The world in my window

I moved house this weekend. That's a job, isn't it? My goodness. More on the new house to come (maybe). But for right now, let's celebrate the old place.

It's best summed up by what Johnny said when he and Kiera came to stay at Christmas. With their noses pressed up against the window and as the street lights from Bangor and Carrick twinkled all the way to Belfast, he said:

'Look Kiera, when you look out the window here, you can see the whole world.'

I'll miss that view.

U...who now?

Megann and I Facetimed tonight. It's been a couple of weeks since we talked, and to be honest I wondered what we have ever talked about and how we've remained friends as long as we have.

Let me explain.

In catching up on news, Megann asked how the Commonwealth Games were. Being American, she knows them as the non-American Olympics.

 

I replied and said they were great and that I got to see Usain Bolt again. (Third summer in a row...I knoooow!)

Megann: [blank face, nearly like she was still waiting for an answer]

Tina: We saw Usain Bolt!

Megann: [straight face] Who?

Tina: Usain Bolt! Bolt! Can you hear me?

Megann: It's working. I just don't know who that is.

Tina: WHAT?! YOU DON'T KNOW WHO USAIN BOLT IS?! The sprinter?! He's won the Olympics...twice!

Megann: I haven't seen the Olympics in ages. [She works at a summer camp in northern Michigan.]

Tina: But he's the most famous athlete at them! You must have heard of him!

Megann: We just see how the American athletes do. 

Tina: But he's in the 100m. Americans are in that!

Megann: Nope. Never heard of him. It's a good name for a sprinter, Bolt.

We laughed all the way through this and then about this for a while. I urged Megann to get our quote book, which includes all our greatest quotes (classics like the condo rep at Breckenridge asking when we stayed in Steamboat did we have an apartment or a suite) to write this one down.

As Megann wrote the quote down, she further proved she'd never come across Usain Bolt before, as she asked how to spell his name.

I spelt it for her and as we continued to laugh about it, I compared it to never having heard of Roger Federer. 

'Who?'

Oh stop. 

Happy Wedding Day

Chris and Steph (but more particularly Chris),
You got married today and so I thought I'd mark the occasion by blogging. I know, there's not a wedding present in the land you'd rather have. Well Chris, you are my biggest cheerleader (or whatever more manly title you gave yourself). I tried to blog a bit this year (helped greatly with your encouragement) but ran out of steam in about April. I didn't even blog on my birthday which is a key date in my year. I'm sure that just makes this small token on your wedding day even more special. I know, you're welcome.

I should use the opportunity to tell you some sort of Princess-esque story from my summer rather than just pointing out that which you already know: you got married and I haven't really blogged since April.

Here are my highlights:
- This summer I went to Dubai and Glasgow so it was a summer of contrasts. Dubai was hot but the sun shone and that's what we went for. In Glasgow too, the sun shone…and then it rained…and then it was sunny…and then it rained…
- I read a book this summer. This is noteworthy because I don't really read books. I read enough with school and Twitter, thank you very much. But this summer, by the pool (in Dubai, in case that wasn't obvious) I read Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, a biography of Louie Zamperini, an American athlete who became a bombardier during the Second World War and was taken as a Japanese POW after his plane crashed. Not exactly a light read but a brilliant story.
- I marked. Ugh. You know my feelings on that. Especially when the funniest answer I got was someone calling it Fianna Foal. I know; you can only raise a half smile to that sort of error.
- In Glasgow I saw some of the Commonwealth Games, even expanding my live sport repertoire to weightlifting and gymnastics. If anything's in it I preferred the weightlifting. But also saw athletics, track cycling, swimming and netball.
- I made a small guest appearance at CHW on Wednesday and Thursday. Seemed only right when I'd organised the seminars to show up for them. It didn't rain when I was there, which was pleasing.

So that's it. Today is the last day of summer so thanks for allowing me to go out on a high tonight. Few people, aside from teachers, can understand the pain of 'back to work blues' the last night of your six week holidays...

Teacher Appreciation Week

[Blogger tells me this is my 700th blog post. Wowser. Slow progress the last few years to get there but still a place I like to call home.]

Earlier today Lesley posted a video because it's Teacher Appreciation Week. From the video I've decided that's an American thing. Singapore has Teachers' Day in September when I got the day off. Way to make us feel appreciated Singapore! Singapore also has Youth Day…when I also got the day off (see last paragraph in this post). Wikipedia says that the UK has it (October 5 teacher friends) I wouldn't hold my breath, I've yet to see any sign of it.

