Something I don't say enough is that my job is incredible. At least once a week - at least! - I learn more about something about which I had had only a passing knowledge.
Take today, for example. The morning was spent in the office, entering data into spreadsheets, struggling with a translation that had gone into French via Spanish. The phrasing was complex but I feel like the translation does it justice - we shall see when it comes back.
In the afternoon I had the chance to go over the newsletter produced by the BDE, the French version of our Students Associations/Unions. It was incredibly well written, considering the author's first language is not English at all, and although I discussed the issues with it in French - I ought to have done it in English, being the English teacher - he often spotted the mistake before I explained it. The BDE organises a lot of really interesting extra-curricular activities, and I'm continually surprised by how many students go along to them - I've seen how much work they have to do, and I don't know how they juggle it. For this particular student to go so far A and B the C of D and produce a ten page synthèse of the events is astonishing. I suspect he sleeps less than me, and yet he is a continual ray of sunshine. He will go far; I guarantee it.
After lunch I had a coaching session with one of the professors, and he explained his course to me - it deals with using waves to measure the sub-surface. In essence, one can send a vibration through the Earth, and that wave will travel at different speeds through different media. By recording how long it takes to get back to the surface, engineers can make an educated deduction about the substances below their feet - whether they are chalk, granite, oil or dwarven halls. These waves are also created naturally, by earthquakes, but since such events are far too destructive to induce on a regular basis, this method is used instead.
Several more students have apparently just woken up from deep sleep and realised that the deadline for the test was a week ago, and the remainder of my afternoon was taken up with adding them to my long, long list. With twenty minutes to go, the director of one of the programmes came in and asked for help drafting a delicate email. A former student had googled himself and found that he had been mentioned in a French paper by his former professor. Assuming that this was because the professor had either cited or, in fact, appropriated his ideas, the alumnus emailed all in a bother, talking about copyright law and the unprofessional attitude of the school.
What had actually happened, had this rude and petulant person bothered to read the paper, was that the professor had mentioned the alumnus along with the rest of his class, thanking them for taking the time to discuss certain ideas in the paper.
That's it. It's as though Adele's mother, upon hearing her name in the singer's thank-you speech, had rushed on-stage and tried to wrest the Oscar away from her daughter, claiming that the work was hers. It is that level of ridiculous.
It irritated me no end to simply read this person's whining; I dread to think how the author of the paper reacted to being accused of intellectual property theft by someone who couldn't spell "google." In any case, the director and I crafted a very strongly worded response which she said she would sleep on. It was very strong; the polite words only sharpened the message, which was - in effect - pipe down and be thankful your name was even mentioned, you ungrateful little rat. It might be more pertinent to politely explain the matter, despite the desire to give said rat the ticking-off he deserves.
I've been in for an hour now and I've got a blog ready and I finished my French homework a day early; the topic was Dîner Catastrophe! and if you're particularly keen to read my stab at French please follow the link. My next topic, for Thursday, is to be a discussion between myself and an acquaintance who wants the recipe for the delicious meal they just ate. It's a work in progress, but if I say that the meal was tantalising (from the Greek king Tantalus) then perhaps that gives you a clue as to the slightly dark path I plan to lay.
I must leave you now to give a lesson but, in the meantime, try to tell me who you're more likely to find in a golf bag: Julius Caesar, Helen of Troy, or Sir Lancelot.
Showing posts with label riddle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label riddle. Show all posts
Monday, 25 February 2013
Friday, 11 January 2013
I'm on the road again
I have travelled back to the land of my fathers, where the place known as Hill Hill Hill can be found. Hill in Welsh is pen, and invaders who settled there called it Pen Hill, assuming pen to be the name of the hill. Before long, more invaders had arrived, and over time the hill in question had become Pendle. The same thing happened again, and Pendle Hill, or Hillhill Hill, can still be found in Lancashire.
I am back in these United Kingdoms until Monday and I'm really excited about the weekend ahead. Tonight my parents are making a lasagne, a treat without compare when you consider I have no access to oven facilities in my chic little studio apartment.
Before I left I finished all my work and actively sought out my supervisor to make sure she knew I was leaving - the last thing I need this weekend is a call about an urgent translation, especially as my phone is patchy at best here - and made some minor adjustments to the Student's Association's application for sponsorship to some local businesses.
We're off to a wedding tomorrow, and I've been requested to bring my camera - if I take any particularly good shots I'd love to share them here, but it means I shall have to avoid drinking myself under the table. Weddings strike me as an odd sort of affair, people being given away like presents and members of each party eying each other up in the hope of further strengthening ties between the two families - something that also apparently happens under the tables, so if I drink myself into a stupor at least I'll still have subjects.
