Off on an interview

I have to say (and I know it wasn't well hidden) that I started writing this blog during a very painful time in my life. It was indeed helpful and as you feel better you write less so my lack of an update must mean my road to recovery is almost complete. The last time I wrote this Jess was in England and now she lives in Italy. So getting to see her is quite a trek but so worth it. Anyway here I am living in England with only 1 question really. Why? I need to release the intrepid animal in me and see some of the world I am yet to see. With that in mind I applied to be Head of Primary at Oakley College Las Palmas Gran Canaria. The aschool even teach you Spanish after school. The applicants for this job were over 65 so to get to the final 3 helps this over inflated ego get bigger. In terms of its nearness to Italy it is the same in distance as the UK so know real changes there. I feel ready to take the plunge and working in the UK is depressing, beauracratic, tiring and grey. Well it is in education. If I get this job I might offer a few friends a nice free holiday so you better be good to me. As I think about the future I cannot help but look back on this blog. The hiding behind humour during some very dark days make me extremely proud of myself. So I won't be updating on a daily basis, but you can be sure that within 3 months I might even do an update in
 Spanish.

Hola!

John

I am acting like a Headteacher

Well I finally got to do the main job which is not a bad achievement as I look at my starting position. My first job was working in a dairy delivering milk. Little did I know I would eventually have the bottle to lead a school. I like having my own office, it is the sign of being successful at what you do. Famous other people who had their own office, Neil Kinnock, Robert Maxwell, John Major and David Brent. Oh ok not such a good list after all.The job is quite different from teaching and I often think it would be better to be called Head Administrator as these days the teaching side is limited.

I often get calls asking to speak to the Head Teacher and it takes me a while to recognise that the person they are looking for is me. I told a friend back in Liverpool about my new job. His response was to go silent and then say 'That Andy Carroll is crap isn't he'. So my achievements, like most people in this life, only mean something to the achiever, the achieveless aren't really that bothered.

However this job is not for ever and then I have to think of my next move. As I can't retire until I am 107 I better be sure I love this Headteaching job or it could be a long stint. Anyway I am off to a planning and budget meeting. Who said Head Teachers couldn't be sexy.

John

I am learning to speak French

Well I went to the first class last week. We were all asked what meals we enjoyed from France. People came up with stuff I couldn't even say let alone cook. My favourite French meal is French Toast and even saying it as Francais Toasts does not make it sound anymore codrdon bleu. We were all asked what our current level of French is (I was tempted to do the Basil Fawlty 'I get by' response) but realised that apart from Va Va Voom, Wenger and Platini, my overall french is a little lacking to say the least. One of the English guys introduced himself as Jean Paul, now that is plain cheating, he has a French name, it is like learning to be a member of the mafia and finding out one of the students is called Don. In fact I did not detect one English sounding name apart from my own. One girl named Clarisse who is from Beccles (not the Longchamp of East Anglia by any means) started conversing with me in a broad Norfolk accent but spoke to me in broken English, I think she thought I was Russian or something. Anyway why do people think that broken English would be easier for a non speaking person than correct English? Anyway the first lesson was to ascertain our previous knowledge and if Mrs T hadn't once ordered snails I would have been special needs. Anyway you can learn any language up to the age of 7 and no language after the age of consent (by which time for most men speaking is an irrelevance). I have to say the French teacher is adjustment wel (or well fit as we say in Liverpool) so the view alone might be worth staying for a few more ouis. After French I will learn Spanish so I can tell Fernando Torres what I really think of him first language style.

