets. No Master Brewer and no mystical Aaron, whoever or whatever that is.

Waking and sleeping

Sky-Blue Giant tucked himself in bed at 11pm. I believe that to have been most inconsiderate. I’d spent the previous two hours lounging around, checking out the comfy spots of my captor’s hideout. So, just as Sky-Blue Giant slipped into sleep, I checked between his toes, to see if there were any pockets. Not only did I find nothing, but I must have been a tad-heavy pawed and awoke the beast. After escaping his clasp and forced cuddles, I went on my way. I found some ordered paperwork of the Sky-Blue Giant. It made no sense so I rearranged it. Perhaps the pocket and my Master Brewer would be within. No such joy.

Today’s plan

My to do list today, is to make a to do list. I’m a cat. It took an awful lot of translation work via the good people of HubHao to get this far. Have you ever made a to do list, without opposable thumbs? I need someone to listen to me and translate the various purrs and meows perfectly. I also really want to climb the curtains…

 

12th May 2017:

Curiosity killed the cat, they say. Sorry to fool you. I’m a cat called Alexander the Great, that’s what I do… I play, play, play…

 

Day 2.

Still no word from Master Brewer. I’m not as hungry as I thought I would be. My captor, Sky-Blue Giant, has been slipping my sachets of Whiskas and some titbits from his meal last night. I do like a nibble on some fresh chicken. It seems I am also prone to a swipe of milk-covered Weetabix given the opportunity. To quote a great cat philosopher, “You snooze, you lose.” Master Brewer better be homeward bound sooner or later, but at this moment I am being fed reasonably well. Sadly, no lasagne, but times are tough being cat-napped, I tell you!

 

The gaol.

The prison, gaol and cell I am within is as far as I can tell, okay. There is a bedroom, a lounge, a kitchen with a secret door beyond it. The secret door is made of glass and doesn’t look so secret. Here a rain-making machine is housed and a small pool of blue water that Sky-Blue Giant won’t let me go near. It smells very clean indeed but he protects it like a deity. Between the rainmaker and the porcelain pool, there is a bowl where I can enjoy drips of cold freshwater. It seems a magical room, but certainly not secret. There are lengths of material hung from a rack. Or rather, there were, until yours truly decided to let gravity pull them down to earth.

 

It’s in the game.

Yawn. I was up late last night playing a game of FIFA (Feline International Football Association). I nutmegged the desk, slid a slide rule pass under the coffee table and chested one down onto a sleeping Sky-Blue Giant. For keepie-uppies, I kept him awake as much as I could. If Guangzhou R&F need a star striker, I have a mean meow that sounds like a car alarm in the early hours. I heard Sky-Blue Giant say something to the effect of, “Bleeding hell Mogwai, I’m trying to sleep, stop striking so well.” He should know my name is Alexander the Great, not Alexander Supertramp and certainly not Mogwai, whatever supposedly affectionate name that is!

 

Best foot forward.

I must admit to being unable to read and write. Please don’t think less of me for this. Illiteracy is a problem globally. Well, that said, so is literacy, judging by some other world problems. I’m thinking of enrolling in a forward thinking and international school to pick up some skills soon. I figured, I might as well because Master Brewer has left me here with Sky-Blue Giant and he can barely tie his shoe laces. Not that I can. However, I have developed a skill at shredding anything lace in format. Sky-Blue Giant’s shoes, for instance, are devoid of a pair of laces. Yes, my work.

 

Alex the Wonder Cat 3-0 Rubbish Bin

Honestly, I don’t know why he bothers? I upend the rubbish bin for a reason. The Sky-Blue Giant is clearly unware of why. He stands the rubbish bin up again and again. If only he could see why I knock it over! I am starting to think he is a fool or has an eyesight problem. Anyway, I need to stop dictating to my writer, because he’s only gone and stood the rubbish bin up again. That boys an idiot!

