Teacher Tales











































Animal Tonic- 19-01-25


I should be off to bed. That would be the sensible thing. It is pushing on towards 11.00pm and I have had a full and interesting day. In fact- if you can hang around I will drop into listing-  5 kilometre run, a visit to a farm land called Rabbit Funland (more on that story later) beers at the Brewhouse, shopping, swimming, spag bol at friends, reading the first few chapters of my first Salman Rushdie novel, written a poem entitled ‘Street Lamp’ and now listening to the wonderful Jacqueline Du Pre playing the mesmerising Dvorak cello concerto. Amazing what you can get done when you don’t have planning for lessons to do. Thankfully, the students are on residentials this week and for the first time in a long time, I am not on one of them. Yay! I can now have an easy week. 


Last week was toughish as I had an interview for the role of Director of Studies, which is basically Deputy Head by a different name. There were two internal and two external candidates and it was finished by the close of play on Friday. As of yet (Sunday evening) I haven’t heard which is probably a bad sign. I assume it has gone to one of the externals but you never know. I, in truth, am not desperate for the job but the competitive part of me wanted to prove to myself that I was the best candidate. I was pleased with my performance although my answers to the staff panel were certainly full of waffle. The questions were very odd, for sure. 


Strangely, next week, I am interviewing people again, which is something I did a lot of last year although sometimes this is as difficult as being interviewed. Other than that, this is a week that I feel I can get a lot done, so fingers crossed that no-one throws a curve ball into the mix.


Now then- the Rabbit Funland: this place is only 10 kilometres from us so it is a little odd that we haven’t been yet, what with there being very little to do around Mantin. I suppose if we had little children we would have visited some time ago. Like many places such as this in Malaysia, there was a dilapidated look and a desperate need for a lick or two of paint, almost everywhere. In terms of animals there were deer, goats, sheep, an ostrich, geese and even a camel (though it was the saddest looking camel I have ever seen). In truth, though some of the deer roamed free, the animals in cages were cramped and many were living deep in their own faeces. It made me sad and annoyed. We bought some food for the animals and they were certainly keen to eat it, with one horse looking like it hadn't eaten in quite some time. 


The rabbit portion of the park highlighted the misnomer ‘Rabbit Funland’. We saw about 7 or 8 of them in what was called the Rabbit Garden, although there was no greenery and was more like a rabbit prison. However, these inmates were the lucky ones as beyond this concrete cell and where staff were only allowed, stretching out as far as we could see there were long cages crammed full of rabbits- sort of battery chicken but rabbits so ‘Battery rabbits?’ I hae no idea why they had them. There might have been over a thousand rabbits but no-one could see them except for at a long distance. Maybe they sell them or eat them. I don’t know but as I say, the park was a misnomer as there was very, very little fun to be had for those poor animals.


This was the second animal experience we have had in a week as last Tuesday we had a day off for the King’s birthday and so we drove into Kuala Lumpur to visit the Bird Park and Butterfly sanctuary. The bird park purports to be the biggest in the world. I find that a little hard to believe but it was impressive enough with a good range of birds, both small and big and very exotic. Rachel and I enjoyed the wander, though heat and thankfully there was plenty of shade. My favourite birds were the emus and the ostriches as they remind me so much of dinosaurs (well, remind is an odd word as I wasn’t around during the dinosaur period, of course, but you know what I mean). However, special mention must be made for the peacock, who displayed all its amazing plummage and danced like there was no tomorrow, shaking its booty like Beyonce and yet was still ignored by all of the peahens.


Later we drove to the butterfly park after enjoying a picnic in a beautiful green space. The butterfly park had many butterflies although they didn’t land on us like the ones in Stratford or even the Cameron highlands. In fact, perhaps more impressive than the butterflies were the gardens: stunning water features and levelled gardens with cleverly positioned seating areas. I could have stayed there for a long time.


All in all, a good day and a decent week with some animals providing a tonic from the day to day routine. One more week, then it is Chinese New Year and we can head off to Vietnam and this time, with everything crossed, they might let us board the plane to Da Nang.






























Is it be Better to Stay in Duloc? 11-01-2025


Week 1 of the new academic year is complete and I am already emotionally drained having spent much of my time either in Duloc or Shrek’s swamp. 


Sometimes,  I feel so discombobulated that I’m not sure where I am or what to do next. Rach has settled back to work after her stresses on the plane but the process has been less than easy with work not allowing her to come back until she had seen a specialist, despite seeing one in Belgium. Cue- a nearly 2 and a half hour traffic-jam-of-a-ride to Sunway hospital- a place that looks more like a hotel than a hospital. A number of hours later and after a chat with another doctor whose kids we teach, we left with the required documentation.


Work has left me a little disorientated as well as drained, with Shrek rehearsals now in full swing- managing nearly 60 kids and several teachers- and with my colleague getting Covid and ringing me the night before to ask if I can run the training session the next day and with me applying for a promotion that I realise several of my friends and colleagues have applied for too. Then there is the weather adjustment, (though it is bitterly cold now in the UK so this one is a good one), the return to training five days a week; the switch to not seeing family all the time after a Christmas which included two massive Christmas meals and much frivolity, and, of course, dealing with the emotions of Pete’s loss, which though a few months ago, still resonates along with the general sense that we both have an uncertain future- here in Malaysia? Somewhere else? Back to the UK? Though, in fairness, I suppose nothing is ever certain anyway! In truth, though I don't get that tingle that Christmas used to give me in my less mature days, I have to admit it was nice to drink, be merry and to open some presents. It has been a while.


I continue to be frustrated with idiots online and have tried, though not hard enough, to wean myself off or away from  these sites about religious doctrine, the politics of left and right, the abortion debate or ignorant diatribe about immigration. I want to resist the temptation to tell an American Trump supporter that they are an idiot or to compose a pithy put down to some moron who has almost certainly never read a book or indeed anything save the Daily Mail. Yet, the scrolling is addictive and I am an addict (I know people who are a lot worse). Early in the week, I deliberately lay down on the sofa to listen to Hymnus Paradisi by Herbert Howells. It is wonderfully constructed choral music and can tear your heart out in places but it still took me a long time to relax, truly just give myself to the task of listening without any other thought or desire to do something, be busy, or allow myself to be distracted. I did it though and eventually, begrudgingly loved it. 


First they made it impossible for us to be bored, ever, and then they made us addicted to information- mostly inaccurate or untrustworthy information. Now, another erroneous layer to the tapestry of discombobulation has been weaved into the fabric of society- Artificial intelligence. Now we cannot, if we ever could, trust anything. Images can be fake; voices can be used, even if that person never said the words and now, with the algorithm madness that makes so many people lots of money, the drive for stories simply provides more motivation for the entrepreneurial liars to be increasingly creative. 


Sometimes, when I am in rehearsals for Shrek and when the dancers are poised to bound around inside the lurid sparkle of Dreamworks’ creation Duloc, I wonder whether it might be better to stay there drinking with Farquad in his ever so tall castle. 

























Christmas- it's all right, I suppose- 22-12-24

Why always Wetherspoons? 

Here I am again- just minutes from my parent’s house in fairly dismal lighting, surrounded by a host of rough uns (I know I sound pompous) talking about fighting and choking folk or a sparkle of chaps, all wearing silly Christmas jumpers or fat folk scoffing massive plates of chips. Yet, in truth, despite the fact that almost very pub in Loughborough is more appealing, the beer is cheap and I mean, really cheap and that is what draws us all back and back again. 


I must look strange and I have certainly received some very curious looks. If I am honest, I do look odd, with my pink shorts on (it is absolutely freezing outside) and my 'pineapples wearing sunglasses', short sleeved shirt on and my Surface pro like some high end executive. 


I am certainly missing the hot weather; not least because my clothes are wholly inappropriate for this time of year in the UK, save my Tibshelf school leavers' hoody which is apparently ten years old now. I have had good use out of that for sure. I have just returned from a little wander around the windy, drizzly town, picking up a few trinkets for Rachel, who I think certainly deserves some joy this Christmas and I feel a duty to treat her. I don’t do it enough.


Yesterday, we finally set her father Pete to rest, sprinkling or, in truth, dumping, his ashes (they were very heavy) at the Mountsorrel railway- a place he volunteered at for years. The experience was surreal but very appropriate, given his lifelong passion for trains and his love of local Charnwood. It was important for Rachel to have Georgia and Kyle with us and we were all a comfort to each other. A drink and a meal in one of Pete’s favourite local pubs, The Otter, afterwards, was the perfect closure and I think Rachel and indeed all of us, did him proud. 


Christmas will feel strange this year, without him, particularly for Rachel, although Christmas has been a strange time of year for me for a while. It was once, the pinnacle of the year- the most exciting moment and yet now, it really is just another day. I know I will enjoy the grub (2 Christmas dinners this year) and the company but the strange hold it had over me or rather the appeal, is no longer there. In fact, my mind is already meandering towards work (sad I know) and the challenges ahead for 2025. 


The next challenge, however, is what to cook for tonight’s dinner.


























Uber Shit- 16-12-24

Let us start with Uber- that taxi app that led the world in a revolution against the old school taxi rank. ‘Uber’= meaning ‘over’ and presuming ‘above’ others and now akin, in modern lexicon, to the ultimate, better than the best! Promising quite some return, I was comfortable using Uber whilst in Bruxelles and though very expensive indeed, it was initially, at least reliable. Then a day before our trip from Bruxelles to Manchester, I pre-book an Uber for an airport run.  I was surprised that they don’t give you the name of the driver until later (which they did) or the car and registration until between 30 and 5 minutes before the pick up. The reason this shocked me was that other taxi apps I had used in different parts of the world always give the details and Grab even guarantees the lift. Yet, I thought this was Uber- the best! 


I completed my due diligence and tried to ignore my default cynicism: all would be well. 


8.13 arrives, nerves are jangling, cases primed and ready to go and ‘ding’, the message comes through, popping up on to my phone- a cyber angel- Toyota corolla and a registration. I just had to have faith. That’s all. 1 minute passed. 1 minute of relief, as we started to seize the cases and head for the exit to the street. ‘Ping’- another notification. This one asking me if I enjoyed the ride and encouraging me to give my driver a star rating. I was perplexed and then incensed- they had taken my money and said the ride was over and I hadn’t even left the apartment. 


So began the morning of our return to the UK for the Christmas holidays. 


It has been an Uber shit time. No question. And it came reigning down upon us from the moment we left Kuala Lumpur. Rachel was feeling anxious and being sick and we had an 11 and a half hour flight ahead. This is, of course, bad enough but 3 and half hours from landing, Rach, who had continued to feel unwell suddenly let out a scream which was like a banshee, or dark witch; high-pitched, malevolent sounding and which signalled that she was having a seizure. It was so scary and the cabin crew called out for a doctor on board. 15 minutes or so passed and Rach had come around. The Captain came out to see her and we considered reverting to another airport but sadly we were zooming around above the somewhat volatile and unpredictable land of Iraq. We pushed on. 


After more shenanigans at the airport, Rach decided she wanted to move on to Bruxelles. I was exceptionally nervous and was, to be frank, surprised they would even let her fly. Yet fly she did and this time, we managed to land without incident. The incident kindly hid itself away until just after we landed. Rachel sat on a buggy they had laid on and within seconds of sitting down, had a second seizure- this time biting her tongue so hard that there was a considerable amount of blood. The airport staff appeared non-plussed and were at best useless, at worst cruel. They simply stood around, as I screamed at them to get some help.


Moments later, we were in an ambulance on our way to a hospital, a few kilometres from the airport. From here, the shitstorm got heavier. Sure, Rach was in the right place and was safe, which was the most important thing but our cases were at the airport. I booked an Uber (almost 30 euros for about ten kilometres) to take me back to arrivals, only to find that almost all the customer help desks were now closed as it was after midnight. I was exhausted, thoroughly jetlagged, recovering from trauma and riddled with anxiety. 


After a near argument with an armed belgian police officer, and some desperate tears unleashed upon some rotund chap with a lanyard on and who I presume worked at the airport, I managed to find my way back to the carousel area and some time later, I had both of our cases. 


Yet the Uber shit was not done yet. 


Leaving the airport was quite a shock. It was nearly 1.00am but there were perhaps 300 people or more standing in a queue for the airport taxis. Maybe the most people I had ever seen in a taxi rank queue and though the queue was moving quickly, it wasn’t moving quickly enough. I decided, and in hindsight, somewhat stupidly, to try and book an Uber. The Uber pick up was at level 3, so I left the taxi rank and headed up. There were several others who had clearly had the same idea but, and I don’t know why, they were having far more success with their bookings than I was. My screen just spun  and spun and spun as the taxi rank queue downstairs became shorter and shorter. I finally netted a driver but he escaped by asking me to cancel as he was too far away and after 20 minutes or so, I steeled myself to go and join the snaking line. 


Unfortunately, as I left the lift at ground floor level, I was met with what was now an even longer queue- perhaps 500. I wasn’t dressed for the cold either but standing in line was the only option and it took almost 90 minutes to finally get a taxi, which whisked me back to the hospital. A slight silver lining in the cloud was offered by the young doctor who spoke to Rach and I to confirm that Rach had had an epileptic fit but that Kepra (a drug specifically for epileptics) was available and that, if Rach took it twice a day everyday, all would be well. 


I decided to try and find the ‘digs’ so booked, you guessed it, another Uber- 30 euros again! 


It was raining outside by now and the local area was full of drunks and smelt faintly of piss. The taxi had dropped me exactly where the pin on the map was positioned and I was obviously disappointed when I found, what I thought was the apartment but discovered it wasn’t. I walked up and down the street on both sides, several times and pondered my next move as the charge on my phone seemed to disappear at a rapid rate. 


With 20 percent left and with increasingly failed attempts to find, or contact the apartment, I booked another Uber to take me back to the hospital (another 30 euros). The nurse wasn’t happy as she said Rach was sleeping. Good for her! I thought. I begged my way to a single chair in the corner of Rachel’s room and semi-slept here. I was uber tired, uber frustrated and the day had been uber shit!




































Staying Power- 21-11-24


It is a hard thing, balancing training and losing weight with the borderline dependency I have on alcohol. I am so proud of how well I have stuck to my regime of running, swimming and cycling and the self-discipline I have maintained and yet, I have conversely shown no discipline, in terms of alcohol reduction. Is it too much to do both at the same time? Is it the wonderful Malaysian heat that leads me inevitably to the pub? Or am I just pathetic?


Whatever the answer is, I have managed to lose about seven kilograms and I feel healthier, fitter and more alert which is great. Yet I am sitting in he pub drinking beer and blogging, wondering why I am unraveling all of the hard work I have put in. I guess it is all about the yin and the yang, as always. 


It’s been a stressful time of late with some lovely moments but most of my free time has been spent thinking about Rachel’s passport. Somewhat shockingly, considering all of my previous interactions with British government based institutions, Rachels’s passport arrived in two weeks, well before the expected timeframe shared on the website- a first, in my experience. So we were super excited that all of our December travel plans were well and truly back on and yet now…now, we are at the behest of the Malaysian system which is unpredictable, at best. Now, Rachel needs to have her visa, which has already been granted, re printed with her new passport number on it. Surely, a change of number and a reprint would be appropriate? No. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Brimming over with wrongness. To change a number on a form, Rachel needed to visit the police station for a couple of hours, wait for her old passport to arrive (again, surprisingly promptly) from the UK and then hand it over to immigration for an indeterminate time period, making the planning of trips, the booking of flights or the meet ups with relatives almost impossible. 


So we wait. We stress. We wait. We stress. We worry and we worry and I train and drink beer, train and drink beer, in equal measure.  


This week our lovely students are performing Hansel and Gretel and what an odd show it is- a cauldron of skeletons, fluffy cuddly bears, puppet ravens, bunny rabbits, pots and pans, starfruit and mangoes and industrial scaffolding- throw in a witch, a strangely incongruent bicycle, loads of ivy, a giant cake and Wicker man style percussionists and you might start to get a picture of what the hell is going down. All the vision of our new Head of Expressive Arts and I am looking forward to watching the final result.