Adieu Mes Amis

Jean Belle

My evening at a Shakesperian society

Well I am new man, I am man of the new millenium, I want to taste from every menu before I die so I thought I would visit the local Shakesperian society. A chance to debate Shakespeare at a deep level and see if his contribution still holds validity in today's multi media must be now society.
You will see from that last sentence that my visit has caught me up with the pretentious twaddle I had to endure during an evening that seemed to last 10 years. Here are some of the gems I vaguely remember, Mary a retired Head teacher who looked like she had spent her lump sum retirement pension on a super charged bottle of botox said about Macbeth ' I feel Lady Macbeth's hand holds the whole tragedy deep within her, when we see the spot we are reminded of the state of her soul' Yeah right love I bet your staff meetings were a laugh a minute. Francis (he was a bloke but only just) discussed Comedy of Errors with the peach' the true skill of Shakespeare was that he knew what didn't make us laugh and this was his starting point' Yeah Frankie boy and you have certainly gained that skill. Peter a retired fireman said of Romeo and Juliet'It is a bit crap as I think the only love story that is longer is the titanic' Nice one Pete, in fairness I think he was there for the free biscuits, although I swear Mary was hoping for a fireman's lift. My own viewpoint was on establishing the merit of the writer in the first place. His literacy is not even guaranteed as he spent most of his time in Stratford upon Avon and name me 2 other writers they have produced, yes northerners and high level writing are a juxtaposition i am not yet completely comfortable with. Then of course we need to find out which bits he wrote, there is a train of thought that JK Rowling is a modern day Shakespeare and even my dog is now claiming that Harry Potter was his idea, he allegedly got it whilst penning an advert for Pedigree chum. The whole evening was just a battle to see how many words people could come up with that no-one else understood. In fairness I didn't understand much of what Peter said and he rarely ventured from the 4 letter venacular. The problem with these evenings is that it is not about dissemination of a worthy subject but simply point scoring on faux intelligence, and that I can see on QI anytime I want. I won't go back unless they are going to discuss The Merchant of Venice because after I have bopped Mary one on her pretentious botox face I will try to convince her about the quality of mercy not being strained and all that. Anyway Shakespeare a national treasure? Yeah well like most treasures he is buried and is only dragged up in the interests of irrelevance.


John

The Riots

I was shocked and horrified when I heard about the riots. There were no reasons for this to happen, simply excuses. However I rested safe in the knowledge that the Yummy Mummies of Norwich and all ensuing offspring would not riot because........well because we are Norwich. Well I was wrong there was a riot and it took place in one shop in the city , PRIMARK. I defy 5000 looters to make the mess ordinary shoppers make of that store by 3pm Saturday. Women's lingerie in the same rack as Men's socks is unnatural but that is the state of Primark come Saturday afternoon. But away from this why should people riot? Because they are not respected by the police? It is not the job of the police to respect people it is their job to catch criminals who by their very definition do not deserve respect. Looters have no money and as a result no hope. Well then get a job, when living in Liverpool I had little hope and less money but I created both by getting educated and becoming gainfully employed. Rioting is not about social inequalities, it is about wanton criminality, Is Prison the answer? Well it keeps them off the streets and I imagine opportunities to loot at Wandsworth are limited to plastic cups and postal bags. Of course the law only works for those who don't break it, Prison doesn't work for the perpetrators of crime but it works well for the victims and I would suggest it is the reason why it is there. Crime is not ethic, it is not gender based, it is not culturally based. It is greed driven and people who use society as an excuse should be removed from the society they so object to. The only riot I have ever witnessed was when I was the link man for Frank Carson and he didn't turn up. Most of the punters thought I was not worth the 50 quid ticket price and hurled everything at me to get me off. If you had heard my act you too would have done similar. I am to comedy what Rupert Murdoch is to free speech. Anyway all is quiet again on the Western front until the police start dissing a 17 year old unemployed drug dealer, then we will return to square one. Societies never learn they simply evolve and eventually return to past mistakes.