But watching the video was nice because on Friday I had a lovely day. I had my final class with my senior class. I just taught them this year but regard them as my 'all stars' because they were so great. They made me a present which was worth way more than anything they could have bought me: a book full of photos and memories from teaching them.

It was actually really similar to the book my favourite class in Singapore made for me too and even though it's seven years ago in an entirely different type of school in a different country, there are signs of me being exactly the same sort of teacher…if their letters and comments are to be believed anyway.

One of the things I did with both classes (and schools) is a quote wall. Here are two of my favourite quotes with them. Both made it into their respective books.

Miss B.: (writing on the board, stops mid-sentence and turns to the class) How do you spell 'disastrous'? I think I spelt it wrong. 

C: I think you spelt 'illiterate' wrong as well.

That one made it to this blog post if you're interested. Probably not, I just like to back reference. And then this one from this year.

F: Aww Miss, is that a mince pie?

Miss B: Yeah!

F: Aww I love them!

A: Another reason to be vegetarian…

F: It's not real mince!

A: Stop! I've never eaten them because of that!

J: Can we get back to the exam please?

But the video got me thinking, what would I write to myself on my first say of being a teacher. (Actually, my very first day of being a teacher was in 2005 in the school I work in now. 'Now' makes it sound like I plan on leaving - I don't. Ever.)

Anyway, this is what I have. Not profound, but helpful all the same I think.

Dear Teacher Tina,
I know, you're actually a teacher! You did it. Don't worry, even nine years later you won't feel like you've got this game together yet. But here's the weird thing, you manage to pull it together. I know, sometimes it's like you know what you are doing.

In a few years' time you'll have to write your educational philosophy for a job application (I'll save you the worry: you don't get the job). But I'll boil our philosophy right down for you: I'm on your team; be on my team. You will teach the class as an entire entity, a unit. You won't allow for inside jokes but you will definitely laugh with your classes. A lot. Sometimes at the expense of work. You should probably try not to do that so much. There's a unofficial rule in teaching not to be sarcastic with students. Ignore that. Third years love it.

You'll like (almost) every single student you teach, even if they don't like History or Politics (or you!) and you'll work with some brilliant teachers. You'll be rubbish at marking. In fact, even as I write this letter to you now, I have a pile of essays waiting to be marked plus a whole lot of other planning to do for Tuesday. But you'll be able to start a lesson explaining something you only have the vaguest notion of when you began talking (you might want to start reading up on the English Civil War now, you know, get a head start).  

Keep going through the roughest days of teaching, because every now and then, the best days come along. And when they do, there's not a job in the world that can touch teaching.

God speed Miss B.
Love and best wishes, 
Miss B.

PS One more thing to save yourself considerable embarrassment, when you're teaching the Third Home Rule Bill c.2008 call him Andrew Bon-ner Law, not how it looks you might say it. You're welcome.

Executive lady teacher

There's an article in the Sunday Times Style magazine today about how, according to one OFSTED inspector, 'scruffy teachers are letting the side down'.

Not me though - as the only reason I know about this article is because Jud texted me to tell me she'd identified me as Executive Lady Teacher.

I love a pencil skirt, me.

 This is how they describe Executive Lady Teacher:

This ambitious woman favours terrifying angled spectacles and haircuts so sharp, you could use them in a geometry lesson. She has a power-dressing work uniform - with its own colour-coded area of the wardrobe - with fitted dresses, tailored skirts and smart jackets (which can all go in the washing machine). Kitten heels are her secret weapon. Her only concession is a weakness for arty earrings.

I'm not so sure that I'm an 'ambitious woman'. And my haircut is definitely not one that could be used in a geometry lesson. Unless they were measuring the angles of hair caught in the bird's nest. Of course I have a colour-coded area of the wardrobe (actually it's just one wardrobe for work clothes). Well, what's the point in having these sorts of clothes if they don't hang with their suit family? I don't really wear kitten heels, but low(er) heels? Sometimes. Although, I'm not sure how they're my 'secret weapon'. I don't go in for arty earrings. And neither should any Executive Lady Teachers if they're wearing glasses as they'll compete with one another. Duh.

Jud once told me that if she wore what I wore to school, her colleagues would think she was trying to seduce someone!

But I think that tells us more about her work colleagues than mine!

Drive

I've missed a couple of weekend posts but nobody seems to be complaining, so I'll not mention it if you won't.

I've had a couple of busy weeks. When aren't they? But working full-time and then at weekends does take it out of you. Two weekends ago I was on a school trip to Wesley for MUN. That was exciting because I got to drive a SUV…an automatic one! And there were lots of cup holders, which we all know is the most important thing in a car.