Aside from all the arts and the like, and the stress over passports, life has been ticking along well enough and in two weeks time, I head to Java to finally see Borobudur. It will be my first solo trip for a while and I am really excited about it. In the meantime, I will try to hang in for one more week and see how the wind blows. Let’s hope when it does, that it blows Rachel’s passport into our grateful clutches.












































Mood is A Funny Animal-  09-11-24

Mood is a funny animal. Just over a week ago, I was fuming, annoyed and then depressed, as if the world was falling apart, in fact. I had been waiting for a break for ten weeks and, given the terrible events we endured this summer, we were both super ready for a brief change of scenery, new culture and a different look at a different world. I had been looking forward to the trip to Hoi An in Vietnam so much that I could almost taste it. I had read up on the place, smiled with wide eyes of giddy excitement at the Youtube travelogues that seem to be popping up all over the place these days; even worked out all the places we would visits, the suits and dresses we were going to have made and so you can imagine that when the jobsworth at Air Asia wouldn’t let us board the plane, I was in a very dark mood indeed.


The reason: were we finally discovered for being international assassins? Were we carrying illegal substances, planning to blow the plane up or some such James Bondesque excitement.


No. Of course not!.


The problem?


Rachel had spit a little water on her passport. In Macbeth, the Lady of that name stated ‘a little water clears us of this deed’ but that is not my experience. A little water stopped us going on holiday. A few drops in fact.


So am I just being moody and belligerent; not accepting of rules or complaining about others when the fault lay with us? Or Rachel to be more precise- although we come as package, of course. Once again- absolutely not!


We waltzed through Malaysian customs with the ease we expected to, as Rachel’s passport was almost entirely undamaged. The biometric worked, the photo was unaffected, the signature clear and unblurred and the numbers all visible. If I was hyper critical, I would have to admit that some of the ink stamps from three or four years ago to places like Uzbekistan or Georgia were slightly and I mean, slightly blurred. It was no surprise therefore that we were able to pass through customs without difficulty. We also passed the boarding guards at the gate but on this occasion there was a second and unfortunately for us, pivotal second checker who smiled and even laughed when she asked Rach (perhaps twenty metres from the aircraft doors by the way) what had happened to her passport.


Oddly and I do wonder how often this has happened, two Australian chaps came soon after us and were stopped for the same reason although one of them had put their passport in the washing machine so it was slightly different. So what wound me up the most- the disappointment, the pettiness, the lack of control?


No- it was the jobsworth supervisor’s attitude. 


I asked what was happening and was told to wait. No answer, no explanation. No, “ sorry sir, this must be stressful but we have to check with Da Nang airport as they are very strict. We will do all we can”. Nope. Just a finger held up to shut me up. A young lad, perhaps twenty seven, twenty eight, holding his finger up to halt my words. I could have punched him but the armed security guard nearby might have taken a dim view of that, so I kept my cool, whilst internally, I was volcanic.


Then, the shake of the head, not to me but to his colleagues, which meant we couldn’t fly. The disbelief and anger was usurped by deflation, sadness and depression as we slumped on chairs nearby wondering what we would do now. 


So, why is mood a funny animal? I guess it is its transience: a day or so later we were both on cloud 9, supping passion fruit margaritas and crunching down on the finest churros at Mamasita’s in Melaka. The mood dissipated and morphed into fun and laughter. It was a buzz and this time we visited a modern but pretty Chinese Mosque, the Botanic gardens and the sculptures of dinosaurs, the Melaka sultanate museum, the museum of the great admiral, Zheng He and even a lake where we drove some electric boats.  All new to us and now that the joyful mood had returned and as we await DHL’s visit with Rachel’s passport, I am able to lift my head up and dream good thoughts about the upcoming trip to Cochi and then home, to see my wonderful family. The New Year excursion to Vienna is back on too and there is bowing of violins flowing through my veins. 


Let the good times roll; let the mood stay positive. 


Tonight it is junior talent time at school and we only have three weeks to go. I have even planned a solo trip to Java to see Borobudur. It’s been a while since I travelled alone. Next week looks like it will be a challenge, as we are auditioning for Shrek the musical and with the success of Oliver, last year, the take up for auditions has doubled. I am 5 parts excited and 5 parts terrified. About par for the course.


I wrote ‘curse’ for a moment. I hope that isn’t a bad omen.






































Squealing Tyres and Tornadoes- 27-10-24


There was the screech of tyres; the promise of danger and the rumble of wheels on tarmac yesterday. It must have been almost two decades since I last experienced Go-karting and, in truth, I was anxious about stepping into the vehicle but here we were and there was no choice but to step into the fear. It was our friend Tom’s birthday and he, in fairness, was very good. 


I remember going with my old friend Mr Bev (who was also very good) and not being particularly skillful behind the wheel, and I suspected that it was unlikely that I had made any major improvemet: being old now.  I expected more fear, more frailty and a worse outcome.


The opening ten minutes of practice confirmed my fears as I finished 6th out of 6 and was about three seconds behind the person who finished 5th. The omens were not good for a strong performance. When you Go-Kart you have to throw fear to the side, cast it from the brain or at least separate yourself from it. This is not an easy thing to do- well at least not for me.


That said, I found something during the qualifying and somehow finished fourth, shaving 5 seconds off my previous time, making me the most improved player of the day, or driver, I suppose. The final race was similar and I finished fourth again but shaved another three seconds off my best time. I was really pleased and felt that maybe I was capable of a lot faster but who knows. Fast driving is a major skill, for sure. 


Unfortunately, when we arrived home, I felt quite unwell and I have no idea why, so rather than enjoying a great night in a lovely restaurant, I zonked out and slept for many, many hours. Thankfully, I feel much better today and am excited that tomorrow we are off to Vietnam, and more specifically, Hoi an. However; I am a little nervous, as tornado Trami has arrived and the airport we are hoping to land at is now closed. The plan is to re-open it tomorrow but we have everything crossed. On top of this, the weather for the week looks less than favourable so we may end up sitting in lots of bars drinking. What a shame!


































I Love you Malaysia- honestly I do but... 20-10-24


So I listen once more to intelligent people chatting about all manner of subjects and this time it is Dawkins on censorship. He usually bangs the atheist drum (which is fine by me, of course) but this time it is more social politics that he is addressing, some distance from his Biology roots. The internet is a deep, deep rabbit hole and it is still surprising to me how much time can disappear as you move from clip to clip, podcast to podcast and now of course, the trawl through the phenomenon of ‘reaction’ videos. You click on a person you want to listen to and are faced with, usually, an american idiot espousing their, often, ridiculous opinions about a 20 second clip of the person you wanted to listen to. Then, of course, there is AI! The videos with the stilted, pseudo-cyborg voice commenting on some event or reviewing a programme or some actor’s achievements. I remember when the programme Gogglebox came out and was startled and a bit saddened by its success, not least because it was quite entertaining. I would try to raise my body posture, put my chin in the air and assume a position of intellectual superiority but I quite liked the programme. It was like happily bopping to Saturday Night by Wigfield. Yet now, this idea of commenting on people’s comments and random oddbods reacting to some comment is ‘all the rage’. Each person, pair, organisation searching for the likes and the subscriptions, desperately enticing a big company deal for advertising on their site. Where will it all end?


Morning! 


I appreciate that my opening paragraph is warbling and meandering and not at all profound and neither does it have a conclusion as to what I feel about any of it. My apologies but it just flooded out of me. I think I am still waking up after a really great night out last night for our friend Toria’s birthday. We were back at the country club with the live band and many friends from work and, in truth, much wine was consumed. It was fun and marked, not only Toria’s birthday but the fact that we only have one week to go before our holiday and Rach and I’s trip to Hoi an in Vietnam. I haven’t wanted a trip away as much for some time and I am not sure why, to be frank. Work has been steady, life calm, and Rachel has been pretty happy so all is fine, yet at times, I have felt a little ‘flat’ or perhaps bored. Routine has very much taken hold, especially with my new training schedule: cycling, walking, running and swimming so Vietnam will be a lovely break to the routine and this term has been a long one indeed. 


I have been reflecting too, on how aspects of Malaysian life, that were once cute or new or a novelty- a cultural quirk, are sometimes just annoying or irrelevant these days, which I suppose is inevitable when you live somewhere long enough. Like, the fact that almost all Malaysian drivers reverse into car parking spaces, which was once a humorous observation, but is now irritating. Whenever we go to Jaya supermarket  or some other such place, you have to sit waiting for some driver to zoom past a space and then back in and it takes three times as long, as being direct (“Just park the flippin’ car”, you find yourself shouting). Or the fact that so many Malaysians pull their window wipers up when they park so that they stick in the air like fishing rods. Why? What are they protecting?It doesn’t matter to me but the not knowing rankles absurdly.  Or how a husband and wife will sit on a moped with their crash helmets firmly fastened whilst a child, sometimes two or even three years old , sits between them, or stands, dances or whatever, without a helmet; though they might have a face mask on. So, that's ok...rolling eyes!


Oddities and new sights, sounds and smells are what makes travel so interesting but when you live somewhere else, the novelty can wear out: those birds I mentioned in a previous blog (the ones who hop away from cars instead of flying) are still prevalent as ever and sometimes, I deliberately swerve towards them to see if I can make them fly. They have turned me into a psychotic, deranged lunatic!


The four imprisoned cats next door don’t meow anymore; neither do they hang off the bars, purring for release but instead, lie limp and inert; hopeless and despairing. Another family just up the road has eight cats, all caged up in their driveway. These ones are still at the meowing stage. I shake my head in confusion and disbelief each time I cycle. Then, there is the natural sense of hierarchy and order, or jobsworth attitude that so many people here have. If my boss asks- then yes but if someone below me asks for help, ‘it’s not my job’. Or like last night, when a member of our group ordered some gin but saw a deal offered on a gin bottle afterwards and so ask to change her order:


No, you can’t now. You’ve ordered.


But I haven’t paid you anything yet so you cold change the order.


But you already said it so you’ve ordered.


That is a bit silly though isn’t it?


It is the rules.


Now, this blog was not about Malaysia bashing. I love this country and the people but maybe I am ready for a change- I felt that in Uzbekistan too. Perhaps the week in Vietnam will be enough, but maybe, just maybe I want more. To see more cultural oddities, to experience the bizarre and unusual in some other place, before I shuffle off this mortal coil.





























Prickly Buggers- 02/10/24


I might be 50; I might be experienced- I might, just might even be good at what I do but by God (or whatever, if you’re an atheist like me) am I still challenged by prickly people. You know the type- the type of person who, however diligent or focused, cannot help but piss on your daffodils, over salt your soup or call closing time way before the bar stops serving. These are metaphors, of course but you know what I mean. Picture it- you are excited about something, see an opportunity, a chance to make a difference- you are prepared to take on whatever challenges, obstacles or put out the fires that inevitably ignite on the journey but before you can even get on the road, the prickly type has curled an upper lip, sighed, clicked a tongue behind their teeth or made a negative ummm sound as quick as your ambitions have leapt into the conversation. The wall is put up and your initial enthusiasm all but spent.


These are the types, who, despite your resilience and determination will keep pressing in the needle of doubt or remind you of your limitations way before you think you have reached them. Then there are those and, to be fair, many may be neurodiverse, who can only see their tiny piece of the jigsaw; can only focus on one aspect of life, a job or task and are prepared to almost die, trying to anchor innovators and creatives to that one thing. They don’t show empathy; they don’t apologise or seem to have any sense of social etiquette and they certainly won’t trust or relax.


Well, I seem to be surrounded by them at the moment.


I just realised that this blog is a masterclass in mixed metaphors but hell, I am not changing a God damn thing! So there!


So, well and truly 50, well and truly back at work and how is life?  Last week we attended an amazing indian wedding of a friend at work. The food was magnificent, we were treated almost too well and the venue was stunning. What I loved was how the bride and groom came on to indian drums and bangra beats, lifting the crowd with singing, dancing and confidence. Super and very different to the awkward first dance of western culture. These guys know how to party!


Contrastingly, the world seems less filled with love. Iran have just bombed Israel and everyone is panicking. The UK, as always, have backed Israel and in my opinion they will retaliate and successfully crush their opponents with western backing. Is it right? I don’t think so. Will it help stop a wider war? Probably. Malaysia, free from this madness continues to offer warm weather, great people and calm times and for this we are grateful. In truth, I am becoming a little bored and beginning to wonder whether it would be fun to take on one more country. Not in an Iran takes on Israel way but just a chance to visit, live temporarily and soak up the culture. We might only get the chance one more time before we retire but who knows.


In the meantime, I need to make a decision as to whether I direct Adams Family, or Shrek. Wow- the agonies I go through. 

 





































Drunk Be Not Proud- 16/09/24



It was very much a case of ‘man down’ yesterday and having spent most of the hours, belching, trying to find some semblance of consciousness; and remonstrating with myself, it was a near miracle that I managed to drive Rach and I back from Kuala Lumpur. After all, I didn’t really feel like I was in possession of my own body- almost as though my brain was floating around in some nearby vicinity but far too slippery to catch hold of. I guess we were in radio contact but that is about it!


In recent weeks, Rach and I spoke about how long it has been since I had been drunk and I was proud of that. I have reached a certain age now where I am happy to have a couple of sociable drinks and then head on home but unfortunately, the Saturday just gone was not one of those nights. In my defence, we were out enjoying ourselves as part of my birthday celebrations and so, I had expected to imbibe a little more than usual.


It was a delightful early evening, spent with lots of good friends at Taps beer bar and I was very pleased to finally get my good mate Richard Tapp to Tapp’s. It’s a pathetic joke, I know, but not nearly as pathetic as the rest of this story, so buckle up!


Taps serves a range of great beers and it is wonderful to once again ditch the insipid Carlsberg for some flavoursome beverages. Many laughs were had and all was well as we took the seven minute walk to Bottega (a very, very good Italian restaurant in Changkat (the heart of the KL nightlife scene). More friends were present when we arrived and the party kicked into full swing, with wine flowing and delicious plates of food gobbled up with enthusiasm.


From here, sensible folk made the way home but some of us youngsters (Ha!) rolled on back to Tap’s for more beers. A band was playing and one of my friends, Kat, jumped up to sing with them: Kat in Taps (the assonance is delicious). Less sensible folk made their way home from here but four of us headed on for more drinks in a bar I cannot even remember arriving at but I do remember consuming Mojitos. Rach had left much earlier and had talked her way into the room (I had the key) saying she need life saving medication. She had called me and I was useless, upsettingly. 


Four became 3, when Richard disappeared and before long, I was also stumbling away from this bar walking through the blurry streets of KL, looking, no doubt, very ugly indeed. One chap asked me if I was ok and was I drunk. Erm, I am surprised he had to ask! I guess he was just polite. Somehow, I managed to rock up at the hotel, after stopping a couple of times to sit and gather myself; I collapsed on to the seating area by the window in the 'digs'. I slept immediately and my body was thankful for the recovery time.


In the past, I would have found the retelling of this story quite humorous and in my youth, might even have been bizarrely ‘proud’ of the experience but I was so annoyed with myself. It ruined the next day and I put upon Rachel way too much. I will be 50 in three days time and I should know better. 


It is also in stark contrast to my behaviour since returning to Malaysia. We hit the ground running with the term in full swing; I was running a staff training session almost immediately and I begun my new fitness regime. I intend to lose two stones this year. All was going well- the cycling, the walking, the swimming and now, I feel I have set myself back a couple of days. I thinking cutting the booze is the answer, but I do enjoy it and therein lies the problem: Will power.


I have continued to focus on my reading since coming back to Malaysia and last week, I finished ‘A Clockwork Orange’ by Anthony Burgess. Whilst I was a little disappointed by the ending, I thoroughly enjoyed the book and it deserves its place amongst the modern classics for sure. The main character Alex, who is abominable, is also the narrator and whilst the acts he describes are immoral and appalling, the language of ‘nadsat’, (teen in Russian), somehow alienates readers away from the emotive subject matter- you despise him but not as much as you should. Later, you even feel sorry for him and hopeful for his redemption, albeit fleetingly. I have felt all of those things about myself over the last two days: angry with myself, appalled, hopeful and ultimately crossing my fingers for some redemption. Time, to get back on the bike, and start peddling.

 

 


























Be a Human not an Algorithm- 27/08/24


We are about to be lurched out of this existence- lassoed and dragged, and plopped back into our Malaysian home where we will have to hit the ground and run boy run! I have become accustomed to sitting in a pub of a lunch, thinking about the food I want to cook and then sinking wine and re-watching the Walking Dead with my parents, who have been recording the programme. Yet life will change at a very speedy rate from tomorrow, when we fly on the winged metal box, first to Dubai and then to Kuala Lumpur.


