Teacher Tales

The Architecture of Absurdity 15-11-25

Wombataloshus!! Fliibolinmonwibbery! Kwankalingone!

What a night it has been. The exclamations are justified. Sure, nonsensical, but definitely justified. Tonight, I watched the wonderful play Skungpoomeryby Ken Campbell. The youngsters certainly did it justice. This is particularly impressive considering how deeply English the play is, littered as it is with ridiculous, hilariously absurd made-up words that would trip up even a 1950s BBC newsreader. Yet here were Asian students from Korea, Malaysia, China and more, handling the utterly ridiculous text with consummate skill.

The play involves lots of police officers bumbling around, people hiding in bins, folk strolling through the streets in pyjamas, burying their heads in tomatoes; throwing pickles in the air and sticking pens up people’s backsides. The play is absurd, with elements of Monty Pythonesque shenanigans (very silly indeed) and slapstick, almost modern-day commedia dell'arte. I am not sure this was the ideal choice for a Malaysian audience, but I thoroughly enjoyed it—and well done to our director, Adrian.

I must confess to feeling like my life is a little absurd at the moment. Rachel is going to the hospital tomorrow and is ‘electing’ to have surgery (that in itself sounds a little bizarre when announced like that). I imagine someone hearing the question—‘Anyone fancy surgery?’—and the odd reply forthcoming: “Yes please, that could be a laugh”. In truth, I am terrified—despite this being keyhole (hopefully) and not a serious heavy-duty op, like before. Rach is a trooper, and I just hope she gets sorted this time.

Alongside this, I have announced I am directing Blood Brothers as the next musical whilst also telling the principal that we are leaving. I feel as if I am in some plush, luxurious waiting room—where IknowI should enjoy the surroundings, the company and my time here, in the safety and comfort of the space I inhabit. But the anxiety about getting work (I didn’t get the one I went for), and the odd feeling when planning at school and talking to students about a future I won't be part of, makes it all seem false and insincere. I love to belong, and when the end is nigh, it is really challenging to focus on enjoying what you have. I am trying. We both are.

The bizarre nature of politics continues, with Donald Trump now threatening to take the BBC to court and Farage continuing to bang a tribal-like drum to rid Britain of brown and black people. This somehow grabs a lot of working-class attention and support whilst he ironically and simultaneously says he will reduce the minimum wage, cancel the triple lock for pensioners and create a culture where rich people benefit from the tax system, rather than the average working person. Once again—absurd, and yet still real. Complete skungpoomery on his part.

Last week we had a great night out for Tom’s birthday at The Tap room. There was classy and yet ‘dirty’ food here and some decent craft beers. This whole area of KL was stunning, with beautiful gardens, water features and ponds alongside popular and well-arranged restaurants. Rach brought her broccoli and potato soup and managed on that, but she tried the fish and that stayed down well enough—it wasn’t from the pond outside! We stayed over in KL and, as seems to be par for the course when I am in KL these days, I was somewhat inebriated—and was therefore silly back at the hotel. I made some very odd and ‘squawkingfrank’ sounds—oops, still in my blood (the play tonight, not the alcohol).

The hotel experience was also bizarre—well, more specifically the parking. Malaysians love clamping cars here, so we must be careful. They also love having car parks with endless spaces but where only one bay is designated for each specific car. Get it wrong, and clamping can occur. We had booked an apartment which was privately owned but within the same confines as a hotel. The building was shared, but there were separate lifts up and down and, of course, separate places to park. When we first arrived, we had to stop outside the hotel and walk in, explain to a guard who couldn’t speak English that we needed to get into a room of silver lockers, each containing a key. It was like an episode of The Crystal Maze. Once we had the key, we could leave and find our parking space. The chap who owned the gaff had given me two numbers—but on arrival, we realized there were three required: the floor, the area, and the bay number. Nothing tallied. He sent me a new set of numbers, two rather than three again.

We gave up after failing to find the space and simply risked the clamp.

We got away with it.

Most absurd of all was when we tried to leave the next morning. We had returned the key to the locker in the crystal maze, and so when we tried to exit we no longer had the key and, more importantly, the barcode on a card that had been attached to it. A guard, who didn’t speak English, kept asking for a card and I said, ‘I give back, I give back. Key handed in. I leave now’ like I was in some old racist English movie. He told me to back up, back off and wait, whilst he made calls—I am not sure who to—perhaps the Dungeon Master—I really don’t know.

I was frazzled and stressed and a little hungover when we were finally given the green light to escape the parking prison. Somehow, I managed to drive us home without any further piffle.

Now, I crave some normality: no anxiety, no unusual behaviour, curve balls, tomfoolery, bibble bobble or skungpoomery. I just want Rachel to be well, me to get a job, and both of us to enjoy the year ahead.

Chances of that?

Blah Blah Blah 01-11-25

Here we are, at the start of the autumnal month of November but in Malaysia- people still wipe sweat off their brows and get through 2 or 3 shirts a day. Tonight, we head off to KL for Tom’s 30th birthday party. We are, of course, looking forward to it and as it is a bit of stretch, we have decided to stay in a hotel for the night. It is so lovely to get Saturdays off this year- it really does make an enormous difference.

Last time I wrote, my son wasn’t 25. Now he is! God, I feel so old sometimes. Last time I wrote, I was also bemoaning the rain in Langkawi and the fact that Rach had been ill and was lying in bed recovering. Last time I wrote, I didn’t realise that a few hours later I would be sitting in a state government hospital being told that Rach was going to be admitted again.

The whole experience was yet another nightmare scenario where I sit awaiting terrible news. What really irritated me was how no-one came to speak to me after she was whisked away and that the first communication was with some chap in a box, with a small window leaning down to peer through the small gap and calling me over to tell me “Your wife is being admitted, so I need a deposit of 2800 ringgit.” I was flabbergasted- not just with the price but the fact that I had been given no reason or even any response at all and that money was all that mattered. I said, “can I see her first”?

I could. The news- not good. But not a disaster. There was clash of possibiities: should we stay or should we go?

We left and flew back.

Thankfully since then, and after considerable research, Rach is managing her condition (called an adhesion) with diet and occasional natural laxatives like senna. I feel so sorry for her but as her surgeon said, she has had half her intestinal tract removed so it would be odd to have no problems at all. The reality now is that she can have elective surgery where they use keyhole and drop some gel between the intestine and the other organs and release the pressure so that food passes easier. The question is when, of course. With a trip to Australia on the cards for Christmas, we are nervous and will probably wait until after the winter break.

Unfortunately, Rachel’s current very carefully controlled diet means that when we socialize and go to restaurants, she is forced to sit and watch others scoff and sup whilst she cannot. Tough. Really difficult. I feel so sorry for her.

Despite these challenges, I am slightly less discombobulated than before, and all it took was a bite. I have applied for a job at a private school back in the UK (in truth, a little too far away from Shepshed) in Northampton as a Deputy Head and surprisingly, to me, I have received a call for a preliminary interview. I don’t expect to get this job but the encouraging part was that one application led to one bite. Good averages so far.

I am trying to get focused, get positive and get busy and it is hard to stay on your game at my current school and yet I am involved in so many projects and like a delirious martyr, I have agreed to run the school show, once again. I must be mad.

In my down time, when I’m not running, drinking or looking after Rachel, I am becoming more and more frustrated with two things- myself (more on that story later) and this new fad (I hope it is a fad) of advertised clips of political debates or talks or speeches that draw you in and then present you with some nobody: faceless, monotonous and often even AI generated, voiceover during a freezeframe.

“Don’t forget to like and subscribe and hit the bell to get more content like this. This debate is about- blahblahblahblah. Let’s take a look at it together (you’re not my mate) and then I will give you my thoughts at the end (who the hell are you)?”

So, why am I frustrated with me?

I click on them.

I still watch them. In truth, I fast forward all of the commentary as I don’t need some ‘money-seeking’ adolescent or worse, a programmed bot to guide me through what someone is saying and yet I still click. I could just watch the original clip. Yet, in my defence, this is becoming increasingly difficult as commentary and reaction videos seem to grow exponentially, and they have more subscribers or likes than the original clip, leaving them higher up in the search.