Last weekend was Soul Mates. Busy again as ever but a different sort of busy. I actually was able to duck out for a few hours to visit the SU weekend so it was nice to see those guys too.

The drive took me right over the Mournes and places I've only ever dreamt of. No really. 

There's two place names in NI that I think are the prettiest: Gracehill and Katesbridge. My brother used to live not far from Gracehill but I'd never been any closer to Katesbridge than the sign on the way to Newry (up there with the ugliest NI place names surely. Along with any place you care to name in Co. Tyrone, which surely has more per capita than any other county.)

A wrong turn and suddenly I found myself in Katesbridge! And let me tell you, it needs a pretty name because it doesn't have much else going for it. Much like Gracehill in that respect, I suppose.

Next I was through Rathfriland. Which I sometimes gets confused with Randalstown. Yes, legally different names but it's the Ra start and land/town end that does it. Rathfriland is famous (to me at least) for being home to NI21 MLA John McCallister, one of our few MLAs with a spark of personality.

 I'd never been to Rathfriland before either so it was exciting to see the water tower (if that's what it is).

But all too soon I was out of Rathfriland and on to my next small town of South Down: Hilltown. Now coming from Rathfriland, which must be a cyclist's nightmare and dream all in one because of the hill it's on, I was excited. If Rathfriland's hill didn't even make it to its name (in English at least) then Hilltown's hill must be spectacular. How wrong could I be?! There's was nothing more than a mild incline. I'd say we could get them on the Trade Descriptions Act. Let me know if you want to join my class action suit. There could be literally units of disappointed tourists like me every year, going to Hilltown expecting to see, you know, a hill.

What I did see was better though. This sign was just casually on a telegraph pole beside a shed, which was closed. (I stopped to take its picture on the way back, it intrigued me so much.)

'Eating potatoes'? What other sort of potatoes are there? Or does Hilltown just put up signs of various activities? You know 'playing chess', 'watching TV', 'making tea', that sort of thing?

After I past the sights of Hilltown (see above photo) I was through the Mournes properly.

It was all a bit Colorado. There was even a few hair pin turns!

One of my favourite historical stories about the partition of Ireland is Edward Carson's plan to build reservoirs in the Mournes to supply Belfast's water so that when the Boundary Commission met they couldn't redraw the border there because it could only be so far as the 'economic and geographic conditions' were compatible. Sneaky/clever depending on your perspective.

What?! Spelga Dam is on a hill. Duh.

The way back was largely uneventful, but I did make a stop in Hilltown to get a drink. 

I wouldn't be surprised but there's a sign outside the Spar saying 'Drinking Coke' now.

To my chief motivator

Hi Chris,
This post will be removed when I get a chance to blog properly. It was a busy weekend and I still have those essays to mark from last week (see earlier busy weekend statement). I'm hoping for tomorrow, but well, you know…

With kind regards and warmest wishes,
Tina

And the Nokia Whatever10 Photojournalism Award goes to...

I got called out again. Ever keen Chief Motivator (apparently this is better than cheerleader) Chris noticed that I didn't blog this weekend. So here I am. However Chris, if you could ask me around 11.30pm how I got on with the 80 or so essays sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be marked that'd be good too.

But first a blog. The kids mightn't get their essays back, but Chris will get a blog post. He suggested, helpfully I add, a photo and a comment underneath it. I take photos on my phone all the time of things I see. These are mostly for Twitter but never make it, so I looked back to see what I had.

This story was in the Belfast Telegraph at the weekend.

I didn't even get to read about Tyra Banks.

It was the story about the kids in the Odyssey fights. This piqued my interest because of the Hardwell gig the other week. Some of my students were at it so I was interested to see what this one was all about. It was at the darts apparently. But then this took over any interest in the story: the picture…on the front page of the Belfast Telegraph, 'NI's daily newspaper' and winner of the UK's best regional newspaper 2012 (so says Wikipedia).

Well you say camera footage. I say more like Monet's impressionist version of what might have happened. It involved shapes and colours.

Seriously, the only person who took any pictures was using a Nokia 7610 c.2005 with a whopping 1MP resolution and that's what you decided to put on the front page?! Really? Really?! I'm as much for an outrage involving kids and fighting as the next person but this might have been the time to hold off on using a 'camera footage' on the front freaking page. You know, let the words tell the story.

So you're darn tootin' I went to P11 for full story. There might be more 'camera footage'.

I was right!