We had a great game of 'pigs' with the family recently (see attached and don't ask questions) and we also had a fun met up with all the cousins, which we try to do every year these day, in honour of Alan.


I do enjoy sitting here, in The White Hart looking up, as I am, at the Parish church of Loughborough, where my sister married Alan and where I played as a child and kissed girls as an adolescent. The physical world remains, though the pub is relatively new    and yet, we age and age and age, becoming less able, less with it and just tired. My knees are a mess, for one and I’m not 50 yet. Argh! Yet, I am not morose and am not at all down in the dumps. I have plans. I have goals (I will not call them dreams) and hitting the ground running is exactly what I need, though perhaps not with these knees.


Yesterday, I was slightly freaked out with the AI answering machine (or whatever it is now) at a place called NS and I, who run Government savings accounts. It took me some time to realise it was AI and I was having a jolly good old chat with the artificial intelligence before I realised. What was frightening was how real the voice sounded. So far, almost all of the AI bots sounds clearly simulated and fake but this one was like something out of Total Recall. I guess this is the future. There will come a point, in not-too-distant times, when we won’t know whether who we are speaking to is made of flesh and blood or algorithms and mathematical model codes.


Strangely, I feel a little like an algorithm myself, sort of, as if this isn’t real at the moment and as if I am waiting to have a job, a purpose (which will be sorting the cover supervisors at work for one- notwithstanding the need to drive curriculum) and a focus. As if someone is going to type something into a search and I am going to be thrown into their view, ready to perform, persuade, solve or something else.


I have loved living in fantasy land, despite the bereavement, for a while but I definitely need a routine again. Never thought I would write that.












Between Worlds- 21-08-24


I am going to miss this- for sure. Wandering into town, on a sunny day and taking your pick of pubs, sitting down and supping on a good ale. My old mate Mark says beers like this taste of sock but he is so wrong. I love the way ales have so many different tastes and this one called Underground, is a flavoursome, nutty brown ale. In Malaysia, there is no variety of beer and you have to drive everywhere to sink one. Like I said, I will certainly miss this part of living here in the UK.


I won’t miss the electric bills. I have just received our first one for Pete’s house and it totalled nearly 57 quid. Not a lot, I hear people call out but before you do, let me tell you what energy I have used: two and half days normal living in the house- one shower- two meals cooked in the oven and that is it! 


Yesterday was a difficult today as we said farewell to Rachel’s dad. She was a trooper- and read an outstanding eulogy, which was profoundly emotional, as was my daughter’s reflections on her grandpa and Kyle’s faultless reading of a poem written by his gran for his grandpa, before she died. It was a fitting and wonderful tribute to them both and the loving journey they had together. Now Rach and I face the reality of the return- both to Malaysia and, of course, school. There are many new colleagues to meet and even more new challenges to face and as always, the thought of the return gives me a little ‘gut scrunch’. It doesn’t matter how many years you do this job for, you still have a knot in the belly before returning and that voice in your head saying, ‘Can you do this job?’ or ‘What do I do again’. 


Despite the work and the organisation of Pete’s estate, I have to admit that I still managed to visit Emma in Guernsey- check out the blog. Rach managed a train trip to Bristol and Bath and my dad and I managed to get away to Newark for a long walk along the Trent (just under 8 miles) and then a night of drinking and eating which included a cracking Thai meal and then whiskies and a Kwak chaser. Kwak is a fabulous Belgian beer for the uninitiated and has probably never been used as a chaser. Dad’s idea. The pub we finished in was called The Flying Circus, and not surprisingly, there were Monty Python references throughout, including a feature wall, with a mural of the chaps and many of their finest quotes. What a talent they were.


So- we did it! We managed to see most of the folk we wanted to, we did most of the things we wanted to and now we move on. Our summer of 2024 will always be remembered for Rachels’ loss but, we were here, we were able to sort everything and I am so proud of her.









































The Gift of Life- 30-07-24



A chap is cleaning. Cleaning the room where I tried to bring my father in law back to life but failed. It is very odd and Rachel is obviously struggling and sad. I guess, intellectually, we knew this is where we would be- that we would arrive in a place like this, given the nature of time but when it comes, it doesn’t seem real.


I don’t want to linger though; to let my mind turn and allow myself to swim in the emotional quagmire and so I have (alongside the organisational chaos surrounding a death) tried to continue, to live on, to make plans, wherever possible, and to do stuff. Rach showed me an incredibly moving photo album today over a pint at The Pied Bull in Shepshed. There were very small black and white photos of her father as a small child, perhaps aged 12, and his grandfather, parents and friends of times gone by- gentlemen with bowler hats and suits and ties strolling along the beach at Whitby or Staithes and women in their finest regalia striding confidently alongside their friends, their husbands and their loved ones. I was reminded of the line in Dead Poets’ Society where Robin Williams (as maverick teacher John Keating) stands the boys in front of photos of schoolboys of old and whispers ‘Seize the day boys’, reminding them that all of these bright, and hopeful boys were dead. We know it; of course we know it but we don’t usually think about it.


So, to positive living- to carpe diem. This weekend, I was able to get a break from thinking about funerals, and the like and drove up to Cumbria to climb England’s highest peak and thereby complete the three peak challenge, albeit over a very slow three years. Scafell Pike is the shortest of the three mountains but is by no means the easiest and although I must qualify what I am about to say with the preamble that I am fatter than ever and need to sort myself out, I confess that I found this mountain far more challenging than the previous two. It is the relentless nature of the steep climb and the abundance of steps that I found perhaps most heartbreaking but nonetheless, I managed to get up there alongside my sister, her partner Marika, my good friend Steve and my young namesake, Tristan. The views, once the mist subsided were spectacular!


In the week before discovering my father in law, we headed down to Brighton to spend some quality time with my beautiful daughter Georgia and her gentleman boyfriend, River. We enjoyed some fine vegan food (thanks Georgia and River), the beach, the oldest aquarium in the world and of course the sea and plenty of mindful activities as well as a night out watching some outstanding comedians and some jazz! Whilst in Brighton, I commented on the diversity and the colour which I also noticed whilst in Birmingham with my mother. Brighton is the home of Pride, of youth culture, of new living and creativity, in many ways, but I was still impressed to see so much colour, so many styles of fashion, diverse culture and lifestyles working alongside each other. I thought how far we have come since the days where all men wore a suit and poor people wore flat caps and rich people bowlers. Very exciting and a lot more fun.


Despite this realisation I was surprised how early everything closes down and restaurants were almost all closed and finished by ten, which is in stark contrast to East Asian cities, Indeed, in Bangkok and KL and even nearby to where we live at Eco Majestic, they stay open far later. Some families don’t even come to eat until after 11.00pm How different the world is. I have to confess to also noticing the increasing number of beggars in the UK, evident in Brighton but even more so in Birmingham. I started to think about why a first world nation like the UK has such a problem and in my, albeit limited experience and travels, I have to admit to never seeing anywhere else in the world with as many and certainly nowhere, where there are so many drunks, on the streets. When we lived in Uzbekistan, we wondered why we never saw any beggars considering how poor some people were, and we conjured up stories of the government herding them up and doing away with them in some way or another and that might be the case but Malaysia doesn’t have this many beggars either so we must be doing something wrong, right? 


On a personal note, I have found it hard to adapt to not having the ‘bum gun’, which I wrote extensively on, in another blog. I am so used to it now and haven’t used toilet paper for months that (and don’t picture this too much) I find it hard to reach around to wipe my arse, without inflicting mild muscle strain upon myself. It has been very hard to make this change.


What also shocked me in Brighton, on the phone lines in the UK, in Birmingham and at service stations and supermarkets up and down Britain, was the chronic understaffing: Morrisons cafe, down to one member of staff, apologising to the customers (on behalf of her invisible bosses), cafes that needed 3 or 4 staff ,manned by one sweaty, tired, over worked member of staff on minimum wage or supermarkets where there was one person or sometimes no-one available beyond the self-checkout services. It seems that, as ever, money is the driver and if one person can be made to slog and survive, even if at the expense of the customer experience and if this helps the shareholders profits, then all is well. One poor lady at The Nottingham Building society was thrown a curve ball by us when we turned up with a interim death certificate asking to see what was in the account. There was a queue and she was frustrated and stressed, which led to rudeness on her part, for which she apologised when we went back later but the fact is, she was on her own. If she had injured herself or been threatened or was thrown a question she couldn’t answer there was no-one to help her and of course, some people at the back of the queue turned and left. In Malaysia, in the rough suburbs of Mantin, the banks are all very well staffed, Why is the UK so far behind? 


I have also notice, whilst we have been away that alongside the many 24 hour gyms that have sprung up, there is now a new line of tight gym clothing which makes a person (usually women) look almost naked. Gym bottoms that literally go up the bottom, showing the crack of the arse and the nipples of the breasts on the front. In fact, some folk look like they have painted their naked body in a pastel shade and gone out. A very strange fashion for sure- not one that bothers me but it is bizarre. 


After Brighton, Rach and I said our farewells to River and lovely Georgia before heading to Bexhill on sea, a run down south coast seaside town, most famous (alongside being in 1066 territory) for being the home town of the band Keane. We stopped for fish and chips at The busy Sovereign Light Cafe, which was a homage of sorts as one of Keane’s songs is called exactly that and inside the cafe there were signed photos of the band. It was fun to see it and only a slight detour. It took us an age to get home, with huge long traffic jams on the roads, where we were able to witness the madness of workers reestablishing the hard shoulder that the government had removed a few years ago: yet more waste of tax payers money, as the smart motorway idea disappears into the fog, like the HS2 train and the planes to Rwanda. What a mess this government has made of our country.


Thankfully, the nature of the UK continues to thrive and I have seen the seaside of Brighton, the city and canals of Birmingham, the mountains and lakes of Cumbria and the ancient beauty of the Peak District, in three weeks. Later this week, Rachel travels with my son Kyle to Bristol and then Bath and I, nip over to Guernsey with my sister. We are living, we are making memories that one day will fade and die but for now, we are doing all we can to enjoy the gift of life.













































































Harbingers of Doom- 21-07-24


I sometimes feel like the harbinger of doom. It seems that there is a family tragedy or disaster every time we come back (not strictly true but it feels like it) and this time is no different. Yesterday, my father in law passed away and my beautiful wife is in bits. It hurts. It hurts like hell to watch. The only feeling of relief is that we were here- the harbingers of doom- and not in Malaysia- that we were the ones to find him, to deal with the darkness; to do our duty. The days are already overwhelming, as we realise how much we have to do and how little we know but my own parents are always here as advisors. They are amazing.


They simply don’t tell you this stuff at school- how to deal with grief; what to do in the event of the death of a loved one- tax, probate, death certificates and more. The pressure is enormous too, as I am due to return to Malaysia on the 17th August and there is so much to do- so much paper work to trawl through, and sort and perhaps most annoying of all, is the legal language used in wills, pensions, land registry documents and more. Seriously- I wonder if other countries use such regal, pretentious, archaic language in official documentation. I’m an English teacher and I still find the whole thing complex and somewhat impenetrable at times.


My sister comes back today and I am really looking forward to hearing of her year in Guernsey and how exciting her life has been. Out of darkness there is always the opportunity to make new memories and at times like these, I have trained my brain to think this way. Keep on trucking.














































Its Black over Bill's Mother's, but we're still smiling- 11-07-24



People are smiling again but my word it is ‘black over Bill’s mother’s’. It is grim. Outside the clouds, dense and impenetrable, promising a deluge, a spitter spat or gentle dripping, but entirely at their behest. It isn’t raining now but we haven’t had a day without it since returning to the UK. Indeed, it was drizzling when the plane touched down on the runway at Manchester airport. Actually, though, I am not complaining- the lower temperature is refreshing and the change of climate and scenery is doing me good. I was ready for it. We both were.


I seem to have hot a new routine of getting up at between 5.30 and 6.00 which I out to the adjustment post-jetlag but it might just be the lack of curtains in Pete’s spare room and the sun comes up just after 4.00am, perhaps symbolic of a new dan in British politics.


Indeed, there is positivity in the air in Britain at the moment as people have hope again after the Labour party landslide win, embarrassing the Tories and sending them into a nosedive. In fact, the liberals are very much a valid third party again and there is a real chance for genuine policy change now that Labour has such a handsome majority. There has been talk of a 4 day week, a re-nationalisation of railways, and of course the doomed racist insanity of the Rwanda plan has been scrapped immediately. No idea where any of this will go and media hype has its clutches in everything, as usual but there is optimism in the eyes of people in the town, a bounce in their step and a smile on many more faces than this time last year, despite the typically poor British weather.


On Tuesday, we visited Kyle who has started a new job in the NHS, working for a doctor’s surgery and Rach cooked us a lovely meal. We picked him up earlier from the training centre he is working at this week and it was fascinating to drive through the local estate, which quite frankly resembled a concentration camp, minus the barbed wire. It really is a rough old place, with the obligatory pebbled dashed buildings, broken children’s play equipment, graffiti (not the nice stuff) and litter, yet I saw several of the inhabitants of this area walking the streets with smiles on their faces.


We stayed over and slept in our old bedroom which was a strange feeling and links into one I feel whenever I am back, (6 years after leaving the sceptred land). It is a sort of detachment, like I am an interloper into another world but this world is so familiar, like it was a dream I once had. The next morning, Rach and I drove Kyle back into the ghetto and then popped to Morrisons (classy folk) for a bacon and sausage butty. We were living the working person’s dream, yet even here, the old and young alike seemed perkier. Even the lady serving us was unusually buoyant and alive. One chap tried to tip her but she said they weren’t allowed to accept tips! I never understood that.


From here, we headed out into the peaks to grab some atmospheric cloudy shots of Curbar Edge in the Peak District. Another place that sits happily in my dreams but we didn’t stay for long before popping home to Loughborough and catching up with my dad and his mates for their Wednesday beer at Wetherspoons (more unashamedly working class living). In the evening, we watched England qualify for the final of the European Championships for the second successive time and the country already in a buzz of positivity, was hit with a second, huge dose of cultural, nationalistic dopamine. I think we might win it, you know.


Tonight we are watching my dad and his mates in a shanty folk concert which is for charity. They’ll be smiling too, I’m sure- well, they always do!



























So Now the Music's Over!- 30-06-24


I shook hands with the eldest son of the last King of Malaysia last night. He was a lovely man.


It was on the occasion of the last night of our four performances of Oliver, the musical and we were blessed with his presence and that of several of the royal family. This must go down as another experience I never, ever expected to have in my life, like when I sang in the British Ambassador's house in Uzbekistan or when I spoke face to face with the President’s wife about her son’s progress and behaviour in class. Not too bad for a working class boy from Loogabarooga (you know if you know).


It has been a hugely draining week and as is always the case, I have largely lived within the confines of the theatre this week. Once again, the students pulled a miracle out of the metaphorical bag and delivered outstanding performances across the whole run. This time, I was working with mainly younger secondary students and seventy percent of my lead roles were only twelve years old. For them to perform such a mature musical, with high brow humour, complex characters and challenging songs, so well, is a huge credit to them and their efforts. The downside, not being able to sleep, walk, move, cook or exist without having the songs of the musical on torturous repeat. In a recent book I read, 'The Men who Stare at Goats', there was a whole section on how the US army pumped the theme from Barney the Dinosaur into prisoners' cells in Iraq over and over and over again until they screamed for mercy. It isn't that bad but I have wanted to bash my own head in a couple of times.


Coming down is also really difficult. I don't mean like coming down from drugs but it is the way you totally immerse yourself in a project like this and how it is as if your old life has been on pause. It is hard to pick up the gist of the programme again once the play button is pressed.


So now, my work here is almost done and Rach and I can try to contemplate the trip home, the hugs of family and the very much desired chance to stop thinking about work for a while. There are plans for final drinks with colleagues this week and I will throw in some end of term games for the students, which should wrap up another year of teaching.


27 years…where have they all gone. As Sandy Denny once sang- ‘Who knows where the time goes?’ Ah- maybe that's the answer- bash these Oliver songs out of my head with other songs. No doubt they'll Be Back Soon.








































An Election Looms in our shitty First World- 09-06-24


Somebody has shit in the pool! 


