The Big Game

First of all I'd like to apologise to all my fans for my lack of posts. I've felt somewhat uninspired of late and I've been getting heavily into The Wire (it's a TV show mum not a drug) however my heartfelt apologies go out to all three of you.

 Anyway...fair few things have happened lately. Keeping myself busy out here in the Basque Country. I wish I could remember half of these fair few things but I was probably too hammered because I'm such a wwwhacky guy. I'll do anything me. My friends all call me Mad Joe. I poo in baths at house parties and start fights with bouncers. Or maybe I don't.

About a month ago I was asked to participate in a football match against 4th year students (about 17-18  years old). I'd be playing on the staff team along with a few other members of staff, 6-a-side if you will. 10 minutes each way during the school break in the morning. "I'd love to", said I, remembering my glory days at Nigel Richardsons Football Academy (which my sister says I only got in because my dad was fitting his carpets on the day of my trials), remembering that excitement of getting closer to them goalposts, the euphoria of scoring a goal, your dad telling you that "you're fucking shit anyhow, you just wanna lay in your pit and play your guitar, you just look like a fanny anyway when you go into a tackle half-hearted like that, you might aswell just pack it in". I was ready relive them days all over again.
 The day finally came. I got changed into my brand new £30 Adidas nylon trackie bottoms tucked into my brand new football socks and ran onto the pitch to the sound of students crying: "Yo! Yo! Yo! (they're not gangster or owt that's just how they pronounce my name here). I was back where I belonged. On the pitch. Ready for kick-off.
 Off went the whistle. I tried not to run too much due to being self concious about the way I run since Jamie told me that seeing me run for the bus was the funniest thing he had ever seen. But no, I wasn't gonna let that stand in my way. I ran here. I ran there. I was completely fucked. Not even 5 minutes in and I wanted it to be over and done with. How the shittinghell was I gonna carry on for another 15 minutes? I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. Yet I carried on. Mainly due to the fact that all female members of staff we're watching and that me on my hands and knees, crawling to the sidelines in agony, was not gonna go well with my macho image. Not one bit.
I had trouble breathing for the rest of the day. My legs were killing. I sat there staring at my financially unjustifiable £30 trackies that I'd bought especially for the game and wondered how the fuckinghell I was gonna make it through the day. Never again.

Incase you were wondering, this is an actual picture of the female teachers who were there. They really made an effort showing their support for me and I was touched by it all. Thanks girls.

Life out here is good.  Finally got paid but thats gone out on rent, bills and christmas presents. I can't wait to see Liam's face when he gets his!
 The weather has been prettaaaaay goooood. 20 degrees the other day. Beat that England with your snow! I'm not into snow. Its cold, it delays everything when you least want it to and then it turns to slush. Also, it's getting closer and closer to christmas which means....I'm coming hoooooome! I'm proper excited to spend time with family and friends and even Kynman.

But enough about that...how about some cultural observations? Here's one for you....mulletts. The often ridiculed, Billy Ray Cyrus endorsed, famous hairstyle of the 80s. They're big here in the Basque Country and fuck knows why. The style is usually a short back and sides with a bit of a fringe and a long bit at the back, usually dreaded, accompanied by medium sized hooped earrings. This is common in female basque natives too and apparently this style is very, to quote a basque acquaintance, 'exotic'. What the fuckinghell is exotic about a mullet?
Our university tutors tells us to do whatever we can to not look like an outsider and integrate ourselves, but if they think I'm growing a mullett then they can piss off.

p.s I was gonna go into the recent student protests in London, but I can't be arsed and it may sound like I'm preaching even though I know nothing about politics. The government should've just raised fees for that contemporary dance nonsense. Pretending you're a tree or portraying poverty through the medium of dance is not a degree.

Raging Hormones.

Ah the joys of puberty.

I’m not saying I’m into 13 year olds or anything. I’m on about growing up. Those early teenage years plagued by mood swings, girls, new hairs, a voice that can’t decide what pitch it wants to stay at and trying to watch anything on Channel 5 after 11pm without getting caught.