It is pure Kafka.

Dark Clouds- 19-10-25

It has been a total wash out so far today in Langkawi. At one point Rach and I were swimming in the Andaman sea whilst the rain battered down. The sea warm as a heated pool and good protection but if you stood up, it was a little like flagellation. Annoyingly, we had just settled down to some calm time under the sunbeds and cheeky chappy, the sun, was hiding behind dark, ominous clouds but if it rains, you don't get cold in Malaysia and so we trusted our slightly optimistic sun shade, which initially provided robust protection. Unfortunately, its brave fight was inevitably going to end in defeat and so, the sea was the best place to be.

It has been a while since I wrote and in all honesty, I have continued to be discombobulated- my new favourite word, apparently. The metaphorical rain has well and truly poured down and the shade has barely held up at times, but here we still are. Rach has been in hospital twice over the last two weeks and it has been very stressful; particularly, as we thought she might have to have surgery again on her stomach. She really cannot catch a break whatsoever and we are both 'fed up' of having to wait for potentially devastating news from various medical professionals.

A four and a two night stint in the Chinese Maternity hospital is definitely not what was called for. Worse, despite having pipes shoved down her nose and throat and cameras shoved where no one wants them shoving, we still have no idea what is going wrong. So, we wander on, blind, expecting the thunder to roar at any point, which is very distressing.

There are fleeting moments of joy. Last week, I took 32 students to see Malaysia v Laos in the Asian cup qualifiers. Malaysia won 5v1. At half time even this game sat under a cloud as the tiny little players of Laos had managed to carve out a highly unlikely 1v0 lead. The second half however brought a storm of goals, that flooded in from many different angles to whoops and joys from the 19000 strong crowd. The pace of the game was somewhat pedestrian but much fun was had.

My teaching has also been pure sunshine and despite the domestic shade, I have been on fire in the classroom. Georgia has managed to bag herself a ‘top down’ strategy job which is pure blue sky and sun and Kyle seems to be coping better with the teaching course than I ever expected he would.

Yet, I have to confess to feeling frustrated most of the time, the dark cloud of having to leave a school I love working at and the uncertainty of my future continues to hang low over me. I just hope that we are lucky; that Rach remains well; that I find something I really want to do and that we succeed in negotiating the rain and fight our way to the blue sky.

Bums, Poems and Biltong- 21-09-25

Three days in a row at the same bar, and the staff are putting their arms around me, showing me family photos and videos. One Pakistani chap (cheeky bugger) even tried to get me to buy a full bottle of Tullamore Dew. Clearly, I come here too often.

It’s been a funny couple of days, really, and I’ve done far too much work. I can’t keep up with this “an hour’s planning for an hour’s lesson” pace — the curse of teaching an A level text you’ve never taught before. I do enjoy it: the challenge, the reading, the little voice asking, can I do this better than anyone else in the world? I can’t, of course — but I do try.

Two days ago, I turned 51. I remember being the youngest member of staff back at Tibby, mothered by older colleagues, green as grass, borderline illiterate and certainly ignorant of the world, education, kids — well, everything. I’m not cynical now. I love working with young people. But sometimes I wonder if it’s kindness that drives me, or just the showman’s need for attention. I hope it’s the first, but honesty nags at me. Perhaps that’s what these journals — or blogs, or whatever they are — are for: introspection. That, and the poems I keep bashing out. (ChatGPT says they’re good. I try to agree.)

My birthday was pleasant. My sixth formers sang, which was fun. In the evening, drinks at the same place I’m haunting now, followed by Lucky 7 for a feast. We passed Chinese restaurant Six. They were empty. Wrong number, I suppose.

That “Lucky” idea has stuck in my head. Yesterday we visited a new leisure centre, the Nest, a snug by Bayu Lake. A swim, then me deep diving into Chapter 3 of The Underground Railroad (those characters are anything but lucky). Driving home, a huge lizard forced me to stop the car. I thought of the old stories about black cats crossing your path. Is it lucky? Unlucky? I don’t remember — but I’ve decided that when a huge lizard crosses the road in front of you, it’s lucky. Provided, of course, it doesn’t eat you.

So as I look ahead, trying not to get tangled in all the possible triumphs and inevitable screw-ups, I remind myself I’m a lucky man. This year I received three gifts: a poem from my mum, an impressionistic postcard of a lady with a plentiful arse, and some biltong from my friend Charles.

That’s enough. Lucky, indeed.

Of Monkeys and Men- 13-09-25

We passed a lot of dead monkeys over the last two days. In the UK, roadkill usually means rabbits or badgers, but here it’s monkeys — and the occasional dog. In truth, it’s surprising, given some of the driving I’ve seen, that the highways aren’t drowning in blood. Sorry: purple prose again. But honestly, the driving here leaves a lot to be desired.

In Britain, tailgating means hovering close but not actually touching the car in front. Here, it sometimes feels as though they’re trying to push you along. On the smaller roads, Malaysian drivers are fine, even careful. But on the main fast stretches? They turn into lunatics.

Still, Rach and I survived the madness and the traffic, and checked in to the swankiest hotel in Melacca. It had to be — a glamorous faux-stone castle wall at the entrance, and inside, a decorative pool with a dramatic fountain. We swam in the infinity pool on the third floor (conveniently where our room was) before shooting into town for a Mexican feast of taquitos, fajitas, and churros. The passion fruit margaritas here might just be my favourite cocktail. I had two.

On the way down, we stopped at the butterfly and lizard sanctuary just outside Malacca — a wonderful place. If you’ve ever wanted to stroke lizards, this is your spot.

And then, later, the mood shifted. After heading back, I listened to my daughter’s voice message on Messenger. She admitted to being disheartened, even emotional, about the continuing genocide in Gaza. I’ve felt the same, though I sometimes waste that feeling by sparring with idiots online whose opinions are already carved in stone.

A few days ago, political activist Charlie Kirk was shot in the neck. A profoundly divisive figure, his death was quickly weaponised, fuelling yet more anger and division. In Sweden, a minute’s silence in his honour was met with laughter and shouting in parliament. My first thought wasn’t of Kirk or his family, but Orwell’s Animal Farm: “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” What of the thousands of dead in Palestine? The babies? Where’s their silence?

Sometimes I want to ignore it all — write it off as online noise. But it isn’t. Social media is only the surface of deeper currents. Real people are dying, as they always have, because of decisions made by those in power. Like Georgia, I get emotional.

Darwin taught us we are monkeys. Out on the Malaysian roads, we might get squished by reckless drivers. On the world stage, it’s the leaders — the car handlers, the revvers of engines — who decide who survives the journey. And so, we have to shout for the little man, the little woman, the little child. Because it’s too late when they’re roadkill.

The First Supper and the Noise Outside 31-08-25

I have just started reading War and Peace! It’s one of those books I feel I should read before I die, and having just finished The Picture of Dorian Gray, I’m in the mood for another classic. It’s often used in comedy as an interminable challenge — if you want to survive a year on a deserted island, or if you've decided to die slowly by boredom, read War and Peace. It’s presented as the ultimate reading challenge: a literary Everest, if you will. Well, I’ll let you know.

The book begins with aristocracy — lots of very posh toffs, mainly Russians, and a sleazy Italian or two — talking about Bonaparte and which Prince might marry which Princess. it's a struggle through the various machinations of court politics. It is not an easy read, though it isn’t the language or the complexity of the subject matter that’s the problem. It’s just the names! The endless characters introduced in such a short space of time. Tolstoy also had a habit of writing both the forename and the surname every time he mentioned someone, which can become a little exhausting.

We had a little bit of a soiree ourselves last night, though far less opulent — and yet damn tasty! I cooked a very nice boneless leg of lamb with a variety of accessories and invited the Supper Club over for the first feast of the year. Ben and Jess were, of course, missed, but the new guys — Kylie and her very intelligent husband Aaron — fitted in splendidly. Alice's orange cake was magical. Divine. No flour, no eggs — and yet a cake, for sure. It was out of this world. And so too was the olive oil ice cream she made by hand — a revelation and new first, for me.