No, this is not a metaphor. Some inconsiderate person or more likely, a loose-bowelled child with negligent parents has dropped a turd into our communal pool. This is particularly annoying as we had booked it this afternoon for a soiree before tea and we were hoping for some sociable beers in the sun. For me, scoop it out, drop in some more chlorine and let’s go but I appreciate that my casual attitude to these things might not be typical. Nevertheless, we now have a pooless afternoon. 


First world problems.


So, it is only two months until I return to the first world (haha) and the election is looming hopefully over the country (this is a deliberate oxymoron- it is hard to be sure, even when we are sure) and the real chance that the UK will finally successfully ‘boot out’ the evil rodent-faced grinner Sunak and his gang of privileged turds (yes, it is a theme). We will be voting via a proxy vote and crossing everything, not for us, but for our children who simply deserve better futures.


As people speak of immigration, the collapsing NHS, head teachers committing suicide due to OFSTED’s battering ram approach and everyone continuing to obsess about trans issues, here in Malaysia we notice smaller issues, and oddities.


For instance, why, when in a chinese restaurant yesterday, did Rachel ask for water with her sweet and sour chicken and be handed a glass (not a mug) of boiling, undrinkable water. Who wants that? Apparently, it is normal here. That said, it is also normal here to wash clothes in cold water; to wash your shitty (see)  arse with a hosepipe and to wear a crash helmet on your bike whilst your children and even babies remain unprotected and cling on to dad or mum quite literally for their lives.


We have lived in Malaysia for nearly two years now and it is no longer the exotic or the extravagant that we notice but the small differences, the minor trivialities, the oddities.

If you go to a cutlery drawer in a Malaysian house, you won’t find knives. You will find forks and spoons- presumably to their propensity to eat noodles, rice and soups. When you live in a country for most of your life, you assume the rest of the world is the same as your own, regarding the simplicities of life but that is what travel and especially living in another country teaches you. Take nothing as given, nothing as ‘normal. ‘Normal’ is a changing beast (not sure that metaphor works, in truth)


Here in Malaysia you will listen to announcements on the radio, telling you it is rude to order expensive food on the menu, if your friends are buying; or that children need stabalation (whatever that is- but it sounds pretty horrific to me). It certainly can’t mean stability and balance- I mean the children here drive mopeds around the estate and toddlers are still playing outside on the street at midnight. But who is to say these ‘things’ are wrong? How do we set our benchmarks.


I mean, is it shit that in the UK we let our children sit in their bedrooms all day, playing on a games console or watching porn (no porn here in Malaysia- well- there are VPNs), or finding a way on to the darkweb? 


Is the first world a better place? 


The students are different here too. I mean, they have, largely, become used to me now and my larger than life style, dreadful impersonations and bottom of the barrel jokes. However, you still get blank faces when you try to laugh or tease them. In the UK, this is how I developed relationships with students- gentle mocking, laughs and banter but here you are often faced with disbelief, a straight face or profound confusion. Asian students are polite and simply respect you because you are a teacher or an adult, which makes life easier but relationships are formal and serious and so you have to work twice as hard to break through and get to the personality underneath the dignified veneer. 


Here at KTJ, the new lights have been fitted and although no-one understands them properly as of yet, we are hopeful that in 2 weeks, they might cast some brightness over the school musical, ‘Oliver’, which is predictably not at all ready. And as aforementioned, trying to encourage our students to really let themselves go has been and continues to be a challenge. I’d do anything to make this musical work but am constantly reviewing the situation. I guess I’ll be back soon to let you know how it goes. Dreadful puns- you can probably see why the kids faces are often blank.


So, it has been fun, witnessing the differences, the fact that the number 4 is unlucky and that even lifts in hotel can only take you to levels 1,2,3 and 3A before reaching level 5 but I am definitely ready to return to the UK for a short stint, some grounding and a reminder of what life is like in the shitty first world. With an England team entering entering the Euros on the back of losing to Iceland (again) and with our best hope of winning wimbledon being the talented but so far flaky Emma Raducanu, there is unlikely to be much for the UK this summer to celebrate but if Labour win, then maybe, just maybe, we can proud of our first world once more.


 




























Waiting in Paradise for Turbulent Times- 23-05-24


I have never seen so many shades of grey and white in the clouds and under the presumed safety of the tin roof above me, here in Juara Mutiana bar on Tioman Island, is the best place to get lost in them. They rarely sit, but threaten to, on the lush green jungle hills of the bay; fluffy white and hovering playfully and then in various degrees of grey, each shade promising larger downpours. This is a painter’s paradise, with a mill pond like sea that occasionally livens up when a portent of a storm is in the air and when the temperature drops quite noticeably; here where the fishing boats bob and weave in the hands of the gentle waves and where the water is crystal clear and sand golden, soft and inviting.


It is true that if you wanted a writer’s retreat or the like, or if you wanted to get away from your troubles and soak up the essence of nature, then Juara beach is the place. There are very few tourists here; no terrible pumping beach music (you know, the sort that someone somewhere decided we all want to hear); no rows and rows of sunbeds and often just the sounds of the sea for company. Thankfully, there are three places along this stretch that sell booze, so the alcofrolics like me are catered for. The beach is next to the town and it is a small village to be truthful but an authentic one. The people here live here- it is their home, their space and so it doesn’t feel like a tourist trap or a money-making machine.


Rachel is in her third week of recovering from bowel surgery and this paradise seemed to be the best place to support the recovery, despite the four hour drive to the coast. I think we were right. It has been a terrifying time for us both and we might still have quite a journey to take, as the weeks, months and years progress but we are trying desperately to stay in the moment.


It has been a challenging term at school with my young cast performing for the first time at speech day; running several CPD sessions for colleagues and now rolling out the metaphorical red carpet for the next 28 newbies, excited about working here at KTJ. Outside of work, it has been a case of driving to and from the hospital, who were wonderful, as far as I was concerned and trying to keep the house running in Rachel’s absence. It is only 6 weeks until we head back to the UK and we are crossing every limb we have that Rach is recovered well enough to make the journey.


So, my first can is empty and I am going to struggle through one more, now that the light has dissipated and the lights are shining on the fishing boats out at sea, shimmering on the water and flashing like Christmas tree lights in reds and greens. The sound of the sea is hypnotic, almost addictive, particularly here where there are minimal distractions. I could sit here forever…

























 

 























A Blessing 12-05-24


I slept like a lion today and even when Rachel finally gave me the metaphorical kick I needed; my inclination was to remain under the duvet, ignore reality and sink effortlessly back into comfortable oblivion. 


In my defence, the last two weeks have been highly anxiety inducing with Rachel being forced to stay in hospital on two separate occasions. Having been rushed in with suspected appendicitis, Rach endured pain and seemingly endless tests, only to be told that her bowel was dilated to the point of popping, an event that would be life threatening. My head was reeling at this and then the surgeon told us he would operate that evening; the pallor of both our faces was similar to that of whitewashed walls. Only a few weeks ago, it was her back and now it was all about the front. Poor Rachel- how could she have to endure this too.


I have nothing more important to say than Rachel is an absolute trooper.


She nodded her head, gritted her teeth and endured the three hour operation that would effectively save her life. Furthermore, she had to stay interned for four nights of terrible boredom, interrupted  only by my frequent visits and of course, the crazy cat lady in the opposite bed who whispered ‘meow’ quite a lot. Well, that and the nurses coming and going, or shoving the next drip into her veins. Perhaps most frightening was when Rachel started to see a TV programme within the curtains that surrounded her bed- the drugs had been that strong. Perhaps the surgeon had prescribed LSD! I didn’t get any.


Poor Rachel managed to get early release due to good recovery but only a few days later, she picked up an infection, and was shaking like she’d seen a ghost; her pulse rate was at 160 and once again, she was admitted- this time in the middle of the night. The nurses at Columbi Asia hospital were woderful and we were blessed to have them look after Rachel and even deal with my minor meltdowns behind the scenes.


Thankfully, we are out again and she has different meds that we both hope will allow her the time to recover. 


It has been a very emotional time for both of us and a reminder, once more, that life can throw all manner of problems at you at any point which, as always, makes me think how much I must enjoy and we must enjoy the time we are blessed to have together. I am blessed to have Rachel as my wife and sometimes I forget that. I feel as though I have had a giant hook thrust through my cheek and been lifted from my daily life like a fish from from the water. For a few days, I was gasping, trying to deal with the changed circumstances, whilst holding stuff together at work but now, I have been thrown back in and can swim with renewed life.


Therefore, we have booked a week on Tioman island; a paradise located on the Eastern side of Malaysia and lying in the South China sea. We booked a shack on the beach and hopefully, we can enjoy some quiet recovery time. We are blessed for sure but it is moments like this that make you realise it more than ever. Hug and kiss those who you love. Please.



































It is all about the summer plans!- 21-04-24


I am 5 beers down and feeling good. In truth, I am not talking about pints but perhaps three quarter glasses yet still pretty impressive. It is only 4.30pm on a Sunday. 


It has been a steady week after returning from our fun trip to Thailand and overall, we have both settled in well enough. On Thursday, Rich, Ipek and myself headed out for beers at Setia Ecohill, a local mall, and we had a cracking night chewing the fat about all sorts: religion) as usual) politics, Malaysian life and the war in the Ukraine. It was genuinely very pleasant to relive the old Tashkent days of sitting out after work and chewing the fat- something we do a lot less these days. However, it has been great to spend time by the pool and chill in the heat: something we do a lot more of these days!


Last night Stassi, Alice and myself enjoyed a cracking curry at a new Indian restaurant and it reminded me of curry houses in the UK, which was very appealing. I finished the night at another bar called the Premier Lounge (not sure why they accepted me) with Charles, Richard, Ipek and Kat. Letting the hair down after the first week back, albeit a short week, was certainly called for and I think we all enjoyed it immensely. 


So now we enter term 3, what lingers on the horizon? I have already started to plan the summer, with trips to Brighton, Scafell Pike, Birmingham canals and Newark all fully in the diary. Now, I am desperately searching for a food festival and a beer festival (I said festival twice as it is very exciting to me). There is a chance I could have found a very classy olde-worlde pub for the 10th August for Rach and I’s anniversary. That would be something to very much look forward to.


I have to admit to wanting the summer quite strongly. Not because life at school is difficult or anxiety inducing but because I am ready to see my folk again. I am trying to focus on other aspects of life and have managed to swim 120 lengths this week but ultimately, I would love a hug from my kids and my parents. Not long now.


Meanwhile, Iran sent drones to Israel, only for them to blow them out of the air with superior technology and then respond by bombing a small area of Iran. None of us know how this will develop but every time something like this happens, it is hard not to imagine a global crisis. It has happened before and will no doubt happen again.


























Trust in Humans- 12-04-24


Why is it that the frequently asked questions on almost every site of almost every organisation and, it seems, almost any country, never have the answers you are looking for? In fact, I have never successfully found out how to solve a problem, be it about tax, student loans, banking apps, council tax etc by using the FAQs. Maybe, only morons use this and maybe there are hundreds of thousands of morons benefitting from the FAQs and the answers given. I have my doubts. I think, the FAQs aren’t really asked at all. I think the company or organisation makes it up to appear useful when they never, or at least, rarely are.


So why am I ranting again? This time, it is internet shenanigans. Here in Malaysia everyone uses Whatsapp for everything and it works very well, in truth. I have found it super helpful for organising travel arrangements for instance. However, today, the apps force me across on to Whatsapp to talk to someon about my overdue bill. The apps themselves seem to be doing what the hell they like. Is that Artificial Intelligence?


Further to the FAQs on the website, we have to put up with the robot! Every single organisation has one now- a chatbot. My heart sinks everytime I write my query and am then hit with the generic response from the chatbot asking me to select what I am looking for from a menu. Guess what? It isn’t there. Now, if I go into a pizza restaurant and there is no sushi on the menu, I am being a bit of an idiot- fair enough. However, when you look at the menu for paying your internet and ‘paying your internet’ is not featured, it seems a little redundant and nonsensical. This is ubiquitous.  I have yet to be helped by a chatbot, anywhere. Every time I come up against (and it feels like a battle) one of these confounded, infernal things, I squirm inside. If you ask for a human, and get one, then all is well but often, no human is available and equally as often, there is no human alternative. This means, that you simply fall into a hamster wheel of permanent revolutions and repetition:


5 minutes in already and past the polite exchanges-


‘Sorry, I didn’t quite understand you. Please select from the menu below’


Argh! My choice is not there!!!!


‘Sorry, I don’t quite understand you. Please select from the menu below’.


‘Human human human…’ (increasingly high pitched wailing).


‘I don’t understand your response. Please select from the menu below’.


It goes on. And on. And on.


Despite my whining, I am actually in a very good mood. We have just returned from Thailand after almost a two week holiday and we had a great time (cultural experiences, temples, elephants, beaches, rivers, cocktails, horse riding on Rachel’s birthday, nonetheless. You will have to read the blog for more).


Today has been a day of getting stuff done- the brakes on the car were groaning like an ogre so we managed to find a nice human chap in Seminyih who fixed it in less than an hour, which still gave me time to get our internet sorted via some lovely lady in the shop (a wonderful human) and to get a haircut from a quality human with a cap on backwards and a set of cool tattoos. 


Thankfully, we aren’t back to work until Tuesday which means we can get a nice balance of work and play. I have plans to organise my time better next week and to sort out my fitness and reduce the belly fat.


It won’t be long before we start our plans for the summer and time is once again racing rocket-like through the air at warp speed 5. We have so many plans to spend quality time with quality humans. Keep me away from AI and Chatbots!

































The Destroyer of Phones in a Cloud of Booze- 22-03-24


I’m drinking way too much! It’s not the first time in my life. I need to slow down. I need to find another way.


Don’t get me wrong. I am not unhappy. Although, strangely I seem to be writing in repetitive simple sentences; well, until now, of course. We are one week from the end of term and the stress of running our school curriculum review and directing the school musical is certainly paying its toll. As usual, I try to stoically continue as if everything is ok. And you know what? It is actually. I am enjoying it and the challenge but for some reason my body doesn’t react as well to stress as it once did and so a beverage or two helps to settle me down whilst I am working through my jobs.


The sun is out, as usual, beaming down at 6.30pm as I sit outside at a bar, tapping away at the Surface pro. What would I be without this catharsis? A wreck, I suppose.


Last weekend was eventful. We headed over to KL with Rach having an appointment at a hospital in the city on Monday and so we decided to make a weekend of it. After work, we headed to a beautiful apartment called Royce Residences which boasts a great view of The Petronas Towers (the highest twin towers in the world- at least now!) There was also a beautiful rooftop infinity pool.


Why so eventful? Well, after a meal at an italian restaurant on Saturday night, we headed to an orchestral concert at the Dewan theatre, which is housed in the Petronas Towers. Unfortunately, the rains came down- torrents- flowing and flooding everywhere. I needed my phone for direction and was desperately trying to shield the screen, but failing as I jumped from tree to tree, trying to gain cover. Within minutes, we were soaked right down to the underwear. It would have been impossible to have been any wetter.


Somehow we arrived at the venue but Rach was freezing and in Malaysia, the air con in buildings like theatres and cinemas are set so low that you need a blanket when you are dry so we spent the first half of the concert shivering. We had bought a posh box overlooking the theatre and there was free grub and drinks (well, water). The view was magnificent and the the programme was equally impressive with great classical ‘hits’ like In the Hall of the mountain King (Alton Towers music for the ill-educated), The Marriage of Figaro overture and my favourite Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet Overture. This piece in particular was mesmerising and we were both transported to a wonderful place. 


The eventful nature continued as at the interval Rach appeared to be experiencing hypothermia and spent the second half under a blanket with two lovely muslim ladies rubbing her to keep her warm. We tried to go home early and it is then that I turned my phone on and realised that the rain damage was so significant that my screen would no longerdisplay anything. I was fuming.


To cut a long story short- I had to buy another new phone. Last time ( less than a year ago), I left it on the car roof and Rach drove off. It flew across the road and another car drove over it and this time it was destroyed by a Malaysian rainstorm. I wonder how many others could say they have ruined their last two phones this way?


I have to admit to mentally suffering much more when things go wrong these days. I don’t know why and I do know that losing a phone feels like losing an arm in the world we have created for ourselves but it is the pounding in the chest that happens to me and of course the need to sit down and enjoy a few beverages that bothers me. Is this a middle aged- approaching old aged thing? A lack of confidence? 