So why am I talking about puberty? Well I’ll tell you…

This week, I have seen a dramatic shift in the behaviour of the majority of my year 2 groups. It has come out of nowhere. Nothing could prepare me for this. Not even the greatest of all teaching courses could prepare me for the nightmare that is…Sex Education.

Now, I don’t have to teach sex education, I just teach English. Due to spending many years hanging around with depraved individuals (or friends as some people might call them), some of the stories I could tell would put them off sex until age of 40. However, the subject of sex has sent them doolally and it’s all they ask me about.

“Are you a virgin?”, “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”, “Do you like to have sex?”

This poses a dilemma for me: How do I maintain my professionalism without ruining my credibility as a red blooded, sophisticated, cultured male, feared by boyfriends and husbands and envied by Michael Kynman?*

Obviously I’ve got to be professional but incase you were wondering I lost my virginity when I was 12.

Only kidding. I was 10.

I don’t know what they teach the kids in sex education in Spain or from what age they start doing it (sex education I mean, not ‘doing it’). My sex education was mixed. My parents were very open and honest with me if I had anything to ask and I turned out ok (unlike our Courtney). My mum can recall me telling her how the Pamela Anderson poster on my door, which my dad got me for my birthday, made me feel…down there. To this day I deny saying such a thing, seen as I was 9 years old at the time yet my mum will not let it go. When I was around 5 or 6, my uncle got me into comedy such as Harry Enfield and Reeves and Mortimer, so I was rarely embarrassed about rude words. He also lent me a book when I was 11 called: "How To Be a Complete Bastard". My Aunty is one of the most hilariously crude people known to man and for most people that know me well, would agree that this must be where I got it from. However, I was always told that I could never use such words in school. But I did because I was an absolute rebel.

 Year 6 at primary school was the first time we were taught sex education. It involved a very dated VHS with a family, stark bollock naked, playing frisbee on a beach, with close-ups of their genitals. I’m sure other people saw that harrowing video in school too. There was also a book about the human body with very vibrant, colourful drawings. One such drawing took up a full page and depicted a couple having sex with a cat next to the bed (the couple weren’t having sex with the cat, the cat was just next to them in the picture). The book described sex as: “…a bit like a grown up cuddle”.

 The only other time I did sex education in school was when I was 15. So between then, it was mainly learnt from pornography found in bushes on school fields, Eurotrash and the occasional trip to Andy Machen’s when no-one was in so we could watch some of his brothers collection, which involved the job of remembering exactly how you found the video and exactly what point you started watching it, which required expert re-winding skills. When we were in Year 9, a guy called Jed from the sexual health clinic came to speak to us about sex. Jed was cool. He had longish black hair and wore a black leather jacket with a black roll neck jumper, like a modern day Milk Tray man, who snook into your house and left condoms instead of chocolates. Jed talked to us about sex like we were grown ups. He said fanny and nob and tits. He said he was going to demonstrate how to put on a condom but he didn’t have his ‘big rubber cock’. He was my hero.

 But back to the kids, they’ve gone locoooo. Within a week they’ve become sex-crazed teenagers. Writing who they love on the board, having boyfriends and girlfriends, telling me who has been kissing who with tongues, some of them even scratching the initials of their other half into their arms with scissors. I have reported the latter because, without sounding like a health and safety nut, it’s just plain ridiculous and dangerous.

At the moment, with my year 2 groups, we have been studying what’s on TV. To start the lesson I have asked them to write a type of TV programme on the board i.e comedy, quiz show etc. and give me an example. Some clever shits decided to write "Bellas y Ambiciosas" (Beautiful and ambitious) which I later found out is a soft-core erotic TV novel and RedTube (which is a porn site not a program and is prounounced Reth Toobay over here). When I was their age, we didn’t have easy access to such high quality internet porn. They don’t know they’re born...

*Anyone that knows me will know I'm very sarcastic. But the bit about Kynman is completely true.

Touching my big basque sausage.