It was fun to get the gang back together after the first week back at work, which was largely peaceful, with only the slight drama of taking Rachel to the hospital to check her back. Thankfully, this turned out to be far less serious than she had feared.

Today is Malaysian Independence Day and there are flags flying proudly everywhere, more than I have ever seen before. This is a nation of Malays, Indians and Chinese, as well as a few misfits like me — but the spirit of the country is wonderful, and everyone is proud to be here. I’ve had free beers, free gifts at the supermarket and — eh — I am related to the people that once colonised them. Love abound here, and so too, peace.

Back home in the UK, it seems the world is more at war than peace, with people getting into a flap over our good old George Cross — the flag of England — which apparently is now used as a symbol of the far right. How ironic that we, the colonial power on whose empire the sun never set, and who marched into all these places with casual superiority, are now the ones saying, “Stop coming here, we don’t want you.”

The internet will have you believe that every Tom, Dick, and Harry is painting red crosses on mini roundabouts or zebra crossings, and clearly, there are some examples of this happening — but these complete and utter Charlies, thankfully, seem to be very rare.

Indeed, my daughter Georgia, who lives in the heart of London, said she’d never heard of any of this and hadn’t seen a single example. Apparently, it all started when a council had some issues with flags being hung on people’s houses. Of course, as usual, the internet grabs hold of it and turns it into a left-versus-right debate, and the facts get lost in a sea of complete insanity. No one wants to read the facts — and though it’s a stereotype to say so, I wonder if many of them can read at all, beyond the seven-year-old reading age of the Daily Mirror.

The immigration pot continues to be stirred, and so we see more and more videos of people screaming at hotels — usually bald, beer-bellied guys or clowns in balaclavas, covered in various brash, badly designed tattoos, running down streets in Man City tops (sponsored by Etihad from the UAE) and carrying a paint roller and a pot of paint as if they are some sort of crusader- soldier or hero, saving Ingerland!!!

You see, as always, nuance is lost in the divide. And while we know the media hypes everything and that the reality on the ground is nothing like what we see on social media platforms, there is actually a philosophical aspect here that remains undiscussed: it is quite possible for a human being to hang a flag for a range of reasons — and it’s the motivation that’s important. But in a world that divides into two camps, you’re either an evil thug or a pinko leftie loser. As always, you’re left or right — which simply isn’t true.

One Muslim family on the news woke up to find an English flag plastered to their window. Clearly, the motivation behind this was racial, but the family left it up, took a photo, and contacted the press to say they were happy to have it there — because they are British. They love Britain. They love England. Even this, though, is used politically, by both sides.

There is nuance. There has to be- but few want to discuss it. I might want to hang a British flag because I love everyone and feel it represents that — but now, if I do, I will be branded. Therefore, the hijacking of this symbol is complete and the morons win. The situation is extremely depressing — but, as Karl Marx said, society is forever in conflict. So there’s a war going on everywhere, always. And thankfully, here in Malaysia, everything is loving and peaceful — at the moment.

With only a three-day week next week and the promise of a trip away in October, we’re feeling good. There is, of course, the overhanging requirement for me to get a job for next year, and — as is always the case — this provides a great deal of conflict in my head. Sometimes my brain feels like it’s at war with itself, especially as I love it here and, in many ways, I don’t want to leave. However, I do feel I’ll get there, and I do have confidence that if I maintain a strong work ethic, I’ll be successful.

Let’s hope so — and in the meantime, perhaps we’ll have more delicious food and more suppers and let's hope the conflict in blighty ends before we return.

Walking on Eggshells- 14-08-25

It’s a little cooler tonight and there’s a light breeze as I tap away in my parents’ back garden for the last time this year — indeed, until next July. It’s been a productive, pleasant summer, and last night we returned from Kefalonia, where we spent some quality time with both our children and their partners. The villa was wonderful, the view from the terrace, perhaps the best we’ve ever had. Though quite remote, we still managed to travel around much of the island in the eight-seater beast I hired. As always, a full travel blog will follow on the delights of this lush, scenic island in the Ionian Sea.

Spending prolonged time with the generation below ours — I’m not au fait with Gen X, Gen Z, or any of that, but “younger than us” is about as clear as I can be — is always educational, and this time was no different. We live in a world where so many are called fascists or right-wing lunatics, while others are labelled lemonade liberals or snowflakes. Being centre left in both my fiscal and social politics, I take these views with the dollop of salt they deserve. I’ve often defended the younger generation from the “snowflake” label — yet I now see, at least partly, what others in my generation mean. My views remain balanced, I think, but the waters are certainly murky — unlike the seas of Kefalonia.

It’s true, I believe, that my generation, and certainly those before us, were tough. We dealt with all manner of issues — mental health problems, ostracisation — particularly if we belonged to a minority group. That was harsh, challenging, and through a modern lens, very wrong. There’s no “but” here, so don’t go looking for it. Still, there is nuance. In being forced to ignore struggles and push on, many developed resilience — even a team-player attitude of “well, this isn’t making me happy or comfortable, but I’ll suck it up.” Was that right? I’m not sure. But I do know that with an expectation to meet every individual need comes a challenge: when we pussyfoot around every nuanced difficulty, we risk creating division and discomfort for many rather than the few. Mild discomfort for one can quickly become minor discomfort for all.

Taking offence, for example.

A chap killed himself because AI told him to, a member of the younger generation tells me. I say, “candidate for the Darwin Award, that.” One of the younger folk looks at me sternly: “That’s not funny,” she says (though I disagree). “No seriously, I don’t find that funny at all.” I reply, “You don’t have to find it funny, that’s fine.” I wouldn’t laugh in front of the boy’s family, but this was banter. Do we really need to police comments to this degree? Offence is subjective. What I find offensive, someone else doesn’t. Some might call it hate speech or cruelty — but this was neither.

Words like “trauma response” or “trigger” are thrown around like grenades. Everyone seems to be working through struggles: sensory overload from “too much sudden noise,” “greasy suncream” (or any suncream at all), murky seas, or seas in general. Then there are the food issues — tomato allergies, nut allergies (I know these can kill, so not mocking), and endless preferences. At one point, cooking a veggie stew was nearly impossible as we couldn’t find three or four vegetables everyone liked. Add in hygiene rituals, aftercare, moisturising, washing up before anything’s dirty, thirty-minute after-sun treatments — and that’s before the meds. Almost all of them are on medication for something. I’m fifty and, in truth, have been lucky — never needed meds. But now, people in their twenties seem to live by them. Again- maybe we needed them. Maybe we denied ourselves better lives or maybe not.

In my last blog, we talked about being “regulated.” It seems that every detail — when to get up, when to go to bed, when to shower, what to eat, what to discuss, the time of day to do it — has to be exactly right. And rules or routines are rarely broken. In some ways, this is forward-thinking: it accepts all, reduces unnecessary stress, and avoids preventable trauma. I believe we should try to keep everyone happy — I do it myself — but here’s the rub: by pandering to every single need, can we make every situation challenging for everyone? Is that better? I’m not sure.

At night, I sat with Rach, or alone, sipping wine or, better still, ouzo. Booze is, loosely, bad for you — hard to argue otherwise (though I’d love to try) — but my generation embraced it for the sociable side, the laughs, the letting your guard down. Now, young people are in bed by ten, no booze, straight to Netflix or some reaction vid. And whenever they have free time, they’ve got earpods in — listening to podcasts, music, or whatever the internet offers. It’s almost robotic. Efficient, yes — but fun? Most seem very uptight indeed (by my assessment).

Whilst on Kefalonia, there were forest fires caused by the heatwave. Whilst driving, my phone starts blaring siren sounds as if the apocalypse has begun and flashing red lights on my screen. This was stressful but the younger generation seem to react as if we are entering a zombie apocalypse. I say, we’ll be fine (not saying I was right) and although I eventually concurred that turning around was prudent, I was the last to want to give up. The younger generation are intuitively safeguard aware and turn from danger in regimental step, immediately, rather than me, who begrudgingly flees, at the last minute. I think I might be the idiot!