Who knows…time for a sip of the red stuff.





























Dull Ramblings to the Beat of the Divine Comedy- 09-03-24


Musically I bounce around the room like one of those powerballs but it is surprising how often that when I settle, it is so often the Divine Comedy, that is the final destination. This time, it is ‘Charmed Life’. What an artist Neil Hannon is- an incredible song writer and very hard to pigeon hole.


The lyrics resonate with me on this one as I have no doubt that I too have led a charmed life and I am forever trying to remind myself that all is well. How strange we are as humans, that no matter how good things are, however many goals we accomplish or dreams we achieve, we still, inevitably think about other stuff we should have done, should be doing or should have done. 


It is National Express now- an upbeat tongue-in-cheek number celebrating the wonders of our national bus service. Always lifts the mood, this one. In truth, the video suggests that the whole song is a metaphor as he plays a patient in hospital being pushed around in a wheelchair. Clever bugger! I must confess to having spent far too long in hospitals of late with Rach at various appointments but on the whole, she has made a great recovery from the back issues- it isn’t perfect but her left leg works now and on most occasions she is out of pain. 


Alongside the medical recovery, I have been swamped at work with designing a new curriculum as well as trying to direct the school show. We have an exeat weekend this weekend, meaning that we have a full two days off work! I have to caveat this with the point that last week I worked from home for two days and so the flexibility and work life balance is good. And this is an interesting point- life is so much easier for me now than when I was a working father and yet, I still complain, I still moan and I still get stressed. Is that age? We have both been trying to battle that feeling and last Sunday started our weekend walks once more- we are still going for lakes at the moment. Rach was on fine form and we had a lot of laughs.


Last Thursday I spoke to all the staff, running CPD on curriculum and I had so many positive comments telling me ‘I don’t know how you do it, but people just stop and listen to you’ or one colleague said, ‘thanks for being direct, well paced and not patronising’. Though these are so kind and should lift my ego, they just make me feel more pressured as I have to keep that level up and I don’t really know how I did it. There is a lyric in a Kaiser Chief song that goes, ‘This is the modern way, faking it everyday’. This might sum up how I feel.


Youtube, has thrown up the song ‘Something for the Weekend’ now which seems apt and I am just wondering how to spend my time- there is the trip to Borneo to plan, more work to get into (although I feel I shouldn’t), ‘Our Mutual Friend’ to read (incidentally another great Divine Comedy song', and a new poem to write for my mother- ‘5 Bars of…’; rehearsals for Oliver to organise; and some marking (God I’m so dull).


Next week, we are off to KL to watch the Malaysian Philharmonic orchestra and we are taking the opportunity to stay in a hotel for a couple of nights which should be pleasant. In the meantime, I will settle for the Divine Comedy who are now taking me to ‘The Indie Disco’.











































More of a Corkscrew than a Rollercoaster- 27-02-24


We all remember old Ronan Keeting singing ‘Life is a Rollercoaster, just gotta ride it.’ 

Well, my life seems to have been a bloody scary, thrilling and ultimately rewarding corkscrew over the last couple of weeks.


Langkawi island sunsets and cocktails; deep anxiety and some depression over Rachel’s condition; inspiring rehearsals with students working on Oliver; time spent with old friends and of course fears that Rachel would have to have frightening and dangerously invasive surgery. It has all been fast-paced and emotionally unsettling and at times I thought I might spew over the side.


We arrived back from Langkawi just over a week ago and although there were some great moments, particularly the last day- when we sat soaking up the intense sun and drinking cocktails and beers all day- it was difficult, because Rachel was in so much pain for the majority of our time there and this was upsetting everything- her mood, her feelings about herself and of course, it was destroying me. It was nevertheless great to catch up with our old mate Gareth, of course, but I know Rach would have liked it to have been under different circumstances.


Lingering permanently in the air was the thought that she would have to have more back surgery and that she might not be as lucky this time. 


A week after returning from the paradise island, we attended an appointment with a spinal surgeon named Dr Saw Lim. No, I am not joking and there followed a number of gags about Dr Hackenstein and that the reason he was late for his consultations was that he was chopping up body parts and stuffing them into cavities in the walls of his house. Well, we had to pass the time somehow: we waited for six hours to see him and the pain in Rachel’s spine was worsening. 


When we finally hobbled into his office and were handed bloody Covid masks (I mean'bloody' as a curse word not that the masks were actually bloody) as we entered, I think we were both beginning to lose the will to live. In truth, we have had a great life so far so…


Then, the curve ball which was thrown casually, with a giggle, not moments after Dr Chop had scanned the pictures, courtesy of his desk glow lamp. “You don’t need surgery, i think”, he said. Stunned silence followed.


Apparently, the rollercoaster which we thought was plummeting down to the end of the final drop was, in fact, on a slow ascent. The fusion on the spine had worked well and was a good job. What a relief! But then- why was Rachel in so much pain. The rollercoaster made its way ominously towards the next scary drop. No explanation at this stage but the Doc (who by the way was lovely, despite his name) admitted Rachel for two nights in hospital.


Now earlier, I seemed to complain that we had waited for a long, long time for a consultation but my word, Malaysian hospitals make decisions very quickly and soon we sorting through the apparently neverending story of the insurance documents. Three phonecalls, two emails a bucket full of patience and contained frustration and four more hours of waiting later, and Rach, after bloodtests, CT scans and the like was finally able to lie on a bed and rest. The ride was not at an end however.


Rachel spent two nights in Sunway hospital, was given physiotherapy, and at one point placed on what can only be described as a medieval rack and given a lot of anti-inflammatories, heavy painkillers and low and behold- she was eating properly, out of pain and her left peg was very much working again!


The staff at Sunway hospital were amazing and Saw Lim explained that the spinal cord was inflamed and that tablets and physio would be enough. All the major corkscrews had been traversed and we were coasting towards the end of this particular fairground attraction. There were some strange almost ghost train-like moments for Rachel, who shared a room with the hacking coughing woman- the loud decibel prayer woman and the ‘leave your TV on all night’ lady. 


However, since leaving the hospital, Rachel has been like a woman reborn (not in a christian sense- I don’t think the service had been that good) and the glow, smile and gorgeousness of my stunning wife is back. I just hope all continues.


Malaysian bureaucracy regarding the insurance is annoying but the service was outstanding. I have to add, that though irritating, it meant the service was free. The cost of the experience- the ride, if you will indulge me this borderline pathetic semantic field further, was four months of an average malaysian person’s salary. There is an ethical conversation there and we don’t sit on the good side of it. That said, we are now basking in the adrenalin rush and the buzz that hopefully this particular ride has come to a satisfactory stop. 

















Hoping to catch some Red Magic- 04-02-23


Chinese New Year is massive here in Malaysia- and like other new year’s is the start of something well...'new'- new hopes, dreams, goals and the start of new life journeys. I hope they will be positive ones for us. 


The houses on our estate have started putting lanterns up, that glow magically when the sun sinks and there are bright red style Christmas trees. One family just down the road leave a tree up all year and just re-decorate it- Christmas- Chinese New Year-Easter- a couple of birthdays and so forth. Not a bad idea I guess. Then there are the fireworks that seem to blast off for weeks during this period. One went off last night when we were in the Premier Lounge in Seminyih and I honestly thought someone had been shot. The photo above was moments before the said blast. We discovered that this firework had been set off just outside the bar, next to the outdoor chairs.


So with Chinese New Year bringing joy, surprises and temporary terror, I wonder what it will bring for us. The future is very uncertain at the moment as Rachel’s back has started to hurt again and the screws they fitted nearly five years ago are loosening. This causes her so much pain and it is very difficult to watch her suffering. Thankfully, it seems we may have found a surgeon here in Malaysia but the cost is beyond our insurance cover and so we will be throwing a lot of money at this. The biggest fear is that we may be met with the devastating news that the skilled surgeon isn’t prepared to do the surgery, which would mean Rach would have no hope of getting rid of the pain. So, we are both looking for a bit of Chinese magic from the year of the cockerel


She has soldiered on at work, thus far but I worry whether she will be able to continue. We only have a three day week next week and then we are off to Langkawi island for some rest and recuperation so maybe the salt water, the sun and the lounging on the beach will help. It will be delightful to see our good friend Gareth again. Work has continued to be quite challenging as I have been conducting numerous interviews and have five back to back on Monday. It is interesting how here at KTJ, we are entrusted with the recruitment procedure where in many schools, Assistant Heads do not have such responsibility but I have enjoyed the process and I think I am pretty good at it.


Aside from work and of course directing Oliver- more on that as we get closer, as I cannot bear talking about it yet- I have been visiting the local pool, reading a very humorous book entitled The Men who Stare at Goats and posting my poetry on to Facebook. Some people have responded positively which has been lovely. 


So, with Chinese New Year about to paint its red love all over the place, I really hope that some of it splatters on us.  


































Bum Gun Fun- 20-01-24


I am exhausted: physically more than mentally after a packed week on a school residential to Port Dickson- which has been full of drama (both the theatrical and the annoying children type) as well as kayaking, swimming, hiking, orienteering and numerous games. In the UK, these activities are run by the teachers but here, we were able to access the impressive skills of a company called Radiant (making me think of that wonderful 90s comic sketch from the Fast show- ‘Suits You sir!) Nevertheless, it is sometimes more exhausting picking up the pieces of emotional debris from the wings than leading the activities and whilst the Radiant guys were energetic and kind, their insistence to use a microphone for all interactions was wholly unadvised as far I am concerned.


So, it is a day off before another week ahead and I realised that I had not written anything down since before the New Year and that this is my first entry of 2024. How has it been so far? Good- our friend Richard and his lovely wife Ipek arrived and Richard is now working in the History department; we have had a few ‘happy parties’ and are now in the midst of planning a boozy few days with our old mate Gareth and a host of other chaps in Langkers! Oliver the musical is in full rehearsal swing and there is a good buzz around the place with some effective changes being rolled out across the school via this dynamic senior team, of which I am a part. 


What else has changed?

Well- now we come to the heart of this week’s blog:


Bum guns are better than toilet paper.


There- I said it. Now, for the uninitiated- what is a bum gun? In Asia many countries do not use toilet paper to wipe their bottoms after a ‘number 2’ but blast the area with a high jet waterspray.

Social and cultural conditioning convinced me that this was, well, very weird but last week, left without toilet paper, I thought- what the heck- try it! I mean culture isn’t just food, beverages and geographical or histotical attractions and one should always try to assimilate, wherever possible. Now, as far as I can see there is only one way that toilet paper is better, which is- your arse is dry after the experience. I will come to the rebuttal later (poor pun very much intended).


So- 8 reasons why a bum gun is better than using toilet paper and why the asians have got it right.


  1. The bum gun is far better for the environment. Think of the billions of tonnes of shitty paper being pumped through the sewage system. Imagine the work that takes place on sewage farms to sort it out. I know, as once I did a full day's work on such a site- not pretty I tell thee. Much easier to flush water and faeces down a pipe.
  2. It is more efficient. Imagine some mud on a pipe or arm or something and wrapping some paper around it and wiping it. What would the pipe or arm look like- it simply spreads the dirt right? When you squirt high powered water at your anus, it cleans it very well indeed. Trust Me!
  3. It is quicker. In truth, a brief, maybe 10 seconds squirt is enough to fully clean your area, saving you maybe a minute every day. Think of that- how amazing might we be if we had that much more time? 25480 minutes in a 70 year lifetime which is nearly 18 extra days. Probably spend it scrolling through addictive vids on our phones I suppose. Damn! 
  4. It is cheaper- I do not need toilet paper anymore. Honestly, I have no intention of going back- free water all the way for me. How much money do we spend in a lifetime on toilet paper? Just under 6 grand by my calculation. Well, that is at least one holiday of a lifetime paid for by simply using a bum gun. Think about it.
  5. Less blockages- we all know that busy families will occasionally block the toilet by overusing toilet paper, particularly as young children are still learning and only just passed potty training. With the bum gun, there are never blockages.
  6. Bum guns also double up as a cleaning device for the bathroom. They are power blasters (not in a Han Solo kind of way), and if you squeeze soap around the joint, they will clean that room in no time at all.
  7. It is more hygienic. Some people will say that all bum guns do is spread a mixture of faeces around the bathroom but they really don’t if you use them properly. You aim the gun at your bum close in and directly up and the water falls back into the toilet. You do not have a situation where you accidentally put your fingers through the toilet paper into the gunge. 
  8. Bum Gun Fun- Finally- and this one might be a bit weird but I’m going to be honest- it is quite pleasurable. Sorry- it just is. It feels quite nice to blast the anus with a jet!



So my rebuttal for the only argument for toilet paper- the iut about making your bum wet? Well, it does a little bit but only a little bit and I have found that moments after pulling up your boxers, it is dry.



So there you go. Get yourselves a bum gun asap. Happy New Year folks!








































A Christmas Box of Brits and other Bits- 26-12-23


Boxing Day and another Chrimbo begins its race into the mists of time. No doubt some families will be dreading the return of work, may never have stopped or indeed have already returned this morning. They will probably sense the tremors of foreboding in the ground, as they await their energy bills and ponder whether they can actually afford to turn on their heating this year. January and February is a grim time of year in the UK and so the warm embrace of Malaysia has huge appeal.


I wept as I opened my last present yesterday: my daughter Georgia once again surprised me with a heart-rending present- ironically about the past. She wrote of running around in the peak District with Kyle and myself, and how she pretended to be Arwen from Lord of the Rings. She somehow managed to incorporate playfulness into her poem whilst also showing she had been deeply impacted and taken huge confidence from this perambulation through the hills.


It has been a pleasant Christmas, which started with a walk at Gracedieu priory (a place that has huge significance for my dad and I) some stollen and mincepies and of course, some mulled wine. I motored over to Shepshed and cooked dinner, which included my brother in law Alan’s brussel sprouts which were delicious and unctuous and so I raised a glass once more to him and his memory. Most of the day, we drank and Rachel’s dad mainly slept. All was well by the coal fire.


Time back in the UK has been busy as usual. We have seen Georgia and Kyle and even stepped back into our old house in Chesterfield. Indeed, we were all present in this humble abode for the first time in about seven years. It was odd and at times I felt other worldly, as if I knew intellectually I had experienced a life there but somehow, it didn’t feel real, as if I was looking into a past life or the life of some distant relative


Loughborough looks tired and dilapidated and many of the shops had their shutters firmly down as above the ground chaps on scaffolding tried to repair the damage to the HSBC bulding following the fire earlier in the year. Chesterfield town centre, however, was thriving, which I couldn’t quite understand, given that it is a similar town to Loughborough, in many ways. The footy team is flying high- maybe there is a connection.


I also read that this Christmas most British households are 10 percent poorer than the French and 20 percent poorer than the Germans in real terms. Yet whilst this is happening to Britain, we still have idiots phoning in to LBC and other programmes to say they’re either proud of Britain or that they don’t recognise it anymore because of all the immigrants. It is hard to feel pride for Britain or the British people who make such claims. I do feel that as the UK drops to 6th richest country from its long term position as the 5th and its position as 4th, when I was a child, it is hard to imagine a hugely positive way forward for the land in which I grew. 


The most popular choice of song on Christmas Eve in our house was 'Fuck the Tories' or 'I Just want the tories to fuck off'. Enough said.


Nevertheless, I continue to be proud of my kids and my family and on the 27th I am popping down to London to spend some time with Georgiekins and River. On the 28th we are heading to the theatre to see Evita and then, I will have to start thinking about buying a ticket home to Malaysia. 


New plans to begin and not least how on Earth i am going to manage to direct the musical Oliver. Until then, I will try to enjoy as much of this Food Glorious Food as I can possibly manage. Thanks for rummaging around in my box.































Getting Busy- 18-12-23


It is odd how now I am approaching the half century, the news of death, illness, loss of relatives and friends or the loss of their minds or physical capabilities comes all too frequently. Rachel’s uncle is now in a home in the late stages of dementia. An ex colleague of mine died last week from cancer, in her fifties and of course my father in law’s Parkinson’s heads forlornly in one direction only. It seems that the first half of one’s life is about growth and the second, about loss. 