My A-Z of keeping your home clean and tidy

A- aerosols. An absolute must, so the whole house smells of lavender and forest dew. Strangely I have never smelt a forest that had the same odour as my house.
B- Behind. This is vital, put dust behind doors, carpets and cupboards. Therefore it looks tidy but not clean.
C- cupboards. There is nothing that cannot go in them (untue there is nothing that can now go in mine, if I dared to open any cupboard there would be a volcanic eruption from all the junk tightly packed in.)
D-Dishwasher- I can't afford one but if I could I would get one, the automatic downgrade from a wife in my opinion (calm down girls I was Joking)
E- Emptying bins, however over the floor is not the greatest idea I have ever had
F- fold away furniture. More room means more tidy. I wish I had a fold away house.
G- Gardening- don't do it just live next door to someone who does less gardening than you do. Then your mess looks positively Chelsea flower show by comparison.
H- Home help. I know they are mainly for pensioners but as my genes suggest I won't make it that far maybe I should get my home help now.
J- Jokes. Tell good jokes then people who visit you will be laughing so hard at your humour they will forget you live in a sty even the pigs rejected.
K-Karma. Believe that if your home is always a mess eventually it will get tidy as Karmic law kicks in.
L- Leave it. At the end of the day this approach ensures the mess can't get any worse.
M- Magic. Believe in it and cast a spell each night before you go to bed.
N- Night time. Only ever clean at night time. Then work hard all day and claim you are too tired to tidy at night time.
O- Opportunity. Only tidy when you have the opportunity and then make sure no such opportunities ever arise.
P- Plead. Plead with someone else to do it and tell them about a friend in need etc.
Q-Quit-start by moving the first cup to the sink and then quit,this means you will have done something and feel less bad than doing nothing.
R- Retire. Simply retire from cleaning and find more productive hobbies.
S- Smash. Very useful, simply break the dishes you do not want to wash and buy new ones.
T- Tales. When people visit you tell them you are suffering from short term memory loss and simply say ooh I forgot to tidy up.
U-Upstairs. Simply live upstairs when the ground floor gets too messy. When upstairs is too messy, move out!
V Van. Live in a small van and only use a house to store clothes.
W-Wheelie Bin (ensure you fit in)
X-Watch the X factor and realise that public health is less important than the big things in life.
Y- Yesterday. Only remember yesterday and forget what you have to do today.
Z-Zebra. Buy a zebra and blame it for the mess.

Anyway I look forward to your visit

John

Nice to meet you Mr Bell

It is only by spending time alone that you get to meet the real you. For most of my life I have hid behind my humour and it is only now that I have actually got to embrace the real me. I have found there is a big difference between being alone and being lonely. Spending time alone gives you time to think about what is important to you. I realise now that the thing that has defined me over the last 20 years is work, indeed I don't do anything else (and that admission gives me a sense of where I have become lost) I feel it might be to do with my background. A career to me was very important, I have measured everything in my life by this barometer. Unfortunately I thought everyone else would use the same measure to judge me as a person, but of course life is not like that. I have come to the conclusion that I listen often without hearing much. Mrs T once claimed I lived in a place called 'John's World' and of course you never really know a place until you leave it, and I have to say that there was a little truth in some of her observations. In life we always want to please people around us so we say and do the things that make other people happy and it is often at the expense of our own happiness. My job is a prime example of this, I work tirelessly for the benefit of others, children, parents, colleagues and dare I say it family as well. When we do this we often leave ourselves neglected, tired, and asking ourselves the question 'why did I bother'? So the time on my own has made me a more inward looking person (and this is not altogether great news as I didn't realise I had so many faults) this time has made me grow up quicker than I wanted to and I lament the loss of my child like qualities. However it is what it is and we must take the positives where we can. So I will still continue to work hard, still continue my inane sillyness, but be aware of who I am and try to celebrate my identity rather than trying to create a new one. I mean why should I , John Bell is lovely and me and this guy are going to die together with our boots on.

John

Emotional Poverty, you don't know you've got it because you are too poor to realise it

