Was that a Donkey on the Tracks?!

When you are poor and desperate for a holiday, you take any travel option to save a few quid. A train ride across Bulgaria from west to east? Sure, I thought, that'll be fun!

Let me explain that we began this train ride a little shaken following a slightly white-knuckle taxi ride from the airport to the station. Apparently the rules of the road do not apply in Bulgaria. Not even basic ones like, 'Don't drive directly at another vehicle,' or, 'avoid running over pedestrians.' It was tense.

The train station in Sofia looked like a run down version of a disused train station. The sort of place Kevin Bacon might have gambolled around to perform an angry dance during his younger days. The platform was crumbling, the signs barely lit and the trains, heavily graffitied, looked like something dragged up from my grandfather's dusty old toy box.

As a shorty, sweaty man hurried us to our seats, the whistle blew and I clocked the temperature at 29° at about 1pm. Tired from the plane journey, and breathing in the stiflingly muggy air, we fidgeted into the compartment and tried to get comfy. What happened in the following 8 hours, yes, 8 hours, was both entertaining and extremely stressful. The temperature gradually climbed into the mid-30s. The train did not pick up speed. The supplies of water and crisps dwindled rapidly. We were all tired, all hot, all hungry and none of us expected to make it through the trip,(Dramatic, but that's what happens when your brain overheats and rationale turns to mushy peas).

However, when I looked out of the train's windows, Bulgaria surprised me again and again. Buildings were scattered between wide open stretches of dry grassland, and they all stand in varying degrees of disarray. It looked as though, as fast as someone (communists, presumably) built an apartment, factory, farm shed or outdoor toilet, someone else wouldn't be far behind with a buldozer to knock it down again. Even the buildings that were still in use - train and police stations, houses and shops - by and large seemed to feature crumbling roofs or a distinct lack of brick work! All along the journey, however, we saw signs of fruitful agriculture, hundreds upon thousands of beautiful smiling rows of sunflowers and Bulgarians going about their daily lives amidst this chaos. People, and their livestock, seemd to stroll freely across the tracks, like jay-walking Londoners moving in slow-motion, cutting right infront of the train. We saw mountains, lakes, rivers, suburbs, farms, villages, shopping malls, the sea and holiday resort complexes.

About 2 thirds of the way into the trip, at a comically named city called Plovdiv, a young man joined our compartment. He was obviously Bulgarian (I worked this out because I heard him speaking the language to the elderly gentleman who waved him off at the platform) but seemd very engaged in our semi-hysterical conversation as he sat down. It soon transpired that his English was better than most of ours - he was a music student, specialising in the niche musical stylings of the theremin, studying at a university in New Jersey. He shared his grandma's cake with us (and no, it wasn't until we got off the train that I even considered how eating cake offered by a stranger in a foreign country might have been quite hazardous) and told us about where to visit, what to eat and how to survive the heat. Nice guy.

The train sluggishly hissed into Bourgas 8 hours later, almost as hot and tired as we were. We parted company with our musical friend and dragged ourselves to the apartment. We all had to agree it had been quite an adventure.

The CB3 Experience

When I agreed to be on the cooks team for a 170 strong Christian camp for 14-18 year olds in North Wales , I have to say that I expected 7 days hard labour, no sleep, little contact with the non-culinary world, and a headache by the end of it. I could not have been more wrong.

A normal day started with a scalding hot shower at 6.45am (a full 15mins later than I would get up on a school day!). After that, a gentle 5 minute stroll to the kitchens. Hat, apron and clean shoes on, we would pray for energy, wash our hands and set to work. I say work here in the loosest sense of the word - I would chop carrots, fry hundreds of bacon rashers, turn chipolatas in a pan, grate vast quantities of cheese or simply 'make the drinks.' And it continued - there I was thinking we'd have to eat on the fly, bowl teetering in one hand, stirring a cheese sauce in the other, but no. We sat and ate. We talked. After breakfast the 'helper' team (which I think should actually be called the Hero team) would clean up and we would all then go to a seminar. We had time to attend seminars!

