Days off in the middle of the week are weird. I am struggling to reconcile my day, which was spent tutoring, with the fact that tomorrow is not Sunday but in fact Thursday. This is weird and I don't like it.
Still, on the other hand, tomorrow is High Tea day! I'm very excited; I'm going to be spending the morning spreading jam and cream and cutting scones, and the afternoon just giving them away. In addition, my colleague from the Association went on holiday this morning so I shall be swinging in the breeze, with no work to do. Apart from the cutting and spreading obviously.
Quick question, British brethren - cream then jam, or jam then cream?
This morning was a lovely start; stayed in bed until 9am and then pootled about, trying to put off the moment when I would have to face up to the fact that I had not a scrap of food in the flat. Today is - was, for you future people - the 1st May, the first of many public holidays during the month of May. Everything was shut; everything except McDonalds, which was where I had dinner. French haut cuisine at its finest; even the chips looked offended, as if they'd never wish to be seen dead in such an establishment.
I ate them anyway. McDonalds is to food what cement is to interior design. It'll do the job, but you wouldn't want to see it every day.
Dinner, such as it was, came after a surprise four hours of tutoring. It was only supposed to be two, taking advantage of the day off, but A started to struggle with some of the biology so two hours turned to three, which turned to four, and before long it was 6pm and I finally left.
Just as a notice for students on their year abroad - tutor. Tutor a mere ten hours a week, and you'll find that cash flows from your fingertips. You will wonder why you study. You'll seriously wonder why you ever worked in a bar. You'll question why you worked on a shop floor. You'll start doing it more and more until every hour of your life becomes a race from one house to the next, drinking two coffees per house and vibrating from the caffeine all night in your money-bed.
Tutoring. It's like heroin, only you make money.
So now it's late, and I've booked tickets to the States, because sometimes when a river crashes into you you have to go with the flow. My parents have booked their hotel, and they'll be here in July. My T.F.I test is in June, my project is (weirdly) coming along quite nicely, and my girlfriend is paying me a surprise visit in a week.
Oh. And my student's mother gave me three whisky cakes she had been given as a present and couldn't imagine ever eating.
Year abroad is just a metaphor for awesome.
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Wednesday, 1 May 2013
Sunday, 17 February 2013
Money makes the world go round
This day has not been one of my favourite days. Weekend buses to my student, A, are once an hour and thus, as you'll imagine, I am always in time for them. I had my book with me, and was reading with an eye on the road, when I saw my bus sailing past.
Sailing is a word that is really only appropriate for boats, because only boats (and ships, I suppose) have sails. It is a word that speaks of regal, gliding motion that disregards you completely.
That was my bus. It glided past silently, regally, and ignored me completely.
I yelped. There is no other word for it; a sound escaped my lips that was more canine than human. I tried to catch up, but a bus is powered by horses. I'm only powered by my legs. Five minutes of running later and the only thing I was closer to was a heart attack. The bus was still ahead, and making ground. I gave up. Suits were not made for running, and neither was I.
In any case, that meant I turned up to teach the lesson thirty minutes late, and as those who are close to me know, I despise tardiness in other people and, consequently, even more so in myself. I was in a pretty epic fit of self-loathing when I arrived, and it wasn't helped by A's niceness. He is as nice a guy as anyone could hope to meet, but when one is in a fit of self-loathing one rather wants to be loathed.
In any case, we cracked on with Mathematics, that joyless and beautiful structure. Reviewing it in my dotage has given me new respect for my teachers of the subject, and a new love of it - helped in no small measure by the excellent book I'm reading, The Ascent of Money, which charts the whole history of that elusive thing. So far I have learnt about inflation, hyperinflation, the East India Trading Company and some background to the Merchant of Venice, so if you are at all interested in Finance, Economics, the world and its history (which, to paraphrase all coppers everywhere, can be summed up as "Follow the money.") then I urge you to buy/borrow/download a copy at once.
Being half an hour late pushed my lesson half an hour later; that extra half hour meant I missed the one bus an hour and would have to wait another hour and a half for the next - buses over the weekend take an hour for lunch. I can't get my head around that at all, but that's what happens, so I walked home. The descent is far easier than the ascent, and the sun shone out of a gloriously blue sky. It's still cold enough to crystallise the breath from one's nostrils but not so cold that being in it is unpleasant, and I enjoy that weather. All the fun of the sun without the hideous heat.