Oh stop. Four pictures showing the 'footage of people fleeing'. So you say. Are we absolutely sure they aren't sonograms…from the 1990s?

 No bloody wonder the online version of the story doesn't have any photos.

Frozen in time

I don't often get emails from my brother so when I did last week, my first thought was 'this is spam'. Except the subject line was so intriguing I had to open it. It was titled 'You as a kid'. Ever happy to re-live my childhood days I was willing to suffer whatever virus was attached and/or send spam onto my entire email address list for this.

The content of the email was, if I'm honest, a little disappointing. It said, and I quote:

Search for this on you tube

Two Little Girls Singing "Let It Go" From Disney's "Frozen"

One of the girls reminds me of you as a kid.....I think it's the fringe

Sent from my iPad

Was this really from David? They do have an iPad. But why would he not just send me the link to the You Tube video? Or a screenshot of the girl with the fringe. Oh no, David made me work for this one.

I duly searched for the phrase as he suggested and was given these results. 

Well none of those girls have a fringe.

I plumped from the first one to see if it was Maddie or Zoe that had the fringe that was like a 1980s Tina. And then she appeared: girl with fringe. Still not convinced I sent David a message back with a screenshot (for added helpfulness) to check that this was the girl.

I never had a dress with green puffy sleeves. More's the pity.

He confirmed it was that girl and said 'Do you not see it?'

I don't know, there is a certain Je ne sais quoi about us.

This was my awkward growing-out-the-bowl-haircut stage.

No wait. It's really just the fringe, isn't it?

Let's just pretend it's still the weekend, eh?

My new plan to blog every weekend fell at the fourth hurdle. Still, better than the third. Just don't tell Chris, I don't think he's noticed. (And to think I called him my cheerleader.)

So what's been going on with me? Work. Two weeks ago it was a race again time to get exams marked, last week it was to get reports written. But it's all ok, because this week is L6 work experience and as I have two L6 classes, I win big this week. It was funny last week, as one class left my room for the last time, I said 'All the best with your work experience! Do more than make the tea!'. A couple of them said they got really sad at the thought of it being our last class…for two weeks! Haha! I may have upped the crazy, banterful Miss B. a smidge. But I hold on to the memory of my idol in History teaching Mrs. Gregory, who wouldn't go a period without telling us about some trauma that had befallen her kids' goldfish or some such, and she wouldn't say Stanley Baldwin in anything other than a Yorkshire accent. And sure I did alright, didn't I? I love History!

[I've just looked up where Stanley Baldwin was from. Turns out it wasn't from Yorkshire as I was led to believe but I'm pretty sure that was the accent she did. How does a Worcestershire accent even go?]

When I haven't been working I've been doing extra-curricular stuff. On Friday afternoon we had a politician in school, which was exciting. Not least because she arrived in school 15 minutes while I was still teaching. Class abandoned. Then in the evening there was a school concert on so I went to that. As if I wasn't proud already of the students in my school they go and show off how musical they are too.

On Saturday morning, I went to (the school) hockey. Of course I did. Ra ra. I had some work to do with my spectating clearly though, because last time I went to see them they lost. In the intervening weeks I've really worked on my support, clapping and motivating cheers. All my hard work paid off as they won  and are into the final. You're welcome girls.

On Saturday afternoon I went to see the nephews and niece! Good times. Although, from my lofty position of Coolest Aunt Ever there was only one way to go…down. I happened to get him the same present that someone else got him. A fact that a new 5 year old isn't able to hide. Good job he loves me for more than the gifts I give him, eh?!

On Sunday I had a well earned sit on the sofa. For approximately seven hours. I'm not joking. It was an important time to collect my thoughts on the week, catch up on the rugby and watch some Olympics. Two words: The Jones! How brilliant  is Slopestyle? In the evening I went for a run. I know, I got off the sofa and then I did my ironing. Positively productive.

But like I said, just don't mention this is a day late, ok?

The return of exam answers

For lack of blogging reasons I didn't post my (up til then) traditional exam answers blog. So now I'm nearly blogging again, it's time to bring it back (and because I still have the bit of paper with them written on. I throw nothing away).

I think I know what you're trying to say
O'Neill visited Cardinal Williams, the Canterbury of Armagh.
Yes, like Justin Welby is the Canterbury of Canterbury.

The OIRA changed into a more political, sociable IRA.
Sociable, socialist. Totally the same thing. That's why there's two words.

Cinemas showed things like the Internal Jew.
Like Jewish on the inside?

O'Neill waved the flag when the Pope died.
His special 'Aww the Pope is dead flag'?