When feeling low, reflective or stewing in a miasma of nostalgia, this can be quite depressing but when positive and energised, the opposite is true. Indeed, it can be inspiring. I suppose this concept is encapsulated in the quote from The Shawshank Redemption, ‘get busy living or get busy dying’. 


Well, Rach and I have been getting very busy (I don’t mean like that- you dirty minded lot) travelling to Vietnam- to Hanoi and Ha Long Bay and of course Ninh Binh. Yet, as I tap away at the keyboard, I am sitting on the balcony of an apartment in Cologne, overlooking the imposing cathedral. The sky is blue and the sun is behind me, lighting up the morning sky. We have had a wonderful time and of course, blogs will follow on the travel blog page.


This year we were keen to remind ourselves of that Christmasy feeling, whatever that actually is and so the Christmas markets of Cologne were an obvious choice. It has been a delight to see my parents again on yet another excursion and I savour each one these days, as we do not know how many more we have left. 


It is cold here but not too cold and I have to confess to enjoying it. It is, after all, the first cold weather I have experienced in two years. The other great contrast is between the bustling, delightfully dilapidated madness of Hanoi and the calm robustness of Cologne. It is so quiet here on the balcony and save from the tolling of the cathedral bells, which have been sounding out longer than the muezzin near our house in Malaysia, you could be mistaken for thinking there was no-one out there. True, there is a slight hum of traffic in the far distance and the chirping of a bird on a nearby tree but that is all.


This was not the case in the Christmas markets themselves, where the crowds were considerable- apparently twenty thousand people a day visit Cologne cathedral this time of year and I doubt it not.


So today, we fly back to the UK and I am excited about this next chapter. Another opportunity to see the kids, Rachels’ dad and others and now that I am nearly fifty (have I mentioned that) I am keen as always to ‘keep busy’ using this good old gift of life. 


By the way, I didn’t escape playing Santa this year. Although I did arrive at the primary school in a classic sportscar. Now that is living!



















Smells Like Christmas Spirit 03-12-23 


The birds are different in Malaysia- I don’t mean that they are vibrant, colourful or exotic (although some are) but I mean…weird. Take the ones who hop across the road on the streets around Pelangi heights. You see, the thing about birds is that they can fly (I mean not talking about ostriches) so it is pretty odd that as I come careering towards them in my car, having just sped up after traversing yet another member of the Ubiquitous Malaysian Speed Bump Club, that they seemingly ignore the danger of the metal monster that threatens, nay promises, to end their somewhat short lifespans and simply keep hopping. I think most of us are familiar with the attitude of pigeons and how you have to try quite hard to make them fly away but if they are threatened, they do use their wings. If you see a small child chasing one and trying to kick it, it will fly if needs be- but these little malaysian birds (I am not a twitcher and so cannot be specific) just don’t care and so I swerve around them, like the potholes. 


Today is a day to be happy. I didn’t kill any birds and I have finished my first term of the year here at Kolej Tu’anku Ja’afar. It is still difficult to get used to the idea that I don’t have to work now until January 3rd. It is particularly exciting as next weekend we head out to Vietnam (a blog will follow of course- like speed bumps they too, are ubiquitous). Equally exciting is that we will be seeing my parents and my children very soon- whilst also visiting the Cologne Christmas markets. Unfortunately, Rachel has the stress of one more week at primary before she can also end the term.


Nevertheless, we partied hard over the last couple of days, as if school was out for both of us: firstly,  at Dr Glenn’s and latterly at our mate Ben’s until 2,00 am and secondly, last night at ours until a similar ungodly hour.


In truth, it was a lot of fun although quite an operation. I used four ovens across the estate, cooking marinated chickens, roast tatties, my brother in law Alan’s brussel sprouts and cranberry sauce. I have to confess that I felt Christmassy for the first time in many years. Rach had invested in lights, wore her flashing Christmas headband and we had Christmas music, a festive treasure hunt and even mincepies and port. We are both big fans of hosting gatherings and this year, now that we are truly established, and now that there are many more folks living on the estates, the parties seem to be coming thick and fast. Christmas is inextricably linked in every fibre of my body and mind, to the cold mornings, the frost and the mulled wine and so it is sometimes hard to feel a sense of Christmas when the weather is consistently in the high twenties. Yet, Rachel’s mulled wine under an air conditioning unit was pretty close!


The night ended with Tom, Ben and I discussing philosophy, theism, and objective morality- as usual. I slept very well as my body really needed to recover from the boozing and socialising of the previous two nights. I am certainly not getting any younger!


In other news, we have cast the school musical ‘Oliver’ and rehearsals will begin in earnest in the new year. Why can I not be dragged away from the directing? I have thought about this a lot but I keep coming back to it and no matter where I am, performing arts starts to develop. As far as I am concerned, I have tried to keep a low profile but Rach laughs when I make this claim as if I am a lunatic or worse, a liar! 


In preparation for the show, we drove out to the KLpacc theatre in Kuala Lumpur to watch a youth group’s rendition of the musical. It was less than impressive, but fun to watch and the singing was very good. In defence of their somewhat limited acting performances, they were, of course, singing in their second or third language and the thought of me performing a role in Malay or Chinese is laughable in the extreme. In that sense, what an achievement and some of the youngsters were very young indeed. 


I am excited about the new term ahead and delighted with  how everything has worked out with my new Assistant Head role. Although my boss has given me a book to read over the festive period (as a present apparently) called ‘Corporate Rebels’. I am not sure how much he knows me! I need no encouragement to rebel. 


Yet now, as Christmas looms large, I am excited about the month ahead and can almost smell Chirstmas on the horizon.
















Minding the flies in a bask of Graduation Light 19-11-23


I watched the flies, mesmerised, as they bounced off the bright light gleaming over the swimming pool and then into each other, buzzing and jostling for a space in the air where they could make a fresh assault on the illumination before colliding clumsily with it and beginning the process again. From my almost nightly position relaxing in the pool after dark, I have been entranced by these little fellows, and imagined what a target they have made of themselves for would be predators. I wonder why they do it?


I am reading a wonderful book at the moment, called ‘Little Big Man’ written by Thomas Berger which was made into a film in the 1980s with Dustin Hoffman in the lead role. The book is superb and follows the life, in first person, of an American man who was reared between the ages of ten and 15 by the Cheyenne (or human beings as they refer to themselves in the book). At the beginning, before the analepsis, Jack Crabb, the central character, is well over 100 years old. This book is nostalgic for me because my sister and I were obsessed with the film as kids but now, as a man who is approaching the half century, I am often likely to be reminiscing or lingering in moments from the past in that deliciously cruel place where the memories are often wonderful (and most of mine are) but realising that they will remain in that unachievable, unreachable past before eventually disintegrating into nothingness. In essence, this book describes the life of one man and though humorous, philosophical and poignant, it is mostly a reminder to me about how short life is and how fast time flies.


So- that is why I have been finding myself looking at the flies- in a trance, with my mind in the past and my eyes on the simplicity of the flies’ existence; trying to stay mindful. The pool has been my ‘Me place’ of late- a walk or cycle down to the water, book in hand and sometimes a can of beer and I stay there for an hour or so, swimming, sitting, reading and watching the flies, hypnotically. 


When I get like this, and I assume it will increase in regularity, exponentially, if I am lucky enough to live long enough, I think mainly of my children and my hopes for them. Indeed, this week, my son graduated and whilst I could not be there, my pride and love for him feels like a chemical overload. Not only did he achieve a distinction in his masters, but he won a prize for the highest scoring grade on the entire course for his dissertation. He has not always had an easy time, with his own mind often being one of his worst enemies, but he has conquered the lot and is now a Master- the highest qualified male in the history of our family. The boy 'done good'! Now he is in the house, has a job and a great qualification. Yippee!!!


Oh- the highest qualified woman in our family? My daughter, Georgia. Smug parent!






















The Spider's Lair is Open- 31-10-23

We wait in the early evening half-light, caused in no small part by the almost nightly thunderstorms that crack in the sky like rocket fire. Rach is dressed as a crazy spider woman and we await the young kids who have dressed up horribly for tricking and treating.


Rach loves this and I like it too- she always gets the sweets ready and a theme going and with the cobwebs blowing in the wind outside, electric candles on the doorstep, spooky music on the TV, the spider lair is open and ready for visitors. We even have cans of Special Brew which seems to work with the theme of the evening.


Halloween here is more of a ‘thing’ than it was in Uzbekistan but strict muslim families don’t take part. The kids visiting houses will be almost entirely expats with parents in tow, who hope to make more memories to go with their own from when they were young. I just hope the rain doesn’t spoil the show. I’d make them do the hard miles in the storm- it would surely only add to the horrifying experience!


Last weekend, we had a great night out in KL, for Tom’s 30th birthday at a lovely, three tiered restaurant called Do Bao. Now, for the uninitiated, bao is a type of chinese bread bun which they put veg or meat inside and even chocolate, if that is your bag- or bao, I suppose. In many ways, it is like a roast cob but the bread is lighter, even lighter than brioche. I had a pork bao and it was gorgeous, not least because of the layered chinese spices. What was great is that, you didn’t feel full and some of us had two!.


We stayed at our friend Heather’s flat who works in KL and I was briefly reminded about how exciting the city is: vibrant with nightlife and busy with restaurants, wine, cocktails, and noise. The view from Heather’s delightful high rise is wonderful and I was jealous. However, when we drove home the next day, we both said that living in the countryside is better. We have access to the buzz of the capital but we can escape its traffic jams and unwanted clamour in the early hours. I think I have finally adapted to the country life.


The kids still haven’t arrived but the rain has subsided and we have scary cut out peppers instead of pumpkins sitting on the mat outside. One look likes Joseph Merrick.  



























Clinging on to Hope 22-10-23


The world is in chaos again (I say again, as if it ever really wasn’t) as Israel continue to seek revenge (or defend themselves) from the horror attacks of Hamas only a couple of weeks ago. The situation in Palestine and Israel has, of course, been at the forefront of news, on and off for many decades but the recent and terrible atrocities committed by Hamas on innocent Israeli citizens shook the world and rightly so, in my opinion. However; as usual, and because we are human beings, our response is to kill loads more innocent people and so about three times as many innocent lives have been taken in Gaza, due to the response of the dominant Israeli army, with its full support of the west and, I am sorry to have to admit it, my own home nation, the United Kingdom.


My favourite band, Marillion, wrote an epic song, ‘Gaza’  for which they were labelled as anti-semitic for writing and performing it but which is actually a wonderful portrayal of what I am trying to say. ‘Peace won’t come from standing on our throats’ is a line that most sums this madness up. If people are caged and feel they have no future, they will never be tamed and this now aggressive attack on Gaza will simply result in more future attacks as hatred continues to fester and new children are brought up into this toxic world. Steve Hogarth also wrote, ‘Everyone deserves a chance to feel the future just might be bright’ but for children and many families in Gaza, there is no hope of that.


As humans, we haven’t evolved- everything is about power and money and anyone with it wants to keep it. Even politicians cannot express genuine opinions or don’t have the balls to, subdued or even crippled by party politics, and populism. Even Keir Starmer, a party leader, on the verge of ousting these Tory nincompoops, expounds the same western media rhetoric of a land defending itself from terrorism. I disagree but who cares what I think. It is also fascinating by the way that the ‘crisis’, and borderline third world war rhetoric that we all woke up to every morning due to Putin’s incursions into the Ukraine seem to have disappeared from everyone’s consciousness. The war continues but no one really talks about it. Yesterday’s news, I suppose. Here lies the problem- after a certain period of time has elapsed, the denouncing and the fervour of appalled voices fade and whatever is, is. The unimaginable horrible becomes the ‘norm’ and therefore, we accept it.


Heavy start to this first blog of October and probably the last, as I have been very tardy, in terms of writing and there aren't that many days now until the end of the month. It is Sunday morning and I am not sorry for spitting out my thoughts. Thankfully, I have been able to curtail them a little as I could go on and on and on and on…


In other news, there is Beethoven’s 7th, great coffee, toasted treats, time off work and space to clear my head so all is well enough today. It has been a week since we returned from Indonesia where we enjoyed island hopping between Gili Air, Gili Trewangan and Gili Meno. It was a very relaxed and peaceful experience and beautiful, but, of course, there will be a  lengthy blog on the trip coming soon although there is a taster photo for you in this blog. Watch this space.


It is only two and half weeks until our next break from work and then only a few weeks until we head to Vietnam and then Cologne and finally the UK for a family Christmas, we are all looking forward to. Especially now that my sister has taken up a post in Guernsey and will therefore have lots of stories to share about her new experiences.


My son is working at a school in Chesterfield and waiting for our tenant to upsticks and leave so that Kyle doesn’t have a very expensive and long commute. The final date has long since passed and it has been very frustrating. Last week, I almost sent nearly 1300 pounds to a solicitor and some second brain, or sub-conscious presence stopped me and I know not why. The tenant has ‘messed’ me around a lot and I thought I had firm convictions that we were beginning the process of evicting him but having not sent the money, I awoke to an email saying that the tenant is now leaving and has written to say they will be dropping the keys off on October 30th. 


I am loathe to get excited for my son as I have seen this situation play out badly several times and so I have everything crossed that this time, it will happen and that Kyle can get his life started. This has been the most difficult thing for me as a dad: wanting to help him and doing all I can but accepting that beyond my efforts, everything is in the lap of fortune. 


I hope it all works out but that is the point- I have hope when so many people in the world do not. It makes all of my whining, griping and moaning manifest as pathetic. I hope for the people of Gaza, that the tragedy and desperation that they find themselves in will one day end. 
































Snotty Nose on Prophet's Muhammad's Birthday 28-09-23


It is prophet Muhammad’s birthday today which means we were able to sleep in and have a day off work, ‘peace be upon him’. I needed it this morning, as I seem to have developed a cold- manifesting as a blocked nose and a stuffy head. It made me stop and ponder... I think this might be the first cold I have caught in over five years. So why is that?


I had actually forgotten the feeling: you go to bed, lie down and can’t breathe and at some point in your life, hopefully sooner, rather than later, you discover olbas oil, realise the instructions to put a couple of drops on your pillow is ‘bollocks’ and you lather the room in the stuff and eventually, you can breathe again, until next time. That is the memory that I had temporarily put into stasis. And now, I begin to think why it is that someone you know has a cold, in the UK, all of the time.


As a child, you are told by your parents to dry inside your ears after swimming, in case you catch a cold (surely as crazy as Uzbeks believing that red is bad for you) and not to go out if it is too cold or windy or if there’s a nip in the air, without wrapping up warm with gloves and hats and other wooly paraphernalia. This is common sense as it is cold and dangerous. However, it reached icy cold temperatures in Uzbekistan and I didn’t catch a cold once. Yet here I am in Malaysia, catching a cold when it hardly drops below 30 degrees. There seems to be no ‘rhyme or reason’ in this. 


Maybe the Uk is crammed full of germs and viruses wandering the streets like bad ass gangsters, seeking to put folk down and out of action. Or maybe germs and viruses abroad are more polite and thoughtful, saying, ‘oh, they looked so tired and sad this morning so I left them alone’. Or maybe it is the fact that the UK is crammed full of people in a relatively small place, allowing the little gangster germs to take out swathes of the people with one wild lunge of beastliness.


I know I could ‘Google it’ but this is more fun, although my snotty nose isn’t!


I have been busy as ever with work but more because of my Assistant Head role, than because of teaching. I do very little of that these days. The trip to Manila was a welcome break and we had two and a half fantastic days playing games, learning new techniques for teaching and most importantly, having a lot of laughs with generally like minded people. 


On the first evening we stayed in the comfort of the expat, posh bubble and ate out at a restaurant where drinks and food were all paid for and we simply flashed a wristband to be served. Delightful. We finished up on top of the hotel drinking a few hugely expensive glasses of wine (it was a bar- I don’t mean on the roof or something, or dangling off a balcony). Night two was wilder as we headed out into the real Manila and as one of our louder and more effervescent personalities stated, ‘more dangerous’ parts of the city. Here, there were prostitutes, drunks, narrow streets and seedy bars. It was a lot of fun. I played pool in one such bar where the winner stayed on and I won seven in a row before thankfully getting 7 balled by a local. I could finally have a break (no pun intended).


