Two Weeks

I know, I know, but with the rotten internet situation here at the house, and not using it for personal things at school, getting a post written takes some time. See, I went out and bought what’s called a “dongle.” It looks like a stick flash drive, but is actually mobile internet. I was so thrilled, and I no longer had to steal wireless from the neighbors. What the guy at T-mobile neglected to tell me was that the dongle was crap. It took me about 8 minutes to write one sentence on Hotmail, and it won’t work with Skype. Huh. The basic reason why I bought the damn thing.




I didn’t sign up for a contract, just a pay-as-you go deal. 20 pounds for the dongle and 15 pounds for 30 days of service. About 50 bucks all together. Even so, because the darn thing didn’t work, I brought it back the next morning to return it.

“I’m sorry miss, you can’t return the pay-as-you-go items.”

“But it doesn’t work.”

“Oh no, that one doesn’t work with Skype. You have to get one of the stronger ones that come with a contract.”

“It would have been nice if you had told me that yesterday when I bought it.”

“You didn’t tell me you wanted it for Skype.”

“What did you think I meant when I said I was getting it to be able to talk to my mother in the States over the computer? Now, I’d like to return this.”

“I’m sorry, you can’t.”

“But I bought it less than 24 hours ago, and it doesn’t work.”

“You could have bought it 24 minutes ago and you couldn’t return it. Welcome to England.”



He really said that! God, I was pissed off. Can you believe it? I hate T-mobile. Hate them. Sell me something that doesn’t work, and then no refund. A very expensive lesson. The worst is how excited I was to finally solve this internet problem. I’ve spent so much money just calling the internet companies (up to 60 cents a minute for those kinds of calls), and they always seem to end with someone supposed to call me back, which has never happened.



So, my long-winded excuse for not posting.



I was away last weekend, went to London for a meeting with the other Fulbright teachers and a fancy little reception at the American embassy. It was really nice to be social; I’ve been pretty isolated so far. Being sick didn’t help, and I’ve not yet joined up with any clubs or classes in which I might meet people. The people at work are wonderful though, and I don’t know what I’d do without them. J. particularly has taken me under her wing, and M. and M. and M. have all been lovely. More about school later.



Some of the other Fulbrighters and I decided to see Billy Elliot, the musical. It was really great! We paid full price, which was painful, but because some of the other teachers were from quite far from London (three to four hours), we decided to splurge. There are a lot of discount tickets to be found, but most are last minute, and Saturday night is not the time to find them. Funny, I usually do not like musicals, but this was so wonderful. Funny and nostalgic and bittersweet at the same time. The little boy who plays Billy is in almost every scene, and he alone is amazing. The dancing he did made me tired just watching him. It was a very good weekend.



Made even better by a new friend calling me up and asking if I wanted to meet up for coffee on Sunday afternoon. It was really nice to actually go somewhere to meet someone. We met at Angel tube station, which is a great name for a subway stop, and poked around Islington (there were great shops there).



People keep asking me what I miss about the States, and my standard reply is “my dog and Mexican food.” I do dearly miss my dog Charlie:

How could one not miss that beautiful little face? But really, I miss the ability to call someone up, and just say, “Want to go to a movie? For a drink? A walk on the beach?” I’m not lonely so to speak, just feeling a bit out of the loop. It’s actually a good thing, because I realize how settled I was in my ways back home. Here, I have to start all over, and not being 24 and able to stay up all hours, it’s really been pushing me.



School as well has been really challenging. For years now, I’ve been in a groove. I’m a good teacher, and I get things done. I know where to look or who to ask when I have a question, and because I’ve been doing this for a while, at the same school, I don’t have too many questions. I know what I expect of my students and I know what’s expected of me. How could it be that different in England?



Well, it is. Everything from scheduling to homework, to marking, to the number of classes and preps I have. Even the amount of prep time. Here there is a head teacher, rather than a principal. There are deputy head teachers, and then there are heads of year, and heads of departments and deputies there as well. In addition, there are heads and deputies of the two key stages (K3 is years 7,8, and 9; K4 is year 10 and above). All the administrators at the school also teach; at least one class, and usually only one class less than a full load. Instead of calling from a roster of substitute teachers, there are three on site every day to cover whatever needs covering.