 

13th May 2017:

 

Hey there, “Meow”, greetings. I sacked my typist from yesterday. The title was supposed to read as The Fast & The Furrious 9 – a pun on the word fur but it wrong, and it actually resembled a real title. We had Vin Diesel call us and ask for the script. I’ve sent him two lines and some instructions for pouting. He’ll be alright. I included some polish for his abs.

 

As for Sky-Blue Giant, what an irritation he is, he comes in fussing me with those gammy-looking spade-sized hands. I worry that he hasn’t properly vetted the students at his school before he gives them a high five. Dog only knows what germs he is carrying before he touches my immaculate and flawlessly smooth fur.

 

There is still no sign of Master Brewer, but I heard Sky-Blue Giant say he landed in a far-flung land. This confirms my suspicion that he is indeed going to speak with H.R.H. The Queen about me replacing the corgi dogs – or at very least Prince Philip.

 

Last night, I assisted Sky-Blue Giant in retrieving his supply of straws, hidden here and there. I have positioned them all over the apartment-prison. I really enjoyed playing fetch with them last night. I didn’t get why a few teeth marks meant they had to be thrown in the rubbish bin. Whilst the rubbish bin has doubled up as a nemesis, it has failed to capture my precious straws. There are even some tucked under his duvet. Oh, how he’ll laugh when he rolls over in the night and find one tucked in his bottom-cheeks!

 

15th May 2017:

 

Meow. Wassup? Even in the cat world, Sunday is the day of rest. There was little need to write anything more than panic-stricken words about catching the WannaCry Virus. Thankfully, I remain uninfected. No need to do any panic urine marking and elimination habits on this occasion! Instead I’ll crack on with face rubbing the rubbish bin into submission and showing my body language to Sky-Blue Giant. I want my Master Brewer back. So much so, that 2am cat calls were needed. They were so load that even the neighbours awoke.

 

I’ve also found a new way into Sky-Blue Giant’s bed. He used to have a regular zip-up and close mosquito net. I’ve added some paw-sized ventilation holes and ensured going forward that the net has one zip less. I even tucked in another spare drinking straw. I did this after a spell of quivering my bottom and pouncing at Sky-Blue Giant as he slept. My captor deserves to be tested.

I’ve also discovered a lovely warm place to sit down, a laptop. It suits my higher-than-human body temperature. The keypad is a tad rough but the entertainment level isn’t bad. Cat videos are everywhere. I think Sky-Blue Giant is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to a ring of cat captors.

 

 

And the other thing about the internet, is he shares my photos everywhere. He never even asked my permission. Beware of my sinister green glowing tapetum lucidum. I like Sky-Blue Giant taking photos, I hope they spook him out before bedtime. Then, he’ll be softened up for my nightly swipes at his chunky toes.

 

Amongst my vocabulary there are many signals I pass on. Yet, Sky-Blue Giant meows back at me in the worst kind of way. My meows have meaning. His are utter gibberish. Proper offensive too. Whatever he is trying to say, I feel he is a fool. I wish Master Brewer was here. He’d sort him out with some proper language training. That said Sky-Blue Giant, with his 100 head hairs to my 130,000 per square inch is so inferior to me. He uses two wooden sticks to eat his food. I just use my mouth. The Plonker!

 

18th May 2017:

 

 

 

Hello there, it is me again, Alexander The Great, cat of the day, so to speak. Today, I am giving you the lowdown on some news sweeping the nation and globe. I’ve put down my differences with chasing the red laser and decided to help you get a clear and simple view of today’s breaking news. It is everywhere. Look here is a photo to show the world impact.

 

 

 

I for one, as a member of the cat family, do not like dogs so much. That being said, I do like a good old game of cat and dog chase. We’re like that. I’m the same with mice, but in that case, the mice usually end up as a gift for Master Brewer or a snack for myself. Not that I have ever seen a mouse! I’ve only seen one mouse on a documentary-drama about a clumsy cat called Tom and his problematic friend of a mouse called Jerry.

