De Perros y Limones

The Blues

It’s January, still.  Just.  It means that it is dark when we leave the house to go to work, which means it is really hard to see the endless cyclists and motorcyclists who have never heard of lights or if they have then have decided that they are a ‘new fangled idea’.  It is also the day that the UK leaves the EU officially.  These two things make the both of us sad.  Actually the latter makes us angry.

Very angry.  That such a stupid thing to do is looked upon as stupid by all except billionaire newspaper owners, Tory venture capitalists, Trump and idiotic Brits who hearken back to a mythical golden age is annoying in the extreme.  There’s nothing to do, I guess, except wait and see just how bad it is going to get.

Morning Fishing

And we will be looking from the outside.  I don’t think that we will ever go back to the UK unless we absolutely had no other possible choice.  We haven’t called it home for a decade or more and neither of us can see that changing.  Never say never and all that but the prospect of a winter in England is as depressing as the carrot that has been lurking at the bottom of the fridge for weeks. 

Bindi looking beautiful

At least here in Morocco the days are warm and the evening sun long in the sky.  For sure the driving is insane in its recklessness and is only matched by the sheer twattery of many pedestrians who seem to think that looking before you cross a road is something weird to contemplate. 

January was, however,  enlivened by the visit of my sister Michelle and her husband.  It was great to see him again.  I mean, it was great to see them again.  They were here for the Marrakech half marathon, an event that they were so blasé about it shamed me – I’m still worried about doing a 10K.  They drove a long way to visit for a few days and it was lovely.  The dogs enjoyed their visit as much as we did.  It was nice for the hounds to be fussed over by someone different.

Starfish! Yeah!

The two of them dragged us out of our normal routine and I think we needed it.  We are stuck in a series of regular habits that is hard to break.  Okay, we’re really really boring.  There, I’ve said it.  We don’t do anything.  We come home, do walks on the beach, do work on school laptops, watch tv, drink half decent wine, I study for this Post Grad thing, we go to bed and we wake up.  Rinse and repeat. 

Power

That’s it.  Honestly.  Really boring.

We do admonish ourselves for not seeing more of Morocco or more of our friends but it’s hard.  It’s  January and its cold.  It’s bloody freezing at night and in the mornings.  And it’s dark.  And it’s been report-writing time for the past few weeks.  And I’m in a brand new job, which is really hard. 

Mussel colour

Sometimes when you get a new job, you have this honeymoon period where everything is wonderful and exciting.  This job hasn’t had that.  At all.  It’s a slog.  Am I enjoying it?  Not really.  Is that normal after having a year off?  Most probably.  Will it get easier?  Probably.  Is work supposed to be fun and enjoyable?  I don’t think it is.  Would I like this job to be just a bit more fun?  Most definitely.

Sis and her hubby

All I will say is that if, as a teacher, you have lovely children to educate each day then treasure them. 

Admittedly the general mood wasn’t helped this week by developing a nasty throat bug at the same time as having the shits – traced back to some dodgy chicken tacos at school. 

It was pretty bad.  We’ve all been there, right?  When you wake up wide-eyed and realise that unless you get up pretty quickly then there will be a lot of laundry to do very soon and that your wife will never forgive you.  And, after rising from the great white porcelain seat you begin to brush your teeth, freeze and realise that you may have gotten ahead of yourself somewhat.  Three times.

Sis and Wifey

And that moment when you ponder that song ‘should I stay or should I go now?’ just as you are about to leave for work.  “You’d better stay now” was Sonalee’s answer and I’m glad she said so because the thought of having to pull over on the way down the coast road so that I could assume ‘the position’ to shit through the eye of a needle by the side of the road whilst wearing my school ID badge might have been embarrassing for me and my employers.

And, thank god the adjoining classroom has a door between us and also that my co-teacher Dan had an assistant who could cover me whilst I did the thirty yard dash in order to do a pebble dash.  Twice.

beach fun

What to do?  That I could barely talk beyond a hoarse whisper today was nothing.  I do have to say that I am very grateful for 8 years in Asia that has trained me in the art of dealing with ‘tummy troubles’.  There is nothing like your fellow coach, on a local pitch with only a stinking squat toilet, in the fearsome heat of the afternoon, walking over to you and ask if you could cover both teams for a few minutes so he could sort himself out after inadvertently ‘following through’ and you nodding your understanding because we’ve all been there.  Andy, I miss you mate. 

the beach, mirrored. This might just be my favourite photo I’ve taken. its bloody brilliant!