Well it has been a week since my last blog post. I'd firstly like to apologise to my followers and biggest fans, you all know who you are (Mum, Aunty Mandy).
  Seen as its been a week, theres a lot to talk about. Well sort of anyway. Last week was an easy one. Two days off at the beginning due to a national holiday and they gave me Friday off so I could go to Pamplona and get my N.I.E card, which I now have to prove I'm a resident here and I can get paid. Still a long wait until payday though unfortunately. Getting the card is a ballache. I had to go to the police station to go get it where I was greeted by a group of bulgarian/romanian immigrants who, like the spanish, have no real concept of queueing. This can be annoying when you've spent the past 22 years in various queues. I got in eventually and all was sorted.
 Keelie came on Friday! Wahooooo. I've not seen her in almost a month which is a long time apart when you've been with someone for bloody ages! (2 and a half years if I may point out). So I showed her some of the sights of San Sebastián, had a walk around and that, went to the aquarium. I don't know why I wanted to go the aquarium because if you've been to The Deep then there really is no need to visit another one. We ate. We drank. Zerukos was shut for some daft reason. Gutted. She went back to London this morning (boohooo) but she's coming back next month so its aaaall goooood. I'm missing her already. I'd like to think she was missing me but I think she's missing the dogs more.

So works been great as per usual. I've got used to the job and the kids have got used to having me as their teacher. My 2nd year class are quite a lively bunch, mainly because their lesson is the last one of the day and the just want to get home. We had a discussion about hobbies. One lad likes to play the bass, which he very politely demonstrated by playing air bass and slapping his crotch. I must point out that the verb 'tocar' can mean to touch or to play (as in play an instrument), so when one student told me: "Me gusta tocar la chistorra", he basically meant that he likes to play his big, traditional, paprika flavoured, bright red, basque sausage, whilst pretending to hold a giant penis with both hands with a look of sheer pride on his face. He was using two hands. I have nothing but respect for this kid.

So...who can tell me what they have in their bedroom?
A bed!
Ok, a bit obvious. What else?
A TV!
Brilliant, keep going...
A wardrobe! Drawers! Bedside table!
Ok, any more? Come on there's looooads!
Games console! Er...DVD player!
Yes! Lets see how many we can get written on the board...
A gun!
Fantastic. Anythi...Hang on. You have a gun in your room?

I've mentioned 13 year olds owning guns in previous posts but I didn't know they kept them in their frigging rooms! Cuuuurrrrazaaaay!

95% of the students are extremely pleasant and well behaved. On the way home last week, I had an in-depth discussion with Jota and Iñaki, a history and P.E teacher respectively, about families and education in Spain. Even though Spain has a literacy rate of 97.9% it still performs low amongst other european countries. In my opinion as an outsider, the majority of Spanish children don't spend enough time with their parents. For most people in Spain, they work from 9am until 1pm, have a long break, and then go back to work from 4.30 until 9pm. So who's there when the kids get home from school? No-one. As most kids go to bed around 10 (I did, but I still watched Eurotrash in bed with the sound off and remote in the other hand incase me mam came in), this means they only get to spend about an hour with their parents and this is more apparent now with more women joining the work force in Spain (equality amongst women was still about 20 years behind until recent years, they must've taken the locks off the kitchen doors or something I dunno). All the norms and values that we learn in our early years, are being learn from somewhere else. In England, we have a society where most people work 9-5 and where some benefits help those who work part time, therefore giving parents more time to spend with their kids, something I think we should all be grateful for. This is similar in Bera, where most families are very close knit, with many parents (especially mothers) that don't have to work due to living in such a small and rural area and this is why, according to many teachers in the school, the students are much more well behaved here then students in other schools in bigger cities. I sense a disertation title coming on...

Anyhoo, I must reply to the emails the 1st year students have sent me. They've been practicing reading and writing, so emails are much more fun for them because it means they get to use a computer! I was going to get them to send emails to my friends, but knowing my lot, it would probably lead to my dismissal as a teacher and some mentally scarred 11 year olds. Especially since Jamie once wrote 'paedo' on the back of my passport photos I had to hand in with an application form for working with children.

Waste of time and space.