 

 

 

The problem of journalism, is like my meowing, what does it all mean? Where are the facts? It can be as hard as breaking through a mosquito-net at 4am in the morning to pounce on Sky-Blue Giant to wake him up. So, to help, here are some facts, followed by some questions, with answers. No speculation and no padding out for fun. I’m a busy cat, I have things to lick.

 

 


Dog Meat – The facts:

 

  • Nationally, it is illegal to sell dog meat for human consumption.
  • The Chinese Ministry of Agriculture have placed no quarantine procedures for the slaughtering of dogs.
  • Selling dog meat contravenes the Animal Epidemic Prevention Law.
  • Selling dog meat contravenes the Food Safety Law.
  • Eating dog meat (狗肉 gǒu ròu; fragrant meat 香肉 xiāng ròu; Earth mutton – 地羊 dì yáng) has been historically present for thousands of years within China, as far back as 500BCE.
  • Dog meat has been consumed in times of food scarcities, such as conflicts.

 

 

Why all the worry?

 

In recent times, many pet dogs have been dog-napped. Chinese Police have worked hard and have scored well-documented hits against illegal slaughterhouses. Chinese activists and friends, of pet dogs and cats too, have worked tirelessly with authorities to crack down on the trade of caged dogs and cats. In 2014, Police arrested and imprisoned 11 people for poisoning dogs and then selling the poisoned meat onwards.

 

 

Is this festival in the news a very old traditional affair?

 

Beginning on the 21st June 2009, less than a decade ago, the

Lychee and Dog Meat Festival (玉林荔枝狗肉节) started. It was started by local restaurants and the public. Not, as often mistakenly reported by foreign media, by the local municipal government. The festival lasts around 10 days.

 

 

Who has been helping to save the dogs and cats?

 

In 2015, one defender of the four-legged kind paid 7,000RMB for 100 dogs. This is a case replicated massively in the following year with news reports of thousands of dogs bought and rehomed. Also, Weibo (and globally on Twitter) net-based citizens cranked messages left, right and centre pushing to end the massacre of dogs and cats for food. The Chinese Minister of Agriculture has received a huge petition titled as per below:

 

“Do the humane thing by saying no to this festival and save the lives of countless dogs that will fall victim to this event – an event that will butcher, skin alive, beat to death etc. thousands of innocent dogs.”

 

 

 

Who are the Chinese Companion Animal Protection Network (CCAPN)?

 

They love pets. Who doesn’t?! They are made up of more than 40 societies. Their activities started up the road in Guangzhou, during 2006, and their movement has gained support nationally ever since. A local restaurant to the city, serving dog meat, since 1963 shut their doors in 2015. Others followed their lead.

 

 

 

 

Has anyone noticed animal rights are improving on China?

 

Jill Robinson, the 1998 founder of Animals Asia Foundation, was quoted as saying, “In many ways, the animal welfare movement in China is maturing far faster than it ever did in the West.”

 

 

 

In 2009, the Animal protection law of the People’s Republic of China came about. In recent years, celebrities such as Yao Ming (姚明) have supported a nationwide campaign to eradicate the illegal trade of rhinoceros horn and elephant tusks. Yao Ming is also an ambassador for elephant conservation. The Chinese government works closely with “Say No” Campaign with partners African Wildlife Foundation and WildAid.

 

 

 

​Many Chinese stars such as Jackie Chan and Lǐ Bīngbīng (李冰冰) have assisted too.

 

 

What could happen if someone eats dog meat?

 

The 2010 legislation included a measure to jail people for up to 15 days for eating dog meat.

 

 

Does dog or cat meat make you more fertile?

 

Torturing animals raises stress levels. Toxicity levels and harmful chemicals rise in the bloodstream. Good luck with that one. The meat has never been proven to taste better but has been shown to cause heart conditions in people… amongst a huge list of possible illnesses caused by dog consumption

 

 

So, there you have it, everything you needed to know

 

21st May 2017:

Meow.

