I see another bizarre sight on the road today. As I'm walking to the village school, a car drives past, jam packed. Inside isn't enough to cater for everybody, so one of the youths (in a bright yellow Chelsea shirt) drapes himself over the the bonnet, mostly in front of the driver. Whether all concerned thought that, as long as he is wearing a sort of safety vest, all will be ok is uncertain. It's very hard not to look quite bemused when such things pass you at 8am.
Shun has encountered a small problem in his attempts to create a Japanese garden: somebody dug up his bamboo thingy in the middle of the night, and has stolen it!! I don't know where this leaves the entire project, but I expect to see Shun with another clump of Bamboo very shortly. You couldn't make this stuff up.
I am given quite an opportunity today, one which I am not exactly qualified for; one that nobody at the school is exactly qualified for. A new Down Syndrome girl has arrived at the school. Her name is Entombe, and her class teacher gets me in to try and explain why she is different, and what can be done. The main crux of the conversation is that she wants me to take her away from class as often as possible, and teach her alone. It's very easy to sympathise with the teacher, who will badly struggle to teach Entombe, and the rest of the class under the "fast or last" schooling sytem. I tell the teacher the basics of the genetic condition, and she has no idea about it. Nobody has told her anything. "Maybe I can get the mother in as well, so you can tell her what you just told me" she says after I have said the small amount I know. Her mother is a teacher. Hopefully something can be arranged.
One thing I haven't done is mention my nemesis- someone who can strike fear into your very heart. I live in a household, almost exclusively of women: Catherine is the matriarch, despite the fact her aging mother lives with her too. The mother must be well into her seventies, and seems to spend nearly all day, in the cook/smokehouse at the back of the building. This lady is tough and thinks nothing of a long walk to the farm for firewood. C's oldest daughter is divorced and lives in the house with her three year old son; her youngest daughter also stays there with her four month old baby; and finally, three grandchildren (from one of C's twin daughters who died quite young) complete the roll call. You can imagine it gets quite noisy, quite often.
Now you would think that myself and the 3 year old fellah would stick together. However, Michael or "Mickey" has other ideas. I have come to know him as the "Baby faced assassin". He always greets me with his usual (pre) choirboy smile and friendly wave. This is my signal for Red Alert: battle stations!! Mickey is very bright, speaks a lot of English, (his favourite saying to me is: "I will not tell you!") and is more than a little bit cute- basically, a fearsome combination. The boy is a whirlwind, indefatigable. He gets everywhere and touches everything. He will cry at all hours, but never in my company- I think the little terror is too busy doing very bad things to me and my possessions.
Mickey's recent crimes against humanity include: hitting me with a stick; stealing my candle (so I could not see in the dark); trying to lock me in my room; lying about being able to read; biting me on my arm; and headbutting me in the Kugglesachen (this might have been an accident). Recently he asked me for a saw knife (serrated edge). "Why do you want that?" I asked innocently. "So I can cut your head off" he replies. This would normally be the time where I started sleeping with a locked door, but he has already worked out a way of opening it, so no point in doing that. You get the idea.
Once his one child crime spree is over, he ostensibly gives me the same choirboy smile and friendly wave for any witnesses, before trotting off to select his next hapless victim. Recently, C put it in her own inimitable way when she said: "That boy will flog his wife well!" I couldn't put it any better. I get this eerie feeling that,somehow, I will end up next to Shergar. Things can very tough going around here.
Random local saying or word of today: "I need to ease myself."
Translation: "I would like to go to the toilet."
Shun has encountered a small problem in his attempts to create a Japanese garden: somebody dug up his bamboo thingy in the middle of the night, and has stolen it!! I don't know where this leaves the entire project, but I expect to see Shun with another clump of Bamboo very shortly. You couldn't make this stuff up.
I am given quite an opportunity today, one which I am not exactly qualified for; one that nobody at the school is exactly qualified for. A new Down Syndrome girl has arrived at the school. Her name is Entombe, and her class teacher gets me in to try and explain why she is different, and what can be done. The main crux of the conversation is that she wants me to take her away from class as often as possible, and teach her alone. It's very easy to sympathise with the teacher, who will badly struggle to teach Entombe, and the rest of the class under the "fast or last" schooling sytem. I tell the teacher the basics of the genetic condition, and she has no idea about it. Nobody has told her anything. "Maybe I can get the mother in as well, so you can tell her what you just told me" she says after I have said the small amount I know. Her mother is a teacher. Hopefully something can be arranged.
One thing I haven't done is mention my nemesis- someone who can strike fear into your very heart. I live in a household, almost exclusively of women: Catherine is the matriarch, despite the fact her aging mother lives with her too. The mother must be well into her seventies, and seems to spend nearly all day, in the cook/smokehouse at the back of the building. This lady is tough and thinks nothing of a long walk to the farm for firewood. C's oldest daughter is divorced and lives in the house with her three year old son; her youngest daughter also stays there with her four month old baby; and finally, three grandchildren (from one of C's twin daughters who died quite young) complete the roll call. You can imagine it gets quite noisy, quite often.
Now you would think that myself and the 3 year old fellah would stick together. However, Michael or "Mickey" has other ideas. I have come to know him as the "Baby faced assassin". He always greets me with his usual (pre) choirboy smile and friendly wave. This is my signal for Red Alert: battle stations!! Mickey is very bright, speaks a lot of English, (his favourite saying to me is: "I will not tell you!") and is more than a little bit cute- basically, a fearsome combination. The boy is a whirlwind, indefatigable. He gets everywhere and touches everything. He will cry at all hours, but never in my company- I think the little terror is too busy doing very bad things to me and my possessions.
Mickey's recent crimes against humanity include: hitting me with a stick; stealing my candle (so I could not see in the dark); trying to lock me in my room; lying about being able to read; biting me on my arm; and headbutting me in the Kugglesachen (this might have been an accident). Recently he asked me for a saw knife (serrated edge). "Why do you want that?" I asked innocently. "So I can cut your head off" he replies. This would normally be the time where I started sleeping with a locked door, but he has already worked out a way of opening it, so no point in doing that. You get the idea.
Once his one child crime spree is over, he ostensibly gives me the same choirboy smile and friendly wave for any witnesses, before trotting off to select his next hapless victim. Recently, C put it in her own inimitable way when she said: "That boy will flog his wife well!" I couldn't put it any better. I get this eerie feeling that,somehow, I will end up next to Shergar. Things can very tough going around here.
Random local saying or word of today: "I need to ease myself."
Translation: "I would like to go to the toilet."
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