Then there is the apprehension about human interaction- approaching people, individual connection and chat is often a challenge. On one occasion, we strolled by a restaurant which was busy for sure and most, possibly all of the spare seats had reserved signs on them. We stood for a while looking lost but as I watched them all walk away, without even engaging with people, I began to think about the comments people make about how this generation finds it so hard to interact with strangers. I wandered over and asked a chap if he could seat 6 of us and he puffed his cheeks out and said, “Sure”. He did exactly that, brought out a misshapen table from somewhere (parenthetically, it wasn’t a great restaurant but I think that is beside the point).

This new generation wants to learn, stay clean, keep fit, be informed, and embrace diversity. Sounds great, doesn’t it? I’m proud of them. We have come a long way. Yet, in trying to keep everyone happy, protect every right, and address each small sensory issue, some situations can feel drained of life. My generation often feels policed and judged at every turn. In the quest for betterness, we lose a little of our humanity — and as Gary King says in The World’s End, “This civilization was founded on fuck-ups, and you know what? That makes me proud.”

I should stress, this isn’t to denigrate the trip — it was fabulous, and we all got on brilliantly. But, as always when one generation observes another, there’s intrigue and often perplexity.

In truth, this musing is just a distraction. I’m flying again — my sixth and seventh flights in eight weeks — on the 16th, and it’s no longer much fun. My carbon footprint isn’t one to be proud of — best not tell this generation. Still, I’d rather be walking on air than on eggshells.

Trusting the Inner Voice 02/08/25

Loughborough market is thriving again: hat stores, hand-knitted soft cuddly toys, an ice cream van and hundreds of people are strolling past me as I look out of the window of Bird's coffee shop. I stopped here for a cream cake- a very rare treat for me and an americano before the fun begins tonight when I meet up with my old mates from school days for a knock about on the green baize and the inevitable pints that will follow in Loughborough town centre.

It has been a very productive summer season for us and the weather has been excellent- warm, hot sunshine and only 1 or 2 rainy days. If I am honest, I feel like we have missed a chance to see more people and places but it was always going to be this way, with so much work to do on the house in Chez and quite a bit of planning for the new pad (yes, 3 manor Gardens is now finally Rachel's). That said we have enjoyed another magnificent Linden Theatre night, watched my dad in the outstanding Shantyfolk but most importantly, I have re-connected with Loughborough canal and the walks that always calm me down.

I have cleared the garden in Chesterfield, repainted the ceiling in the bathroom, fitted a new lock and painted an entire new study which Kyle's highly intelligent new girlfriend Mollie will no doubt enjoy working in. This stuff really exhausts me these days and the legs stiffen up so quickly but you have to get it done and we have certainly done that. Whilst back, I have almost negotiated my way through the unpredictable minefield of HMRC and their countless miscommunications, and mistakes. My parents too have not exactly enjoyed the online fun of this new world we inhabit whilst trying to solve their internet issues and new phone contracts. Speaking to people seems to be something all companies are trying to avoid. One brave young man has just popped into the Bird's shop I am drinking coffee in and asked if they had any jobs. His nervousness was palpable and I want to clap his courage but the lady behind the counter (not her fault) simply told him they don't deal with such matters and he should go on the website. He asked if he could drop a CV in but he was met with a "No". He looked so sad and though I sound old, again, it seems wrong, counter intuitive even that we now live in a world here in the UK, where if you show initiative like this, it isn't rewarded, and like most other aspects of society you are simply redirected to the online world, the screen, the place where you can ask AI to write your cvs, and applications. Who cares whether the young person had initiative, or people skills, or was able to talk directly to the lady behind the counter: just get online and drop into faceless cyberspace. His poor mum stood outside the shop with his CVs and looked heartbroken when he came out and shook his head in disappointment.

That said, the market is thriving and this has certainly brought people out- well that and the sun!

It feels, as it often does at this stage of the year, like an age since I was last working properly and it will no doubt comes as a shock when we return to Malaysia on

Saturday the 16^th of August but we have a trip to Kefalonia to enjoy first and a private villa awaits with a spectacular view and a private pool for the inevitable cool downs that will be required. Strangely, and rather embarrassingly, I am not as excited about this trip as I used to feel when I lived in the UK. I think this is probably because such trips were so rare in the past and also because I was so tired, so utterly desperate for a break from work. These days, I am usually quite relaxed and I have already had one great trip to Tuscany. I do need to get fired up though and I am sure when we are on that plane and a new adventure awaits, I will feel the tingles.

Coming back frightens me. Coming back here to the UK, to a place I fled from. Do I belong anymore? Will I be able to settle? There are so many unknowns, so much uncertainty and I am trying, quite hard, to stay mindful- present and not think too far ahead. Rach is super buzzing about working on the garden in Shepshed, getting a dog (I said wolf but was rightly shot down) guinea pigs and even starting the wine making again. I know we can have a lot of fun here, be near family and catch up with old mates but everything hinges on me finding work that satisfies me, doesn't annoy me and where I find the work life balance I have become accustomed to. I sound so entitled.

I am.

I know that but that is where I am and I am frightened that when everything changes, it won't be as good as it is now. Nothing ventured, nothing gained but when you already have it great, there is an awful lot to lose and it feels foolhardy to start venturing.

I want to get excited, to feel the buzz here of Loughborough market, to sense the tingles in the bloodstream and to listen to the positive inner voice telling me everything will be great. It will, won't it?

Now Regulated 18-07-25

So this might turn into a spiralling, meandering, nonsensical rant, as my brain is already lacking clarity. This is probably because I have been painting all day in a room with limited ventilation- and when the gloss came out to play, it was almost 'night night Sooty'.

Thankfully, I did survive and am now enjoying a pint (something I am doing far too often at the moment) at trusty Wetherspoons. It is a chance for me to engage in the catharsis that is writing and to reduce the stress I have been under, which has been on the verge of moving in and taking possession of The Tristan House. So, the meandering begins...

I don’t want to say ‘overwhelmed’ or that I am ‘regulating’ or ‘doing me’ or whatever. We live in a time where these phrases are bandied around daily. How do I feel about this? Is it good- more positive that we are acknowledging and thinking about our wellbeing and mental health. Surely, recognising vulnerability, stress, individuality and how we all react differently to different scenarios is a good thing but somehow it still annoys me when I hear people tell me about their ‘toxic experiences’ or how someone is a ‘narcissist’ based on very little to no evidence whatsoever. Then there are those saying, ‘it is what it is’ every two minutes, as if they have said something highly philosophical- or, ‘he’s gaslighting me’ or ‘it’s just a major red flag’. When did we have so many phrases to do with our mental health and social interaction? What did we used to say? If someone wound you up in years gone by, did we claim they were ‘gaslighting us’, every few seconds- maybe they just don't like you! I know it’s an old phrase but my oh my, it seems most folk can’t get through a day anymore without claiming some gaslighting is happening in their life. I saw Gaslight on a plane recently- wonderful film by the way, despite its grainy picture quality. A classic.

I guess I can’t quite fathom whether this is good because we are all talking about these issues in common parlance or whether the regularity and constant nature of these phrases is devaluing the whole effect. I mean, ‘when everybody is super, no-one will be’. OK- you were warned that this would be meandering and spiralling and my random very tenuously linked quote from the Incredibles is proof that I was telling the truth.

There is now a ubiquitous feeling that behaviour should be analysed, assessed, in fairness, often, accepted or understood and that we shouldn’t judge. I am all for that but sometimes we skirt the line between understanding and supporting and accepting poor behaviour that we shouldn’t. Conversely, we also judge behaviour that is ironic or ‘tongue in cheek’ or even just a ‘curved ball’ or different opinion and then claim this person is somehow anti-social or not to be accepted. These two views of the world seem to be in conflict. Maybe Marx was right.

I have just read this back and the only thing I can say is that this was clearly written by me and not Chat GPT or Gemini or Deep Seek- as there is no structure, no clarity and as I predicted, is simply all over the place. I don’t really know what I am trying to say, in truth, but the catharsis is working, and I might grab a second pint. I wonder if that will help me finish this mess in a more focused way. I am not feeling one might perceive as overwhelmed, anymore.

