Saturday, February 27, 2010

Womens' demise


In discussion with some passionate year 10's about race, a statement was made which was new to me. Apparently, white girls in this area have loose morals and are easy.
Interesting, would not have thought that. However, I kept my reservation to myself and vowed to observe more closely.

Sure enough - what comes across at this particular school is just that.
They are the girls that cake their faces and pay far too much attention to their hair.
Their skirts are uber high with knee length stockings edging up to their 'inner thigh's'.
Their vanity is intriguing, not afraid to take out their mirror at any time in class and just stare at themselves.
When watching their body language around men - it certainly is less than refined,
rather so overtly accessible anyone can "av a bit."

Of course, this is a generalisation, but being a 'white girl' myself,
I am sad to think that is how they are viewed.
Where does this come from?
...............
I open the local 'Metro' newspaper this afternoon and start flicking the pages.
Trivial rubbish page one,
football gossip page two,
nude white women in just a G-String page 3.
Maybe I have just found the source for white women's demise.

Friday, February 26, 2010

My face


She stares at him concerningly across the way,
a table lies between them.
Both blackberries out in front,
they await the dreaded text.
It bings and she sighs,
apprehensive to read its contents.
A lingering stare between them says it all.

The journey goes on and no words are passed between them.
Despite the silence,
her monumental diamond states their commitment to each other.
Her outfit exudes wealth,
designer labels sighted on the collar and cuff.
Her perfected and rigid hair,
newly fixed into the latest do.
His Armani suit newly pressed and cufflinks to match,
they compliment each others extravagant lifestyle.

I observe them from my presiding seat,
dressed in my pink coat of 6 years.
My hair is in its usual wild style;
wind blown and unwashed.
The bottom of my valley girl pants are uncomfortably wet from the walk to the station,
not to mention three season old.
I pull out my borrowed phone and glance at it,
no text for me this morning.

The contrast between our two lives is so mammoth,
so drastic that I laugh to myself quietly.
Apparently not quietly enough as the intriguing couple glare at me,
annoyed that I disrupted their awkward silence.

My stop approaches and I prepare to leave,
clambering out of the tiny seat passage.
I mutter "excuse me" with a smile and barely anyone moves,
so I shove my way past the rigid mob.
Finally, I find the door and a dear old man says,
"Oh my, you're getting out here. Let me help you"
and tries to clear the path.
"Thank you" I manage to say through laughter and I leave the train.

The couple look at me as a sway past the window,
and I find myself wondering why.
Behind her well made up eyes and expensive couture,
behind his business and busy day,
maybe... just maybe, they yearn for freedom.
Freedom from the bills, from being responsible.
Free from obligation or polite conversation.
Maybe this London change has taken away some of that from me,
can this be seen on my face?
No doubt we will just have to wait and see.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Logic vs Fitness

At what point does the need to exercise overtake logic?
This afternoon, after a fairly ok day at school, I had to convince myself to get out of my warming room into the rainy, muddy and smelly outdoors.
It has been raining here for days... hence the ground is less then comfortable to lie on.
So... I went to my regular 6:00pm British Military Fitness training.
After a grilling hour, I was covered from head to toe in MUD - there is no other way to describe it. My lovely, pink and white runners were black and there was only one part of me that didn't have water or mud sloshed over me - my belly button!
However, I felt very satisfied afterwards... I did not let London weather conquer my fitness schedule! Hooray!

Monday, February 15, 2010

Discombobulation


I venture out of the peace and tranquility of my room to explore London on mid-break.
Excited by my new op-shop attire, yet disheartened by my mammoth "To Do" list,
I try to stay optimistic.
As the tube nears the city, the crowd herd through the doors.
Oh, I say, it's holidays.

I disembark at Oxford Street and brace myself for what I may see.
Not too bad, busy, yet manageable.
I head toward the Crumpler store to buy Murphy the Mac a little present,
and find that I am constantly stopping.
Not at boutique shops or appetising cafe's,
but because of people who simply don't know where they are going.
They stand in the middle of the path and get cross with the bustle of people around them.
No doubt, it is the crowd that are doing something wrong.

After buying my purchase, it's time to get back on the people mover under the city.
Instantaneously, I am aggravated and telling myself to breathe... to be patient.
People are swarming around me and simply shove you aside.
That's cool, I think, I will simply shove you back.

If that's not enough, dogs are pottering around with their owners,
intrigued and perplexed by their new surroundings.
Children on scooters are flying past and bumping along the walls.
Parents amble behind, oblivious to the chaos their little "darlings" are causing -
what are they thinking?
Suitcases line the path as weary travellers are done with carting them around.
Those that still have the stamina are found clogging up the one staircase that is open for holiday travel - ignoring the cringing and the groans of the locals.