It’s dizzying.



There are interactive white boards in every room (very cool) yet no phones. The phone is in the English office. If I want to call a parent or any outside line, I have to call the main office and ask for a 6-digit code. Each teacher is assigned a laptop, and although we have online attendance, online grading is just in its early stages. Instead, all the teachers are given planners, in which we write down the names of our students and their individual marks. I don’t know what happens when a teacher loses a planner. Something else to worry about.



As demanding as all this is, I’m certainly never bored. It’s like exercise you’ve not done before. I’m working brain muscles I forgot about. That feeling of “oh-my-god, I’m going to screw it up,” is one I’ve not had for a long time. There’s a bit of thrill to it, if I can call it that. The fact that I’m working here, not just having a fun little adventure, just makes it more real. Understanding the differences, and really comparing them; thinking about how we all as teachers go about helping our students learn, that will come later. Right now, I’m just trying to get up to speed as fast as I can, and it feels like I’m on a Vespa whilst everyone else is driving a Porsche.

Thank goodness for the weekends.

Well, This is a Fine How Do You Do.

Lost my voice.  Gone.  Nothing.

On Wednesday, after school, I started getting a bit raspy, you know, like some woman working the cash register at the liquor store, who smokes unfiltered Pall Malls on her break.  I wrote it off to the first-week-of-school  issues that come up, along with sore feet and a need for heading to bed around 8pm.

Nope.  By Thursday, my voice was pretty much gone.  I went in to work, knowing it would be a challenge, but also refusing to call in my first week of school.  Yeah, that would make a good impression on everyone.  They don't even get sick days here.  Not officially.  I mean, yes, if you are sick, you stay home, but it's not the same kind of formalized situation that I have back home.  I get 10 sick days a year, and those are to be used for doctor's appointments as well.  They add up, so sick days I don't use one year, roll over into the next year.  Meaning, if I have to be off for  a longer time, like a pregnancy (yeah, right), or I'm laid up for a while, I've got the sick days added up.

Anyway, I went in.  It was hilarious.  You try whispering "be quiet please," to 30 noisy 13-year-olds.  Take it from me, it doesn't work.  I didn't actually feel so bad, but by the end of the day I was completely worn out.  Knackered (or is it "nackered?"), was the word.  Two different teachers tried to get me to not come in on Friday, but I was rather stubborn.  Stubborn and embarrassed.  I never stay home from work.

Then M, the department chair came in.  She didn't waste any time arguing with me, just started writing up plans for the supply (substitute) teacher.  She called the head teacher (like our principal) to tell her I would not be coming in on Friday.  It was amazing.  She just took charge, didn't waste any time, and the next thing I knew, I had lesson plans for four different classes on my desk, and I was out the door on my way home.

It's a good thing too.  Yesterday, the voice was still completely gone. I called the local surgery (the doctor's office), to make an appointment, and it was again slapstick comedy.  Not only was I croaking, rather than speaking, I was croaking with an American accent.  I tried whispering, but she couldn't hear that at all.  We tried to get my last name, then my address, then my first name.  Next, she finally found me, but said that I was a former patient.  Considering that I just got my NHS card two days ago, and that my registration appointment is this coming Thursday, I thought that was rather odd.  In any case, we got it all sorted out, and I went in a couple hours later.

And yes, yet again, it's my stupid sinuses.  This time it's not painful, and I'm not hacking, but the stuff that's dripping down the back of my throat this time is sticking to my vocal cords like "tar," according to the doctor.   A third round of antibiotics (not happy about that), and these are different from any other I've ever taken.  I cannot have any alcohol while I'm taking them. Not a drop.  If I do choose to imbibe, I will throw up. A good deterent, that's for sure.