I was at an inset yesterday as part of my job. Now don't get me wrong I find educational inset about as useful as a raincoat in Dubai, indeed most should be titled 'professional development in stating the bleedin obvious'. However yesterday was one that inspired me, made me think and also made me realise how lucky I am to have arrived at the place I now find myself in. The speaker was Sir John Jones and anybody who has not read his book called the magic weavers should. He told us that children who come from a family that has an income primarily made up of benefit payments have more chance of going to prison than going to University. Should we blame the children for this? Of course not they are born and taken from a hospital by a person they have never met before. They know nothing about that person and can only hope that the people who take them home will do good by them. Some children are lucky and live in rich and loving environments. Some are not so lucky and end up in poverty, abusive homes and when we see them as young kids we make judgements on their behaviour. Should we blame them? Should we blame their parents who are often part of the cycle of poverty in which there is no escape (and by poverty money is only a very small part) A child brought up by parents deemed to be middle class will hear in their first 10 years 800,000 positive statements aimed at them by parents and family and 60,000 negative ones. A child brought up on benefits will hear 60,000 positive words or statements and 120,000 negative ones. This is emotional poverty and there can be no doubt about it. The only chance these kids have will be the quality of schooling. The teachers (or the magic weavers) can give these kids the aspirations that are so sadly lacking at home. A good teacher will be remembered by a child as fondly as a good parent is. A man who had appreciated his teacher for many years because of the difference he had made really wanted to get in touch with him but thought 'he taught thousands how is he going to remember me'?. But after much umming and arring he found out the email address of his former teacher (who was 90 at the time) and said Mr Tavern I suppose you won't remember me, but I remember you, you are the reason Why I am successful today, you gave me aspirations when all I once had was excuses, you gave me light when once I couldn't see the way, you told me why I should rather than why I couldn't and even if you don't remember me I will always remember you. 3 Days later he got an answer from that teacher he said 'yes Smitty I do remember you and the cold trip to Clacton, you were the only one that didn't complain, I remember you said very little but what you did say was worth listening to, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for remembering an old man who thought he had been forgotten. 5 days later he recieved an email from the wife of that teacher to say he had sadly passed away but in the last few days all he talked about was that school trip and the school Smitty had attended. She said in her reply 'I thank you for what you did and feel so grateful you thanked him before it was too late'. That is what being a magic weaver is all about. A difference can be made and whilst there are excuses for society when it comes to economic poverty, there are no excuses as far as emotional poverty is concerned. If you are a teacher like the children that are hardest to like, and then you will make that difference and remember they will always be smart enough if you are good enough.

John

The School play is going well

Well we are 4 weeks away from the school play. I was going to adapt blood brothers but there was just too much nervousness on whether we could pull that one off. However I have adapted Charlie and the Chocolate factory, this was a good choice as I have created 28 different parts and better still my Jessica loves it and that is a good enough reason to do it in my opinion. Now there are advantages and disadvantages in working with 11 year old untrained actors. The main advantage is that bad habits are easy to iron out, they do as they are told and they bow down to your supposed knowledge on all things theatrical. The disadvantages is their need to go the toilet just as you are making progress, the volume control that is always up in class is lowered for some strange reason on the stage and finally unlike professional actors they are always being called up for catch up, 1-1 tuition and every child a reader initiatives. That said I am pleased with what I have seen so far. I have taken some well known songs and adapted them and the end results are quite amusing. The other lovely thing about plays and children is that you suddenly discover talents that had remained hidden for the best part of the year. It has been fun getting my Augustine Gloop to perfect her German accent (we couldn't get a boy and by the way I have no idea if Augustine is a girl's name) The accent is coming along although at times it is a mix betwen Adolf Hitler and Windsor Davies. My Veruca Salt is a diamond and even though I love acting I know that this girl at her age is a million miles ahead of me when I was 11. (hope she does not read this blog as I expect she'll get a big head) At the moment I am burying myself in my work and forgetting the less pleasant parts of my life (the recovery of a single man is like malt whisky,,,A slow process) So if you are in Thetford on the 19th of July and would like to see my latest offering just let me know, I will reserve you some VIP seats.

Yours in Luvvy

John

The problems with mornings

People often say 'ooh I'm not really a morning type of person'. Well in my experience those miserable gits aren't usually an any time of day person and enjoy drinking from their half empty cups. If you asked them to read the following 'funisnowhere' they would read fun is nowhere, yet I read it as fun is now here and as you know the devil is always in the detail. Anyway that put aside the morning does have a few deficiencies. Well the first major problem is that it always follows the night. Now I have never had alcohol in my life so I do not know the feeling of getting drunk the night before but I have seen it plenty enough during my time as a compere in holiday clubs. Well the next morning it does not look pretty I can assure you, and I believe that even after a shower in the morning the effects can stay with you for pretty much the rest of the day, however morning is always the worst. I do hope that Jessica takes after her dad in the drinking respect as there are much more interesting things to do with the money you earn. Also breakfast food is pretty dull if you compare it to meals at other times of the day. Yes a fry up is a tasty option, but reading the previous part of the blog I don't think many hair of the doggers would fancy that. So in the main it is a quick bowl of wood shavings (known as cornflakes to you and I) and a bit of toast. Now what makes this even more unsavoury is that it is often eaten on the run. Can you imagine doing yourself a lovely meal with a glass of red and running around packing papers and looking for shoes when eating, and then finishing it as you walk out the door? Of course not but this can be an outcome for many breakfasts. Also our moods are effected at breakfast time and I am sure there are more arguments at this time than say in the evening when the daily grind has ben completed. This is worse during the winter when it is dark when we leave, and hope escaped at about the same time as the last remanants of summer. Of course these negative descriptions only tend to apply to people with a job or a career, if you don't have to get up till 11 because you are lazy, rich, feckless, drunk (please delete as appropriate) then you will never have a clash with the pessimsm of morning. Myself I feel great this morning, so much so that I found the time to blog, and if I was to simply dismiss all the mornings of my life that would be 2 hours x 365 which would be 730 hours, times that by 45 and that would be
over 30,000 hours, around about 150 days which would be the equivalent of dismissing 5 years of my life, so I shall remain sober, hopeful and a person who avoids cornflakes at all costs.Now I know today that fun is now here, just need to find it.