I went into the local supermarket before I went home, as I've promised to bring my boss back some Marmite. At first she thought I said marmalade and turned her nose up; "Je n'aime pas des confitures," she said: I don't like jams. "Ah non", I said, "it's savoury, a British delicacy." So she agreed to try this spread, little suspecting that it is one of the foulest things we've ever invented. In any case, I went, I got in line, and after some light flirty banter with the cashier I made it home.
I like flirty banter, and I humbly suggest that more people do it in their day-to-day life.
I'm also going up to see an old school pal in Loughborough on Sunday, where I suspect I shall look entirely out of place amongst the über-fit and healthy students of the university. And then a swift journey back on Monday to London and then on to home and my oven-less studio apartment.
The scent of lasagne is calling me to the table, but before I leave, I ask:
Which character from the world of literature always smells like old, stinking tobacco?
I am back in these United Kingdoms until Monday and I'm really excited about the weekend ahead. Tonight my parents are making a lasagne, a treat without compare when you consider I have no access to oven facilities in my chic little studio apartment.
Before I left I finished all my work and actively sought out my supervisor to make sure she knew I was leaving - the last thing I need this weekend is a call about an urgent translation, especially as my phone is patchy at best here - and made some minor adjustments to the Student's Association's application for sponsorship to some local businesses.
We're off to a wedding tomorrow, and I've been requested to bring my camera - if I take any particularly good shots I'd love to share them here, but it means I shall have to avoid drinking myself under the table. Weddings strike me as an odd sort of affair, people being given away like presents and members of each party eying each other up in the hope of further strengthening ties between the two families - something that also apparently happens under the tables, so if I drink myself into a stupor at least I'll still have subjects.
I went into the local supermarket before I went home, as I've promised to bring my boss back some Marmite. At first she thought I said marmalade and turned her nose up; "Je n'aime pas des confitures," she said: I don't like jams. "Ah non", I said, "it's savoury, a British delicacy." So she agreed to try this spread, little suspecting that it is one of the foulest things we've ever invented. In any case, I went, I got in line, and after some light flirty banter with the cashier I made it home.
I like flirty banter, and I humbly suggest that more people do it in their day-to-day life.
I'm also going up to see an old school pal in Loughborough on Sunday, where I suspect I shall look entirely out of place amongst the über-fit and healthy students of the university. And then a swift journey back on Monday to London and then on to home and my oven-less studio apartment.
The scent of lasagne is calling me to the table, but before I leave, I ask:
Which character from the world of literature always smells like old, stinking tobacco?
Thursday, 10 January 2013
Last tango in Paris
I really like making friends. I like the way we all bounce around life and our friends introduce us to friends we would never have otherwise met.
Such is the case with Paula.
Paula is from the United States and has been mentioned here before, but in brief - she is a person with an enormous personality and a continually bubbly outlook on life. Last night was her last night in Paris, and so she and I went out for dinner.
I confess that things didn't go exactly to plan - which is why I write this at 11:30 ante-meridiem, rather than post-cibum. It began with Paula turning up, as is her wont, a little late, although since this time it was a mere 40 minutes I think I should be quite thankful. We met at the Gare de l'Est, and strolled in the light drizzle that swirled about us to the restaurant, with a brief detour through a homeless kitchen.
The restaurant we went to is called Les Enfants Perdus. A google will give you their site, but unfortunately the link for the menu is currently broken. You can find it at 9 Rue de Récollets in the 10th arondissement, only about five minutes from the station.
When we arrived, the first thing we noticed was the size - it is not large. The bar is extremely small and was staffed by a tall and impressively be-whiskered man while two waiters rushed about in the French style. I believe that at French restaurant schools waiters are taught that every inch of space must be utilised, and consequently the three small rooms that made up the restaurant were thronged with people. Squeezing myself and Paula in was a struggle, but we made it. We had reserved a table, and just as well - two couples were turned away as we arrived.
We ordered very, very slowly. The service was excellent, if perhaps a little over-attentive - but only a little. I gave her a small gift, as a souvenir of Paris - I'm quite she has no others - and we finally ordered. Paula decided to be brave and ordered foie gras while I picked salmon crumbed with sesame seeds. It was served with a sort of vegetable that was utterly delicious while Paula's came with duck pâté and caramelised red onions and solid slides of toast. My salmon was absolutely delicious, the slight saltiness of the fish combining with the sesame and vegetable to make a fantastic mouthful. From the look on Paula's face, her bravery had paid off, although I had to lend a hand with the duck, of which there was a much larger portion.
