The Booty List

I went to Birmingham over the weekend to attend a course in Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL), a future career prospect that I have been considering; it was actually very enjoyable, with a firm focus on interactive learning and games, as opposed to rote teaching and grammar tables. In fact, we played so many games, that I began to wonder if indeed I was being taught anything, but that was actually one of the points of the course- you learn much more by this method than by sitting down and writing.
There were a couple of students on the course who blatantly did not want to be there- they almost said as much when they introduced themselves in the beginning: they'd graduated, found they couldn't get jobs, and decided TEFL was better than nothing. They sat there, sullen and refusing to participate, scoffing and whispering among themselves, and all I could think was 'you're only wasting your own money'. I am, by nature, inclined to participate quite fervently in these kinds of courses, and I always seem to attract disdain from folk such as I just mentioned, but I am quite beyond caring at this stage- they can sit there cynically if they so wish, but they don't have the right to judge the rest of us, who are just trying to take an interest. Not that it matters, since I passed, and I suspect they may have not- the man running the course was telling them they needed to be more enthusiastic or else they wouldn't get anywhere in TEFL. I hope he's right.

While in Birmingham, I was invited to dine with Husnain's family, and decided to attend, as it would probably be more fun than sitting alone in a youth hostel. It was, indeed, much more fun than that- and what's more, the food was delicious! I believe all the food in the kebab shop next to Bedlam is Halāl, but apart from that, I have never eaten such food before, and it was absolutely delicious- rich and filling, fresh and tantalising, after two weeks of cooking for myself, it was a godsend. 

I return to Edinburgh in three days' time, and I am becoming increasingly trepidacious. I keep thinking back to the words of wisdom William gave me the last time we spoke, where he informed me 'you make your own universe', meaning that Edinburgh will be what I make of it- but at the moment, I seem determined to make it a stressfilled nightmare, as that's what I keep imagining. 
To try and allay this, my mother and I sat down and made a list of all the little things I can do to relax and make myself happy- not grand gestures like going to the zoo (of which I am inordinately fond), but little things like running a bath or taking an evening walk. I hope that, if I aim to do at least one of these things every evening, I will never go a day without having at least an hour to myself where I'm not thinking about work. My mother said she made herself such lists when she was younger and that they were called 'booty lists'; I briefly considered changing the name of this blog to 'The Booty List', but then realised I don't want that kind of clientel.

Guests

I had Jari and Ella down to stay this week, and found myself in a role I don't play very often, that of host. Jari came down first, and I cleaned the house to the best of my ability, which is to say very little, but that was fine because he very sportingly kept repeating that the clutter added to the rusticity.
Jari was a complete neophyte to Shropshire, and was astounded by the silence, the space, the atmosphere and the extreme differences between Telford and Ironbridge (to be fair, I myself sometimes get caught out by that). It was nice to see my home through the eyes of a stranger, especially the things I take for granted that are absolutely stunning, like the view from the front of the house and the multitudinous picturesque walks within a stone's throw.
We also watched some films together, and I was once more struck by his taste in media: he seemed genuinely upset by A Serious Man's missing ending, and disdained Burn After Reading throwing away good comic potential and becoming a more serious mediation on violence and power. I very much enjoy citing Jari, a mathematician with a PhD in maths from Oxford, as a counter to the belief that intelligent people somehow abhor comedy or appreciate art house cinema more.

Whilst I was touring Jari around the local museums, I came across an old school chum curating one of them (not as impressive as it sounds, it's a room with an old price list inside), and I was delighted to find that he not only remembered my thespian exploits, but explicity cited my delivery of the line "Listen to me!" in Les Miserables. That was eight years ago.

Ella then took Jari's place, appearing a scant hour after he left. Ella is one of the few people I know my age trying to make it in the arts and actually drawing a wage. She's a photographer, and we sat for hours discussing the ups and downs of creativity, the worst stories we've accrued of art gone wrong, how we'd really like our lives to pan out, and how industries are changing with the advent of the internet; she also bought me pimms and raspberries, both of which were consumed with alacrity.
Ella and I also took a walk in an area of the Gorge which I don't really know too well, and it was, in an odd way, gratifying to find that one can get lost even in the small valley where one grew up.