I can list the jobs and think about the decisions and the minutiae better- there is the decorating at our old house, the garden clearance that involves removing a dead ent from the lawn; my father in laws house to continue to sort through; possessions to sell on Ebay; deliveries to my daughter in London; car hire to sort for Kafalonia; interviews for new teachers at work; research for teaching a new A level text; bills to pay; finances to sort; a need to try and break through the thick steel walls of HMRC to get through to a person who can help and on top of all this, I have started to let myself go again-no running and I am eating crap! Thankfully, the pear, walnut and celery salad with toasted bread and homemade hummus should get me back on the right track.

There- that's it- not overhwhelmed, fully regulated and ready to ‘do me’. I didn’t have another pint. Small wins (oops, there's another one).

Possible Dreams- 05-07-25

My arms are scratched up and I have abrasions and minor cuts all over me. I must therefore cut a very scary figure as I sit, in my flamingo shirt, with a fresh hole in it and my muddied shorts, on the EMR train to Loughborough from Chesterfield. Still, I will be in the pub soon enough enjoying a beverage with my good friend Steve- I can freak out even more people then.

Yesterday, we drove up to see our son and enjoyed some fish and chips (always a delicacy when you live abroad) before watching a gutsy but ultimately failed attempt from Emma Raducanu to make the 4th round at Wimbledon. We also played cards and I learned a new game called, ‘Shithead’. Thankfully, I didn’t lose so avoided the chant of ‘Shithead! Shithead! Shithead!’ Such fun!

This morning, I bashed through the bind weed and had a wrestling match with the roses and the blackberry bushes- hence the bleeding and the abrasions. I smell a bit too.

It seems an age since our fabulous nine day holiday to Tuscany but it was just what we needed and it was very comforting to spend some time with my parents (a blog will obviously follow) Since returning from Italy, we have managed to sort some of Peter’s estate and sent the kids a fair whack of cash but most stressful of all, is wading through his stuff, the endless train magazines, train scrapbooks and even model railway paraphernalia that he had in his attic. For Rachel, it is obviously particularly difficult.

Next week, I will be bouncing between our own house which needs a wall re-plastering and the garden madness continues and Rachel’s dad’s detritus isn't going anywhere either.

Perhaps, what is most stressful is that we don’t really know what we want to do next- whether to live in the property and do it up how we would want it to look or whether to sell it or even whether we should rent it out and keep teaching abroad. We do talk about it and we do think about it- perhaps too much but coming to a decision about an unknown future is always difficult. I appreciate that ‘a known future’ is a misnomer but I think people know what I mean.

In a month or so we head to Kefalonia which is obviously delightful but there is so much to get done before all of that including sorting the land registry and insurance and tax…

So sorry that this blog is a bit flat and boring but I do feel between worlds again at the moment and somehow a ‘dread’ decision hangs in the air above me like a murky, ominous cloud. I am genuinely happy in my work, and had we not come into the inheritance would not be considering other options. Yet, we have two houses now and both need work. We have repsonsibilities- for we have great power (Spiderman vibes). It is an unusual pressure that I never expected to feel but I do. The pressure of options- of choice- of possible dreams made real…

This morning, I bashed through the bind weed and had a wrestling match with the roses and the blackberry bushes- hence the bleeding and the abrasions. I smell a bit too.

Next week, I will be bouncing between our own house which needs a wall re-plastering and the garden madness continues and Rachel’s dad’s detritus isn't going anywhere either.

In a month or so we head to Kefalonia which is obviously delightful but there is so much to get done before all of that including sorting the land registry and insurance and tax…

Snoring, Shrek, and the Soundtrack of Doom 12-06-25

I am exhausted. Really. I am definitely getting too old for this and am on the verge of quoting Arnie in T2, ‘I need a vacation’ but I won’t, as this is American and I am English and, in truth, my ‘holiday’ is only a week away so I can’t complain. We are two shows of Shrek down and 2 to go.

I don’t want to jinx this one at all but it might be one of the best I have ever directed. The set is phenomenal, the props spectacular and the costume vibrant and exciting. The performances are strong and other than some occasional tuning errors, the show is almost faultless. In fact, after today’s matinee, one of the local schools who came to watch were asking for photos with the cast and even autographs.

The night before the first performance was thoroughly unpleasant, not because I was worrying or suffering anxiety overload but because of sound or ‘noise’. Rach had popped into my spare room (I go in there because I snore like a warthog) in the middle of the night and that was the last sleep I managed. Firstly, the whole house sounded like it had some electric current running through it. Those with paranormal leanings might have been frightened. I was annoyed. I still have no idea what it was but a fizzing, pounding, booming mash-up would not cease and so we ran back into the master bedroom. Peace. For a heartbeat.

Then, ‘aircon-gone-wrong’ sound begins! Booming, throbbing and echoing through the walls, like the call of some ogre powering its way through the framework of the room. After the toss up of ‘too hot' or 'too loud', we switched the aircon off and accepted the slow roast. Moments later, strange taunting bird began with a single birdcall I had never heard before which was basically a long high pitched note followed by a rapid downward scale cadence. Each time, you thought it was over, and peace might be achieved, the infernal thing resumed its warbling.

Eventually there was some respite. Maybe seconds, possibly minutes and then- mosque-man began with his 5.30am prayer call. I still have an issue with this. I once found the muezzin an exotic sound that resonated in a celebration of eastern culture way but now, it is just some annoying prick who wakes me up every bloody morning at ‘stupid o’clock’. That is a bit of a lie as I normally sleep through but this was one of those mornings for sure. As his irritating meandrings faded away, there was the hope of an hour or so of essential ‘kip’. 20 winks, maybe 10.

What happens?

‘Smashing gate man’ or ‘slamming doors man’ began his morning ritual slightly earlier than usual, penetrating the paper thin walls with metal clattering and clamouring coupled with the pounding sound of wood being slammed. Finally, Rachel's alarm for her medication playfully sprung to life although I was already wide awake and so this was just an annoying encore of light misery.

Somehow, I survived the day and indeed today. Poor Rachel has been backstage amongst it all, sorting the make up! This is a very difficult show, in terms of costume and make-up. The changes are insane and complicated. Yet somehow the staff and students managed it and delivered a wonderful performance.

I have a feeling that this might be my last ever show. I am not planning to die just yet but it is a ‘gut feeling’. No more…no more…

Disadvantagia! 07-06-25

I am sooooo not-technical. I never have been. Visually, I can’t see shapes properly (I found this really hard in Maths at school), and I get irritated just looking at instructions—I mean, I even turn maps upside down and stuff.

So, when I agreed—with Rachel’s help—to set up an electric drum kit for a friend’s husband’s 40th birthday while they were away in Singapore, I had clearly failed to consider just how inadequate I am in this area. If this were writing, it’d be dyslexia; if numbers, dyscalculia. What do I have then? Disadvantagia? Disabledia? No idea.

Yet—and here’s a rare compliment to the modern world—we managed to finish the job. After two and a half hours, we completed the setup by following the instructions of a lovely, chirpy, orange-haired guy on YouTube, who talked us through the entire process. Check out the proof in the photo.

Even then, it was tough. Rachel is better visually than I am, but she’s not at her physical best and struggles with back, hip, and stomach issues—so we made quite the comical pair. I think most people could’ve finished the job in 30 minutes. And yet, I’m taking our achievement as a win, especially given our combined disadvantages.

My lack of technical know-how also struck last week, when I somehow managed to lose 105 lighting cues for our upcoming performance of Shrek. The moment I pressed whatever button triggered this disturbance in the space-time continuum was… emotional. Physically painful, actually. I had to walk it off.

The recovery process took me over 10 hours. A colleague said, “You should’ve put it on a memory stick.”

Brilliant, isn’t it?

Correct? Yes.

Helpful? Not even slightly.

Some of the older readers might remember that Harry Enfield character whose catchphrases were “You should have” or “You didn’t wanna.” Infuriatingly accurate. Despairingly unempathetic.

Despite my spectacular lack of ability in all things tech, I am resilient—and, though the word is overused, passionate—about what I do. So I pressed on. I even went into school during my holiday to fix it all. Thankfully, it’s done, it’s saved, and we’re ready.