When women got married in Germany you got 1000 Marx.
Marx? Like Karl Marx?

He won a lot of chairs in parliament.
Chairs and seats are the same thing I suppose.

O'Neill resigned because he had nowhere to stand at this point.
And no chairs probably.

Von Papen was horrible at his job.
His mum still loved him though.

Think it through
Conception became harder for women to get a hold of.
Well they say you can't rush these things.

Germany and the USSR signed the Anti-Soviet Pact.
Yes, those Soviets were very anti-Soviet.

People's Democracy marched in January 1969 to commemorate the Easter Rising.
Ah yes, Easter was early that year.

Direct rule let Northern Ireland be ruled from Dublin. NI wanted to be ruled from the west.
By Tyrone?

The blew O'Neill out of the power stations.
And out of power.

At the beginning when internment was first introduced, nationalists thought that it was fair because it brought back equality. They welcomed it with open arms.
Nationalists would have given internment a big, tight squeezy hug if they could.

Overall I think it that internment was a good thing because it shows that nationalists were finally getting what they want and would no longer be dominated by the unionist community.
Yeah, they showed those unionists.

Nazis made new religion called Lutheranism.
Missed second year History and the reformation then?

An agreement Germany made with other countries was the Anglo-Irish Agreement.
Really? Really?!

One of the laws was you couldn't sit beside a Jew in church.
Yeah, no, because they're probably in the synagogues.

Boys and girls had different organisations. The girls had the German Maiden League of Nations.
I see your confusion.

Hitler visited the German Ambassador in 1945 to express condolences on the death of Hitler.
Just read that back, please.

They had speaker phones in the streets playing Hitler's speeches.
Of course they did.

O'Neill sent his thoughts to the Pope when he died.
Like a medium?

O'Neill discovered the new city of Craigavon.
He was like a modern-day Christopher Columbus!

The bill of rights in NI guaranteed several rights for German people.
We can't agree to protect each other, but we agree to protect German people.

O'Neill created the new town of Craigavon which brought tourists to NI.
I can see the I heart Craigavon t-shirts now.

Spelling Bees
citry = city
cross road electron = cross road election
Brain Falaexem = Brian Faulkner
Tea shoc = taoiseach
Tusche = taoiseach
Colerean = Coleraine
Czeckolovia = Czechoslovakia

Let me be clear
The Republic of Ireland's army moved upwards to the border near Londonderry/Derry/the City of Culture 2013/the Walled City.
Disappointed you left out the Maiden City.

In 1932, the year of the three Chancellors, Germany had three chancellors.
How many? Three you say?

Hitler achieved anschluss to the dismay of the Austrian President. However, he didn't care. The reason Hitler wanted anschluss with Austria as it was his place of birth. Yes, Hitler was born in Austria.
Shocking information to a History teacher. Tell me about his Art School rejection letter too, please.

Internment was completely wrong!!!!
Some would say too many exclamation points are too. Although a different league of wrong.

The summer of '69 was nothing like the popular song would suggest.
Statistically though, someone must have got their first real six-string that summer, no?

I know I mock them, but these really are the ones that keep you going.

James Larkin Week

This is the last of Chris' Sponsored Posts and his suggested topic was 'the impact of Larkinism on the Irish Working Class'.

Right.

I actually did a module called 'Labour, Nationalism and Unionism' but oddly I don't remember covering James Larkin or his impact on the Irish working class. This, as it turns out, is largely because it was all post-WW2. I know this because I have the file in front of me. My essay for that module was on the Northern Ireland Labour Party split of 1949. I'm sure you're all familiar with it, so no need to go over it here.

So, instead I will tell you, in a tenuous link style, five ways this was James Larkin Week for me.

1. James Larkin's birthday was Tuesday. On Tuesday I had a lovely morning off work (it was exam week, which was great til the marking came in. Ugh marking.) I celebrated Larkin by marking History essays in my jammies. I think he would have approved of a worker's right to mark in jammies.

2. James Larkin was born and lived for a while in Liverpool. Today I texted Brian who lives in Liverpool. Eh…yeah, I'm out.

3. James Larkin lived in County Down. I was nearly in Co. Down today. Well I was in East Belfast at the Soul Mates Day of Prayer. I like our Soul Mates people; we have some good people involved. I imagine James Larkin thought he had good people in the Trade Union movement. Unless he thought they were all spos.

4. James Larkin went to America. I Facetimed Megann in America for, like, a minute today. That's practically the same as going to America because I felt like I was at her table eating lunch with her, even though it was tea time here.