We had also ordered a bottle of wine, and before the starters arrived the proprétaire, the owner, came over and - having apparently been told we were speaking English - launched into an explanation of the wine we had chosen. Thomas did not sound like your average French restaurant owner, and that's because he isn't - he's an ex-pat from Chicago. Thomas is an absolutely fantastic guy, and he explained that the wine we'd picked was still very natural. Paula and I looked at each other and placed our fate in his hands; the wines are all very reasonably priced and so we asked him to surprise us. He did not let us down, and came back with an absolutely exquisite Marsannay from 2009. If you have one, keep hold of it, because I imagine in three years it'll be even better. As it was it went incredibly well with both the starter and the main.
The main came after a wait of around thirty minutes, which suited us perfectly - neither Paula or I like to rush our food, and our meal took on a distinctly Parisian bent: before long we had covered religion, politics, touched on science, travel and were finishing our plates and moving towards the nature of free will when I noticed that the last train home left in five minutes, a third of a bottle of excellent wine still remained and the bill had yet to be paid.
What could have quickly degenerated into disaster was saved by the friend Paula was staying with, a Greek called Efi who speaks four languages and is studying law. And is astonishingly pretty, which makes no difference one way or another but merely proves that some people have all the luck. She kindly let me spend the night, although we still managed to stay up until three just talking.
We rose again at half past six, dressed quickly, Efi and Paula saying goodbye and clearly unwilling to let go - a last hug was followed by another and another. It will be interesting to see if Efi and I become friends, and would deliver us in a beautifully cyclical manner to the beginning of this piece.
The answer to yesterday's riddle was five minutes past three; the reason clockwise is the direction it is is because it is the same motion traced by a sundial in the northern hemisphere. Had the clock been invented in Australia and the same mechanism been used, clockwise would be what we think of as anti-clockwise. I do hope that made sense, I prefer to explain with the aid of gestures, but I have faith in your imaginations.
Today's riddle is: What place in England is called Hill Hill Hill?
Such is the case with Paula.
Paula is from the United States and has been mentioned here before, but in brief - she is a person with an enormous personality and a continually bubbly outlook on life. Last night was her last night in Paris, and so she and I went out for dinner.
I confess that things didn't go exactly to plan - which is why I write this at 11:30 ante-meridiem, rather than post-cibum. It began with Paula turning up, as is her wont, a little late, although since this time it was a mere 40 minutes I think I should be quite thankful. We met at the Gare de l'Est, and strolled in the light drizzle that swirled about us to the restaurant, with a brief detour through a homeless kitchen.
The restaurant we went to is called Les Enfants Perdus. A google will give you their site, but unfortunately the link for the menu is currently broken. You can find it at 9 Rue de Récollets in the 10th arondissement, only about five minutes from the station.
When we arrived, the first thing we noticed was the size - it is not large. The bar is extremely small and was staffed by a tall and impressively be-whiskered man while two waiters rushed about in the French style. I believe that at French restaurant schools waiters are taught that every inch of space must be utilised, and consequently the three small rooms that made up the restaurant were thronged with people. Squeezing myself and Paula in was a struggle, but we made it. We had reserved a table, and just as well - two couples were turned away as we arrived.
We ordered very, very slowly. The service was excellent, if perhaps a little over-attentive - but only a little. I gave her a small gift, as a souvenir of Paris - I'm quite she has no others - and we finally ordered. Paula decided to be brave and ordered foie gras while I picked salmon crumbed with sesame seeds. It was served with a sort of vegetable that was utterly delicious while Paula's came with duck pâté and caramelised red onions and solid slides of toast. My salmon was absolutely delicious, the slight saltiness of the fish combining with the sesame and vegetable to make a fantastic mouthful. From the look on Paula's face, her bravery had paid off, although I had to lend a hand with the duck, of which there was a much larger portion.
We had also ordered a bottle of wine, and before the starters arrived the proprétaire, the owner, came over and - having apparently been told we were speaking English - launched into an explanation of the wine we had chosen. Thomas did not sound like your average French restaurant owner, and that's because he isn't - he's an ex-pat from Chicago. Thomas is an absolutely fantastic guy, and he explained that the wine we'd picked was still very natural. Paula and I looked at each other and placed our fate in his hands; the wines are all very reasonably priced and so we asked him to surprise us. He did not let us down, and came back with an absolutely exquisite Marsannay from 2009. If you have one, keep hold of it, because I imagine in three years it'll be even better. As it was it went incredibly well with both the starter and the main.