 

I’m a cat. I cannot count. I’ve tried. Every time I look at my toes it is a reminder of all those red dots that have evaded me over the years. I also feel I am due a visit to my pedicurist. I keep swiping at various dangling things and Sky-Blue Giant knows it. Every now and then I catch a claw on some near-invisible netting. Ooooh the pain!

 

I’ve been munching on squishy meat in jelly and dry cereal since my captor removed me from the care of Master Brewer. I refused the fresh salmon offering Sky-Blue Giant put before me on principle. I have since weaved in and out of his legs in the hope of knocking down the giant. It worked for a bloke named Jack, star of the biopic, Jack and The Beanstalk, I think. If I don’t bring him down, I’ll hope that his sofa collapses as a result of my clawing at the material. The slow method may be my only hope.

 

With a view, from the door to this prison opening-up, I spotted a dog wandering by. The half-witted canine looked at me and yelped. He ran off. He could have at least assisted me in getting out of here. If it wasn’t for the super strong netting at the door, I’d be out. I watch the tony flies struggle in vain to find a hole in. What I need is a mouse to wander in, somehow. If I can pounce on it, decapitate it and show Sky-Blue Giant my capabilities. It’ll strike fear into his heart. He’ll sleep poorly and decide to release me. Oh, how I want to escape! Where are you Master Brewer?

 

Meow.

 

Alexander the Great

 

26th May 2017:

Meow.

Sky-Blue Giant is a sly one. Three days ago, Chinese scientists aboard the JiaoLong submersible accompanied by Xinhua journalist Liu Shiping, dived to 4,811 metres below the sea. I, Alexander the Great was whisked away in a basket last night. I could share sea stories about cramped conditions. As the scientists marvelled at “shooting stars” of Euphausiid plankton, I didn’t enjoy a ride in the back of a car. Those underwater explorers stared on at sweater, rocks and sea cucumbers. They enjoyed the company of a sponge and two starfish. I just had my tail and my mysterious second catnapper.

On arrival, I put my differences aside and embraced this Little Red Riding Hood of a catnapper. I suspect that Master Brewer will never return. He has probably left me for a younger kitten. If I catch that kitten, it’ll be despatched to the Mariana Trench. One way. Speaking of a good dinner. I hear American beef is making a return to China. Yes, after 13 years of absence, the U.S. Department of Agriculture said they are talking with China, and hoping have the first consignment over here by July the 16th… hey Little Red Riding Hood, fancy grabbing me a steak? Whilst China has written 117 pages as a wish list. I just demand the beef is tasty. This will add huge competition from Brazil and Australia for beef exports to China… my lips are firmly being licked.

Read more about beef at: https://www.agweb.com/article/china-writes-117-page-wish-list-for-us-trade-blmg/

Anyway, I have a new set of wardrobe doors to prize open. There are places I must flick my ping pong balls and laser lights to be caught. Today is a brief but important message. I’ll leave by sending a message to my new catnapper:

I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. If you are looking for cuddles, I can tell you I don’t have anything to hug. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long stay with Sky-Blue Giant. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let me go now, that’ll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don’t, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will scratch you when you sleep.

Meow.

Alexander the Great.

 

#PrayForManchester

Switching on my phone this morning, I rolled over and the messages started flashing up, “Sorry to hear of the news.” “Sorry about Manchester.” I counted them, ten messages but not one gave a clue about what had happened. I started to worry. I switched on the news via BBC’s website. A tear formed in my eye. A death toll and stark headline stared back at me. My family and friends are back home. I quickly established that my loved ones and friends were all safe. My sister Christina later told me she would pass Manchester Victoria station (next to, and above the M.E.N. Arena) on her way to Hopwood Hall College, Rochdale. Sadly, the targic news would mean that other families and friends would not have that same reassurance.

