A Giant Amongst Men with Jack Black

Being tall has its advantages. You stand out in a crowd, so rarely get lost in a nightclub. You can reach stuff on high shelves, and as such get that lovely sense of helpfulness when an old lady needs a poorly placed jar of jam in the supermarket. People look up to you (literally), and generally society seems to hold you in a slightly higher regard than those more vertically challenged.

Unfortunately, it also has some enormous downsides. 

Over the last few days, I have been experiencing some of the most crippling lumbar pains of my life. I find it hard to get up once sitting, and using the whiteboard at work has become utterly excruciating. Indeed, I feel rit now like the only thing that could relieve my pain would be for an army of Thai masseuseses to repeatedly stampede along the length of my spine.

Why such pain? I hear you ask... The answer is simple; I spend my entire gargantuan existence crouching down in order to hear people. Whether it's in the classroom or walking down the street, so as to engage in conversation with people more easily, I need to bend down slightly, else wise conversation gets lost in the lofty breeze that blusters around my snowy summit.

But this isn't the only problem with being so darn tall. I remember during my time in Japan, my commute on the metro would be hindered by having to crouch through un-ergonomic doorways, and even over here, I find myself banging my head on things that most people wouldn't even see above their heads.

As a fan of longcoats, I find my fashion choices limited by most garments falling far too short, giving somewhat of a Mr Bean air, and finding a jacket long enough in the arm is a rare thing indeed. Air travel is also a nightmare; if you've ever grumbled about leg-room on a flight, try fitting a gangly frame into economy class. It simply does not work, and you'll find toilet breaks a welcome reprieve on any long-haul flight.

That said, despite the lumbago and general annoyances that come with the altitude, being tall does allow you to occasionally feel superior. Someone makes a stupid point in an argument? Or is just being andouche in general? Just extend yourself to full height (probably cracking a few vertebra back into place in the process) and give yourself that rare moment of superiority that comes with being a giant amongst men... 

On a side note, whilst finding a picture for this post, I found myself remembering just how bloody awful Jack Black's Gulliver was... The scene with the transformer? 'Nuff said...

Being a Grown Up with Peter Griffin

I talked in the past many times about how being a grown up is rubbish. Along with the stream of social expectations and responsibilities you have to adhere to on a day to day basis, you also have to deal with greying hair, having to watch your diet, and aches and pains in parts of your body that you never even knew existed.

The most annoying thing about being a responsible adult, however, is having to cope with the daft little nigglings that come with living in your own home. Sure, having your own place brings freedom and a sense of finally taking a step towards getting somewhere in life, but it also leaves you having to deal with all those daft little tasks that you never realised needed doing...

The Plumbing

Nothing is more terrifying than the first time your boiler goes on the blink. The instruction manual (if anywhere to be found) is inevitably in some techno-babble completely nonsensical to anyone who hasn't studied particle physics. Thereafter, you finally garner some essence of understanding why your mum was always so stressed out whenever you needed to call in the boiler man. And let's face it, he's never going to have "that part" that's broken. Four weeks later, you're still using an electric heater and wondering why you didn't just find somewhere with a coal fire. At least then you wouldn't have to make tea and small talk with some hairy workman every other day for a fortnight.

Bills and Accounts

Not so much the having to pay. If you didn't realise you'd be spending the larger percentage of your paycheck on completely boring but annoyingly necessary things, then you were off to a bad start anyway. No, the infuriating part is setting the damn things up in the first place... Finding the best deal, waiting for your modem to show up, spending hours on the phone to customer services... It's all just an enormous headache.

Getting Locked Out

You've only got one key now. Or two if you live with someone else. But even if you do, you've got to wait for them to get home. Getting locked out when you don't have parents and siblings to let you in is just a gigantic pain in the bum.

Replacement Stuff

Bin bags. Light bulbs. Fuses. Batteries. Things that you don't think to get in your weekly shop that when they run out, you're stuffed. You never find yourself thinking "ooh, we really need some light bulbs" and then one goes and you're left sitting in the dark until Tesco's opens the next morning. And what the hell does a fuse do anyways??