The main came after a wait of around thirty minutes, which suited us perfectly - neither Paula or I like to rush our food, and our meal took on a distinctly Parisian bent: before long we had covered religion, politics, touched on science, travel and were finishing our plates and moving towards the nature of free will when I noticed that the last train home left in five minutes, a third of a bottle of excellent wine still remained and the bill had yet to be paid.
What could have quickly degenerated into disaster was saved by the friend Paula was staying with, a Greek called Efi who speaks four languages and is studying law. And is astonishingly pretty, which makes no difference one way or another but merely proves that some people have all the luck. She kindly let me spend the night, although we still managed to stay up until three just talking.
We rose again at half past six, dressed quickly, Efi and Paula saying goodbye and clearly unwilling to let go - a last hug was followed by another and another. It will be interesting to see if Efi and I become friends, and would deliver us in a beautifully cyclical manner to the beginning of this piece.
The answer to yesterday's riddle was five minutes past three; the reason clockwise is the direction it is is because it is the same motion traced by a sundial in the northern hemisphere. Had the clock been invented in Australia and the same mechanism been used, clockwise would be what we think of as anti-clockwise. I do hope that made sense, I prefer to explain with the aid of gestures, but I have faith in your imaginations.
Today's riddle is: What place in England is called Hill Hill Hill?
Tuesday, 8 January 2013
Milestones
Milestones were once simply that: stones that marked the passing of miles. Now they are metaphorical, and they mark important moments in our lives.
This is not so grand as that, but I thought I'd mention it anyway because it's a small source of pride for me, and a little vice here and there is good for you. So I am really quite absurdly proud to say that last night my blog passed 2,000 views, which is a very small number compared to the number of people who watched Psy's record-breaking video (total as of 7pm, 8/1/13: 1,146,732,756).
On the other hand, this is a small blog about my life and despite the fact that there is a whole Internet of brilliant content out there - I know, I've seen less than 1% and it's amazing - you take the time to read about me every day. So thank you very much.
If you only come for the riddles then fair enough, they're pretty good riddles. Yesterday's asked
Why has nobody ever seen Donner?
And the answer is because Donner is German for thunder, and one cannot see sounds.
Today's question: if clocks had been invented in Australia, what time would this be?
So that project is nearly over, and it'll be something fun to add to my CV. You know, for a given value of "fun" approximately equal to 0.
I've signed up for French lessons in preparation for the TFI, the Test de Français International which will also look groovy on my CV. There will be groovy all over my CV. I may put an LP as a background to underscore how groovy it is.
I'm going to see if the QI elves can answer this question, because I'm rather chuffed with it. If you can, comment below. Answer tomorrow.
This is not so grand as that, but I thought I'd mention it anyway because it's a small source of pride for me, and a little vice here and there is good for you. So I am really quite absurdly proud to say that last night my blog passed 2,000 views, which is a very small number compared to the number of people who watched Psy's record-breaking video (total as of 7pm, 8/1/13: 1,146,732,756).
On the other hand, this is a small blog about my life and despite the fact that there is a whole Internet of brilliant content out there - I know, I've seen less than 1% and it's amazing - you take the time to read about me every day. So thank you very much.
If you only come for the riddles then fair enough, they're pretty good riddles. Yesterday's asked
Why has nobody ever seen Donner?
And the answer is because Donner is German for thunder, and one cannot see sounds.
Today's question: if clocks had been invented in Australia, what time would this be?
My day today has been progressive. I've finally got my translation back with feedback, although the feedback is written in a hand that makes me long for the student evaluation forms again. He has promised a meeting in which I can berate him about his handwriting and we can finally close the book on this particular project. He's a really nice guy who laughs a lot and takes a lot of my teasing with great humour, but he gives as good as he gets.
So that project is nearly over, and it'll be something fun to add to my CV. You know, for a given value of "fun" approximately equal to 0.
I've signed up for French lessons in preparation for the TFI, the Test de Français International which will also look groovy on my CV. There will be groovy all over my CV. I may put an LP as a background to underscore how groovy it is.
I'm going to see if the QI elves can answer this question, because I'm rather chuffed with it. If you can, comment below. Answer tomorrow.
Monday, 7 January 2013
Internal memos and breakfast meetings
I got an internal memo today in the internal post. Some of my readers, including the four Russians (Zdravstvujtye, by the way, and welcome) probably get internal mail all the time. Their desks are veritable mountains of internal memos and notes. But my desk isn't. I've never had an internal memo because I've never worked anywhere big enough for there to be a need for internal post. If something needed to be widely circulated, all twenty of us would be told on-shift. Easy.