So, my big shopping day is put on hold.  I had plans to get myself to Westfied, the "largest shoppig centre in Europe," and find some darn pants to wear on the weekend, but it's not happening.  I'm at home, watching tv and trying to crochet a scarf.  I've become an old lady I tell you.

Tomorrow is J's birthday party.  She was kind enough to invite me, even though we've just met.  What should I bring her?

I hope my voice is back by then.

First day of school

Yesterday I got up early (before 6) and got ready for my first day with students.  I put on my cute black and white wrap dress that looks far more expensive than the $24.99 I spent on it at Target.  I got out the door by 7:15 and made my way to the bus stop, which is a bit farther down the road than normal (two stops more, because of construction, the road is closed until the end of October).

As I was walking, I saw a man in a suit, walking his dog in the grassy area across the street.  The dog looked like Charlie  if Charlie tripled in size and was black, and his hair was let to grow shaggy.  Okay, so the dog didn't look exactly like the wonderdog, but close enough.  It was off the leash and came bounding over to me, but couldn't get right up to me because of the temporary gates keeping people off the road.  He wanted to see me though, and kept walking next to me on the other side.  I petted him, gave him scritches behind his ears, and spoke to him in that doggie voice we all use.

Now, I'm missing my dog more than anything, but I took this as a sign that everything was going to be okay.  I'd been thinking about Charlie as I was walking, and then this dog shows up.  I of course teared up, because I'm doing that a lot this past week, but was smiling at the same time.

School was crazy.  All the students in little gray business suit uniforms, and the age range is really new for me.  11-year-olds to 18-year-olds all sharing the same space.

I didn't get a computer until lunch time, and then didn't really figure it out until after school.  I'm not  a lot of  help when I'm supposed to be taking role on it every class period.

My day starts in the History department, which is near the front of the school.  I have my form class there, because I share that class with a history teacher who is going out on maternity leave in November.  I then have to run to the back of the school to the English department, where I teach the rest of my classes.  There's a  20-minute break at five to eleven, which by then is much needed.  Lunch doesn't come until 1:20, but that means that there's only one class after lunch.  Oh, and my form class again.  I have to run to the front of the school, with my laptop, every afternoon, to meet the same class I began with.  Hopefully, this won't happen all year long, but we'll see.

I stayed until the bell rang at five minutes to six; basically a "Get out!" to anyone left at school so as not to be locked in.  Walked over to the bus stop, and sat down for a moment.  Right as the bus pulled up, this is what I saw:

Click on it.  Seriously.  I was fumbling for my camera at the same time I was boarding the bus, trying to be sneaky about taking a picture.  It's not quite focused, but still. This guy was out walking his llamas!  Down Southbury road, as if they were two golden retrievers.  He talked to them too; told them to "wait" at the crosswalk, and then took them over the pedestrian bridge.

Enfield is one interesting place.

Settling In

So, I've completed the first three days of school. They were in-service or, as they are called here, inset days, meaning teachers are working, but there are no students.

As some of you already know, I found myself locked in to the school on my first day, Wednesday. Y. had told me that the school gets locked up at 6 pm, but that there was a bell 5-10 minutes before that to let teachers know it was time to go home. No bell on Wednesday, and so I found myself wandering around at ten past, trying to find a gate that wasn’t locked. Finally the caretaker freed me.




Thursday and yesterday, although I left before 6 each day, found me locked in again. I finally figured out that they aren’t expecting anyone to leave on foot after 4 or 4:30. There is a car gate, but it appears those who drive to school have a clicker in their cars to open the gate. I’ll have to figure out what to do, since I fully expect to be at school until 5:30 or so most days.



But why you ask?



I’m teaching year 7, year 8, year 9 and year 10 in English, and year 10 again in media studies. I also share a form in the morning (like homeroom), which I will do on my own once my partner goes on maternity leave. I have a total of eight separate classes (not counting the form group), and three periods during the week for prep and planning. Just getting ready for the next day takes some time, although once I get the hang of it, I’m sure I’ll get into a groove.