Good Morning to you

John

Facebooted

Well if you want to keep reading my rivetting(sic) blog you will have to come directly to my blog as I have given up on facebook for a while. One of the main reasons is that a re-invention of self is difficult to achieve if you tell your 139 friends 'I am currently washing my hair' Number 1 it is a meaningless update and number 2 you should not be using an electrical appliance when pouring water over your head. Also when I am on facebook I have the annoying misfortune of finding things out that I did not want to know. You find out that the girl you quite liked is a Manchester United fan and then any desire to romance her has gone. I have been on a few dates this month (amazingly with the same person) and she does not use facebook so I thought it unfair to mention her on a social networking site that she does not frequent. Obviously mentioning it on here is only 1 tiny step better, but my intention was well meaning. I am sure I will be missed on facebook for my cutting wit and deep phrases that add meaning to everyone's day, however moving on can sometimes mean moving away from things that have become habit and not a particularly healthy one come to think of it. I would imagine that since I joined I have been on facebook for the equivalent time of 6months. That is a lot of time for innane nonsense. I am sure there will be a campaign to bring me back but my mind is totally made up. I shall miss being poked, friended, farmville requested etc but the time has come to be part of my own individuality again and not part of a network that relies upon the sheep like mentality to keep its founders the billionaires they crave to be. So bye bye FB it was good whilst it lasted but I now feel a verse of born free coming on.


John

Joined the tennis club

I have just started playing at the local tennis club. Now the three things you need to satisfy membership are 1) Being almost a 100 years old, 2) Stubbornly middle class and 3) being able to make up scores that do not exist, for example if you lead 40-15 you must say 40-5 or you will be the equivalent of an academic from Rochdale. So apart from number 1, I am struggling to meet the criteria. Another annoying thing was having to change my personality. I was playing against someone who I think had personal experience of the dinosaurs and his eyes were not as good as they once were. Well he called out most of my shots and I had to smile in a failed middle class sort of way. Anyone who has played any game with me will know that my desire to win goes through every pore in my body. But I was trying to make a good impression so I just smiled politely throughout. It was also really difficult as each of my playing partners were introduced to me but then I found out they had nicknames that only long standing club members knew. One guy had a nickname of boule (do not ask me why) however I referred to him as Boo and I don't think I will be partnering him again. My second partner played his backhand down the line on a deuce point whilst talking on his mobile. Shocked I turned to look at him on his mobile and then missed an easy overhead smash,well he was not impressed and such was his disgust he interrupted his phone conversation to tell me so. Anyway when they asked me my name I felt inadequate with only a name of John as I felt that I should have a nickname like thunder serve or something equally sad. I stuck to John but most of the time they referred to me as Don (well when they weren't talking on the phone) overall I played ok and at the end we all went off for drinks. This is not entirely accurate as they went back to Boo's house and I was sadly not invited, allegedly scouse tennis players and unsecure 5 bedroom detached houses don't offer a perfect mix. Maybe next time.

John

UK teaching system the pride of the globe?