Hello from rainy Spain.
Today has been a bit of a nightmare to tell you the truth. I went to Pamplona earlier to go to the police station in order to answer bail. I can't go into too much detail due to legal restrictions imposed by the courts and the spanish version of the RSPCA. I'm maintaining my innocence and I hope it all gets sorted soon and doesn't get in the way of my job.
  Only messing. I had to go there to sort out my N.I.E card. This is a form of I.D that I must get to prove that I'm a resident here in Spain so that I can open a bank account and get paid. The sooner it's sorted the better. I tried to go through the police station doors but was stopped by a man in plain clothes. Was he a copper? Was he a security guard? I just don't know. I told him I was here to see Juana to sort out my N.I.E however he informed me that she wasn’t here today and that if I need to see her then I need to book an appointment, even though I was told I didn’t have to do that. What a set of useless wankers. So that was €14 and 2 hours down the shitter and there was nothing I could do about it, so I went home.

I forgot to mention in the earlier posts about the induction I had in Pamplona about 2 weeks ago. This was where all the language assistants in Navarra had to attend before we started our jobs. Firstly, we had to do some ice breakers. Fuck yes I love ice breakers! Get everyone going and that! How much does a polar bear weigh? Enough to break the ice, I’m Joe, how you doing? YEEEAAAH! Lets break some frigging ice!
 But no, this was different. This was more…deep. A bit of soul searching if you will. So Stephen, who was leading the induction, gave us a few minutes to have a think about why we were here. What brought us here? What do we want to get out of this? Heavy man, real heavy.  I had to laugh at one guy who was sat in a meditating position with his eyes closed. Who does that really?
So anyway Stephen put a t-shirt on the floor and we had to explain our journey from the t-shirt to the door, with the door being the present and future.
 This was completely optional. Only 5 people out of the 40 who were there did it, and I was one of them. I just cannot stand awkward silences so I decided to do it. I explained that how learning spanish at school, not wanting to be a greeter in Asda all my life, working in a school, the fact that Valencia was my 1^st choice and if I didn’t do this then I’d fail uni, and wanting to be a spanish teacher, were all contributing factors as to why I was in that induction.
 Then we had to explain how hearing these journeys made us feel. It became clear at this point that Nick, who was first to participate in said activity, was quite a talker. Don’t get me wrong, I love to talk, I’ll talk to anyone because I’m nice like that, but Nick likes to talk complete and utter bollocks in the most monotonous and nasal way possible. Nick is his 30s, he is bald and completely dead behind the eyes. His face shows no emotion whatsoever. Throughout the day he was incredibly rude and interrupted almost everyone, including the people leading the induction (at one point he stood at the front as if he was leading it himself) to tell stories of his own experiences and to give his own advice (it turns out he’d only worked in a school for 3 weeks), tried to direct the group photo for the newspaper and constantly talked over people when they were explaining classroom management activities we had to do. I came to the conclusion that Nick was an absolute gobshite bell-end. If anyone has seen that episode of The Office were they have the training session and David Brent keeps trying to take over and gets his guitar out, then that is exactly what it was like.

I just wish Jamie or Kynman were there to see it…

Food. Glorious food.

I love food I do. Bloody love it. So it makes me very happy to be living in a city known worldwide for its culinary delights (two of the top ten restaurants in the world are in San Sebastián). Over here in the Basque Country they're called pinchos, not tapas. Ask for tapas or paella and they'll probably tell you to fuck off. There's a bar I've visited the past two nights in La Parte Vieja, I can't remember the name of the place but the food is incredible. A lot of it is seafood like salmon, cod and anchoves, all weirdly presented in crepes or on sticks in mad shapes. I don't know, it just looks weird from the usual cheeseburgers I'm used to from McDonalds. Now I used to be a bit of a fussy eater however nowadays I'm more willing to try new things. I was brought up on a diet of Turkey Drummers, Alphabites and Spaghetti Hoops. If we ever asked mum what was for tea, the reply would usually be: "Summut out the freezer". Unless it was wednesday and our Mandy was round then it'd definately be fajitas (we once had fajitas for Christmas dinner because mum thought it'd be something different). Anyway, you've got to get balls deep in food when you're here and try as much as you can. Nearly all bars serves pinchos until the early hours and they usually cost around €2 each. I don't know much about pinchos etiquette but it's better to eat just one or two at a time. If it was upto me I'd treat it like a finger buffet only with less party sausage rolls. You don't pay for em until you leave and there are a lot of people in the bar at any time so I think they trust you to be honest. They don't know I'm from Hull.