I called my little sister on the way home to wish her happy birthday; she appears to be suffering from amnesia and a hangover of epic proportions, so I wish her a speedy recovery from one, if not the other. Her birthday means that our little clan is now entirely adults, but I hope to spoil her one last time before we all start doing grown-up things like getting jobs and settling down.
More reading this afternoon, as well as laundry, mean I am utterly chilled and relaxed before starting work tomorrow. I confess I will never understand people who lie about on weekends, especially students who are strangers here - a year, a precious year, and you spend hours of it doing what you can do anywhere.
People are crazy. Which seems to be the overriding theme of the book. Honestly, it's a great read, can't recommend it enough.
In other blog news, my friend +Claudia Mangeac is moving to London to pursue a life in fashion. It's a cutthroat world and she'll need all the help she can get, but she's also going to be the next big thing - so go show her some love. She blogs here.
Sailing is a word that is really only appropriate for boats, because only boats (and ships, I suppose) have sails. It is a word that speaks of regal, gliding motion that disregards you completely.
That was my bus. It glided past silently, regally, and ignored me completely.
I yelped. There is no other word for it; a sound escaped my lips that was more canine than human. I tried to catch up, but a bus is powered by horses. I'm only powered by my legs. Five minutes of running later and the only thing I was closer to was a heart attack. The bus was still ahead, and making ground. I gave up. Suits were not made for running, and neither was I.
In any case, that meant I turned up to teach the lesson thirty minutes late, and as those who are close to me know, I despise tardiness in other people and, consequently, even more so in myself. I was in a pretty epic fit of self-loathing when I arrived, and it wasn't helped by A's niceness. He is as nice a guy as anyone could hope to meet, but when one is in a fit of self-loathing one rather wants to be loathed.
In any case, we cracked on with Mathematics, that joyless and beautiful structure. Reviewing it in my dotage has given me new respect for my teachers of the subject, and a new love of it - helped in no small measure by the excellent book I'm reading, The Ascent of Money, which charts the whole history of that elusive thing. So far I have learnt about inflation, hyperinflation, the East India Trading Company and some background to the Merchant of Venice, so if you are at all interested in Finance, Economics, the world and its history (which, to paraphrase all coppers everywhere, can be summed up as "Follow the money.") then I urge you to buy/borrow/download a copy at once.
Being half an hour late pushed my lesson half an hour later; that extra half hour meant I missed the one bus an hour and would have to wait another hour and a half for the next - buses over the weekend take an hour for lunch. I can't get my head around that at all, but that's what happens, so I walked home. The descent is far easier than the ascent, and the sun shone out of a gloriously blue sky. It's still cold enough to crystallise the breath from one's nostrils but not so cold that being in it is unpleasant, and I enjoy that weather. All the fun of the sun without the hideous heat.
I called my little sister on the way home to wish her happy birthday; she appears to be suffering from amnesia and a hangover of epic proportions, so I wish her a speedy recovery from one, if not the other. Her birthday means that our little clan is now entirely adults, but I hope to spoil her one last time before we all start doing grown-up things like getting jobs and settling down.
More reading this afternoon, as well as laundry, mean I am utterly chilled and relaxed before starting work tomorrow. I confess I will never understand people who lie about on weekends, especially students who are strangers here - a year, a precious year, and you spend hours of it doing what you can do anywhere.
People are crazy. Which seems to be the overriding theme of the book. Honestly, it's a great read, can't recommend it enough.
In other blog news, my friend +Claudia Mangeac is moving to London to pursue a life in fashion. It's a cutthroat world and she'll need all the help she can get, but she's also going to be the next big thing - so go show her some love. She blogs here.
Wednesday, 23 January 2013
What was Moses' basket made of?
There is something strangely satisfying about building a plan of a room. You get all the dimensions exactly right, and you measure things and then turn them into digital versions of themselves and put it all together and label it. By doing so you find out things you didn't know before. I've built up my whole office and I'm seriously pleased with it now.
Of course, it's taken about a week now and has been punctuated by exasperated yellings, but I'm learning, and learning is what I'm here to do. I've been speaking a lot more French too, and I'm working on my projection as well, which is sure to thrill Centre Stage. Centre Stage is the drama society at the University of Aberdeen, and I miss it. I may have to convince students here that they want to perform a play in English. Something where foreign accents would be entirely natural. If you have any ideas then let me know.