Sorting out the Laundry

Doing the laundry I have no issues with. Indeed, my weekly trip to the laundrette is weirdly one of the highlights of my Saturday routine. The inanely dull part is the hour long folding, balling and ironing that follows. Maybe my brother has it right; piles of clothing dumped randomly on the floor would certainly save on matching up socks.

Of course there are some good things about bipeing a grown up... Stuffing your face on the sofa in front of a Family Guy marathon kind of makes the list. But honestly, isn't there enough to worry about in life without wondering how many bloody bin bags are left??

Fighting Prejudice with Johnny Depp

Modern Britain has become a melting pot for international peoples to come together as one, intermingling with each other in a delightful rainbow of creeds and cultures moreso than any other country in the world. After centuries of colonial rule and global trade, a walk down the street of twenty first century England now reflects the world in which we live; connected not only by the glories of technology, but also by people coming together to form a multi-nationalised society.

As a teacher of English as a Foreign Language, I have the pleasure of meeting people from all walks of life on a daily basis; take just one of my classes and you'll be introduced to Korean animator a, Turkish teachers, Saudi Arabian dentists, Libyan IT consultants and Italian nurses within a one hour period. For me, this is one of the greatest perks of the job; not only do I get to meet a wide array of fascinating folk, but I also get to learn about cultures as to which I had no prior knowledge, and get to hear about the interesting ways that other societies live their lives.

Today, however, I heard some rather disheartening news. At a school in Carlisle, a Romani girl has joined a kindergarten class, much to the distaste of the other parents. Apparently they are so agitated by this five year old girl being accepted into the class that they are telling their children to stay away from her and not to talk to her during play time.

Now, I'm no expert on Romani folk, but I do know they have a rich tradition, and in my eyes to exclusion of this child, especially, may I point out, of a five year old child, who has no real idea that she is any different from the rest of her peers, is no different from a group of parents telling their kids to stay away from a child of any creed or religion. Tell a child to stay away from a Romani, apparently that's fine, but tell them to stay away from an Islamic boy and the papers would have a field day.

If and when I have children, I want more than anything for them to mingle with other cultures; they themselves are going to be a unique mix of English, Indian, Irish and Japanese, so why on earth shouldn't they revel in the opportunity to learn about how other children live? This young girl is probably more socially advanced than many of her peers; whilst they are playing with Barbie or Action Man (actually, let's face it, they've probably all got iPads already), chances are she is already an integral part of the family group, helping with chores and learning useful skills that most kids don't even touch upon until their preteens.

And, most importantly, they're kids for crying out loud! They should play together. They should learn about how other children live their lives, and at the end of the day, make their own choices. In excluding a child simply because of the way their family live, you are encouraging classism, racism, and all sorts of other "ism"s that should no longer exist in the world today.

So let the children play, and take your prejudices elsewhere. If you don't like it, leave the country, because who today can say they are 100% British anyway? And if you still have any prejudice towards Romani people, go and watch Chocolat, 'cos Johnny Depp'll melt your bloomin' heart!

¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo! with Ron Stoppable

From an early age, I've had something of an affinity for Mexico. I remember my friend Tom and I when we were about seven planning to sail across the Atlantic in order to reach Mexico City. My year four geography project was also on Mexico, back in the days when a thousand word project seemed like an unsurmountable climb, rather than the mere introduction of an all-nighter in the college computer lab.

My love of Mexican cuisine flourished during my tenure at a tex-mex restaurant in Durham, where my teenage self not only cut his teeth in the culinary world, but also developed an addiction to quesadillas and burritos. And also chipotle, much to the begrudgement of my poor bottom...