I don't like to think of myself as a working boy, however I am aware of the uncomfortable juxtaposition between being a national marker and being a teacher. On the one hand I see close up how the stress of exams has a direct effect on childen, how those results can end up with an uncomfortable and unfair judgement being made on schools and how individuals can be scapegoated on the back of such results. We all know however that schools do not sing with one voice, the boycott of SATS last year was affirmed by mostly schools who were going to do poorly, and ignored by those schools who knew they were going to do well or had a strong parent delegation who believe in exams at all costs. Well as a national marker I must believe in the assessments? WEll apart from the fact it eeks out an extra 1400 quid income I think that I do. We need to be careful in this country that exams don't go down the same road as sports day. (everyone passes them as we reach out to the bottom and ignore the top) This state of affairs would not be tolerated in the best (or even moderate) international schools and these schools are filling up more of our Universities as the current system in the UK is producing, same, unmotivated and ordinary students. No greater example of this is evidenced when gifted and talented came out. (now able and gifted) at the time schools had to do a register of 25% and this was the G+T register. Sad thing was that the top 25% of children in one state school wouldn't make the top 90% of children at a top fee paying school. So what you had in essence was talented for a failing state school and almost special needs were the intake was more able. This whole system was bound for failure, it would be admitted as a failure, but in the dwindling state sector failure is still a word that we haven't yet come to terms with so we say it is developing. Yeah right I am developing my language in Mandarin, I can't speak a word but I haven't failed as I am simply developing. Anyway the system has been left behind by many nations and by the International sector. Our education system in the UK was once held up as a beacon for the rest of the world and is now an ancient relic and a reminder of what can happen when you park your big fat backside and rest on your laurels.

John Bell

Well I have been doing this for 20 years nearly and the punch line never changes

When I was 23 I decided to pack in my job as a compere/entertainer for holiday organisations across Europe. One of the reasons I decided to call it a day at such a young age was the worry that in 20 years I'd still be cracking mother in law jokes and leaning on a mic stand telling the same jokes I told 20 years ago. It was a brave decision as at the time I was earning a lot more money than most 23 year olds and I was being paid to see parts of the world my friends couldn't afford to visit. However with mind made up I decided to do a job that made a difference. A job that was going to challenge me in different ways and a job that I would enjoy all the time. Enter teaching. Well even if I say so myself I have always been a good teacher (the compere experience gave me supreme confidence in my own ability and I have carried this forward into teaching) I developed a unique style and success (relatively) has followed. Yet now I still feel like the old compere. The audience changes but the jokes remain the same. The challenges that were different everyday are no longer fun challenges. Beauracracy (sic) targets, SATS, ECM, APP, etc etc etbleedincetra. The individuality that I bought to teaching has been drained out of me, the risks I take when teaching whilst once applauded, are now challenged because they don 't conform to prescriptive nonsense that fits in with people who wouldn't know a good teacher if it landed on them riding a brontasaurus. I wonder if I should open my own free school, move abroad, become a writer of second rate plays or do a Stephen Fry and disappear. Life and many aspects of it have long been controlled by a style of governance that tells us what to think, when to think it and how to think it. For the masses of tabloid, non feeling, non thinking individuals (what a term, 'individual')this is fine. But I must think there is more to life than this. I may live 90 years and be dead 96 trillion years and counting. What might I say before the day of my lowering into the abyss? I finished my APP? I got the floor targets for SATS? Good lord it makes me want to run for the hills. There is more to life, it is for living, I have to work but alongside that I have to live. I will do just that and find the life that is worth living. It is out there somewhere, a suit of life armour that is a perfect fit for John Bell.

John

The end of the World tomorrow, will the last one to leave turn out the lights.

Allegedly Armageddon is due on May 21 (I hope not because the thought of missing half term really irritates me as I have had no holiday in 4 weeks) 200 million people are going to be scooped up to heaven and this scares me a little as it appears to be the opposite of a Bungee jump, more of a Bungee lift. In reality I feel sorry for Jesus as most of the 200 million will be religous zealots, weirdos and cult members. Now I don't know about you but I find it hard to believe that Jesus thinks 5.8 billion people on this planet are not worth saving, I can understand Wayne Rooney and Gary Nevile not being saved, but Bucks Fizz, Jeremy Beadle and Aneka Rice must be worth saving. If I had to let someone take my place (and it will not be my Jess as she has a gold plated front row seat) I'd choose my neighbours who have the loud tv (see how long Jesus feels like saving them) The logistics of lifting 200 million people to heaven has not been thought through. You can't ask National Express because they couldn't even get 70 people out of London in under 9 hours. Will people have to queue? What about Obese people, they might be dropped and land on some one waiting to be raptured and instead end up being ruptured. Will the believers be saved? If this is the case and it is not just for the religous, then a lot more than 200 million need saving. What about the good dead? Are they included? If they can't be lifted as they are not here I presume, will they too be dropped? The Evil dead I suppose will carry on burning, but with the destruction down here the person running Hell can have a well deserved break and the damned can burn down here just as easily. I suppose the Hell manager will get his break during my half term which is a sight more than I will get. Anyway I am afraid of heights and equally afraid of organised religion so I guess my experience will repeat the pattern of the last 6 months..........Left alone...........Again


John Bell

I can't put any weight on.