The audition piece from the other day has been almost universally ignored, but has gained me a charming new acquaintance. Aside from the obviously desired outcome - to whit, the director breaks down in tears and declares that the play must be delayed until this talent is returned - this is a very pleasant turn of events. Acquaintance is a word that has unfortunately fallen out of use but I find it useful because it's so neutral. It's not someone one is friends with, nor an enemy, nor a lover. It holds the potential to be any and - human nature being so complex - all of the above.
This morning the building work continued and I did my best to escape through running errands. I'm surprised anyone sleeps here at all; every errand I ran I was offered a coffee by the recipient and my French is still so poor that I'm yet to work out how to say no.
I guarantee that, like this morning, I shall wake up at 4am and be ready to face the day. I have a tidy room, a freshly made bed, I've re-read The Prince and it's still excellent - but unfortunately that means there'll be nothing left to do at 4am tomorrow morning. The perils of sleeping little. Book recommendations are gladly received, and I'll try to review any you do recommend.
Work is actually heating up now, which is really exciting, with translations coming in and plenty of Excel work. I'm becoming an absolute Excel demon, a phrase which didn't sound cool in my head but will look brilliant on my CV, I'm sure. I'm also slowly gearing up to take some of the work from my colleague, who's retiring soon, so I'm putting together proposals for a committee and consequently learning the dark arts of the same. Apparently placement, the order, the price - all come together in a certain way and can be used to influence the choosers. I'm looking forward to trying them out.
To finish, I want to say thank you for reading and pushing my blog over 5 000 views. You're awesome. A large chunk of that came from reading what I wrote yesterday so I heartily recommend my friend Kat, who writes more eloquently than I and has an infinitely more interesting life. Check her out over at Fuck Yeah, Feminist Agenda.
It's Wednesday, you're through the worst part of the week. Watch Derren Brown mess with this poor shop ownder and wonder why you bother working at all.
Of course, it's taken about a week now and has been punctuated by exasperated yellings, but I'm learning, and learning is what I'm here to do. I've been speaking a lot more French too, and I'm working on my projection as well, which is sure to thrill Centre Stage. Centre Stage is the drama society at the University of Aberdeen, and I miss it. I may have to convince students here that they want to perform a play in English. Something where foreign accents would be entirely natural. If you have any ideas then let me know.
The audition piece from the other day has been almost universally ignored, but has gained me a charming new acquaintance. Aside from the obviously desired outcome - to whit, the director breaks down in tears and declares that the play must be delayed until this talent is returned - this is a very pleasant turn of events. Acquaintance is a word that has unfortunately fallen out of use but I find it useful because it's so neutral. It's not someone one is friends with, nor an enemy, nor a lover. It holds the potential to be any and - human nature being so complex - all of the above.
This morning the building work continued and I did my best to escape through running errands. I'm surprised anyone sleeps here at all; every errand I ran I was offered a coffee by the recipient and my French is still so poor that I'm yet to work out how to say no.
I guarantee that, like this morning, I shall wake up at 4am and be ready to face the day. I have a tidy room, a freshly made bed, I've re-read The Prince and it's still excellent - but unfortunately that means there'll be nothing left to do at 4am tomorrow morning. The perils of sleeping little. Book recommendations are gladly received, and I'll try to review any you do recommend.
Work is actually heating up now, which is really exciting, with translations coming in and plenty of Excel work. I'm becoming an absolute Excel demon, a phrase which didn't sound cool in my head but will look brilliant on my CV, I'm sure. I'm also slowly gearing up to take some of the work from my colleague, who's retiring soon, so I'm putting together proposals for a committee and consequently learning the dark arts of the same. Apparently placement, the order, the price - all come together in a certain way and can be used to influence the choosers. I'm looking forward to trying them out.
To finish, I want to say thank you for reading and pushing my blog over 5 000 views. You're awesome. A large chunk of that came from reading what I wrote yesterday so I heartily recommend my friend Kat, who writes more eloquently than I and has an infinitely more interesting life. Check her out over at Fuck Yeah, Feminist Agenda.
It's Wednesday, you're through the worst part of the week. Watch Derren Brown mess with this poor shop ownder and wonder why you bother working at all.
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