I shove my pod in to calm the nerves as I clamber onto the next train.
I close my eyes and try to nod off, the only way to get through the next 12 stops to home.
Finally, at my snug little room,
I get myself a large glass of wine. Surely it is happy hour somewhere in the world,
and after all, I deserve it... don't I?
Tomorrow, I may just stay at home.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

A day in the life...


They dawdle in, oblivious to the time that class was to commence.
Conversation erupts immediately, pushing and shoving chairs just a given.
The teacher attempts to command the class into some vague structure,
'Waiting Year 10, just waiting' he attempts to order the bedlam.
No eyes meet his,
No lips cease talking,
No one even acknowledges his presence.
10 minutes pass with no change, and then an obvious chorus of 'egging' starts as a student walks in the door.
Brooding and mysterious, he possess a darkness within,
a sinister snarl sprawls on his face as he tells the class to "fuck off".
The teacher doesn't blink or retaliate - after all, what can he do?

They begin to rehearse something that is meant to resemble drama, but only symbolises a 'bludge attitude'.
When trying to assist and guide, they are aggressive... greeting me with an attitude fuelled "who are you?"
"Help," I respond, "show me what you've got."
The sniggers commence as a boy utters what I can only assume to be a sexual remark.

I retreat to a corner to observe the way the classroom works.
Another girls meanders in, cake of foundation and mascara so thick she can't see through her eye lashes.
She sits and chews her fingernails, clearly establishing her involvement in the performance.
An under cover police officer is at the door requesting a student to be escorted with him, her outbursts are vocally colourful, yet get her nowhere.
The battle is continuing with the nasty student from earlier, his anger and genuine hatred for the teacher, the subject... for life itself is bubbling over as he storms out of the classroom.
I look to the teacher to see how he responses - he shrugs, looking helpless and exhausted.

Complaints are coming through thick and fast as students impatience and intolerance for each other is tested.
I almost fear that they will ask me a question or even worse, acknowledge me in the room.
Fear of what comes after the smart comments and rude gestures.
I walk out before the lesson ends and breathe a sigh of relief.
Today this is not my class,
Today I was simply observing a lesson from another teacher.
Today I was not on the receiving end of the abuse, the violence.
Today I walk out free from planning, reporting, paper work and the red tape.

Thank goodness!

Saturday, February 6, 2010

The conductor steals the show!


Given it is a Saturday night and I am living in London, I decided to take myself along to the theatre... even if it was only going to be a ticket for one. The choice of the evening was 'Chicago' at the Cambridge Theatre in West End, 9 rows from the front thank you very much!

So when you go to these performances, you expect to be blown away by the costumes, dance, scenery and of course the talented actors. However one man and group of people that constantly get overlooked is the conductor and the band. Now tonight, this orchestra were not only talented but oh so very animated. The conductor was frequently part of the stage action, responding, commenting and even having his own lines. He also had a choreographed 'dance' for his band members to perform to one of the songs. The enthusiasm he displayed, extreme love of his job made me so very envious. It must have been such an honour to work with such a strong cast and clearly, they were still enjoying themselves, despite the fact that it has been running for months and no doubt their social lives were quite compromised due to the night time performances. Without him, the show really would not have been the same - my eyes were drawn to his dedication to his cast and love of the work he does. What a lucky man.

The show radiated sex, passion and one of the highest quality of dancing I have seen in a long time. The directors vision was simplistic and yet so very clever - perfecting the limited stage and having the orchestra as a central focus, not to mention complimenting the action. The dedication the performers had to develop their characters was admirable, no one went unnoticed. Truly, such a great performance - I am in awe and reminded of why I love live theatre so much. There is no practice - it is real and you get one shot to make the audience impressed.

Left feeling oh so blessed to be living here, regardless of the hurdles I am facing, I have the ability to go and see any number of different shows on any given night... bliss!

Oh - did I mention how gorgeous the male dancers were? No photos of the conductor so this one will have to suffice for now ;)

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

My morning with mousey.

He ducks between the electricity hubs, eyeing his next target. He moves hesitantly, waiting patiently for the noise he fears so much.

Creeping along the side, he sees the eyes looming above him. He ignores the squeals and pointing fingers, always making him feel so insecure.

He scurries across to a scrap of something; its distinguished taste obscured by the grime that covers it. Regardless, the taste and comfort it brings is lasting. As he savours the lingering flavours of his meal, the distant hum starts. The ground beneath him tremours and he knows it is time to make his move. He quickly scans around for a spot to run to and immediately begins to panic. The hum grows into a loud rumble which reverberates through his protruding belly.

He begins to scurry parallel to the metal rails, his thoughts now set on the detour in the track in front. His legs begin to ache and when he thinks he can't muster any more strength, the wind begins to push him along. He holds on for dear life, knowing exactly what comes next.

The sparks ignite around him and the heat radiates from the metal. The hum and rumble is now a deafening noise and pierces his tiny ears. Just as he reaches safety, the massive machine rolls over him... he waits patiently for it to depart.