Well prior to being the unworkable telemac model I weighed in at around 15 stone. Even at 6 foot 2 I'd say that is too heavy. Well the end of any relationship makes people look inwardly and I simply decided that enough was enough and I decided to divorce my second chin from my first one. I was sick of being next to people in a room no matter where I sat. People looked at my stomach and you could see there first desire was to throw a baby shower for me. Well how was I going to lose it? Well the divorce diet is always good for half a stone but I needed to lose more. So I attended the gym 3 times a day from Jan-March (The lady at reception noticed my obsession and asked if I was training for the marathon, I was a bit embarrassed so I meekly said yes) Rowing, running and cycling for 2 and a bit hours each day saw 15.2 become 11.12 in three months. I was pleased with my efforts and glad to know that now when I tell a joke people don't think it is an impression of the late Bernard Manning. Anyway I decided after going below 12 stone I would concentrate on weights and stomach exercises. This is going well but I am trying to add just a few pounds to my weight to help the bulking up process. Now Pre telemac days I could look at a twix and get 7 pounds weight no problems. Now I can eat 6 of them and lose 3 pounds. Instead of weight watchers, maybe I could go to weight ignorers and simply high five all the other skinnies when we manage to put on five ounces. I am now too scared to run outside as I feel I might fall down a drain or simply disappear if the run is too long. So if you have a bit of excess going spare please give it to me a deserving cause. I know if I get a serious date she might want something to grab hold of and at the moment it would be like a leg of chicken rejected by Nandos. I even have fat dreams. Oh how my life has changed ;-)


John Bell

I did it and it makes me proud

It was a warm summers evening and the dimming rays of a mid evening sun was protruding through my window, my view of the world outside. I sat alone knowing what needed to be done, yet dreading the task in a way a mother craves for a baby but tries to shield her thoughts from the pain that often goes with it. However this was the evening of all evenings that I would face my fear and complete the task that I hoped would indeed make me whole again. I battled the legs of the monster, tackling it with a relish that even surprised me, in all of my testosterone filled dreams could I have believed I would have got the beast in an upright position ready for the kill. Next was to fight the creased sight of it's body, each time I brought it to heal it creased itself up again in arrogance, laughing at me, daring me to bring it to straightened obedience. Its arms were waving at the sides trying to move away from me at every opportunity, the creasing and pushing movements increased, but the more it struggled, the harder I pushed my command over it. It became a fight against 2 wills, mine the patriarch, the person who could not lose this fight, lose it and every other fight would be lost to. It, trying hard to wriggle free, telling me that it would not except its subservient position that I had forced upon it. The struggle was no longer than 7 minutes, eventually quiet fell, I had won, its subservience was now total, not a word was uttered, not a sound made. I had triumphed and yet I enjoyed the moment as if I had been given God like powers. It was crushed, nowhere to hide, and sadly it's arrogance had been blown away like the tiniest sand particle in an Arabian desert storm. I feel no sympathy, I feel no regret, I won because I had to and I believe you would have done the same in my position. Do not judge me, judge the situation and you too would have displayed the reckless abandon that I too displayed. Yes...........I finally managed to iron my shirt (Can go to work now)


John

How often do you cry and does it help?

