XIV - A Rough Road Leads To The Stars

A short entry, just for the sake of the first update in a month.

I've been busy. Not just busy fulfilling the DWP's requirements in order to avoid a crushing sanction that will see me picking up a few Molotov Cocktails and committing to a guerilla war against Iain Duncan Smith, but also with my TEFL.

Last Saturday, I flew the coop to Newcastle to attend a weekend course. The premise was simple: Attend, learn, come away enlightened.

In Newcastle.

Now, here's the thing about Newcastle: I am aware, being a Smoggy, of the local rivalry between Middlesbrough and Newcastle. I'm aware that Newcastle is actually classified as a city, while Middlesbrough is a town. I'm aware that we both supposedly talk alike, and i'm also aware that Newcastle is popular for stag and hen parties, the exact city which makes Sodom and Gomorrah look like Lazytown or Teletubbyland or whatever.

On Saturday, I headed for the Jury's Inn. From there, we learnt the basics. More specifically, what it's like to LEARN it. This is unique, putting us in the position of students. For me, this was odd, as I am still pretty much a student, not having been accepted for a goddamn job since graduating, but a welcome change: It was plain, and it was simple, explaining what essentially we'd be doing in our first lessons. Basic grammar, connectives, and the usual. As well as presentations, parts of speech, and activities we can use.

To teach, you have to be succinct, and drill it repeatedly into their head. You cannot commit to a broad range of the curriculum, but take it very slow and very simple.

Or you use it to teach Newcastle.

During my first day of lunch, I wandered outside, walked up a street, and saw a screaming woman being bundled into the back of a police van, something I haven't seen in Middlesbrough (They're usually already in the van). Continuing on, I then saw a drunk man stumbling up the street, bumping into a dumpster and apologising to it. This being Saturday afternoon.

Saturday night, the town was awash with drunks and floozies, and the Irish. There were so many Irish accents I did a double-take: Did I leave the Jury's Inn and suddenly land in Belfast? Either way, after booking a taxi on my third try (The first company was busy, and the second company just hung up on me. He was unintelligible with his thick Geordie accent. I should have used the TEFL advice of clear, short, succinct speech drilled repeatedly on him, since he wasn't speaking recognisable English.) I headed to the Clifton Mount Hotel, where the lobby was filled with a group of drunken chavs. After waiting ten minutes, due to the owner being.....around somewhere, I managed to finally sleep.

Then woke up at 4am thanks to more drunken Irish accents.

On Sunday afternoon for Lunch, I wandered into town again, saw drunken people stumbling around again, groups of people hanging around pubs, and finally abdicated and headed back to the Jury's Inn.

Now, you may wonder why i'm telling you this, but the fact is that the TEFL course, as well as being entertaining and enlightening, had a secondary effect on me.

It gave me hope.

I haven't had hope in a good while. In Middlesbrough, hope is dead and buried. We buried it when Thatcher buried our industry and turned Britain into the City State of London (With Miscellaneous Satellite Towns). But being around Newcastle made me realise something: Middlesbrough isn't that bad after all.

Not once have I really seen drunken people stumbling around in the middle of the day. Not once have I been out at night and wondered why people are just mulling around aimlessly and aggressively. Not once have I looked at a person in Middlesbrough and genuinely wondered if I would be getting into a fight to the death with them. 

Newcastle seems to be drowning under avarice and liquor. It makes Middlesbrough look tame. Even in the pub gardens and the clubs, most punters generally have the sense to fall unconscious to the floor or get chucked out and take their barring like a man. I still remember watching a Youtube video of Newcastle where a bouncer literally had to powerbomb (As in the wrestling move) a punter onto concrete and knocking him clean out. In Middlesbrough, that rarely happens. Most just get dragged outside and arrested or beaten, not turning into a full on wrestling match.

In the middle of days, Middlesbrough is....comforting. Compared to Newcastle, it's a lot more welcoming. In Newcastle, it's a maze of scaffolding, iron fences and chavs, with winding side streets. Middlesbrough is a simple layout: Sure, half the shops are shut, but at least half the town isn't hidden by scaffolding. I felt that sneezing in Newcastle might suddenly send us all down into a sinkhole, it looked that downtrodden.

I guess that's a price you pay when all you're known for is being the best place to piss your money against a wall at the end of a night.

Being back in Middlesbrough felt good. It felt warm and welcoming. And it's not really just a case of being home: Newcastle is odd. I've ventured to places like Whitby and York on my own before, and not once did they make feel as on edge as Newcastle. 

That and I could actually talk to people without having to resort to TEFL's clear, succinct drilling just to bloody get my point across.

TEFL may have saved me. Not only did it show me that where I live isn't all that bad, but it also gave me hope that this is what I want to do. I dived in head-on to that course, and though the second day was slightly off, due to sleeping about four hours before the Irish woke me up, I did all I could to get involved and do my best. The succinct drilling, the simple methods of teaching, the friendly openness, and the genuine energy you are given and are expected to give really boosted me, as well as listening to the stories of the people who surrounded me.

Even if one of them was barely older than me and had already travelled Europe with a budget of £2000.

But that's why I also have hope: The idea that one day I, a humble Smoggy, can one day travel the world without having a silver spoon in his mouth. The idea that I can learn enough to finally flee Britain and the DWP, and begin carving my own legend into time, away from Britain, and to live the life I know I can.

Such a basic dream. But one I now feel I can genuinely achieve.

Once this online portion of the course is passed, I will be ready and set to head abroad and finally start living. And maybe one day, I will be updating this blog in China, and have only three words to say: "I am happy."

Ad astra per aspera, dear readers. And that is what makes us human.