cheese pushers

The best things in life are worth that little bit of extra effort.

I was brought up to acknowledge this as a truism - and I firmly believe that there is a lot of truth in it... whether it refers to amazing socks or danish cheese.

But really. Enough is enough!

Somewhere out there someone is bound to stock havarti cheese so I no longer have to drive the fifty miles (exactly - I google mapped it) to buy some in Sprucefield when I get the cravings.

Based on a conservative 40p per mile for travel costs, adding on the £1.70 that Sainsbury's charge for the 200g blocks, that works out at almost £220 per kilo! Over $9 an ounce for those of you living stateside.

All of this leads me to four conclusions:

1. It had better be some mighty fine cheese.

2. My mental arithmetic skills are on fire today.

3. I have far too much thinking time on my hands.

and 4. Someone could make a killing selling the stuff on street corners.

the shyest teacher in the west

I’m fairly shy in real life [how ironic is it that just as I finished writing that sentence I flew out of the coffee shop, tipping my table (and coffee) over, and ran through a busy shopping mall screaming “Seán” repeatedly at the top of my voice?] Okay, well, apart from the obvious exceptions that prove the rule I am quite the introvert.

As a teacher it doesn’t pay to be too retiring however, and I manage to fight my shyness quite effectively in the class room. In many ways I am a completely different person standing in front of thirty teenagers than I am in real life. This, of course, means that my pupils often find it odd that I struggle to maintain eye contact let alone conversation once they leave school.

A few minutes ago Helena, a pupil of mine from a few years back, saw me in the distance and came running (literally) to take me for a coffee as I seemed “to have fallen off the edge of the universe” since I stopped teaching her class.
Off the edge of the universe - well, I suppose that’s one way to describe where I’m teaching now.

Helena was, in many ways, such a stereotypical emo when I taught her. She had massive parent issues on a daily basis, had become completely disillusioned with a society she wanted to reject before it rejected her, and somehow managed to turn a rather generic, bland, school uniform into a theatrical dark gothic creation. Even outside of school she was never to be seen in anything that wasn’t black.
But it wasn’t just an image thing for her; she really saw the world in various shades of purple and black.

She loved art and would always come to my class to show me what she was drawing. She was always (rightfully) proud of whatever it was and after thirty seconds of false modesty she would beam as I told her how good I thought they were. They were always dark and haunting and always absolutely beautiful. Intensely mystical worlds filled with so much detail and emotion. Epic fantasies showing an imagination I could only - well - imagine. It frustrated me, as an english teacher, that she was unable to express these worlds in words and paragraphs but I loved the fact that she shared them with me projected onto paper - and I thought they were amazing. She would explain all the various elements in that breathless excited way she always spoke - as if she had just seen something amazing and had to tell someone about it.

Every morning in form class she would plop herself in front of me, flip open her sketch pad, grin broadly and say, “Well? What d’ya think?”

And here she was, talking non stop in that excited, breathless, stream about the old times. Reminding me of the characters in our class; bringing up embarrassing incidents I had long eradicated from my memory; asking - no, interrogating - me about why I hadn’t made more effort to become a permanent fixture in that school. She was no longer the girl dressed in long black coats and platform boots with attachments, wearing far too much eye makeup. She was now a young adult; still with a rather distinctive style; but not a hint of black. In her eagerness to ask questions about what I was doing with my life now, she was forgetting to wait for answers and seemed completely oblivious to my lack of conversation. A couple of times I tried to join in - but my social ineptitude kicked in and I was reduced to smiles and nods as she told me all about art college and how she was experimenting with photography now. She told me that I’d always been her favourite teacher, qualifying it by saying that I was the only one not up their own ass. I, she informed me, cared. She said that as a teacher I tried to encourage her, not change her.