Another bar sold their own caramel and popcorn vodka, brewed on premises- it was delicious. On the upper floor people were crammed into an intimate drinking space of which the highlight was the bar and more specifically the cocktail guys- on one occasion, the music stopped and the lights dropped before a bell began to toll repetitively. Everything became hushed. I thought it might be the end of me when a barman turned around wearing a metal mask in the shape of a sun with a gurning face on it. He carried a blow torch and moved side to side in a ritual manner reminiscent perhaps of a moment before a human sacrifice. He set fire to the drink and then in heart beat, the bar returned to normal. It was as if everyone was group hypnotised but I checked and my new friends were all present. Phew!


The highlight of the evening was not the coctail sun god but a two second moment. We had gone from fifteen people or so to three and we three wandered drunkenly through the streets to an unlit building which promised fun. When we arrived there was no sign, no sound and no likelihood of drinking action or any kind of action save a quiet drug deal. My effervescent friend reached out and opened the door, which must have been sound proofed like no other, only to reveal lots of people, sparkling lights, cocktails, dancers, banging music and 'locked in' DJs. That two second moment reminded me of the moment in ‘Some Like it Hot’, when they go to the funeral parlour and open the door to reveal the speakeasy. It was very amusing and exciting. 


We didn’t stay long. One of our number suddenly declared that they felt ‘sick’ so we paid up and took a Grab back. It was 2.30am when we arrived at the hotel.


So- what of the week ahead? I am on duty this weekend and have to be at school until late tomorrow as I am on call,  although we are off to watch the Hong Kong Welsh male voice choir on Sunday. How many of you have seen them eh? After that we have a week before the holidays and six days on a paradise island just off the coast of Bali and Lombok. It’s a tough life ain’t it?


Just thinking, maybe I caught my cold off one of those drama teachers at the conference. Not sure what that would prove though.


A quick ditty:


Colds

Be careful you don’t catch a cold

Some old person said 

As if I am policeman Dan

Chasing some evil man

To catch him and lock him up 

Or playing cricket 

On a sticky wicket 

But actively saving the game

And avoiding all the boos and shame

Like prisoners on the run

After the setting sun

Chased among the trees

As they flee

But eventually plead for mercy

When they are caught

I ought to have asked

Who was in charge

To the old who told me

Warned me of the danger

How I was to catch

By accident something

I did not want.

For I hate the sneeze and 

Sore throat and the joke

Of a snotty nose

Surely a cold just pursues me

And leaves me miserably

Wishing I had found some cover

Some other place to be

Before it chased me down and the cold caught me.



















































A Day in the Philippines- 20-09-23


CNN is on the TV, Earl Grey is in my cup and I’ve an unhealthy load of wine in my blood. It has been a long but interesting day but as I sit here, stark naked, incidentally, at my surface pro, I have to confess to feeling quite smug. It has been a good day.


I left for the Philippines (one l, two ps which is something else I have discovered) at 5.15 this morning and so I am exhausted. Why am I here? Well, I am here for a 3 day drama teacher conference which to most folk might sound like a bit of nightmare as they picture a theatre of drama teachers (I am making my own collective nouns up by the way) mincing around a school generally showing off. I myself, not unfamiliar with this modus operandi am not really looking forward to it.


I haven’t yet seen much of Manila and am staying in the BGC part of the city which is clearly where all the rich folk hang out and in many ways, the place resembles Kuala Lumpur, with high rise, sleek modern skyscrapers and a range of diverse restaurants and bars. However, it was clear from the plane that there are lots of much poorer areas and vast, areas of slums like those I had witnessed in Mumbai, back in 2016. 


The highlight of today was visiting the American war cemetery which is also home to many Filipino soldiers who had died during the second world war. We don’t here much about this area of the world when learning about the second world war in the UK but there was a huge amount of fighting across hundreds of islands and the commemorative place is dignified, quiet and beautiful. Like Tyne Cotte, in Ypres, but over a larger space, this memorial to the dead is pure white and has a bell tower at its centre with an impressive and surprisingly large painting of a lady, like mother Mary but a little more modern, looking suitably mournful and proud inside the tower. The bells chimed whilst I was there and played a tune which I didn’t know, but which was so sonorous, lush and echoing, it sounded in my ears long after the last note was played and I actually wept. 


I walked slowly and glanced at the thousands of names that were on the walls and stopped to consider the mass death as I looked across at the graves all in the shape of a cross, rolling across the undulations in the land.


I left this place in need of a beer and sought out a craft place called The Tap Station which had 26 craft beers on draught. I managed to work my way through four. The Philippines’ climate is similar to Malaysia and I was dripping wet with sweat by the time I made it to the bar. By the time I left, I was somewhat drier and less emotional and I had enjoyed the company of two lovely Filipino ladies, who were hilarious and a real hoot.


From here I visited a great restaurant and managed to catch up with Wendy and her two children. We had several wines and a cocktail, whilst chatting about the past, the present and the future. I was delighted to see Wendy was happy as head of Secondary at The British School of Manila- she deserves it. 


On the way home I witnessed a dog in a nappy and another in a pram, sitting up almost grinning- dogs can do that I assure you.


And so, CNN has been switched off, the Earl Grey has been imbibed and the wine is working its way through the system. It is time for a rest- early start tomorrow and a day of surprises I guess, with a flounce of drama teachers (I am still making up my own collective nouns).























Curses and Sacrifices 31-08-23


Curse my banging headache. Despite sleeping in until midday, the throb persists. It is a Thursday. It is week 1 of school. I am hungover. Thankfully, it is a National Holiday and I have been able to sacrifice a day to recover.


I didn’t drink a huge amount but I must be getting old. It was the first ‘do’ at Pelangi Heights since the newbies arrived and we have a great crew of folk from ‘far and wide’ living a stone’s throw from each other. 


Ben and Jess hosted and a couple of days ago, I dropped over to their house to erect the pool. The unfortunate and ghastly highlight or perhaps lowlight of this experience was the accidental squashing of a frog as we dragged the tired carcass of the pool across Ben’s yard and splashed the frog's carcass across the inside of the pool covering a far wider area than you would think was possible. It was unpleasant and made the stomach turn a little but I would never have thought the old frog to have had so much blood in him (to go all Macbeth on you all).


We cleaned it up very well with the help of some other locals and though the water was still a bit murky and put a few guys off, by the time we had consumed a few glasses of various beverages, there was enough of us to make it worth our while setting it up. The water was wonderful and warm and we lay in it, drinking more until well after midnight. We felt the frog had blessed the pool with its sacrifice until this morning when we awoke and Rach discovered a splinter in her toe. Despite my efforts with a needle and even a trip to see the nurse at the clinic, she was unable to get the pointy blighter removed. Tomorrow, it’s the turn of the doctor. Thankfully, less blood was on show than from the bursting frog- or maybe it was a toad but let’s hope the doc can release it. I wouldn’t want to think this was some curse for having killed the hopping fella. Blood will have blood, or so they say.


Rach and I, despite the splinter, have settled back into life well enough and it is great to have more friends living close by this year. Next week, the Dungeons and Dragons evenings are due to restart where we will be cursing the demons, the ogres and the red-cloaked rembrandts and sacrificing our own safety for goodness and to save the elvish lands. I never expected to be a nerd but it seems I am cursed to be one.


Rach has been healthy and well and despite our anxieties with regard to the house in Chesterfield and the awkward bugger who seems keen to make life tricky for us, we are in good spirits. Last night, we watched the demise of Lagertha, the most famous shield maiden in the drama series Vikings and squirmed at the thought that a courageous woman volunteered herself as a human sacrifice to go with the warrior to her resting place in Valhalla. I appreciate this is artistic license.


If the chap doesn’t move out of 13 New Queen street on September 23rd, as expected, we might have to try a blood sacrifice or pull up some floorboards and show him the beating of a hideous heart. Perhaps I should have sent him the remains of the frog as a curse.


































Finally, the tranquillity of Routine- 23-08-23


Sake at my side, White Russian on the laptop and Rach trying to quell my son’s anxiety on the phone upstairs and here I am back in Malaysia in the middle of induction week and contemplating the summer that has now passed into the mists of time like they all do, I guess.


It was a wild ride this summer (and a largely wet one) involving trips to Birmingham, Manchester, Edinburgh, Fort William, London, Stockholm and more; seven weeks involving many many beds, living out of a suitcase and constantly wondering where my shoes are or the phone charger or some other daily necessity that one normally takes for granted. Getting back has been just the ticket. Routine (not a hugely important thing to me normally) is still a settler and some stability is definitely needed. 


Over the last two days, I have been responsible for inducting our new staff (nearly 40 of them) answering their questions, instructing them on policy, scheduling and reminding current staff about their presentation duties. It has been a roaring success but I am so glad to get it out of the way. It is funny how tension and expectation brings with it such fear and as I get older, that fear grows stronger all of the time.


It has been great to catch up with friends and some staff who have followed me here after Uzbekistan. It also pleasant to immediately fall back into the old banter and yet on new terrain. 


August in the UK was hectic with the constant hope that my son (who has now finished his masters) might get to move into our old house ever hanging in the air and as Red from Shawshank tells us, ‘hope is a dangerous thing’. Unfortunately, it did not come to fruition and we are ‘hoping’ that a moving date of September 23rd is a possibility. The tenants appear to be digging in and we might be in for the long haul. I really ‘hope’ not.


Not long after our conquest of Ben Nevis (all right, I know it’s not Everest) we completed two cracking 12 mile walks around Market Harborough and Georgia joined us for the second day, which was pleasing. We enjoyed the fifth Linden Theatre Night and Rach showcased her directorial skills with great aplomb. Her performance of the birdsong of Malaysia will forever remain in our hearts.


I also spent some time with my mum in Manchester catching the show Shrek the musical which was a lot of fun, as you can imagine. The lady playing Fiona was staggeringly good with a powerful voice, outstanding comic timing and speech laced with irony that was deliciously infectious. Mum and I also managed to see the Alan Turing statue and visit the memorial for those who died in the Manchester bombings.


Only a week or so before returning to Malaysia, I spent 4 days in Edinburgh with Georgia which was fun and there will be a travel blog to follow on that one. The fringe was in town and when we had booked it we had failed to put two and two together. What a bonus! 


Our holiday was finally capped off when we bumped into Mark David fortuitously at the airport as he was working his way back to Baku in Azerbaijan. It was fun to catch up and share a few frothy beverages before heading our separate ways. Once again, it was as if we had only seen each other the day before.


Time and geography separates so many of us but memories forever bind us together. 

 


























Bedtime after scaling the Ben- 31-07-23

So it’s a bedtime blog today. I am lying in the front room of my father in law’s house in the darkness and naked (too much information) contemplating another great life experience. Two days ago, we conquered Ben Nevis. It isn’t as incredible as it sounds as, in truth, the mountain was teeming with people, young and old and some, seemingly due for death but still motoring through with their hiking sticks. I saw people dressed as jocks (the Scottish type, not the American sort), one as Wally from the books ‘Where’s Wally?’ and another odd fella dressed as Luigi from the Mario games. They all managed to scale the summit.


Nevertheless, this was a tough climb for me and although I was one of the quickest in our group, I was very close to giving up and not bothering during the last third, where the ground was covered in shale and rocks and where the slope was at its steepest. My niece, Leah, was super quick but it was my old Tashkent buddy Steve who was most impressive, striding out to the summit in about three hours and forty-five minutes. We completed Snowdon last year but this was far more gruelling.


Aside from the climb, it was a lot of fun to spend some quality time in the Highlands. I was reminded of a holiday I had in the Cairngorms as a child and how the Highlands have the most stunning natural scenery in the United Kingdom, without question. It is majestic, bleak, formidable, inviting, imposing, and yet beautiful with sloping mountains, wide bleak and open spaces and valleys, waterfalls, and streams, lochs and rivers. Everywhere you go, you end up reaching for your camera to take another memorable picture.


Tomorrow, I have a day off from the frantic action and the bulging list of calendar activities and I have to admit to being relieved. My legs are as stiff as stone and my body aches. I am exhausted from the long drive and definitely ready for a rest.


Time to get some bedtime zzzzzzzs.



















































Holiday Season 20-07-23


I have been up, more or less for 21 and a half hours and strangely do not feel that tired. I am sure, once I wend my weary way up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire and my head hits the pillow, that I will go out like a candle in a strong wind but for now, Nick Kershaw’s music and this blog seems to be pulling me through.


It is still holiday season and since my last entry, Rach and I have returned to Chezvegas to see friends and I managed a long walk up in the peak district with Graham- memorable mainly for being a day of soaking rain and for me once again wandering across the hills in woefully inappropriate clothing- a bright flowery shirt, whilst Graham strode beside me in all of the proper gear. It reminded me of my time climbing Ala Archa with Cameron and Emily. I was once again, a teacher twat on a mountain, although this time it was more of a sizeable hill, or two. After my time in the peaks, I had a great ‘Marillion Day’ with Em- and stayed up too late and debated the world and everything in it with my niece until 3am. 


Then, it was off to Birmingham for a day besides the canal with Steve Bell, my old pal from Tashers. It was great to catch up and his son Alex was hilarious, cute and fun in equal parts. 


The next day we caught a flight to Stockholm and Rach, Kyle and myself spent 3 days together exploring this wonderful city, (a travel blog will follow, of course). One observation about Sweden, or at least Stockholm was how happy, pleasant and helpful everyone was. No one was too proud to help; everyone smiled and it was clear that this place had a very different culture to the UK: most obviously manifest in relative underground stations and airports. In Sweden the posters were of growing your own produce, eating ice cream, happiness and fun. In the UK it is ‘don’t stare at people sexually’ on the tube or call this line if you’re suicidal. At the airport, it is all 'don’t abuse our staff’ or ‘modern slavery should be stopped’. It was like a personification of Rimmer’s confidence and paranoia from Red Dwarf (watch it if you haven’t). Sweden was clean, organised, helpful and happy. The UK, dour, depressed, negative and sad.


My main concerns today have centred around the car, which is knackered and we have just received a 340 pound bill; this is obviously a bit of a nightmare but at least the car doesn’t need to be scrapped, which at one point we were contemplating. Tomorrow is the day before our annual Linden Theatre night but as well as prepare for a four hander from Romeo and Juliet with masks and performed by only me (don’t ask), I have to help Rachel’s dad buy a new phone, help Kyle with his job seeking, collect the car from the garage, meet up with my old mate James Godber and try to complete my literary assassination of HMRC, who continue to write a saga of screw ups. 


Yes, it is holiday season; it has been fun; it has been varied but I have to confess to hankering for some time to let my mind just sit, all mellow, glowing dimly in one spot in the room, ignoring everyone- just for a short while- a candle in the silence- if you will.





























Camden Town, the Shanty Folk and a whole lot of Kafkaesque Madness- 13-07-23


Christopher Eubanks, (not the boxer) has exploded on to the scene and currently 2v1 sets up on the world number three in the Wimbledon quarter final. He has been magnificent but Medvedev is still going about business really well and I think he might sneak it. In the background, Rachel’s dad is sleeping in his chair in the lounge, as usual. I have fifteen minutes to write my first blog back here in blighty.


The people seem happier this year, than last, over here in the UK. Quite a few people, even in the towns and more populace places, have caught my eye, smiled and said ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’. People are as busy as ever but last year, there was a real sense of depression in the air. Things haven’t improved at all, as far as I can see but perhaps the people are getting used to it.


We took Pete (the father in law) to the hospital last week and the staff were lovely although the outer parts of Leicester, like Sheffield, looked very tired. The roads were full of pot holes and there was a huge queue to even get into the hospital. We visited Georgia down in London a few days ago and the towns outside of the centre had the same tired vibe and the smells of Leyton were intriguing, ranging from the regular, sweet aroma of weed, to hints of sewage, rotten fruit and gas.


We enjoyed our, albeit brief, jaunt down to North London. We stayed in a house less than half a mile from Georgia’s place and it was ideal. The landlady’s husband had passed away two years before and she was a talker, working through grief. It was sad but inspiring as she has developed the Air B and B business and owned to other houses. She was pushing through it and had a lovely dog staying with her called Bailey.


We enjoyed Camden Town in the evening and visited a lovely vegan restaurant called Mildred’s which was delightful and the atmosphere was funky and modern. Cost me a little more than I would have liked but it was more than worth it to see Georgia and River and see that they are both happy and smiling. The next morning, we passed the staggering St Paul’s, surely one of the most iconic sites in London before walking down the hill, crossing the bridge and nipping into the famous Modern Tate.