But I got an internal memo, and the subject thereof was the many holidays that are coming up. My favourite has to be Ascension, the day commemorating Jeshua-Bar-Joseph's return to Heaven. If you believe that to be true, then you may well spend the day in church, but since the French believe in committing to holidays, I am looking at a five-day weekend in May. I'm seriously excited by this prospect and so I would be indebted to you if you could recommend places in Europe to spend my days. I may even try to find somewhere with a church, because although I am not a believer, the love and care that has been put into - and continues to be lavished upon - cathedrals and their like is worth seeing.
It occurred to me suddenly that I had left a riddle without an answer over the weekend, and I can only apologise. The riddle was Black pool, and it turns out that Blackpool, England is etymologically twinned with the town of Dubhlinn or in English: Dublin, in the Republic of Ireland.
Today's question (these seem to be turning into QI questions) is as follows: Santa has 9 reindeer. But why has nobody ever seen Donner?
In brief, today I finished stamping envelopes and typing up handwritten evaluation notes. I am always surprised when anyone hopes to get useful data from named evaluations, especially when the writers are less powerful than those who will receive them. There is always a worry that the writer will be pulled over hot coals or invited for an interview without coffee, which might be worse.
My English-teaching colleague is back today, and my French-teaching colleague on Wednesday, so with any luck I might be teaching and learning again before long. A brilliant reason to teach came from my Monday student today who, incredibly sweetly, has bought me a French film as a Christmas present. It's called Bienvenue Chez les Ch'tis and is, by all accounts, the funniest French film in the history of the world. I absolutely cannot wait to watch it, but I have to get an early night, as I have a morning meeting tomorrow.
Again, I know there will be rolling of eyes as veterans of the morning meeting read this but again, I say, this is new to me. I have worked in bars for most of my career; the earliest meeting we ever had was 3pm. The prospect of coffee and croissants while discussing a project in French with a co-worker is really very exciting, and no amount of eyeball-rolling will make me think otherwise.
So: a morning meeting, an early start (which means an early finish), an opportunity to put on a recipe for pork and sweet potato stew that I got from my Aunt and a fantastic French film to watch as it cooks.
Tomorrow looks absolutely marvelous from here.
But I got an internal memo, and the subject thereof was the many holidays that are coming up. My favourite has to be Ascension, the day commemorating Jeshua-Bar-Joseph's return to Heaven. If you believe that to be true, then you may well spend the day in church, but since the French believe in committing to holidays, I am looking at a five-day weekend in May. I'm seriously excited by this prospect and so I would be indebted to you if you could recommend places in Europe to spend my days. I may even try to find somewhere with a church, because although I am not a believer, the love and care that has been put into - and continues to be lavished upon - cathedrals and their like is worth seeing.
It occurred to me suddenly that I had left a riddle without an answer over the weekend, and I can only apologise. The riddle was Black pool, and it turns out that Blackpool, England is etymologically twinned with the town of Dubhlinn or in English: Dublin, in the Republic of Ireland.
Today's question (these seem to be turning into QI questions) is as follows: Santa has 9 reindeer. But why has nobody ever seen Donner?
In brief, today I finished stamping envelopes and typing up handwritten evaluation notes. I am always surprised when anyone hopes to get useful data from named evaluations, especially when the writers are less powerful than those who will receive them. There is always a worry that the writer will be pulled over hot coals or invited for an interview without coffee, which might be worse.
My English-teaching colleague is back today, and my French-teaching colleague on Wednesday, so with any luck I might be teaching and learning again before long. A brilliant reason to teach came from my Monday student today who, incredibly sweetly, has bought me a French film as a Christmas present. It's called Bienvenue Chez les Ch'tis and is, by all accounts, the funniest French film in the history of the world. I absolutely cannot wait to watch it, but I have to get an early night, as I have a morning meeting tomorrow.
Again, I know there will be rolling of eyes as veterans of the morning meeting read this but again, I say, this is new to me. I have worked in bars for most of my career; the earliest meeting we ever had was 3pm. The prospect of coffee and croissants while discussing a project in French with a co-worker is really very exciting, and no amount of eyeball-rolling will make me think otherwise.
So: a morning meeting, an early start (which means an early finish), an opportunity to put on a recipe for pork and sweet potato stew that I got from my Aunt and a fantastic French film to watch as it cooks.
Tomorrow looks absolutely marvelous from here.
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