5. James Larkin said 'The great appear great because we are on his knees: Let us rise.' I'm not sure I said anything equally as profound this week but I did write a tweet that made me laugh, well the situation it was based around made me laugh. 'Had an emailed Word doc on my screen written in Comic Sans. Someone came into my room. As they left, I panicked they might think it's mine.' James Larkin didn't like Comic Sans either. I'm pretty sure the industrialists' insistence on using Comic Sans is what started the whole union affair in Ireland.

So that's it, those are my five ways this has been James Larkin Week.

Might take to a bit of Wiki editing to update Larkin's entry. At least to get James Larkin Week to be a thing.

A historical rainbow

This was the second of Chris' suggestions. For reference's sake let me just remind you what Chris meant when he said 'a historical rainbow':

'A childhood anecdote, preferably one which connects into an experience which you had recently, thus bringing together the past and present together.'

Well, I have just such an experience but, to be honest, I normally wouldn't have written about this particular historical rainbow but that's also because I haven't really been writing about anything of late. But you have thrown me the challenge of writing about a historical rainbow so here my most recent historical rainbow (which by the way, is a great phrase!).

I've just recently got reacquainted with candles. I lived in a house last year where all the other girls were into candles. Meh. Just wasn't fussed on them. I think it was because it takes some restraint from me not to mess with them. Back in the Park, we used to play with them. One particular thing we used to do was pour melted candle wax onto our hands. Sure, it burned for a while but then it cooled and you got to pick the wax off. No, really, I don't know why we did it either.

Anyway, last year when I left school, a student gave me 6 big Ikea tea lights (which may be the oddest leaving present I got. Ikea candles are not pretty, they're…functional). They stayed in my storage room at my parents' for months (why yes, I have a storage room. It's my brother's old room which I have commandeered for the overflow of my stuff). When I was home just before Christmas I grabbed them and took them back up to Belfast. They sat on the coffee table, still in their cellophane, for a while until Jud came round to help me decorate my Christmas tree. Well, I say 'help'. She unpacked my Christmas lights and then went to get Chinese and by the time she was back I was done. Well, I didn't have a lot to put on, you see.

We watched Christmas movies and to add to the ambience I lit the candles as they had a vague smell of Christmas about them. Turns out I can restrain myself from messing with the wax. (Actually that's not strictly true, but I think it's important to note here the apartment block is still standing.)

Anyway, I've got so into them that I went to the Yankee Candle store after Christmas and bought some tea lights with the fragrance 'Christmas Cookie'. I like Christmas. I like Cookies. And most importantly, the colour of the wax went with my living room. I put them in the dish on the coffee table, happy with my purchase.

But then, every once in a while I got this familiar smell. It took me a few whiffs to put my finger on what it was - both where it was emanating from and what it reminded me of. Once I worked out it was the still new candles (in my defence it probably took me seconds to work this out), I worked out that the smell of this supposed Christmas Cookie was exactly the smell of Tiny Tears, my doll I got c.1984 from Santa.

Here is that very Christmas. I don't think Grandpa knew what he was doing here; I don't think you just smoosh the baby into the pram to make her fit.

See Grandpa, watch the expert: you lift her out of the pram by her armpits.

This is her now, well two years ago when I tidied all the stuff in the eaves. Here she is wearing a Bunny uniform. She didn't get as many badges as me. That was probably on account of her being not a full member.

Rainy Day Tiny Tears. By the time you get the rain…onesie(?) on you can pretty much be sure it'll have stopped raining.

I know what you're thinking, the smell of a doll that is thirty years old? But it's true. Tiny Tears has a weird sort of plastic-y smell that smells of my 1980s childhood. I don't know if it's her hair, or just the plastic, but there's a smell. Definitely not unpleasant, it just smells of Tiny Tears.

With Christmas being over, I did what any self-respecting Tiny Tears fan would do. I went back to the Yankee Candle store and bought up more Christmas Cookie candles before they were packed away for another year.

Well, who doesn't want to live amongst the ye olde leprechauns in a historical rainbow?

A Travel Story

I went to Korea.

(I can't tell you how tempted I was to leave the post at that. But that would be unfair to the requests, nay demands, for a Princess Tavel Story.)

Long time readers will know that I've been to Korea before. Actually, I'd say after the USA and Singapore, it's my 3rd Most Time Spent In Country. Oh come on, we've all worked out that list, am I right? Am I right?

I find getting to Korea is always fun. This is largely because it's been a far way away from where I was before I went. This time I was leaving from Belfast, and it being a far way away it was also entertaining. (That's not the right word, but it'll do.)