This place was fascinating, brilliant, inspiring, bizarre and ‘completely nuts’ and frankly ridiculous in equal parts, depending where your eyes happened to be looking. We were here for some time and stopped for some tea and coffee, the highlight of which was the doughnut River purchased, which cost 4.95 pounds (my keyboard doesn’t have a pound sign, sorry).


Most of the rest of the first week and half back has been catching up with the famalam. I was lucky enough to get a chance to go and watch one of my dad’s Shanty Folk concerts and it was genuinely a real treat. Some of the pieces were rip-roaring drunken singalongs but there were poignant, sensitive moments and great humour, particularly when one of the group put a wig on and started pretending to be a woman.


We had a lot of laughs and a lot of fun.

 

So, now, back to the present and the dreaded ‘getting shit done’ type of day, where you tip tap on keyboards, sit in long phone cues, race around shops and argue with AI bots online. I will moan a little here as I have noticed that the incessant move away from human physical or personal interaction in the UK is hurtling along at some serious pace. In Tescos last week, not a single checkout with a human was open and there are now large fortress-like metal doors stopping you from walking between inactive checkouts (all of them). The phone lines are all manned by bots and recite mind-numbing bureaucracy on an endless loop of Kafkaesque madness. The airports are almost unstaffed; the staff at train stations are being made redundant in a government drive to have completely unstaffed train stations in an all too immediate future.


It seems that everyone around me is losing their heads. Let’s see if I can keep mine. I’m calling HMRC now. Wish me luck.

 

 


























Tempus Fugit- but it is a lot of fun! 24-06-23


The sound of the siren outside is haunting and is not only annoyingly loud but visceral. We have all seen the films and know, deep down, the terror associated with this call to the bomb shelters. Today, we probably associate the pitch meandering cadences with nuclear war, fallout, underground shelters and the evaporation of matter. Yet, at KTJ, it is simply a call to not go out because it is raining hard and there might be lightning. I don’t think I will ever become accustomed to it. It gives me the chills!


Sat in front of me is a young Malaysian boy, in detention for repeated lateness. The detention is pointless as indeed most detentions are. This boy will continue to be late but we have ticked a box to say we are doing something about it. As an Assistant Head teacher, it has now become one of my extended whole school duties. What fun! To be fair, this is the first detention I have sat in for about 5 years so it can’t be too bad. Students here at KTJ don’t really know what bad behavior is.


I attended the prom last weekend and was proud to be invited (only teachers who are invited by students can attend). It was a calm affair with no booze and lots of photo opportunities but what I loved was the entertainment, all arranged by the students, with the prom committee dancing for us, students singing duets, solos and even a rock band, performed by the A level students. There was a prom queen and king prize and best couple along with speeches and jokes. The food was more style-over-content but bisu as it was, I was satisfied. At the end of the night, the staff had a boogie and I couldn’t resist getting the worm out. Not that!


I actually wormed across the dance floor and was pleased that I could still do it to be honest.

Graduation has come and gone and more students I have worked with drift off into the world, never to be seen again but hopefully equipped with what they need for life and its many ups and downs. One student almost made me cry as she told me she was leaving today (now, at the end of year 9 or Form 3 as we call it here). She hung around at the end of the lesson to specifically tell me. I had no idea and I had already setted this student for next year. She said ‘You’re he best teacher I have ever had and when I become a teacher I want to be just like you’. I nearly burst into tears.


So, one week to go before we jump on the big bird in the sky and it is time once more to reflect on life and the last year. I remember my father once telling me that time seems to speed up and reading that poem as a child which starts ‘as a child I laughed and wept, time crept’ The rest is quite depressing but suffice it to say that time moves from creeping to flying. I totally get that now although I didn’t as a small schoolboy at Rendell County Primary school.


We have survived and mostly enjoyed a year in Malaysia and we are currently set to do another. We have made some new friends; made a mark on the school, and I’ve been promoted whilst managing to bring in some of my old colleagues from Tashers; who start in August. We have visited the wondrous temples of Angkor; partied in Bangkok, motored up and down the west coast of Malaysia; roamed the cave temples of Ipoh and camped on a beach- as well as parasailed in Langkawi and witness snakes, huge lizards and monkeys in the wild.


Next year is set to be even better and though I do feel that life is rattling along like a bat out of hell, we are still enjoying the gift.






























An Older Truth- 03-06-23



'Here was an older truth’, my father once wrote in a chapter of our novel, ‘The Weft and the Warp’. That quote has been racing round my brain a lot recently as I try to make sense of a lot of ‘stuff’. I find myself thinking about my mortality far more often, of late and pondering on the nature of the universe. I watch far too many videos about the cosmos than can surely be healthy, listen to endless ‘intellectuals’ discussing the nature or indeed meaning of life and yet no-one can come up with anything more impressive, frankly, than Douglas Adams’ ‘42’ or should I say ‘Deep thought’.


Now, I am not depressed. Let’s put that right before I go on. Wistful perhaps, sometimes nostalgic and often perplexed but not at all depressed. Last week I pondered the notion that Odin, the Viking God, was sitting in Valhalla, wondering why no more folk were turning up, and being, to be honest, bloody annoyed that except for a few new age weirdos, not a single soul was arriving to keep him company. After all, not too many people revere Odin anymore. Only last night I thought of heaven, as the Christians or Muslims perceive it and tried to think of a single activity, experience or feeling (including orgasms) no matter how captivating, wondrous or magical even it might be that I would want to experience for eternity. The best thing about life, is death. We have goals and ambitions to achieve and surely it is the finite nature of our opportunities to do so that drives us, or encourages us to get on with it. If time was infinite, what need would there be for ambition and what sense of fulfillment could one ever feel. In essence, isn’t the monotheistic concept of heaven just a perpetual prison, that one can never ever escape?


So- as you see- my mind has been busy.


Somehow, despite the clutter in my mind, I have managed to keep up with the demands of my job without letting out the freak who lurks beneath the surface. In fact, I have been doing two jobs, as my Assistant Head teacher role has well and truly left the launching pad and yet, my current Head of Department job pulls and blows me off course often enough. I am enjoying the job, of course, and with exams, trips and school events, have actually taught very few lessons recently. Next week, I have three lessons to teach. 3! Nice.


Alongside this, I had an extended weekend (exeats in boarding terminology) recently and have just arrived at another. Delicious. So what have I been up to? A fortnight ago, I drove up the coast with Matt and his daughter Anniek for a day and a night in Sekinchan (which sounds comically like second chance). We didn’t need one. All was well.


Sekinchan is about ninety minutes’ drive north of the capital, Kuala Lumpur. It is very different to anywhere else I have been to in Malaysia as it is very flat and more like the Norfolk Broads than anywhere else. The main attraction here is the rice paddies, which, when we were there were fully grown and so in bloom and beautiful. At certain parts of the year it is just several rectangular swamps but the harvest was close and the golden colour of the crop was stunning. Whilst here, we hired what Rach and I often refer to as a ‘twat bike’ and Anniek sat on the front whilst Matt and I pedaled through the paddies. It was a lot of fun and we were able to visit the rice museum (more interesting than it sounds) as well as a wonderful shack, come restaurant that specialized in mango juice.

 

Sekinchan is also on the coast and whilst you can’t swim here, the views are beautiful and we had some decent seafood looking out at the vibrant boatyards and observing the fisherman preparing their multi-coloured vessels. Anniek spotted a couple of 2 metre long monitor lizards, one seemingly stalking the other, whether it be for sex or something else, it was hard to say. Aftyer a shower and some brief down time we headed out to a restaurant where the writing on the menu was only in Chinese. Very amusing- we ended up with a two kilo crab amongst other things. Before bed we wathed the aftermath of sunset over the sea near our Wild West style digs. I can almost see Odin grinning in the volcanic sky.


Last weekend, we headed in to KL and had a great and rather drunken night out with cocktails, beers, wine and a lovely curry. Rach and I had booked a hotel for the night, as we had tickets to see the Malysian Filarmonic (that is how it is spelt, so…) Orchestra playing the music of Star Wars, including music from Rogue One and The Mandalorian. This concert was great and we thoroughy enjoyed it. The conductor, a Star Wars fan himself, spoke to the audience, breaking the rules of classical concert etiquette but made us all laugh a lot. We began by all calling out at the top of our voices, ‘A Long time ago in a galaxy far, far away’. Brilliant! Very memorable!


The lead cellist was particularly impressive making Rachel cry at one point during the concert with the beauty of his playing and I have to give a big shout out to the lead viola player for his determination during some of the fiddly quiet moments- sometimes playing alone and of course, the lead double bass player, who looked oddly just like Robbie Coltrane. We left happy and had a pleasant Italian meal nearby and a glass or two of wine. It was a really pleasant weekend.


Tonight we are at a barbecue and tomorrow, I am on a lad’s piss up trip to the horse racing in Selangor. I have no idea if I will return safely but the tequila I bought for the occasion looks at me with a menacing golden glow of gleeful sadism. I think this bunch of lads would be better placed in Valhalla so if all goes wrong, hopefully we will sup with Odin and cheer him up a little.

 






















































Bright reflections in the Nothing Cave- 19-05-23


Always reflecting, like a mirror in the sunlight- it is bright; it sparkles, but it is hard to see or get any sense of clarity.


I am having fun here in Malaysia and life is certainly pleasant, for sure (as the New Zealanders like to say) but I am still finding it hard to settle on things or relax and am still not sure about what the next stage in our journey will be. Rach and I have had some difficult conversations lately, which is ironic, as we are, for the first time in ages, on the same page, eating from the same cheeseboard and the like. Somehow, that has made things harder. Like I say, it doesn’t make any sense, and is as clear as the piercing bright light of the reflection from a mirror in the blaze of the sunshine.


I have been thinking a lot recently, inwardly reflecting as well as projecting confusion and haze. We all sit behind our screens or lie back, phone in hand, watching pointless clips of well- not just cats falling out of trees- anything that has little relevance to our lives but it dawned on me the other day, how easily I become bored. I once said, phones and technology have made it almost impossible that young people, and indeed all people never become bored but, you just try putting down your tech for a while, just sit back and look at life, as we once did. How long before the twitch; the need to grab a device;to check if someone across the planet has made a connection? Look at me now, writing a blog in a pub on a laptop. No problem- I enjoy it but you know what, I think I desperately need it too- isn’t that the definition of addiction.


Everyone in the shops, garages, supermarkets, pubs, restaurants, are engaged, connected to something else, some place else and being present seems to be a boring drag, doesn’t it? We know, romantically, that this must, I mean must be good for us. Yet, try it! It is so hard to relax, to stop the mind ticking. We seem to need something to do all of the time- a purpose for scrolling hardly provides that.


I have so many jobs at the moment and strangely, I like that, as it keeps me busy. The moment I stop, I will probably return to watching a podcast, a pointless video of a prick on the tube, more likely, or a debate between a Scientologist and a Muslim or why we all descended from lizards (all equally valid by the way, as far as I'm concerned). I mean, really- I guess it is an education of a sort. However; it does frustrate me. Even my mum and dad, when they visited spent most of their down time on their phones. Sure, they are sending pictures, sharing their experiences, gaining affirmation and warming the ego but the bit that scares me, is when I stop and I am doing nothing, I cannot handle it!


Thankfully, after the ranting, I feel a little better about this internal festering. I don’t even know the answer- or if there is one. I mean, I don't feel bad either...just reflective. Yet, I do feel changed and sometimes I need to stop reflecting or searching for the light and accept the sluggish darkness of the ‘nothing cave’. I know I won’t.





































A Night in Colonial KL- 03-05-23


I have eaten lasagne for three days straight! I made a cracker and am addicted.


We have another day off tomorrow and to be honest, I haven’t really got back into everything since the Easter break. Monday was a bank holiday and now we are off again. This time of year is often oddly difficult in education. The end is in sight, our flights to the UK booked and plans are slowly forming for how the summer will be spent. Though there is less pressure on the teaching part, it often feels like you are finished, when you’re not and at the moment, I have a lot to do with my new role looming large and alien on the horizon.


Last weekend was fun as Hamish and I met up with some other colleagues in Kuala Lumpur for beverages (as my old mate Steve would always say). We popped into a very classy restaurant called Manju, which served astonishing food and even better cocktails. I was surprised how many we managed to consume in truth, interspersing them tactically with calmer Tiger beers to help the hydration. From here we headed to a couple of very posh hotels (where we picked up Mark) and ended up playing pool in a wonderful but terribly colonial place called the Smokehouse.


In this place, the waiters all dress in white suits and the décor smacks of the days of the Rag. Even the pool table pockets have tassels on them- whilst the wooden paneling on the sides looks like it gets a fresh coat of varnish applied on an almost daily basis. We had several more cocktails here including my favourite- the lethal ‘Great Expectations’. Thereby bounced around far too many jests about whether the drink lived up to its promises. It did by the way and it was extremely alcoholic. I enjoyed plenty of banter about religion, the coronation of King Charles 3rd and indeed how sociable, or not, the KTJ experience had been in my first year. In a nearby cabinet, some pre-smoked cigars sat in rows waiting for someone posh enough to order them. 


I also won almost all of my games of pool, although I cannot remember many details.


The end of the night and indeed, the early hours of the next morning, were spent walking along a phenomenally exciting street, and bustling hub of Chinatown. This place had more restaurants in one row than I have ever seen in my life- all of them open air food courts. Even after midnight, the place was thriving with new customers arriving for food- not rat-arsed laddos looking for a kebab but families, old and young, and even some toddlers wandered the busy streets seeking out their favourite noodles, rice or even lobster dishes.


The Chinese lanterns sparkled with smouldering red, like fire and the pungent aromas of sweet sauces, smoke and spice were omnipresent, as we semi-staggered down this road, alive with many languages, noises and cultures. We had several delectable dishes here and about two more, completely unnecessary, Tigers, before walking through the crazy traffic jams to meet our taxi driver. I was pleased to make it to my bed.


Life continues to be pleasant here in Malaysia but, in truth, we are feeling the call of the summer (not the sun- it is mid 30s all of the time here) and time with our believed family who we miss so very much.































The Confusion in the Mist- 25-04-23


I can hear a solitary, metronomic staccato squeak of a gecko just outside the house and once you’ve heard it, it simply won’t go away and your brain is tapped into the sound. It really is difficult to unhear it.


Tonight has been odd. I have just got off the phone with my father in law, who is clearly struggling at the moment and it is hard to digest. Rach and I are happy here in Malaysia, but we feel terribly guilty about our responsibilities and with my son reaching the end of his Masters in a few months and he, filled with uncertainty and not sure at all where his life will take him next, I am beginning to feel more and more inclined to return to the UK.


It isn’t all bad. I would love to get back involved with am dram again; to regularly taste good beers and to be a better rock for my kids, my sister, my parents and of course, Rachel’s dad, but it isn’t simple at all. I have never been happier at work than I am now; never had such wonderful management; have friends coming here next year to work at KTJ; I have just been promoted to Assistant headteacher and never had such disposal income and opportunity to travel as well as the 17 weeks holidays we have. The weather is always fabulous and yet in the UK, our Tory idiots have ruined almost everything: energy bills are through the roof and even my own profession is striking. Not very appealing at all. On top of that, we would both have to get jobs; we’d both have to live with Pete; I’d have to buy a car and if we decided to move back into New Queen Street, we’d need a three-piece suite, beds, bookcases and more besides. We have built up some wonga but what a shame to throw it all away so quickly.


I knew- we knew, we would likely have to face this scenario at some point but for me, it is a little too soon and in truth, despite my confident exterior, I am frightened: scared that I won’t be able to find work or at least work that satisfies me, both economically and intellectually and of course, Rach would need to work too. There is the option for Rach to go home and leave me here but, despite the fun time I had a few years ago, in Uzbekistan, I don’t enjoy being away from her for prolonged periods of time.


So- hmmm- what to do.


Let’s see.


Aside from this melancholic, confused fog that I find myself in, I have to confess to feeling rather well. We are back at work tomorrow and I am very much looking forward to it. We have just had three weeks off and the Malaysian road trip I planned with my parents was a real hoot and, a success, more importantly. There will, inevitably, follow a lovely blog. I guess if you read them, enjoy them whilst you can!


Rach is still on the mend but it seems to be going well and she really enjoyed seeing my parents again, as I did. They are a wonder and an inspiration to us both.


The gecko has stopped.