I have to say that I do not cry that often although I have done more over the last year than over the other 44. The reason I find tears difficult is probably linked to childhood. Being part of a large group of kids (there were 6 children all together) we were simply told to stop whinging or grow up, so I have always thought of crying as being linked to immaturity or moaning. I never saw my dad cry apart from when his Sister died and I have to say it freaked me out as I thought only women cried up until that point. Of course crying can often be a tactic to get what you want. Around all the women I have known I always give in when the first few gushes of the salt lake appear and I remain convinced that women know this. Many a time a good argument for a man is ruined by sudden and unexpected tears, it interrupts your flow and then you have to engage sympathy mode which is at odds with argumentative mode. Of course there are gender stereotypes at play. You say I made my wife cry and the response is 'you big bully, how could you etc etc etc. You say my wife made me cry today and people say' ooh you big Wuss man up for goodness sake. This results in men not revealing their true feelings which ends up with accusations that we men are lacking in feelings, no it has been expected and we then live up to the stereotype created by others for us. So from now on I will cry at the opening of an onion, Armageddon and Jessica's latest piano report. So next time you visit me bring a box of tissues it could get quite wet.

John

I'm drinking a drink it's called loneliness, well it's better than drinking alone

I have now been in my new place for about 2 months and on the face of it it is very nice, good walks and the scenery is appealing. However when you move to a new place you simply don't know anyone. The neighbours to my right must be Trappist Monks as their next conversation will be their first believe me. The other neighbours are about 200 years old and whilst I have never heard them speak I hear their television at about 5 million decibels every night. It has got so bad that I now feel like I know the characters from Eastenders personally. (Eastenders being watched in Wymondham disappoints me as I just feel Wymondhamites are so much better than that) So in the first couple of months I can go days without seeing anyone, this outcome does not distress me as at times I like the solitude as it allows me to reflect on many areas of my life. However if I was to drop dead over the weekend or over a holiday I am sure I would have decayed worse than Esther Rantzen's teeth when somebody eventually raises the alarm. However I don't just want friends for the sake of it, indeed I have found my new situation has made me more picky on friendships and not in the least bit desperate. I often wonder how many friends we really have? I know on Facebook people claim 20 million friends but my definition of a friend has little to do with the social networking definition. So maybe I have 10 at best, with a few hundred acquaintances (that spelling is terrible even by my standards) and it is those 10 that one day might have to retrieve me from my toilet or bath when I have breathed my last. Anyway it is better having quality than quantity and you cannot even imagine in what other areas of my life that has rung true.



John Bell

My most unusual story in my teaching profession

My early teaching career was in the United Arab Emirates. My first classroom was a bathroom that had been converted into a classroom. There was a screen down the middle of the class and the boys were on one side and the girls were on the other. So when teaching maths I had to pop my head across like a jack in the box to make sure both sides of the class were listening and learning. Anyway one year we were doing a topic on houses and we were discussing how many rooms were in our houses. The answers varied from 5 to about 2o for the more wealthy members of our class. Well there was one boy called Mohammed(PBh) and he was not the cleverest child I have ever met but he said he wasn't sure but it was about 400. Well the whole class laughed and as a good professional I told them that it was cruel to laugh at our friends and that Mohammed(PBH) has probably miscounted. Well a little while later Mohammed's(PBH) dad called me and asked me if I would tutor him before the exams. As this is totally wrong to tutor someone you are teaching because it can cause a conflict of interest I accepted right away, 30 quid an hour will always be ahead of any educational principal I hold. A few hours later a driver picked me up and I was driven to a secluded area, within minutes I was confronted by armed men and I was sure I was about to be abducted and be a star of a you tube video begging Tony Blair to help me. But no these were the most polite armed militants I had ever met. They took me to Mohammed's(PBH) house and then I realised why he had said 400 rooms in our discussion, this place was in fact a Palace and his dad was the Ruler of Umm Al Quwain and when I got in there I thought 400 was a conservative estimate. Well I tutored my pupil whilst sitting in a gold chair and I truly felt like King Midas for an hour. I did 3 hours in total and looked forward to getting my 90 quid. Well payment never turned up and the armed presence at the door convinced me that this was a transaction that did not need to be pursued. Of course I did not know the Arabic way and payment is always made last moment or 'inshallah' (never). On my last day in the UAE I had long forgotten my 3 hours work and my 90 quid fee, when I was confronted by the ruler's representative who handed me 1500 quid in cash and a watch that was later valued at 500 quid. This was a lot more than the 90 quid I was expecting at the time. Nowadays I work 10 times harder for a 100 times less appreciation. There is only one word you can utter when you get 2 grand for 3 hours work off a Sheikh........Chokran


John Bell