During my time at Leicester Square School of English, I had the utmost privalage to meet one of the loveliest families in the world. I don't often name names in this blog, but César Fernánadez, his sister Dani, step-mum Yadira and family friend Zara are probably the warmest and most welcoming family I have ever had the honour of meeting. They took me, not only to one of the most amazing bars I've ever been to, but also into their fold; I now have an open invitation to Mexico at the drop of a sombrero. The bar, a grungy underground dive named Mestizos (the term given to a half-Spanish, half-Mexican child) was packed to the rafters with Latino party-goers, dancing like their lives depended on it to Mexican tunes as they filled their faces with mouth-watering tacos and knocking back shot after shot of warming tequila. It was, quite honestly, the most life-affirming evening I have ever had.

So today we celebrate Cinco de Mayo, the day on which, in 1862, the Mexican armies overcame French rule at the Battle of Puebla. Since then, the day has represented the passion and heritage of the Mexican people, giving us a reason to celebrate the rich cultures and cuisines of these truly hard-working and caring folk.

So go out, listen to some mariachi music, cook yourself some fajitas (or a naco if you're feeling adventurous!) and revel in the awesomeness that is Mexico!

May The Fourth Be With You with Princess Leia Organa

Amidst all the terrible puns that arise on this day every year, it's easy to forget the importance of the original Star Wars films in our popular culture. Over the course of the last forty years the most iconic sci-fi fantasy of all time has unfortunately been diluted by terrible prequels, even more terrible animated tie-ins and a constant stream of parodies and references that have somewhat diminished the impact for modern generations viewing it for the first time.

The sad thing is, amidst all this gradual dilution, and the somewhat obsessive fan base, it's sometimes easy to forget just what inspired all of this galactic madness in the first place. It was, of course, 1977's Star Wars.

Before it was "A New Hope", before it was Episode 4, Star Wars was nothing more (and indeed nothing less than a fantastic fantasy epic, taking the Hero's Journey across the universe to a galaxy far, far away to create a by-the-book narrative featuring every element that a great film should. Action, adventure, comedy and romance (albeit, as it turns out, somewhat incestuous) are accompanied by iconic villains and swashbuckling heroes. All this encapsulated by a rich mythology that has been studied and worshiped in the decades since, Star Wars truly was a game changer.

So it's not a surprise really that the world of popular culture has never been the same since. It is, however, something of a shame, that in this world of CGI and Michael Bay, children will never again feel that same spectacle when they are introduced to the series. Perhaps that's why Lucas felt that the total green-screen approach was the way forward with Episode 3. Or perhaps he's just a douche. I tend towards the latter.

I'll never forget the first time I found myself in the Satr Wars universe. I was about six and, on a rainy bank holiday Monday, sat in front of the television with my parents when The Emprie Strikes Back came onscreen. From its snow-capped opening sequence to the final reveal (one that no-one can now escape the knowledge of... thank you Family Guy...), I was utterly hooked. I realised at this young age the importance of what I had just seen, and probably, subconsciously, the thrall it would hold over me for the rest of my life.

Over the years that followed, I viewed and reviewed the trilogy, collected the Tazos in Walkers crisps, eagerly anticipated Episode 1, grew ever more apathetic at the films that followed (despite rather falling in love with Princess Amidala... In many ways a more delightful royal than her predecessor/daughter) and ultimately sighed in disappointment at Episode 3's climax. 

Throughout the ups and downs, however, one thing remains; the original three films make up one of cinema's finest trilogies. Luke Skywalker remains a hero for the ages, Vader a true tyrant, the Emperor a villain to end all villains, Han Solo the greatest swashbuckling pilot in the universe, and Princess Leia this millennia's Helen of Troy.

May the force be with you, always.

Friendship is Magic with Apple Jack

I've always believed that once you reach a certain age, your circle of friends elevate in importance to take on a much more familiar role. As we move away from home and begin to become the adults that will eventually replace our childish selves, we start to create close comradal units that in many ways replace the roles that had once been held by parents and t siblings.

The turning point for most is university, when you suddenly find yourself thrust into unfamiliar territory with unkown people, each of whom is in exactly the same boat. And so you latch on to the first few people that show a vague interest in your interests. You party with them, you study with them, and chances are by second year, you'll be sharing a house with them. If you're lucky, they won't turn out to be complete weirdos the moment you move in, and you'll spend the next few years happily cohabilitating with people who will eventually be stood next to you at graduation, hold positions of importance at your wedding, and probably stick around for decades to come.

