Author: Christopher-Dorset

Those days in Dorset merged together in a glorious melange of memories, sites, sounds and experiences. Where to start? Where to stop? Dorset ice cream in a park, fish and chips on the river walk. Did I mention that I visited the Keep military museum? Excellent experience – so much history that isn’t always thought about in a place you’d hardly expect it to be. Did I discuss going to Weymouth? No, I doubt that. Continue reading “Blur”

The ghastly Romanian left a few days before I went on holiday. Landlady and I had a few chats about the changed situation in the days after. The atmosphere in our little flat improved beyond measure. It is cleaner and quieter. Our moods have been elevated to heights higher than had seemed possible for months. On my final day my students all rose from their desks and shook hands after I gave my last lesson. The day slipped quickly away. A last minute cancellation – no worries, I still get paid; a final work-out before a quick chat with landlady’s son to let him know that I was taking my leave. Never counting on airline service I popped in to my favourite Bolivian coffee shop for a light supper before going to airport. Continue reading “Not an Occupation, Merely on Holiday.”

The United Kingdom is in many respects a highly unusual country. It is a unitary state comprising four countries. Well, there are questions surrounding Ulster’s status – Continue reading “The Revolting Jock Caviar Producer.”

Our beloved Sceptred Isle now has a new PM and her cabinet is coming together. Philip Hammond is a sensible choice to be Chancellor. He is nothing terribly exciting. Nor, frankly, is Theresa may, but he’s a stable, reliable figure that inspires quiet confidence. I was somewhat taken aback by the Blond Bombshell’s appointment as foreign minister. He ably managed London for many years so it’s unlikely to be beyond his capabilities, but it’s a strikingly elevated position for someone with no ministerial experience. Perhaps it is her name, the fact that her name rhymes with “dud” and that she shares it with a former Australian PM who was just that, but I developed a distinct disdain for the good lady (bless her heart!) during the Campaign to Liberate Britain. Davis and Fox’s appointments are brilliant. Davis is no fool and no delicate flower. I have confidence in his ability to manage Britain’s independence. Fox, likewise, has the intellectual heft and the right mindset to prevent Britain from getting into a rut. Fallon has not been the worst in his position and it’s doubtful that replacing him would have led to any improvements.

I went to training school today to print B&B reservations, train schedules, my Caledonian Sleeper ticket and make a copy of an assignment for a student. I was asked where I was going by a directrix and responded “the UK, as usual”. She, a Scouser-turned-Wog of the worst sort, sneered and started to rant incoherently. Apparently, I have “let the side down” terribly and should be ashamed of myself for travelling to the United Kingdom. Her opinion is shared by many. So, may I make a most humble offer? I will trade my position in Spain to any poor Bremainer. In exchange I will settle in blighted Blighty and drink copious amounts of tea as penance.

Portugal is an accidental country. It is also a poor country, it has always been but, somehow, it has always been a proud country. By and large the Portuguese are also down-to-earth. Portugal had its golden age. It was built on trade and exploration, on diplomacy and naval prowess. A Continue reading “Spleen”

One of the more unfortunate aspects of living in Spain is that I’m surrounded by among the most pretentious of expatriates. Earlier this week I was thoroughly eviscerated by a mob of Yanks convinced in their typically insufferable manner that the EU represents the very best of Europe. I was the only Brexit supporter in this Septic-dominated “group” with a vocal minority of self-loathing Britons, not that it is much of a group as they have made a point of marginalising me as I don’t fit their mould. Not that I really mind, drinking heavily, watching football and jumping into bed with strangers isn’t my idea of a “good time”. Continue reading “A Humble Prediction”

I live in a small flat in a working-class neighbourhood with four other people. The owner of the flat is an immigrant from Bolivia who has a teenage son. She’s of the best sort. She works hard, is respectful of others, has common sense to excess and a cutting wit. Her son has his moments, teenagers often do, but is a polite, respectful and pleasant young man who happens to be very clean! Both are! They’re lovely to live with. We make sure not to violate each other’s personal space and, when we share common spaces, rarely fail to have a pleasant conversation – sometimes for hours. If ever I do her a favour she immediately repays it. For example, I helped her clean a cooking pot that she managed to burn and she gave me a few custards or I lent her a lemon and she gave me a lunch of roast meats and potatoes. Continue reading “Revolting Romanians.”

Sometimes you are reminded of things… Things that have become part of who you are, part of what you are. These are not things that you think about every day or even every month but, sometimes, you are just struck by how much you miss something. I have been too busy commuting between jobs to think about much recently, but tonight while sitting one of my twice-weekly Japanese lessons it struck me how much I miss Asia. Continue reading “Chronograph”

Madrid is an ugly city. Madrid is a heavy city. Outside a few older neighbourhoods that become home to throbbing, pulsating hives of tourists Madrid is an unremarkable collection of post-war blocks. I live in one of the more unremarkable neighbourhoods. The pavements are covered in excrement, mostly of the canine sort. There are few buildings of any interest. Those that are of interest would be entirely unremarkable if they were found in almost any other place. Madrid is a heavy city. Whenever I leave it, I often do as I work in one of its suburbs, I feel Continue reading “Ah ha”