Before you totally freak out, I don’t teach those eight classes every day. Nope, most classes are three times a week, and media is only once a week. I will start every day with my form group and then teach four to five hour-long classes each day. It’s still a huge change though, and a good one. I’m going to be challenged by this, and have to stay on my toes to remember everything I need to do. It will certainly never be boring!



One of the things I’ve noticed since arriving is how so many people have flowers outside their houses. Whether they have just one hanging pot, or quite a front garden, most homes seem to sport colorful flowers. I keep thinking I need to take pictures, but then I don’t want people to think I’m a weirdo, taking a photo of their front steps.



I decided to get into the game, and bought a mixed flat of “hanging basket plants.” Purple and yellow pansies, some ivy, and other flowers whose names I don’t know.

The basket below hangs above my front door.  I'm hoping that some of the flowers and the ivy will make it over the edge; right now it's hard to see it all.

This window box is just behind the conservatory (laundry room).  On the right is what I think is a volunteer sunflower; I'm not quite sure just what it is, but when I was weeding it out before the new plants, I didn't have the heart to pull it out.  In addition, if you look closely, there are bulbs I came across when planting the flowers. Those will go back into the soil and hopefully next spring something lovely will come up.

I
I still have more to plant, but I have to get myself back to the store and then schlep the potting soil back to the house.  Most of the time I don't mind not having a car, but when I have heavy things, or multiple things, I feel kind of limited.  I must have looked rather silly with those flowers.  I had to ride the bus with them, and then walk back holding them in front of me as if I was making an offering to the gods.  It's worth it though, just to have a bit of color.

Alrighty then.  I've got a load of laundry washed and on the line (yep, crunchy socks and all), and it's time to go do something fun.  Anyone up for  a ride into London?

The Festival

Melissa (another exchange teacher from the States; she's in South London) and I decided to meet up and go to the Notting Hill Festival Sunday.

The train, the bus and the subway all factored into our getting to the same place, but we did it. Once we got to Notting Hill, thank goodness for her navigational skills. I would have gotten us hopelessly lost.

Here we are at the beginning of the parade route:


We went on Family Day, meaning that there were lots of children in the parade of dancers (and VERY LOUD music).

These tea cups were really cute. I didn't take any pictures of the grown ups in the parade who were already swigging out of bottles (you know, at the Family Day parade, at 12:30 in the afternoon).

You can't really see it unless you click on it, but the face painting was really lovely on some of the women and children. The costumes were very elaborate at times.

Some of the dancing was very... um... energetic. Again, I avoided documenting the couple grinding their way down the parade route.

This little girl was my favorite. We were at the very beginning of the route, and it was a pretty long parade (at least 3 hours). All along, we kept seeing the participants dancing and eating at the same time. A sandwich here, a samosa there. This little one was trying so hard to get something off the chicken leg, but instead just kept coming away with a bit of skin. When she finally got a piece of actual meat, she dropped it. Sometimes you just can't win.

Right behind us was a pretty big food set up:

Is there anything better than street food? I was surprised to see people buying beer too, and drinking it as they watched the parade. I'm so used to it being illegal to drink on the street. Boy, not this day. There was a hell of a lot of alcohol being consumed. And not just beer. I saw loads of people walking by with full-on liquor bottles, you know, rum, whiskey... and not little pint bottles either. It was weird, to say the least. I have two drinks and I need to take a nap.

We walked around after the parade, and saw this amazing church, with a massive food stall in front of it.

Already, by 2 pm, the garbage was overflowing. Most of the food stalls didn't have garbage cans, and the few on the street were no match for the sheer number of people.

And I mean sheer number; I read that this festival is the second largest street festival in Europe. I believe it. Right about when I took this picture, I realized it was probably time to go. I'm not a big fan of being in the middle of a crowd. And this was the mother of all crowds.

We made our way out (thanks again to Melissa) and got on the tube. We got off at Covent Garden, and walked around looking at all the shows playing right now. Dirty Dancing looks like it'd be a great one to see.

We ended up in a pub, where I finally got my bangers and mash, and a nice pint of Strongbow cider. Want some?