As the fairytale that is university comes to an end, you'll find yourself moving away, possibly to a different end of the earth, and many of those who made up your cadre of everyday drinking buddies will become little more than a fond memory, mentioned at dinner parties. A select few, however, will remain a huge part of your life, and should be held on to; these are the people who would ride side by side into battle with you, and should be considered sacred.

As you move from town to town and job to job, you will soon accumulate a disjointed collection of confidants, many of whom may well disappear once you inevitably move on, but some, like a tattoo on your soul, will stay with you for life, no matter the distance, no matter the time.

This morning, due to the miracle of Skype, I was able to speak to two of my best friends in the world (literally). Both of them live over ten thousand miles away; one of them I have not spoken to since Christmas Day, and not seen since I left Japan a year and a half ago, and the other I have not seen since three years ago when he provided shelter after the Fukushima tragedy. But is it odd to talk after such periods of time? Of course not! You simply pick up from the last conversation and find yourself kicking yourself for not finding the time to speak more often!

My best friends from school (indeed I feel blessed that ten years on I am still very much in contact with friends I've known since before puberty) I see very rarely these days, but whenever we're in the same town, we make sure to meet up for a drink, and for a brief while we're teleported back to sixth form.

But that's the magic of friendship; friends not only provide you with an endless amount of support, they also remind you of the best times in your lives, the crazy stuff you did, and occasionally, just how good it feels to revel in your communal awesomeness.

So to my friends in Durham, in London, in Leeds, Stilton, the midlands and in Blackpool. To those in Cardiff, in Hamburg, in the Tokyo area and that town near Kobe that I can't recall. The the weird one in California and the even weirder one in Istanbul. To all of you, I extend my thanks and admiration. The journeys we've had and those to come. You're all freakin' awesome.

And friendship is ruddy magic!

A Bit on the Side with Brian Blessed

Being creative in the twenty first century is something of a curse. Despite what Glee would have us believe, no matter how big fish we were at school, when it comes to the real world we are not going to fall immediately into our dream jobs in the arts. In fact, there is no falling involved whatsoever. It is a long, painful climb punctuated by broken bones and landslides. And how many of us actually fulfil our creative potential? Very bloody few, Glee, that's how ruddy many!

So we need to make a living. It's interesting to note that many other creative types I know have, like myself, turned to teaching as a career. Education seems to attract performers for many reasons, but one of the largest perks is that you always have a captive audience. No matter what I going on in your life outside of the classroom, the moment you step in front of a group of students, you ready your jazz-hands, put on a smile and deliver a cracking lesson.

The thing is, there still remains that little fire in the back of our souls that longs for a little more. No matter how much we love the job (indeed it's difficult to find a job that is more regularly rewarding than seeing students progress under your nurturing), we still find ourselves longing for a little extra creative release.

Luckily, I have been fortunate enough to find the time to keep those passions alive through a steady stream of hobbies and side projects. Obviously this blob provides me with a daily dose of literary output, whilst the sketch pad that lives in the magazine rack is home to not only my general sketches and manga ideas, but also my more recent recurring cartoon, Teaching Training. Musically I've found comfort in local bars at regular open mic nights, and I have also just this week been invited to join the writing team for a popular lifestyle magazine.

So there are always avenues to take for those willing to search. I'm under no illusion that I could someday make a career from my arts; if it were to happen that would be a fantastic bonus. I shall keep singing, keep writing, and keep doodling down ideas for children's books, but for the most part it serves only as a release. I love my job more than anything, and despite difficult students and ridiculous amounts of paperwork, it certainly beats the years I spent in kitchens. If someday some agent is daft enough to throw money at me for whatever reason, then great, but until that day I'm more than happy to be a renaissance man. Like a skinnier, less beardy Brian Blessed. 

At least that's what I'd like to think...