So the weekend...don't really know what happened Friday. I met a few fellow language assistants in the old part of the town and we went to a few bars, walked along the beach then went back to another bar. The beach looks incredible on a night when its all lit up plus the weather was banging! A few of them were from America and even though we may speak the same language, we can be worlds apart. They just don't do sarcasm, but they're lovely nonetheless.
 We ended up in a bar called Mendaur, a social hotspot for surfers and erasmus students. I met one lad from Manchester who was on a surfing trip. I can't tell you how good it was to hear a northern accent.
 One minute I'm enjoying the hustle and bustle of the old town, the pinchos, the tiny taverns and then the next minute I've walked into my own Magaluf nightmare with music such as Black Eyed Peas (with two songs played one after the other), We Speak No Americano (don't know if anyone has heard that song but I think it could be big) and horrible, horrible Europop. There was only one way to handle it: Jagermeister. It all went a bit downhill after that. After Mendaur closed I ended up in a club called Victoria Cafe with a spanish guy called Gonzalo, a mexican called Pepe and a lass called Rhiannon. I only found this out the next day when I had a friend request from Gonzalo and he informed me that he went to the toilet and when he came back I had gone.
 I spent Saturday feeling like utter shite. I watched the new episodes of 30 Rock which are hilarious. Baldwin steals it every time. I went out for a few beers in the old town again but nothing major, got to tighten the purse strings a little bit.
  Today it completely pissed it down non-stop and seen as its a sunday, most shops are shut so I had the last of my bread. Didn't really fancy going into town cos I'd get completely piss soaked through. Apparently San Sebastián is the rainiest city in Spain with November being the worst month. I'll be glad to get that month out the way...

Am I gay?

No I'm not questioning my sexuality. I'm a red blooded male, designed to kill and pro-create. Dunno about the killing bit though. I've nothing against homosexuals whatsoever, I live with a gay couple, I had no problem with sharing headphones with my best friend Jamie on a warm summers day in Queens Gardens (which is not a hang out for gays by the way), and one of my other best friends Mike Kynman is also homosexual. Anyway, enough of the gay tangent. This post title refers to a pupil in one of my classes today. Seen as it's my 1st week at the school, the kids have been asking me questions in order to get to know me. The first thing I was asked today was: "Are you gay?". Looking at this kid, he wouldnt look out of place sat at the back of the 42 from Greatfield. I think this lads gonna be a bit of a problem but keep him busy and he should be alright. I'll find a way to keep him on my side.
  Seen as there were a lot of teachers' birthdays in September, they had a gathering in the staff room with food, wine (wine at 11am are you having a laugh?) and other drinks. I ended up mixing the red wine with coca cola and got absolutely hammered and ended up being sick in one of the classrooms. It wasnt my finest moment to be honest. Especially when it was on a 12 year olds shoes. Headteacher is making me buy a new pair of shoes for the poor kid and a complaint has been made to the British Council. Everything I've just said was a lie.
  But there was food and wine etc. Typical basque food, ham, cheese, tortilla, croquetas. The school doesnt have a lunch break, instead they have a 25 minute break in the morning and another one in the afternoon. Loads of food though so I took advantage fo' sho'!
  I had quite a long free period today so I decided to watch The Inbetweeners. Good job I was on my own in the office because I was pissing myself. The Inbetweeners isn't exactly the most well written show on TV and the acting isn't Bafta worthy but it's still brilliant. It did make me miss my friends from back home a lot. I miss the banter (I hate that word but oh well), the piss taking, the wind-ups, all of that you know. Don't get me wrong, I've met some great people here in Spain, but it's been a while since I had a pint of Brooklyn and a natter in Pave. I don't really miss Welly, I feel too old to be in there, I know I'm only 22 but the kids are so young in there. I think I'm just bitter that I'm not 16 anymore and I can't dance like a gay robot having a fit to Black Wire because now it just looks stupid. I'll still lose my head to One Armed Scissor though, thats a fact. I will say this though, the left corner of that dancefloor would not be what it is today if it wasn't for us (you all know you are). They should put a plaque up. I don't miss Linnet and Lark though but then again what else is there on a tuesday in Hull. The bands that play there every week should just pack it in because the music they are making is just embarrassingly shite.
 Anyway back to Spain. It's absolutely boiling as I write this from my balcony (yeh thats right my balcony)