Anyway, my course continues to be a source of great stress.  I got a 64 for my formative essay back in December, which is okay.  I’ll take that.  This latest essay, however, is much longer and therefore has more scope for me being found out as a charlatan.  I’m at 3000 words now but each time I read what I’ve written it just seems like gibberish.  I’ve got two weeks to sort it out.  I’ve tried using long words, which isn’t too bad because I am fairly good at the inclusion of cerebral vocabulary that gives the impression of a modicum of complete acquaintance of a subject.  It’s when I start to use management buzzwords that I just sound like someone who isn’t me. 

Dora and green

I’m no good with phrases like ‘enabling instructors to deliver’ or ‘adoption of more innovative approaches in high-stake assessment’ because, well , because it isn’t me.  I tend to be a little bit more, erm, vernacular.  I know, I know, if I have any chance to succeed at this course, which I have to say has made me think a lot more about how I teach, then I have to get with the programme and use management-speak.  I’m trying.  I did use this one,  ‘hardware devices to facilitate learning’,  so I think I am on my way.  You’ll never hear me say it but it looks good in an essay.

Wish me luck for the next two weeks of struggle to write this 2nd of four essays this academic year.  And wish us luck in getting our house to dry out.  I had quite forgotten how living by the sea is great except for the constant wetness of literally anything.  All paper things turn limper than a chewed rag and all of our clothes have that faint wiffiness of not quite being dried enough.  As for trying to getting a dry towel, forget it – its damp cloth time every morning after a shower. 

We’ve tried heating up the house as best we can but Moroccan houses just don’t get designed for it.  There’s very little in the way of central heating  in the country except for the modern hotels here.  The rest of us are expected to use those gas heaters or really expensive oil ones.  Our fireplace was bricked up years ago apparently, which is a shame since a roaring fire, whilst covering everything in a layer of dust, is also quite heartwarming. 

morning beach

Upon the advice of our Romanian friend, I have acquired a countdown app.  It is only 139 days until we return to Andalusia for the summer and end to this dampness.  And only fifty days till a return for a week for spring break.  Hurrah!  This time, we’re debating whether to get all of the paperwork for the dogs re-checked and re-checked again since, at Christmas when we got to the Spanish customs at Algeciras we were mightily disappointed. 

Striding

We’d spent 6 hours at the vets getting the documents prepared to the nth degree.  We get to Spain, get in the queue and rock up to the hut with the rotund customs bloke – with a gun – and tell him we have four dogs with us.  This is with the full expectation of a thorough search of the vehicle, six or seven blokes examining the pet passports and a delay of two hours at best.  Instead, he smiles and asks Sonalee if,  ‘es todo bien?’. 

Eh?  Erm, ‘Si, por supuesto’. 

‘Vale, hasta luego’

Eh?  No!  Wait!  We spent hours sorting  this out!  We demand an inspection of our meticulous documents, you bastards!  Don’t let us just waltz through!  That’s not fair!

I love Spain.  Can’t wait to see it again.  In the meantime there is the work, the thing that we all must do.  I know we’re lucky enough to be doing that work in the field that we were able to choose, that we do love what we do and that we’re good at it and that we’re well rewarded for it.  I know that we don’t even come close to suffering for doing what we do and that we are very very fortunate in the regard.  It’s just that, in this particular month of the year when it is cold, dark and miserable, it is hard to see that bigger picture. 

We will be back soon

Hasta Luego mis amigos

Paul

PS  – We work with a lot of Canadians.  I love Canadians.  Nearly 30 years ago my Canadian penfriend Suzi introduced me to a band called the Tragically Hip.  I saw them live quite a few times after that and they were awesome.  They’ve been a soundtrack to my life for almost 3 decades.  In 2016 they played their final gig after their lead singer, one of the most incredible songwriters I have ever listened to,  was diagnosed with brain cancer.  The gig was broadcast live by CBC, online and hundreds of radio stations and was listened to by a third of the population of Canada.  Out of so many tracks to highlight, I choose this and this as my favourites.  Enjoy.  And, Suzi, thanks! 

Paul

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