After a few more jobs, we would finish late morning and nip out for a trip somewhere - usually involving tea and scones. Back in the kitchen we'd prepare and serve dinner, the helper team once again making sure we had plenty of time to rest and digest our own meals. We even got time to attend the evening talks and join in the wonderful singing and learning. By the end of the week, we recieved a standing ovation and rapturous applause - it went on slightly too long for my liking, but I'm working on it.

What surprised me most, was the way that the camp organisers had thought so carefully about making sure the helpers and cooks teams, who were not really involved in the main teaching and bible studies with the campers, had sufficient spiritual input. We bonded well as a group - never more so than in our late night jaunt to the Great Orme for toasted marshmallows and silly dances around the bbq!

I have met a wonderful group of genuine, funny, caring, interested, normal people (and some crazy crazy mentalists!) and my sides still ache with laughter. I have learned that my identity is secure, positive, purposeful and eternal in Christ. I have been reminded that suffering for Jesus is normal, fighting for purity is hard and that Christian community is absolutely vitally important. I feel blessed, privileged and blown away by this week. Praise God.

And I will never fry 150 rashers of bacon ever again!

All Change Again...

It's the last Tuesday of this school. The last Tuesday I will teach in Year2 in DeHavilland. The last Tuesday I will have to walk into my classroom and desperately try to remember what it was like teaching in Key Stage 2.

All of these things feel good.

In a few short weeks (not too short, I hope, as I have to fit in summer camp, Bulgaria and a healthy amount of loafing) I will be moving on up to Year 4. Aaah, back in my comfort zone. Sure, I have to move classroom again. Sure, I have to plan a whole new set of units and lessons. Sure, I have no display stuff ready or any idea about the children in my class.

None of these things worry me.

This year has been, well, horrid. It started well and got progressively more stressful, painful, confusing, tiring and pointless. Okay, not pointless. I have learned a lot about my ability to cope under pressure. I don't really have one. I have found out just how emotional I can be. I have discovered that I respond with neither the fight or flight reaction. I just throw in the towel and lose interest. I stay up until 3am watching films. Or worse, watching interviews with celebrities at press junkets on YouTube.

So, with 3 'sort of' days left of term I fully intend to allow my class to enjoy themselves. We will paint, play, sing, draw pictures, watch films. I will give them an end of term present. I will expect nothing in return. And when the school day ends at 2pm on Friday afternoon, I will breathe a tremendous sigh of relief, sign off my computer and drive home. Smiling. For the first time in a long time.

Doctor Doctor!

Today I have Hollywooditus.

This is an ailment characterised by feelings of a destiny far beyond that which you are currently on course for.

Symptoms may include excessive daydreaming, making futile attempts to write something meaningful, displeasure with life's current state, complete immersion in popular culture and occasional escapist tendencies.

It is not yet understood why people can contract this illness so suddenly, nor how it can seemingly disappear and lie redundant for months at a time. There is, however, strong evidence of a cure for Hollywooditus which requires very little action on the part of the patient, and no medicine need be prescribed.

'This is God's Word on the subject: "I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for."'

The day I saw the light again.

It's not a surprise to any of you who know me that I have been becoming mildy disillusioned by the teaching gig lately. Frankly, moments when teaching is a wonderful and exciting privilege are few and far between. Mostly it is assessments, concern forms, planning, marking, discipline and staff meetings. I really didn't want to become one of those new teachers who left after a few years. I was headed that way.

Until today.

For the first time in two years, I remembered why I decided to become a primary school teacher today. The curriculum is being changed (for the first time since the 80s!) in the next couple of years and I am stoked! We are going to be allowed more flexibility; chances to integrate ICT, languages, debate, economics, puzzles, investigations and presentations. It's everything that primary education should be! I just hope that the (respectfully) older members of staff are able to embrace it. Anyway, I'm bursting with ideas.

Excellent!