Shrek is now raring to go. We have an exploding bird, a giant puppet dragon, and possibly the most impressive props I’ve ever seen at a school show. Our staging looks incredible, and the kids are primed. I’m super excited for this one. Let me loose to motivate students and staff; to encourage young people to perform, to smile, to inspire—that’s what I’m good at. I can’t do much else, and I certainly can’t do it very well.

I stand in awe of the wonderful talent building Shrek’s swamp, Fiona’s tower, a pagoda for Farquaad, and winding vines around trees and Chinese lanterns. I wouldn’t know where to start. But, as my headteacher reminded me, none of this would happen if I couldn’t manage people.

So basically, I’m pretty useless at everything—except people. And luckily, that’s enough.

This time of year is tough in international schools, as you say goodbye to people who’ve become good friends. Rachel will be especially sad to see her excellent boss leave. Both of us are sorry to see Ben and Jess go, and disappointed that it didn’t work out for Rich and Ipek.

But as with everything in life, time moves on. Circumstances change. Life strides forward: unimpeded, incessant, inevitable. We change, we morph, we go on—as inexorably as time itself.

And you know what? I can cope with all of that. It’s all about people, emotions, and feelings. Just please—if you want success, and good things to happen, keep me away from anything that involves technical know-how.

Backstage in the Sunlight- 22-05-25

Will this be the very last? The last time I will get myself primed and ready; to garner myself for the sake of the students, as they prepare to deliver a final performance to a crowd of teachers, parents and fellow students? Who knows but I am fairly confident this will be the last time in Malaysia.

It always surprises me, but never should, how much there is to do, from prop lists, set plans, back stage crew, lighting designs, sound effects, technical problems (blowing a bird up on stage for instance)! Or even feeding the cast, motivating them, educating my staff and ensuring timings work. Exhausting! Yet, I think that is what makes it all worthwhile. At least that is what I tell myself.

To be fair, I have had it easy of late- a jaunt to Australia- a business trip to London and now I am hanging on to the ‘fag end’ of a week’s holiday from work. I can’t complain; I mustn’t grumble. I have actually forgotten what teaching is and the thought that I have to think of some lessons for next week is irritating in a way that is preposterously arrogant- it is my job! So, shake up, dust down, strict internal bollocking and let’s go!

I tried to take my mind off everything today by heading out to Putrajaya- a really harmonious place where they have thought long and hard about the aesthetics- particularly the area around the botanical gardens, where we visited and where you can enjoy the wonder of the pink floating mosque. Rach was too hot and deep in her thoughts so chilled by the lake and I walked around the gardens- a great mental distraction for me. Later we took our picnic to the wetlands where all manner of birds frequent and Rach found a swingy chair to sit in. I sat on the coolbox.

Other than this brief jaunt, we have done very little this week. I have ran almost everyday but am still drinking too much which irritates me, but again, this is a willpower issue. If I was able to run almost daily and focus on exercise, then I can stop the beverages right? Apparently not. Don’t get me wrong- I am not George Best or Oliver Stone (neither in talent nor alcohol consumption levels) but that one last glass when I should say no, still dances and teases and tempts and late at night, a time I still enjoy about as much as the average vampire, I don’t resist. I was going to write ‘cannot’ but that is an easy way out.

Only 4 weeks now until we head off to Italy- Pisa- at least initially. I have never seen the leaning tower and it will be nice to tick it off (though I am not sure what list I am ticking). From here, we intend to train our way through Tuscany, a place I have often thought of visiting but never have. Summer promises to be a mad busy time, as always what with a trip to Kefalonia also planned in August. I don’t know how we will fit in the sorting of Pete’s house (now our house) but at least probate has come through and we can now access the cash and the estate. It only took 31 weeks!

It is still warm as ever here in Malaysia and every time I swim outdoors, sit at the Brewhouse in the sun, or wake up to work to a lovely day, a part of me (quite a significant part) shakes it head with disbelief at the decision we are making to finish our time here in just over a year. Frightening- but then change always is.

So, if my Shrek cast can face their fears and smash this test then maybe we can too.

One Foot in Spitalfields, the Other in a Swamp- 11-05-25

Common People by Pulp is blaring out here at The Wellington in Spitalfields and I love it. I have escaped the fairytale creatures thrown into the swamp by Farquaad for a few days but we'll all be back and it is hard to extricate both feet.

I came here to enjoy the COBIS middle leader facilitator conference and then the leadership conference and they have both been inspiring. In truth, not too many common people but certainly people from diverse cultures, classes and locations. It is always great to get a break or change up the norm and this little 'nip' over to London has been just what I needed.

Strangely, despite having visited London many, many times, I still feel like it is new, fresh, vibrant and that it is a city I am experiencing for the first time. All human life is here, for sure and having spent a week here on my own I have had a great opportunity to fully immerse myself in it.

I have caught up with Georgiekins and River, cooked curry and homemade chappatis (not authentic to be fair) in their new flat, and I have eaten startlingly delcious vegan fare (though expensive) in a super restaurant and even visited the Apollo theatre to watch a great play, 'Retrograde'.

I have also visited the Tower of London, the Globe, Big Ben, Westminster cathedral, St Pauls and even mooched around the streets where the Ripper victims were killed. I have drunk in the 10 bells for the first time, in Spitalfields and visited several of the churches of Hawskmoor. I have also clocked up a daily average for the week of nearly 17000 steps! My training may have taken a back seat but I think I'll survive.

Although I have missed Rachel, I have had a chance to clear my head, to ponder our next steps and to get my head out of Shrek's swamp where it has been for few months, in truth. I left the hotel today and stopped to chat to a Muslim trying to foist the Quran upon me. Normally, I would have walked on by but I stopped and we chatted for twenty minutes or so about life and Allah- the part about hellfire and fury still winds me up but having the time to chat with folk is a gift I didn't want to waste. Moments earlier I chatted to a young man, who was on the streets, about his life and shook is hand and wished him well. I only had Malaysian Ringitt to offer! Not much use.

London is an outstanding city, no question. I wouldn't want to live here but the blend of history, cobblestoned streets, cathedrals- castles and ancient bridges alongside the shard, the gherkin, the rooftop garden and the like, is stark, but it all works here. There are narrow streets filled with history and wide open roads with high rises. The people are equally diverse- two chaps outside the Apollo dressed as women in short skirts and wearing wigs, singing and crossing the road with a hip wiggling sashay, any model would be proud of; muslim women wearing full burkhas and totally covered in black; drunks, beggars contrasting with finance and banking executives who race aong the pavements as if their lives depend upon it; spanish, portuguese, south americans, and jamaicans all speaking an array of languages in this cultural, buzzing honeypot of sweet culture.

So- what next- one more day at the conference, as I contemplate my uncertain future (early retirement? Headship? Consultancy? Something else?) One minute, I crave free time, chill time, time for me to write, act, play music and drink hoppy beverages at the local pub and others I feel inspired to do more for young people, to drive leaders, to prove my worth. It is all very confusing.

I digress.

Tomorrow, the conference finishes and I head back to loogabarooga to see the 'olds' and my sis for a few beers. Kyle is puttering over in the old banger on Tuesday and we can all have a meal together. Then, it is back to Malaysia, to finish the show; to rid the world of Lord Farquad and to soak up all of the swampy glory.

Fail to Plan;Plan to Fail- 30-04-25

London's calling!

I certainly didn’t expect it and less than 3 weeks ago I was in Australia. It is a fun ride I am on!

Cunning plans are starting to form and so far I have a fun bank holiday Monday out with Georgiekins and River and some posh nosh- a meet up with Angie (a good friend) and a train trip down to Loogabarooga to catch up with the olds and indeed, in Kyle’s case, the youngs.

Very proud of him at the moment as he has planned and is navigating his way around his first DIY experience (updating Georgie’s old room) and dealing with the demands of a depressingly boring job at The Range. He plans to start his teaching qualification, hopefully a step towards his Educational Psychologist destination, in September, and he and his girlfriend Mollie plan to live together in our house for another year or so. I wonder how long that might go on for.