But I wasn’t her teacher any more. The different circumstances threw me somewhat. I no longer had to establish authority in the situation. I didn’t have to control the environment around me; didn’t need to fill any vacuum with constructive learning. I didn’t have to present myself as a figure deserving of pedagogical respect... and so I was completely unsure of what type of figure to present -- That is until she pulled out her sketch pad, flipped it open, grinning, and said, “Well? What d’ya think?”

indecision reigns (again)

So, it seems we are about to have a little election over here. At least I’m assuming that there will be a little election over here based on the fact that every lamppost has a poster with some smug looking politician’s likeness, my post has become a daily deluge of flyers and the TV and newspapers are beginning to bore me.

The trouble is, as ever, that I don’t know who to vote for. I look at my options and despair. The candidates for East Londonderry include:


Gregory Campbell (DUP) – our current MP. The DUP, and specifically Campbell, have held the seat since 2001 and that isn’t likely to change any time soon. The DUP’s stance on education make them really difficult for me to support. Campbell’s somewhat belligerent attitudes tend to turn me off as well.



Thomas Conway (SDLP) – a councillor from Derry. Despite the fact that Coleraine is the largest and greatest populated town in the constituency his reams of literature only seemed to mention it once. Or maybe I just fell asleep halfway through reading it. Inspiring it certainly isn’t.



Barney Fitzpatrick (Alliance) – I’d love to be able to vote for the Alliance, I really would. But supporting them is like sucking a huge ice cube, it makes you look silly and it’s a lot of pain for no gain. Until there’s some form of electoral reform there’s no point in Alliance even running in East Derry.

Billy Leonard (Sinn Fein) – as novelty value goes Billy has it all. A Sinn Feiner who used to be an RUC officer – and worse still – a member of the Orange Order! It makes me wonder if SF have to run him to fulfil some equal opportunities legislation. Having said that it would take much more than that to make me forgive the sins of the decades that hinder me voting for Sinn Fein. And I’ve just found out he’s not actually standing… It was just assumed he would be. Sorry about that.

Cathal Ó hOISÍN (Sinn Fein) – the actual Sinn Fein candidate. Pretty much everything that I said about Mr Leonard stands… except the interesting past bit. So, despite the fact that I could only find one of his posters littering Coleraine, and thus am extremely grateful to him, I won’t be voting for him.




Lesley McAuley (UCU) – for those who don’t know UCU stands for Unionist… Collation… Ulster… um… Conservatives…. United Cameron… All you need to know is that this is the Ulster Unionist party standing on a joint platform with the Conservative Party. I know little about the woman in question (although a much more political friend did make the point that I “couldn’t vote for THAT woman whatever party she ran for”) All that matters is the C in their name. The Conservatives will cut funding to Northern Ireland, make major cuts to the Public sector, cut funding to education, cut the number of teachers, give marrieds tax breaks, cut inheritance tax… David Cameron may as well have held up a photo of me and said “We’re going to take everything from him and give it to rich married English couples instead, ok?”
And just to show I was only pretending: Ulster Conservatives and Unionists.

William Ross (TUV) – Now I know you don’t need me to tell you how slim the chances are that I would even consider voting Traditional Unionist Voice. Apart for the silly name they are the least progressive, single issue driven, negative party I have known in a long time. Their leader, Jim Allister, comes across as a tired, bitter old man each time he appears on TV. Being asked to vote for them is like someone nudging you and saying “So… the troubles… those were great times, eh?” William Ross used to be our MP when he was a member of the Ulster Unionists. He did nothing of worth then so I can’t see myself putting an X beside his name on Thursday.

So you see, I really am in a pickle. I’d close my eyes and stick a pin into the candidates list if the danger of picking a TUV or Conservative candidate didn’t haunt my dreams every night. I wish I lived in Brighton so I could vote for the Green Party.
Okay. I’ve thought long and hard about it. I’ve weighed the pros and cons. I’ve decided. I’m going to vote for the bald headed one with the red nose (and I don’t mean Jim Allister)