 

Manchester has always come together. My city has always been one of a multi-faith city,one full of strong philosophical mentalities and unity in eradicating hate. From the Manchester Village, to the Jewish communities to a vibrant diverse set of subcultures, from goths to Irish dancers to train-spotters, to sporadic parties of an epic scale. As a Mancunian overseas, a little love is needed to be shown, in any way possible. As an ambassador of my city, I must say don’t jump to conclusions, don’t hate and don’t let the cause of this atrocious event dictate how we live our lives, here, there or anywhere. No matter where we are Mancunians feel the love and support of the world. Miss Jiang, a senior teacher at my school, gave me her thoughts, for my home city, as I crossed the playground. These things matter. Love and respect ends differences. I may not be the Mayor of Manchester, a politician for my people or a superstar from the city where it apparently rains almost daily but I want you to know, Manchester has love for you.

 

Immediately, in the aftermath of the events, people donated blood, hotels opened their doors and soup kitchens supported Greater Manchester Police, the ambulance service and the fire brigade. Security staff at Manchester’s Arena could have been forgiven for fleeing. They did not. Mancunians never walk away from those in dire need. As blue flashing lights, sirens and helicopters skim overhead, my city is deeply in need of its people not to panic. Like attacks in Paris, Belgium, Boston and countless others, it wasn’t the first time and it will sadly not be the last.

 

Here at HubHao, Jodie Frain, our Content Manager is from north of Manchester, in a town called Rochdale. It is part of Greater Manchester. Manchester is often greater than its main city. It is a city mostly divided by red and blue football teams, but always comes together, and today more than ever. A city united today.

 

To celebrate the life of Manchester, I’d like to share some quotes with you. These sum up the spirit of the people of Manchester. The salt of the earth kind. We are strong and caring people, and community is at our core.

 

To my Mancunians, home and overseas, we are with you, no matter where we are. To those who want to be part of Manchester, we welcome you all. To those who have suffered loss, we show our condolences from the many people of Dongguan and beyond.

Facts about Manchester:

  • Marks and Spencer’s first opened a store in May 1894 in Manchester.
  • Emmeline Pankhurst, the leader of the Suffragette movement, was born andraised in Moss Side.
  • Manchester is the largest of the ten Greater Manchester Authorities with apopulation of almost 500,000 people.
  • More than 25 Nobel prize winners have come from Greater Manchester.
  • Greater Manchester has four professional orchestras.
  • Oldham was Sir Winston Churchill’s first parliamentary seat when he stood as a Liberal in 1900.
  • In Manchester, a Chip Barm is short for a Chip Barmcake, essentially hot potato chips on a bread roll.
  • Opened in 1761, the Bridgewater Canal was the first artificial waterwayfully independent of natural rivers.
  • Greater Manchester has the highest number of theatre seats per head of population outside of London.
  • Greater Manchester has six universities: the University of Manchester,Manchester Metropolitan University, the University of Salford, the University of Bolton, The University of Law and The University of Huddersfield Oldham Campus.
  • A car fuelled only by used coffee grounds made the trip from London to Manchester in 2010.
  • The 2004 remake of the film ‘Alfie’ was based in New York but some of the outside scenes were filmed in Manchester.
  • Greater Manchester county’s average annual rainfall is 806.6 millimetres compared to the UK average of 1,125 millimetres.
  • Oldham is the birthplace of the world’s first test tube baby, Louise Brown in 1978.
  • The Rochdale Pioneers opened the first Cooperative shop in Toad Lane in 1844.
  • Black Chew Head is the highest point in Greater Manchester.
  • Manchester has more than 500 licensed premises in the city centre which have the combined capacity of more than 250,000 visitors.
  • Wigan is home to the annual World Pie Eating Championship.
  • Stockport is home to the only dedicated hat museum and Edgeley Park football ground in Stockport is closer to the River Mersey than that of Liverpool’s Anfield.
  • Sir Robert Peel was from Ramsbottom in Bury. He was Prime Minister, founder of the Metropolitan Police and the Conservative Party.
  • The soap opera Coronation Street has been on TV continuously since 1960.
  • The world’s first railway station was built at Manchester in 1830.
  • Some well-known Manchester landmarks include: the Gothic style town hall, the Museum of Science and Industry and the Imperial War Museum North.
  • On 26 September 1916, Bolton was the target for one of the first aerial offensives in history. A Zeppelin of the Imperial German Navy, dropped 21 bombs on the town.
  • Manchester’s Arndale Centre, located in the heart of the city, is one of thelargest shopping centres in Europe. It has over 200 stores and attracts over 40 million visitors each year.
  • Two of the world’s most famous football clubs call Manchester their home – Manchester Utd. and Manchester City. Manchester Utd.’s nickname of the Red Devils was taken from a local rugby team who wore red shirts.
  • Manchester, it’s the British birthplace of vegetarianism. Look up Cowherdites.
  • Mamucium, Its Roman name meant “breast-shaped hill.”
  • The atom was first split in Manchester, in 1919.
  • Rolls-Royce Limited was created over a famous lunch in Manchester in 1904.
  • The first programmable computer was built in Manchester. The Small-Scale Experimental Machine, known as SSEM, or the “Baby”, was designed and built at The University of Manchester in 1948.
  • Manchester started the Industrial Revolution in July 1761.