The fun started on early on the Monday morning I was supposed to leave. Yes, supposed to leave. That was the day, way back when, in October 2013 that there were big storms in London and my Belfast to London flight got cancelled. Not until I had spent a considerable amount of time in the City airport while Aer Lingus (who had their Belfast to London flight cancelled by Heathrow) worked on an alternative way to Busan, Korea without the luxury of a computer with the internet. I said at the time on Twitter, any sort of Information Desk without the internet is really just a Desk.

Visitors to City Airport will know it's super fun before security; there's that newsagents (I want to say WH Smith's but didn't' they close?) which sells those brightly coloured Irish sheep tourist tat and a Costa, for which I was the lucky winner of a £5 voucher for. I mean, it wasn't a raffle or anything, they just gave them out, but I hadn't had breakfast so I felt like a winner.

Anyway, cut to Tuesday and I was back in City Airport and ready to fly out again. This time I made through security! Again, patrons of City Airport will know that your options for pre-flight time killing rise exponentially. I mean, there's that cafe restaurant place that you have to walk all the way through before you chance upon the sort of food you're in the market for, some bar round the corner that few people must ever go to, another newsagents incase you passed by the opportunity of the first one (again, possibly a WH Smith one), some sort of last minute present buying shop that sells watches and scarfs and then a really small cafe that you see too late because you've already assumed the bigger one is it for your non-newsagent bought crisp food options.

As we were boarding the plane, who should I see, only Alistair McDonnell, leader of the SDLP! He's the one when I mention in class, I have a panic about his name (McDonell? O'Donnell?) and then look like I know nothing about. He was going to the bathroom before boarding so there was no time to for him to pass on to me how he easily remembers his name.

Heathrow was fairly uneventful. I got my Korean Won in the airport because I was so ill-prepared for the trip (even with 18 months notice) that I didn't have them already. I had something nice to eat while I watched something on my iPad. I can't remember what either were, but I have the feeling one was a milkshake or a donut or something. That's the eating; I think I watched something on iPlayer, I wasn't looking a picture of a donut on my iPad for an hour. That'd be weird.

At the gate for my flight to Shanghai (oh yeah, my nice route out to Busan got all arsed about and I was flying to Shanghai now), someone beside me had a very curt conversation with his mother about looking after another house he was having to sell on behalf of another family member (relationship: unclear). This made the wait for boarding way more interesting as me and fellow passengers shared shrugs and grimaced, awkward glances to the sky.

The flight was empty. Like empty. My nearest passenger was about 3 rows behind me or the other way, on the opposite window (I was in seat K). I watched movies...I'm sure. I can't remember. Oh yes! I did! I watched The Interns. Average.

Twelve days, I mean hours later we arrived in Shanghai. Ugh. It beats Atlanta to the top of my list of Worst Airports Ever. Come on, again I say, we all have that list, don't we? In my experience, it's a rare crap Asian airport, normally they're the best. Honestly, I have no kind words to say about Shanghai Airport… ummm… ehhh… it's roof seems to work, if it rained. There. There's one.

So let me explain my horrible Shanghai airport experience.

I was told I didn't' need a landing card. I did. I was told I needed to go to flight connections. I didn't. I was told my luggage was booked all the way through. It wasn't. I was told I'd have enough time to make my connection. I didn't.

And that's where the, what I'm calling, Shanghai Disaster really took hold.

My Chinese isn't what it should be, well whose is?! And bless those airport workers, I could tell they wanted to help me, just as I was willing to be told, but a game of Cross-Cultural Airport Charades after an early start and a long flight is just not my sport. It was only as I was on the points of having an emotional breakdown at a luggage carousel that one of the flight stewards from my flight saw me and worked out where I was supposed to be headed.

Then I had to trek (with my luggage) through the airport. Please, if you're going to Shanghai airport and changing terminal, remember your camel and enough food and water for the journey. The camel will be a pain to get it through customs, but you'll thank me. When I got the other terminal I wasn't entirely sure I was there because all I saw was a sign that said 'You are here'. Well no shit, Sherlock. Thanks a lot. Useful information. I have been 'here' since, well, 1980. See, even now I can't hide my bitterness and anger towards Shanghai Airport.

I arrived in time to discover I had missed my flight to Busan. Super, more Get To Know Shanghai Airport Time. And as a special bonus the next flight wasn't for another 7 hours. Woo. I was tired and hungry and had no Chinese money. Remember, I was never supposed to be in China and certainly not for any length of time that might require spending money. As BA had made me late for the flight, I was technically their responsibility. So I had to go back to the other terminal to see them. But again, I was without my camel.

