Archive for September, 2011

Ten Years Ago

September 12, 2011

Okay, so ten years ago, technically yesterday now, there were the USA bombings including the surreal demolition of the Twin Towers which have marked history as we know it.  I was trying to do an art project for my GCSE, a “las Fallas” representation of Robbie Williams when all that terrible news was broadcast.  The first inklings of any bombings having taken place came to me in the school bus line after a day of classes, prompty shugged off and dismissed as false rumours until switching on the telly.  It took a while to sink in, didn’t it?  I remember feeling disturbed for some days that the thought of people from families like my own should have suffered after starting a seemingly normal day.

I can’t believe that was ten years ago.



First Sunday Back

September 11, 2011

Today saw my first Sunday back in Cadiz.  I will have been here for a week tomorrow, back in my little flat.

After spending quite  a few weeks in leafy Wirral, you forget about the constant din of the main road through Cadiz.  It’s no joke: Spain is a VERY noisy country.  I read that on another blog.  Luckily fior me, my neighbours are extremely considerate.  I didn’t even realise I had any neighbours until just before I went home for the summer.   Mr Kites likes to leave the balcony door and windows open to let the warm air circulate a bit.  Otherwise it can start to smell quite stuffy.  That’s not because of personal hygiene issues, that’s just flats for you.  Ones where people live and where there is only ne outer wall.  As a logical consequence, we are continually treated to traffic noises, motorbikes with loud engines, ambulances and police cars, police whistles, drunken talking and laughing, and this morning, rather more joyfully, aeroplanes.

Not the ordinary Easyjet or Ryanair kind, nor the more exclusive lines that I am barred from using (well, I don’t know, I haven’t tried to board any, but I imagine they might escort me away for wearing untrendy jeans and having a bird’s nest for hair, as well as the fact that I’m friendly and talk to people with my northern accent, which apparently you’re not supposed to do.  People get frightened of strangers who chat to them.  In particuliar, the Scouse kind.  Saying that, they would more likely escort me away for trying to board with a Ryanair ticked since I’m impoverished. )  These planes were a little bit special.  They were Spanish army planes, the Patrulla Aguila, which were like Red Arrows.  After trying to ignore the rude tremors they were causing, we decided to delay our wakey-up time coffee for a quick nose outside.  They weren’t quite as impressive as the Red Arrows spectables that I’ve seen on telly, but the fact that they seemed to free fall at irregular speed, fly perfectly upside down and perform spectacular twists and turns with perfect control in the blink of an eye left me dumbfounded.  They produced light blue, white and red smoke trails, and at the very end, we were treated to a display of red and yellow smoke, representative of the Spanish flag.

Then back to coffee.  A few reruns (ahem, sorry, I should say repeats) of Sex and the City later (I don’t recall if I’ve ever declared that particular guilty pleasure before.  A university addiction.), and we headed off to the beach for a swim (well, more like a bathe) in the wavy sea.

Afterwards, we performed the miraculous: an English roast with no gravy.  (Mum, if you’re reading, please send me some Bisto granules.  I do’t want to have to improvise every time.  Thanks.)

We ate in on the balcony, since we are making the most of late summer evenings before we are banished to the sofa and blankets since we have no central heating.  Don’t imagine that’ll be TOO soon though.  It’s just a little peculiar eating roast dinner on a balcony outside at night.

So that’s been my first Sunday back.  I have three more days of freedom before my soul is put on detention again for another ten months, I mean, before I start work.  I have three more days to realise my writing/painting ambitions.

And I promise not to be a TEFL bore any more, so this blog will be devoted to ME, and things I LIKE, like kittens, les ballets imaginaires, swimming in rivers wearing hats and ****, I mean books and jewellery and funny words and food and stuff.

Writer’s Block

September 11, 2011

I’ve been meaning to write something down.  It seems like the kind of purshuit that may validate my existence. Oh, now I’m reminded of the latest Adrian Mole diary, The Prostrate Years, in which Adrian’s mother attempts an autobiography.  In fact most things I’ve tried to write resemble Adrian’s unplublished portfolio, though mine wouldn’t be so vast.  Whenever I write something, I feel an urge to purge my exercise book by mercilessly tearing it out.  I’m very embarrassed by my artistic endeavours.

I recently bought a notebook and decided I was going to write in it.  I was going to write something and not tear it up, but accept it in all it’s imperfections as a decent first draft.  It remains unopened.

So I continue in the writers’ abyss.

Do any of you have this problem?  How might one solve it?



And back again!

September 10, 2011

After a well-earned pause from the blogosphere and Twitter, I’m pleased to announce that will be posting again shortly.

I hope you have all had a great summer.