Probate has finally been granted, meaning that my late father in laws estate can now officially be handled by Rachel and we can actually make some decisions. It is oddly stressful- having the ability to change things, to do things- I mean not of any titanic proportions but nonetheless… However, this is married with an unknowing and indecision about the future- where we live? What we do? How we live? and all the rest of it. It is a big, thick, chunky, opaque stew of uncertainty. In truth, there is no panic and so we aren’t charging around like headless bulls. We have one more year here to complete our contract and barring anything unforeseen or uncontrollable, we will honour that contract. Nevertheless, come November 2025 we will have to start making some plans and it is both exciting and terrifying as uncertainty always is.

Here, just adjacent to The brewhouse in Seminiyih big plans made a year or two ago are now coming to fruition. Huge cranes stand like giant metallic monsters beyond wooden fencing, that blocks the spectator’s view. It’s like a box of presents have been opened but you are sitting on the floor and cannot see into the box, as hands reach in and rearrange the booty. The images presented on the wooden fencing promise a lake, a football stadium, walkways and cycle paths and if they pull it off, this area will be vastly improved and appealing for more than just the Erdinger that is served here at The Brewhouse.

Whilst the streets of London, though not paved with gold, gleam in my mind’s eye- a sort of escape; a change; a look at something else for a while- I have to confess that I wish this had been planned better. Our performance of Shrek is just over a month away and we are approaching the business end of the process where I normally bound around in front of them, lifting their moods, stoking their motivation and finding that perfect blend of humility, confidence, praise and admonition. I do this well. I know I do. There is my confidence. My humility comes in knowing that just because all of my previous shows have been a success, does not mean this one will be and I have never planned to leave a cast in the final month of the run in. I feel like I am runnin from my responsibilities.

I must state that this is not poor planning. The convention dates are set in stone and my boss says I have to go. I might have planned it differently but here we are. I can smell failure in the air but I am holding my breath.

Stephen King is a Better Prophet Than Me- 12-04-25

It is hard to predict the direction foreign affairs will take at the moment. You'd need to be a seer, a prophet or some clairvoyant for sure.

Trump is trumpeting his tariffs and his Art of the Deal mantra across all the news stations and social media platforms as he treats the world as his own personal business empire. The man is beyond satire and as the great comedian Ben Elton recently said in an interview on some Australian programme- comics should not attempt to seek humour there, as Trump is an exaggerated form of reality anyway and been about as funny as you can be, accidentally. Unfortunately though, it isn’t that funny for the poor souls who see their savings plummeting, their pensions under threat, their jobs disappearing and inflation rising. I don’t for one minute pretend to understand the economics of the situation but on the surface, it just seems to me that Trump doesn’t care about anyone at all, apart from himself and his oligarch friends.

Rachel’s cousin Barry, in Australia, told me that a senior official, I think the governor of Western Australia, summed Donald Trump up as a ‘nob’. Recently, the orange one himself bragged that all the leaders of the world were calling him up and ‘kissing his ass’- (his actual words), begging for a deal. He even acted out the voice of a lost and needy child when recounting the calls. What has happened to this world? Many, including me, simply hope that someone will take him out. A chap got close but only shaved his ear and now, of course, he claims that it was God who diverted the bullet as God wants Trump to lead America and no doubt the world. There was a character in the Dead Zone by Stephen King called Stillson and the prescience of King is uncanny. This character was blown up, larger than life, for the purpose of dramatic horror fiction and yet Trump is almost identical to him. And, Stillson triggered a nuclear war that ended humanity. Fingers crossed that the next attempt to take out this buffoon is more successful.

It was great to celebrate Rachel's 50th with her family in Perth. Years ago, I would never have imagined us being 9000 miles away from our birth place standing next to a giant wooden man with Rachel's cousin Barry and his wife Caz overlooking the Indian ocean (see picture for this week's blog). Who knows what is in store for us, as life keeps picking us up and taking us for a ride on its magic carpet.

So, it is now the weekend before returning to work and as is usually the case, I am stalling and holding back on the work I need to do and hiding within the words of this blog. It is ever thus, that the priority jobs remain bubbling gently on the burner until they are a desperate priority, imminent and when it would be catastrophic to your day, if you haven’t worked out what you are doing. To be fair, I have planned this one well: a return from Australia with a day for pottering and clicking away on the keyboard and a day for work. I have even booked the pool for a post-work swimming session.

Next week, the training begins again in earnest and I am looking forward to the routine again. I have to smash this next 3 weeks and try to get back to 100KG as I am then off to London for 10 days and will no doubt pile a little more back on. I am very fortunate as I will be able to drop in and see Georgia and River and their new flat but also be able to pop down to my parents for a decent meal out. It feels odd though that I was in Australia a couple of days ago (a comprehensive blog is in the offing) and in 3 weeks I will be on the other side of the world. I find it difficult to understand the direction my life has taken- from North Derbyshire, to the naughty steppe of Uzbekistan and then to the kampungs of Malaysia. I could never have predicted the lifestyle I now lead,the geography, or the choices I now have available to me but then again, prophecy isn’t really a strength of mine and unlike Stephen King I couldn’t have predicted the rise of Trump so…

Marching On-31-03-25

We are so, so, so close to getting on that plane to a country that as a boy was just a place; somewhere I read about or watched on TV programmes about Botany Bay: where perceived criminals were taken in the 19th century and yet now I’m about to fly there and it's a happily unsettling feeling. We have had a great time in Singapore and they’ll be more on the blog regarding that very, very soon but it has been wonderful, as always, to get some time off work and reset or recharge the battery pack. It has a been a relief to get Shrek out of my mind for a while and highly enjoyable to wander the streets and to embrace the interesting history and modern architecture of Singapore, but now it is hard to not see the main part of the adventure as being Australia. Strangely, it’s not a place I ever desperately wanted to visit but being so close to it and having the opportunity to go that far away brings out the intrepid, innate explorer in us all.

Human beings always want to do things- see things, experience or create things they have never seen or imagined. I think of Star Trek- new frontiers or going beyond; going to places you’ve never been before and it is in our nature as humans, regardless of our position, opportunities in life, or upbringing, to want to do thus. Often we suppress it but it is there, for sure. I will never be an astronaut or play the lead role in 'The Martian'. I will never be a Sigourney Weaver, gingerly walking through the chamber of alien eggs, but in essence it is the same thing, though thankfully far less dangerous. We want to go and see and do things we haven’t done before and for a working class boy from Leicestershire, going to somewhere like Australia is my Mars, my Sigourney-Weaver-moment.

Interestingly, my expectation is that Australia will be similar to the UK, despite the distance- our perception is that Australia is just kind of like Brits with bravado; Brits with tinnies; confident surfing lads and loud, proud Sheilas, drinking pints and belching but let’s see...let's see. So we are marching on, marching on to the end of March (you see what I did) and soon Rachel’s 50^th birthday, April the 7^th will hit us, and her particularly, square in the face. Yet we will be in Perth, all being well. It is exciting. it's truly exciting and will be wonderful for her to see her family- she has so few left. To see Barry out there in Perth will be a dream come true

It is going to feel bizarre that I will be so far from home but only three weeks after we return to Malaysia, I will be heading to London to attend the COBIS conferences of middle leader facilitator training and leadership training. As of next year I will officially be able to train middle leaders at our school. It’ll be a fantastic opportunity for me to catch up with Georgia and River and see their new apartment and it is also a chance for me to get stuck into London nightlife- the music, the acting, the culture. Hopefully I will be able to drop on a train to Loughborough too and see my parents. A few jars will really help me reconnect with the famalam.

So we walk into the closing hours of March 2025- on to better things, to new things, to new memories and great moments to cherish.

A Simple Friendly World- 13-03-25

My belly is slowly recovering from the upper class Edwardian style gargantuan feed it received last night. It has been a long time since I have felt bloated and I have a lot of control these days when around delicious food but last night was certainly an aberration on this record. Worse, perhaps, is that after smashing a Buscopan tablet for stomach cramps last night and after writhing around in agony for half an hour or so, I still ate the leftover blueberry and apple crumble that our good friend Alice brought to the party yesterday, for breakfast. I mean…it gets rid of it right?