When I got back to the other terminal there was no one from BA there. I tried Departures, Arrivals, Information. Everywhere. There was no one there. The best I can work out from the Shanghai Airport Information Girl (probably not her job title) it's because of the flight times to Europe they were done once my flight landed until that night when the flights for Europe would leave again. But the SAIG (I prefer the acronym) tried to describe to where the BA office was.

Three times I tried to get to that office. I couldn't find it. Each attempt felt like a two mile walk. And there were steps…with my stupid 'it's booked through' suitcase. My third time back at the desk, she gave me a note written in Chinese to show to the next airport worker I came across. Again I say, my Chinese is not what it should be.

I got to the office and, as with form, it was also closed. See what I mean. I know what you're thinking, how could a major airline, in a major city's airport close its office at 10.00am, because it's what I was thinking too. Albeit with more swearwords.

After 30 minutes, sitting in the only place I could find air con (oh yeah, all this was going on in a sweat box of an airport) I went back to the office, now I knew where it was. I got my flight delay money to spend in the airport. Of course, because it's Shanghai, you can't spend that anywhere. Oh no. It's like a less fun, more hunger driven game of treasure hunt to find the one underground restaurant to spend it in. Oh there's logos on the 'money' that match logos in the airport but for reasons I can't explain you can't spend them there. I suppose in fairness, I did find two restaurants but I gathered from the workmen gutting the second one that they were closed.

In the underground restaurant where I had to fight to be able to spend the airport money, I had a great sleep deprived, jet lagged, mental arithmetic task to work out what I could buy with my, as it turned out, limited funds. It was like the bloody Crystal Maze. If it hadn't been so far to get back to the BA office and had I been confident I would have someone there I would have gone back. But instead, I converted the fake money to a bowl of smiley face fries, dim sum and a Coke.

Three hours later, no joke, I left my seat in the basement restaurant and checked in for my flight. Well I tried. It's Shanghai, so I made my way through one long line only to be told I needed to join a different one. By now I'd been in Shanghai so long I was practically a native, so I headed straight to the top of the next queue, like I belonged there. But at last I had got rid of my 'it's checked through' suitcase.

I was flying with China Eastern to Busan, which was my first experience of time travel since I flew with Garuda to Jakarta; I was right back to 1970s air travel. What a joy to see and experience the olden times! We left the airport and boarded the bus. That's fine, lots of airports do the bus ride out to the airplane. Most airports don't drive you half way to your actual destination though. It took an age to get to the plane and although it was grey day, it was roasting hot. Plus I had the distinct feeling I was the talk of the bus. It was the looking and pointing that gave that away. That's Cross-Cultural Airport Charades for beginners, that.

So should you ever have the misfortune to fly to Shanghai I wish you luck. To you and your camel.

May you have enough smiley face fries to see you out of there.

Dear Tina

I recently received this correspondence from Chris N regarding my blog:

Tina, I don't want to be that guy but I can't help but notice that your blog hasn't been updated since the 17th of October. We all had a good giggle over the grapes but I think it times for some fresh material. I understand you're very busy/so much as happened since your last post you don't know where to start. Therefore I thought I would make it easier for you by giving you three topics you could choose to write on.

1) A tavel story. Whether it was a quick trip on the bus to town or a flight to some obscure place (like the Isle of Man), traveling places usual means funny/awkward/rewarding/embarrassing experiences. We would appreciate getting to laugh with/at you as you travel.

2) A childhood anecdote, preferably one which connects into an experience which you had recently, thus bringing together the past and present together; some might call it a historical rainbow (okay, by some I mean me).

3) The impact of Larkinism on the Irish Working Class

Now you have these handy topics to focus on, I'm looking forward to a new blog entry any day now.

Well Chris, thank you for your feedback. The management has taken the matter seriously and would like to offer this reply. 

Let me deal with the points, in order:
1. I had no idea there is a stereotypical blog monitoring guy, but I am thrilled to have one!
2. I'm glad you liked the grapes. I like the alliteration you used in that sentence. Truthfully, if I'd realised that photo was what had been greeting Princess visitors since October I would have updated more quickly.
3. I am very busy and so much has happened since I last posted; how well you know me!
4. Thank you for the material ideas. Following this post will be a blog on each of your helpful suggestions!

Also, if you could kick my butt into gear in other areas of my life I would be most appreciative.

Item 1 will be to create a butt kicking list.