  I'd like to give a special mention to 3 loves in my life...you know who you are...yes thats right...Kuka, Lulu and Celia. The chihuahuas. My gay flatmates have 3 chihuahuas and I've started to treat them like they're my own. My parents never had a dog. We had a trial with my uncles West Highland Terrier but it didn't work out. As my dad said: "You should've seen the shit it did in the back living room it was fucking horrible, I couldn't stop fucking borking". Since moving into the flat, I now understand why people love dogs so much. They make great companions. I had chihuahuas down as yappy rats but no. These 3 are safe as fook. I'm definately getting a dog when I move back. Gonna have to get a pug if Keelie has her way...

Jobs a good 'un.

I'd always enjoyed my job at Malet Lambert. Working with kids with behaviour and learning difficulties is a challenge, especially trying to teach them a foreign language. All of them were pretty unique in their own way and there wasn't one kid I didn't get along with, even if at times they could test your patience to it's limit. I can't tell you hard it is not telling a 15 year old to fuck off. I suppose this is why I've settled in so quickly here at Toki Ona, having previous teaching experience has definately helped. I've wanted to be a teacher for years, I think it's something I'd be really good at. To me there's nothing more rewarding than making a whole class of kids laugh and knowing that you're making learning fun for once. Everyone has a teacher they remember from school, mainly because they smelt or they were an utter twat to everyone. I'd prefer to be remembered because I'd made a difference in someones early life. Not like Mr Barrass, who was only remembered because his right arm didnt work.
 So back to what's been happening. A regular question I've been asked this week is: "Do you like to hunt?" I've never hunted. I don't think I could kill an animal. I'd happily eat one, I'd just never kill it. Not just any animal though, I wouldnt eat a tiger or something daft like that. It seems a lot of kids in the area like to go hunting. What's more worrying is that they have a licence for a gun. Mad 'eds! They were telling me about basque foods (which sound amazing), festivals in the area of which there seem to be a lot of, which means more days off for me. Can't complain can I?
  I've pretty much got used to being asked the same questions this week which is fine by me. Some kids are a bit embarrased when it comes to speaking english. Some of them are brilliant and they really do try, others don't want to speak because they feel they cant pronounce a word properly or have trouble with sentence structure etc. So I got them to tell me some basque phrases of which I repeated, much to their amusement. I thought it was important to do this, that way they can see that its alright to not be able to pronounce things, and that I'm learning a new language just as much as they are. One lad asked me if I was going to be in his class this afternoon. When I told him I wouldn't be, he didn't seem happy. I must be doing something right.
  I got some lunch from this real nice cafe/bar/pub place across the road from the school. Its a really nice place and I can see myself spending a lot of time their getting to know the locals. I think theyre all aware that I'm not from round here but everyone in the village says hello to me, even if I dont know them. There were a few oldies in there drinking wine and beer. It was midday. Mum worries enough when nana and grandad go in Lord Charles on a tuesday afternoon. Like I've said before...it's a different way of life out here.
In other news, moneys become a bit of a ballache situation. All the language assistants dont get paid until the last week of November, we should get our grants a week before. It's still a long time away. I've been here since September, by the time I've been paid it'll have been a good 8/9 weeks since my arrival. Now thats a long time for anyone, especially when you've gotta pay rent, pay a bullshit phone contract you can't get out of, pay for the car share to work, pay bills, have some form of a social life, and feed myself. Should have about 20 euros to last me til then. Be reet....