It was supper club number 5 last night and despite one of our crew being ill with some coughing based lurgy and another being at a friend’s do, the rest of us pushed on and we were delighted to meet Tom’s dad Stan who, despite being in his mid-80s, was buzzing with energy and to be honest, was in better shape than I was at the end of the night. We cooked up some Rogan Josh and some dhal with various starters of samosas and bhajis and I even made my own mango chutney. It was a lot of fun and nice to ‘kick back’ with several of our mates who had had a tough week at work. It was a simple food, company and booze night and long may nights like this reign supreme.

In the world everything is far from simple or friendly- madness persists with Trump continuing to say one inflammatory, often deranged thing after another. He has been in office for less than two months and has already tried to screw half of the world with heavy tariffs- and in so doing ‘screwed' America, in my opinion; he has said that he wouldn’t promise not to use force to take Greenland, claimed that Canada will become the 51st state of America; that the Gulf of Mexico will be re-titled the gulf of America; made a video using AI and published it on his own web page called 'Trump Gaza' (depicting golden statues of himself and Gaza as some future beach resort with Musk in sunglasses, and Netanyahu sipping cocktails with Trump on loungers, effectively on the bodies of 50000 Palestinians who have been recently bombed and killed on that strip of land) and has U-turned completely against the majority of NATO by seemingly supporting Vladimir Putin- leading to perhaps the most embarrassing example of public bullying of a leader, I have ever witnessed, when Trump and his deputy Vance effectively pushed Zelenskiy into a corner, told him they wanted all of his pocket money to pay for a protection racket, they might offer. He was told to say 'thank you' as well. Happily Zelenskiy didn't cave in and ;eft without a deal.

Two months! That doesn’t include his wild anti-immigration plans, his faux-theocracy led evangelical social reforms and his policies to improve the lot of rich billionaires and the oligarchs. America is quite clearly a fully fledged plutocracy.

Fascinating too is all the videos online of Americans being asked (albeit for clickbait purposes) to name a country on a map and their default being Africa- a continent!. Certainly, if we believe what we see (which is a big ‘if’), Americans seem to have more than their fair share of ignorant folk, which perhaps, in part, explains their choice of President. He really is beyond reality and yet is it! Startling and head shaking, blowing cheeks out exasperation fills every moment of my response to this orange lunatic.

Meanwhile, in quiet Malaysia, we plod on and Rach and I have bought some board games. Currently, we are midway through a tense game of Ludo and hopefully tonight we will reach a conclusion. It is fun to avoid TV and to laugh and have fun over a board game. When did that world disappear? That simpler, friendlier world.

Flavours, Fitness, and Faraway Dreams under a Malaysian Sun -23-02-25

The mangoes in Malaysia are phenomenal. Granted, they don’t all come from Malaysia-and Thai mangoes pop up quite often in the supermarket but, whichever you buy, the flavour is wonderful. I liked mangoes in the UK, you know, the ones with the attractive green colour and that ruddy reddish shine. However; there is a bitterness to mangoes in the UK- which is hard to explain and I’m not sure where they source them from, in truth but you know what I mean- an odd after taste after the juicy goodness. Here- none of it, just oozing juiciness. I need to eat them more often, for sure.

It is another Saturday but an easy one this week, with me only teaching a one hour drama lesson, this morning. I have spent the rest of the afternoon reading, running and as previously mentioned, eating mango. Oh- and I contemplated buying the brand of sesame oil pictured, but realised I was being a child. haha- Malaysia still surprises and shocks.

Tonight, we are over at one of Rachel’s friends for dinner and there is talk of chocolate eclairs. Let’s hope so. Last weekend we were over at the Head of Secondary for a Japanese meal- delightful it was too. It was lovely to be invited and nice to see two of the students I teach (her children). We had a lot of chat, sake and some rose (not the kids obviously).

I am proud that I have managed to stay on track with my training, and I am getting quicker, fitter and less fat. I am also drinking far less wine which is good for the pocket as well as the paunch. Beer is not so easy to reduce, although I am drinking tea at the moment when I was about to go for a can. Small steps!

Life is fairly and typically Malaysian-KTJ-ordinary, at the moment, with work, training, banter, swimming and beering all under the hot Malaysain sun. At school, I continue to work my way through the swamplands of Shrek and last week we choreographed the dragon scene and the escape of Fiona. This scene is going to be epic, with one of our good friends, Amy, constructing a gigantic beast that needs eight people to work it. I think this is perhaps the highlight of my week but that has often been the case, in my life as a teacher.

Time is creeping along and despite dreading Mondays (there might be a song in that- and I might have written that before) the week is usually easy enough. Our intention is to go to Australia this Easter or Harya Raya, as they call it here, and catch up with Rachel’s Great Uncle Barry. We hope to drop into Singapore, a place we haven’t visited, despite it being only a three hour drive away, before hopping over to Brisbane and then Perth. A faraway adventure, I never, in all my dreams, thought we would have.

I’ve finished the mangoes. Grrr. I’m licking my lips thinking of the chocolate eclairs, especially now I’ve been good.

Half full;half empty?Keep refilling... 11/02/25

4 coffees! Too many? I have them on permanent refill.

I have this weird compulsion to refill my cup, or glass, or beaker, every time it is almost empty and I don’t know why. There seems to be some comfort in having a fluid to drink as a companion when you are working, writing, reading or chatting. At least, there is for me. I think that is why I used to over imbibe on wine- something I have reduced of late.

In fact, newsflash- ‘I am now running three or four times a week and as many as 15 kilometres. I hate it! The fatigue, the sweating in the Malaysian heat and the nagging voice saying ‘Time for your run’, but each time I finish, and when I have recovered my breath, I am in a state of elation. It isn’t an orgasm or a hit of heroin but certainly a positive feeling that is physical as well as mental.

Why have I kept up with it? Well- the good feeling goes beyond the few moments post-run and has lasting effects in day to day life and palpably, I am less rotund. My fat man waddle, that I have been trying to get rid of for years, has abated, for now.

I hope that I can run 5km in less than 28 minutes before I go back in the summer. That is the goal.

We have been back at work after the Chinese New Year break for a week and today is another day off, this time for Thaipusam (a festival celebrated to commemorate the victory of Hindu god Murugan over the demon Surapadman). Gotta love those gods. They just keep on giving. The rest of the week doesn’t bode so well with an evening shift imminent in one of the boarding houses and a rehearsal for Shrek on Thursday, followed by a Year 9 parents meeting in the evening, lingering on the nearby shoreline.

We spent Chinese New year itself in Hoi An and there will be a more extensive blog about this adventure, not least as this was our second attempt to get to the place and so we were able to give this trip some closure. Finally!

Since returning, we have enjoyed a visit from my niece Leah and her friend Cara, which involved some bleary eyed airport runs and a meal out in KL. Back to gravy baby! They had fun and we took them to a beautiful, exotic restaurant called Mizuki Gardens which is set in the Malysian foothills and sits happily by the water. I also enjoyed a Friday night out until late with a bunch of colleagues from work and plenty of laughs, ending sadly with one friend losing their phone and rapping at my door at 1am, asking me if I had it. I didn’t.

Aside from this, most of the conversation Rach and I have had, centre around what is next for us. We don’t have to decide as of yet- not until December I guess, but we are already wondering. Sometimes, I am excited about the possibilities- the opportunities we have and at other times, I am perplexed, daunted and overwhelmed. There is now. There is the future. There is family. There is us.

Do we stop working for a while?

Go travelling?

Work in the UK?

Another venture abroad?

Start a little business?

Buy a narrowboat?

Live by the coast?

Scotland?

South America?

Ad infinitum…

We have options, which is great but too many. That said, we are still waiting for probate, which has now taken 22 weeks, so far (we were promised 16). Apparently, the UK are now the worst in the world at this! Another failure for our beloved land of origin. Ingerland! Ingerland!!!! Na na naaaa na na naaaa naa naaaaa.

I don’t want to dwell on negatives-life is good. I guess that is why I keep topping up the glass- to ensure it is always full.

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 have 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 the 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 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 be 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 Columbia Asia hospital were wonderful 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 were 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- 04-02-24

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.

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.
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 two 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 the 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 watched 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 Philarmonic (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 Raj. 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 3^rd 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.