Best laid plans.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

Arriving at school today early, to find that the school trip had been cancelled could have worried me. It did not. So often is the case with respects to being ill-informed or a lack of information, that I just do as Oasis say and “Roll with it.” Yesterday’s school trip for grades 1-4 went successfully. Today’s weather is forecast to be, as the meterologists may or may not put it, “Proper grim.” A tad moist, like a Greggs Steak melt. Glum faces of students seemed conceded to the fact of no school trip, and possibly one to be held back by bad weather for some time.

In stark contract at Monday morning’s meet and greet around 7am, bubbly bright things bouned through the school gates. The odd student sporting sporting pink visors, and other wearing their best summer hats. Smiles replaced the usual Monday morning tired and weary expressions. Hellos were shouted in full voice and with venom. Excitement bubbled up as the convoy of coaches pulled into the school grounds. Each would cart a class to Foshan and a mysterious day out.

Whilst yesterday’s students and teachers enjoyed a fun day trip, today we are on a regular timetable. Sadly, mock exams have been slapped into place over my two morning classes in grade 5. My season-based class will have to wait. It can debut tomorrow. Today, all I have is the football VIP class in period 7 at 4pm. Should the expected storm arrive by noon, that could be washed off too. We shall see. Like I tell my students in football, “Stay on your toes!”

With respect to Plan E, having scuttled Plans A through to D, I have interviews lined up for jobs in ChangPing, Shenzhen and Guangzhou. The jobs vary from teaching in Dongguan to working between Blighty and China in various trades. That is on top of Plan A, not completely scuttled, just trimmed to work in alongside all else. Such is life. Best laid plans…

This weekend the UCI Track Cycling World Championships are in Hong Kong. I should be there. I have wanted to write more of late, but find life to be quite a distracting affair. Too many shony lights make my feline paw reach to swat the glimmering reflections. Before I get distracted again, here are my recent additions to HubHao:

In Brief – Track Cycling World Championships

Happy Birthday Ched!

No doubt over the last two years, you will have seen many wonderful, meaningful and happy snaps. A large proportion are down to one man. HubHao wishes Ched a happy…

Teaching with Tofu – Tips For The Classroom #5

Teaching can be rewarding, right? Teaching can be amazing, do you concur? Teaching is never easy, agree? Teaching is plain-sailing, sometimes? Writer John Acton adds a…

In Brief – Tomb Sweeping Day

Life is wonderful and remembering those no longer with us is part of life. Today is tomorrow’s yesterday. Today is the right time to remember the luck and fortune that…

Bar Review – The Ship (Houjie)

HubHao recently enjoyed a ship-shape outing to The Ship in Houjie. Fish and chips, beef wraps, and a full English Breakfast was had by all. Writer John Acton scribbles…

In Brief – Cabin Restrictions

As reported across many media outlets today (22nd March 2017) there are some important security notices – and we don’t want you to be caught out! “Electronic devices…

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye