English Teacher and Accent Reduction Specialist
Hello everyone and welcome again to another Teacher Joseph podcast.
For the last few days I’ve been on holiday in the North of England and the sea is battering against the barrier behind me. I’m in a hotel room and I have a sea view: a view of the sea, but it’s very, very rough and I can see it hitting against the barrier, wanting to jump onto the road. Well, you may hear it behind me or at least you might hear the wind.
Continue reading “1075 The Sea at Blackpool Transcript”Hi, everyone.
Welcome again to another teacher Joseph podcast.
Well, I’ve just entered the supermarket and there the first thing that greets me is the news stand…. very depressing news, isn’t it? And no one seems happy that Britain is making deals with Europe.
This paper says “Now prepare for years of pain”. A bit harsh, I think, for being able to get through passport control gates without hassles. Ohh dear “Burglars steal goods”. That’s very depressing.
Let me move on. Well, there’s a few things.I need to buy. One of them is milk. That’s the one I actually remember and it’s right at the very top of the supermarket. So I need to trek all the way up but that’s OK, because I’m going to pass some delicious things on the way.
Oh tomatoes. Do you know I made some lovely tomato soup the other day. It really was delicious. It was a Persian recipe I found online. Noodles. Well, I’m not supposed to have these instant snacks, but well, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Let’s see. What flavours do they have here? Or delicious…. chicken flavour? Well, yeah, yeah, it could be tempting. What else? Ohh yeah. Chicken. Well, though I’m vegetarian, this is a chicken flavour. I don’t know if it’s actually vegetarian, but but I’ll get them anyway. They won’t kill me.
What else do we have here? Oh delicious. What’s this? Beef flavour. Curry flavour…. these things are amazing. I mean you just add hot water and then you have something to eat, isn’t that just wonderful. Apologies if you’re Italian or Spanish…. right. Let me see what else here. As I continue to walk up. So basically I have mayonnaise on one side and the whole row….. a whole stack of mayonnaise. I didn’t know there were so many different types and on the other side, canned fish.
Our supermarkets, as you know, don’t sell fresh meat. Well, they do sell some fresh meat, but it’s cut already. You don’t get the choice, and fish is…usually frozen… the fish so…. Oh, what’s this? Ohh, olive oil. Beautiful. I do need to buy olive oil, but the price of it these days is extortionate. I mean, they want £5 for 750 millilitres. Cor….! You could tell it’s imported if they’re using the metric system. I have no idea what 750 millilitres is, but that’s what it says on the bottle £5. Oh No. Here’s another one at £4.99 Extra Virgin Classic. How many millilitre….. Prima Donna? What’s this? Umm. Yes, it’s 500 millilitres. I’m really rubbish with the metric system. I really should try to work out what that actually is.
Oh eggs. Yeah, well, I do need eggs, but not this weekend because I have enough. I think…. just to………. right…there we are.
My goodness me. Lots of really overweight people in here today again… this really is like fat person’s convention honestly, right….. So I’m at the top now. I’m heading for the milk. I can see it in the cabinet. Delicious bon gelati ice cream. Oh, well, that’s that’s definitely a keeper. Maybe I could have that for later. Well, I promised myself I wouldn’t. I mean, I am supposed to not be doing these things, you know?
Right there we are. Beautiful. Beautiful. So the milk is taking me nicely into the frozen food aisle. Where there’s every kind of pizza you can possibly imagine, except my favourite, which is the one with the prawns… I have to handmake that one.
Delicious. What’s this four beef quarter pounders. Well, I don’t really like beef. … delicious. Ben and Jerrys ice cream…oh salted caramel. Oh, that sounds lovely, doesn’t it? What’s this? Madagascan vanilla. Oh. Ohh, cheesecake delicious strawberry gateau. Strawberry Swirl cheesecake….. oh that’s because it has that swirl design on the top, isn’t it? Anyway, right. I’ve got the milk. Let me quickly get out…..oh chicken tikka masala. That seems really strange sitting that next to cheesecake anyway, you know, we don’t really respect food here, so I don’t suppose we care.
Ohh yeah, Coca-Cola, of course without sugar. That’s what I want to get. Just a little….. little box because I can’t carry so much because I have a bit of a sore back today and yeah, and I was warned, I have to get the cans. Some people prefer the cans. Tomato puree. Why would that be sitting next to the Coca-Cola? It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? How they organise things here when you live in a culture that doesn’t think about food that you can find anything.
Right. Yeah. The other thing I need is kitchen roll. You know, that’s those paper cloths. They come in a big roll for the kitchen. I’ve been ordered to get those as well, so I’m just there. Uh. OK. Well, it’s in a sensible place. So this is next to the washing powder. Let me see. Kitchen towels? Yeah. Here we are. Lovely. Very nice, very nice. So that’s those.
Let me see what else I’m supposed to. Get. Oh yeah, Quiche. Delicious. I love quiche. Where would I find that? Oh probably the frozen section again, isn’t it? I do like it a bit of quiche, but not Quiche Lorraine…. That’s the one with the ham. I much prefer the one with the egg and cheese.
Yeah. Let me go around and see where it is and what shouldn’t be next to it. Let’s see. Cor! She’s in a bit of a hurry, isn’t she? Right. Let’s see. Oh, delicious. Sweet and sour chicken. Oh, oh, I love that. I’m supposed to be vegetarian. Well, I am kind of. Let’s see. Halloumi fries. Nuggets. Chicken steaks. Everything is pre packed. Where’s my quiche? And then it’s pizza. I wonder if the quiche is on the other side. There was a little frozen bit as I came in.
Well, if I can’t find quiche I’ll just buy fish, I mean frozen battered fish. I’d just love to have the opportunity to actually buy something fresh. You know….. something that I could ask the woman to give me to cut for me. But yeah, we don’t…we don’t tend to have very much of that here… let me see. Oh yeah, there’s omelette. So I guess it’s here somewhere. Just have a little look. Yeah, there it is. Cheese and Onion quiche £2 each. It just seems like such a lot of money. It doesn’t. It really? I mean. But I have to get it cause I’m not going to have time to cook tonight.I think.
Yeah, but at the same time, I’d much prefer something more enjoyable. Maybe. So maybe that’s not for me. Umm. Yeah, that’s…. do you know … I’m really …..have you ever been to a supermarket… You know…. and your…. not em….. trying to buy anything? That’s kind of …me today……
Well, I got one quiche in the end because I remember there were (was) pasta in the house and I can do that lovely, delicious spaghetti thing that I’ve been doing.
Oh sausages…. delicious. Silician sausages. Silician… is there a place called Silicia? I don’t know about or is it just the type of sausage it says Silician sausages? Kielbasa Slaska made in Poland. I wonder if Silicia is a place or a Polish thing.
Oh well. Delicious. Right…. Let me look my list and see what else I need to get.
Oh yeah, cookies… of course. How could I forget those… cookies? Let me just have a little look and see. Yeah, you know, everything looks delicious, but it’s all pre packed. Nothing is there for me to lift. Everything is in plastic containers. I can barely see the things. And it’s very sad, really. I would really much prefer to be, you know, in the Mediterranean. Wandering around like a little old lady with rosary beads, let me see.
Cor! They’re not shopping for one. They must be shopping for a whole family. There’s dozens of food going in that basket, right…. oh cookies, wasn’t it…. Yeah. OK, I can see where they should be. Don’t worry. It’s not chocolate. It’s these cookies are like corn cakes. I mean, they are probably still bad for me, but yeah, let me see.
Oh delicious… crisps. Why would they have chopped tomatoes next to the crisps? I mean, I know that I don’t particularly love food, but even I know the things that go together and the things that don’t, right, I mean, they cook it…. Oh Peppermint chocolate. Oh, delicious. Sushi mayonnaise. I didn’t know there was such a thing. Coca-Cola. £3.49 oh, that’s nice. Maybe I’ll come back for another Coca-Cola. That one seems to be cheaper and there’s….. delicious Ferrero Roche, coconut and Almond Rafaello. I thought Rafael was the name of an Italian boy. No. Is that Rafael? No, that’s Spanish, I think. Well, somebody will tell me. I’m sure. Right. That’s it…. delicious.
What’s this?
Cora biedes bites. I wonder which country that’s from. Let me have a look and see. Greek style Cora biedes bites, almond, lemon and masticha Chao PDO flavoured. No idea. Could be Cyprus I suppose or Greece. Delicious breadsticks with sunflower seeds. Again, why they’re next to the chocolate, I don’t know. But well, I guess I better go. No cookies for me today.
So see you all again soon and have a lovely day.
Bye
In the world of entertainment, most stars become famous by singing, acting, or dancing. Sabrina did none of those things.
She became famous by simply standing still and smiling.
In the 1950s, Britain was still recovering from war. People needed laughter, colour, and something glamorous to look at. Then along came a young woman from Stockport, England, with blonde hair, a tiny waist, and …. very large… eh, a very large personality.
Her real name was Norma Ann Sykes, but nobody remembered that. Everyone knew her as Sabrina—no last name, no explanation. Like Madonna, but curvier.
Sabrina didn’t talk much on television. In fact, she often didn’t talk at all. She became famous just by appearing on a popular show called Before Your Very Eyes with Arthur Askey. He did the jokes. Sabrina stood beside him, smiled, and looked beautiful.
And that was it.
Yet somehow, she became a national obsession.
In the 1950s, people didn’t have Instagram or reality TV. They had black-and-white newspapers and magazines. Sabrina appeared in all of them. She became one of Britain’s first “pin-up girls”—women whose pictures people hung on the wall, usually in garages, bedrooms, and army bases.
She had a body like an hourglass, with measurements that seemed almost unreal. Some people joked that she was more of a sculpture than a person.
Her image was everywhere. Her name was used to sell cars, chocolates, and even vacuum cleaners. There were “Sabrina”-style bras. Men named their motorbikes after her. The Royal Air Force painted her face on the front of their planes.
She didn’t say much—but she didn’t need to. Just being Sabrina was enough.
Her silence became part of the legend. One journalist wrote, “She speaks as much on TV as a bottle of milk—but Britain can’t get enough of her.”
Of course, being beautiful and silent has its limits.
In the late 1950s, Sabrina tried to act in films. She appeared in Blue Murder at St Trinian’s, a comedy about a crazy girls’ school. She also had roles in a few other light-hearted films.
Unfortunately, critics didn’t take her seriously. “Too glamorous,” they said. “Not enough range.” Sabrina often played herself, or a version of herself: the glamorous blonde who distracted every man in the room.
But Sabrina didn’t seem to mind. As she once said, “If people want to look at me, that’s fine. I look at myself too.”
Some fans believed she was smarter than she let on. One reporter asked her what her hobbies were. She smiled and replied, “Shopping, sleeping, and being adored.”
It wasn’t just a joke. There was a sense of self-awareness beneath the makeup and the poses. Sabrina understood fame—and how strange it could be.
Sabrina didn’t come from wealth. She had polio as a child, which affected her health for years. But she refused to be seen as weak. She trained her body, posed for glamorous photos, and taught herself how to smile like a goddess while standing still for hours.
She knew how to play the part of the blonde bombshell. But underneath the glamour, she was clever and knew exactly how to stay famous.
She also never apologised for being feminine, fashionable, or popular. At a time when women were often told to “stay quiet” or “be modest,” Sabrina stood tall—literally—and said nothing. But her silence was powerful.
People talked about her as if she were a mystery. She didn’t explain herself. And that made her even more interesting.
In the 1960s, Sabrina moved to the United States. She wanted a fresh start and hoped Hollywood would finally take her seriously.
For a while, she lived in Beverly Hills, surrounded by swimming pools, small dogs, and mirrors. She appeared in one or two films and a few television spots. But the American film industry already had its own blonde stars, and Sabrina struggled to find her place.
Over time, she stepped away from the spotlight.
Some people said she had married a rich man. Others said she became a recluse. Her life became quiet, even mysterious. She stopped making public appearances and rarely gave interviews.
Then, in the 2000s, someone spotted her in London again—older, slower, but still recognisably Sabrina.
She passed away in 2016, at the age of 80, having lived much of her later life in privacy. No big headlines. No dramatic farewell. Just a quiet goodbye from a woman who once stopped traffic by doing absolutely nothing.
So, what was Sabrina’s secret?
She didn’t win awards. She didn’t sing songs. She didn’t write books or play complicated characters. Yet she became a symbol of beauty and confidence in a time when the world was still black and white.
Maybe that was her magic.
Sabrina proved that sometimes, you don’t need to speak loudly to be heard. She showed that glamour could be its own kind of power. And she reminded people that it’s okay to enjoy being looked at—if you’re doing it on your own terms.
Even today, people still search for her photos online. Her image lives on in old magazines, fan clubs, jokes, and memories.
One military officer once said, “There are three things a young soldier remembers from the 1950s: the Queen, National Service, and Sabrina.”
That’s quite the legacy.
Sabrina once joked, “I never understood what all the fuss was about.” But deep down, she probably did.
She gave the people what they wanted—beauty, mystery, and a little bit of glamour in a grey world.
She didn’t need to do much. Just stand still, smile, and let the world come to her.
And it did.
Mother Angelica was not your typical sweet, smiling nun.
She didn’t play the guitar. She didn’t talk softly. And if you crossed her, she wouldn’t pray for you—she’d probably roast you live on television.
Continue reading “1072 Mother Angelica – The Nun Who Wouldn’t Shut Up (Transcripción en español e inglés)”Hi everyone and welcome again to another Teacher Joseph podcast.
Well, I’m here today inside a coffee shop and it’s very, very hot outside. So I walked here and I’m taking refuge inside this coffee shop. Just to shelter from the hot, scolding sunshine. It’s kind of unusual for us to have such hot weather and to be honest, its making me feel a little bit wabbit. Wabbit is when you feel a. little bit down. A little bit kind of disorientated or dizzy and you’re on autopilot. Not functioning on all cylinders. I’ll double check in the dictionary that wabbit is there.
Alright and indeed it is. I just took a moment there. I paused our recording to check… it’s used mostly in the northern part of the UK. It’s introducing you to a Scottish / English word wabbit. It sounds like rabbit, but with a W. And it’s very common to hear people saying that.
Although the dictionary says it is actually a Scottish word. I believe it’s all over the UK. I mean, I’ve heard it in different places, people feeling a bit wabbit, but do keep in mind if you use it that it’s mainly a term from the north. Well, let me just go over what I’m doing here.
So I’m sitting drinking a cup of coffee. It is delicious and I know I shouldn’t really but I also had some doughnuts. And I know, I know, I’m supposed to avoid sugary things, but they were delicious. I mean, it was (they were…) chocolate covered and glazed…. I had to…… I had to try them. Now the thing about this coffee shop is that it’s one of these heavily automized coffee shops, which means that you do everything on the screen to order , and when you do approach the counter for service, they kind of look at you terrified. It’s like they’ve never spoken to anyone before.
It’s really funny. It’s like “Really ?? You actually wanna talk to somebody”? So the screen is where we order all of our coffees and these things. It’s one of these places which is rather grey looking. Typical UK style shop. Grey…. tiles on the floor, brown seating and the ceiling is open, so you can see all of the pipes. I believe this…. this chain is actually Canadian. They’ve got pictures of ice hockey players all around the walls, which, well, doesn’t make me want to rush out and do ice hockey.
Flashing screens are near me and to be honest with you, they are almost blinding me with bright colours and that that’s of course because they’re trying to sell more things.
I’m sitting by the window looking out to a very depressing car park. There’s only four cars in it. So it’s very grey looking and what else can I tell you about it? Yeah, it looks kind of industrial. Clearly it’s near the railway line. Looks like the setting for a music video. You know when there’s rapper walking along, pulling his trousers up every two minutes, it looks something like that. It’s a very deprived kind of area. Yeah, but it’s it’s lovely. I mean, the colours are beautiful, very green today, because the sun’s out and I cut the grass this morning. That was that was an adventure.
But I have to go back to the doughnuts. I mean, they were delicious. Really. And I ate them all myself because I’m out alone.
Yeah. So that’s really all I wanted to say for today, except just to point out that the weather here really is beautiful. Very green. I can see the trees swaying in the wind. It’s almost like they’re dancing because the wind is picking up but even with that, it’s very, very beautiful.
It’s very unusual for us here to have wind, which is warm, usually the wind comes and it blows you away and you’re freezing but actually it’s it’s lovely. And for me I I just I cut the grass this morning, weeded the garden felt exhausted, fell asleep for a couple of hours and then staggered out to come to this coffee shop.
Just looking around and thinking about my forthcoming holidays. I’ll be in the Netherlands this year at some point over June and July, so it’s all booked. I’m very happy. I won’t tell you the exact dates in case you come to try to steal my television when I’m away but there really is…it really is beautiful at this time of year to see the tulips and lovely places. So I’ll be looking forward to that…. yes, yes.
And that’s all for me right now. So I hope you’ve enjoyed this and yeah, some beautiful, beautiful scenes today. I’ll just give you those words again. Wabbit. That’s how I was feeling earlier, a bit exhausted and a little bit unwell. Swaying…. What the trees are doing in the wind. And colourful, beautiful, maybe even dramatic, we could say about things. And that’s it from me. So I’ll see you all again soon.
And I wish you all a beautiful day.
Bye.
One of the great things about being an English Teacher is you get to meet people from all over the world and you get to try some delicious food from different places but you also get to talk to people in other parts of the English world, other teachers sometimes, neighbours and friends of course, people who live around you. This is a very diverse place, you know the UK has people from all over the world.
Continue reading “1070 – Differences between American and British English. Transcript.”So, I started learning Dutch while I was actually living in the Netherlands which, in theory, should make everything easier. Total immersion, real-life exposure, supermarkets full of words, right?
Wrong.
Let’s be clear: living in a country and understanding what anyone is saying are not the same thing. My first few weeks there, I smiled a lot. Nodded. Laughed when others laughed, even though I had no clue what was going on. Someone could have told me their hamster had exploded and I would’ve smiled and said “lovely.”
It didn’t take long to realise I had to learn the language or spend the rest of my time ordering the same sandwich from the same café, praying they’d never change the menu.
So, I started. Tentatively. First with the street signs, they felt safe. No one expects you to respond to a street sign. Then the public transport announcements. I picked up the general vibe: something had either gone terribly wrong or would arrive in three minutes. Maybe both.
I downloaded an app, the one with the friendly owl who is always watching. The owl celebrated my 3-day streak like I’d climbed Everest. I felt proud… until I skipped a day and the owl got weirdly passive-aggressive. “We missed you,” it said. “Your language goals did too.” I swear the app knows guilt better than most Catholic school teachers.
In the Netherlands, I started trying out small phrases. Very small. One-word small. I once tried to say “thank you very much” to a lovely cashier but panicked halfway through and ended up making a sound somewhere between a sneeze and a confession. She looked confused, then concerned. I took my groceries and left with the grace of a damp cardboard box.
But here’s the strange thing: despite the stumbles, I kept going. There’s something oddly addictive about learning a language you hear all around you — even if most of it sounds like someone trying to clear their throat and speak at the same time. Dutch isn’t a shy language. It’s assertive. It sounds like it means business. Even when it’s talking about cheese.
Once I left the Netherlands, I thought the urge to learn would fade. But weirdly, it didn’t. Maybe I was traumatised by how many times I’d misunderstood people. Maybe I missed the weirdly satisfying rhythm of the language. Maybe I was still determined to someday understand those fast, breathless train announcements that made me question whether I was on the right planet, let alone the right train.
So I kept going. Now, though, it’s different. I no longer have daily immersion just me, my apps, a few Dutch children’s books, and the occasional YouTube rabbit hole. I read menus for fun. I test myself with grammar I will never use in real life. I once spent an entire evening trying to understand why a verb had snuck to the end of the sentence like a guilty teenager. Still no idea.
And yes, it gets lonely. No more overheard conversations to decode. No bakery lines to rehearse sentences for. Just me, whispering strange phrases at home and hoping my neighbours don’t think I’m starting a cult.
Sometimes I doubt myself. Sometimes I think I’ve made up all the progress. I’ll listen to a video, get excited that I understood a full sentence, and then realise it was in English. Or I’ll try to speak out loud and suddenly develop a completely new accent that doesn’t exist in any languages.
But there are wins. Like realising I know what a sign says without translating. Like understanding the difference between two similar-sounding words and not accidentally saying “I am pregnant” when I meant “I am full.” Like recognising a joke in a Dutch TV show and actually laughing for the right reason.
Also, I’m no longer scared of the long words. You know the ones the kind that stretch across half the page like some kind of linguistic centipede. Once upon a time, I’d look at those and assume they were medical conditions. Now I know they’re just compound words. Long, yes. But logical. Which, if you ask me, is both comforting and horrifying.
And there’s something else. Something no app or phrasebook mentions: the emotional chaos of learning a language that’s so close to English, yet not quite. It feels like dating someone who reminds you of an old flame, familiar, but ultimately unpredictable. One moment, everything makes sense. The next, the sentence flips around and throws in a word that sounds like a sneeze.
But despite everything the confusion, the grammar acrobatics, the owl-induced guilt, I keep going. Because every now and then, I get this flash of clarity. A sentence that makes sense. A word that clicks. A tiny, fleeting moment where I feel like I’m in the language, not just chasing it. And those moments, odd as they are, feel magical.
Will I ever be fluent? Honestly, I don’t know. It depends what “fluent” means. If it means giving a TED talk about philosophy, probably not. If it means ordering a coffee without causing a scene, then I’m nearly there. If it means understanding people well enough to laugh at the right moment — that’s the goal.
Tomorrow, I’ll probably forget something obvious. I’ll probably mix up the word for “because” again. But I’ll also open my notebook, press play on the next audio, and try once more. Not because I have to, but because this is who I am now: someone who once lived in a country, heard a language, and decided, quietly, to try and understand it.
Even if it takes a lifetime.
The 1980s gave us many things: shoulder pads, mullets, cassette tapes, nuclear panic, and an unshakable belief that soft drinks could somehow save the world. Among the noisiest contributions to this surreal decade were the Coca-Cola jingles – bright, sugary musical anthems that promised joy, unity, and refreshment, all for the price of a bottle cap.
If the Cold War was the sound of tension, Coca-Cola was the soundtrack of forced optimism.
Coca-Cola’s jingles in the 1980s weren’t just catchy, they were an all-out assault on the senses. With lyrics that made sunshine sound compulsory and melodies designed to burrow into your skull like a corporate parasite, these jingles were everywhere: on radios, televisions, and the lips of disturbingly enthusiastic teenagers in advertising spots.
Take, for example, the endlessly repeated “Can’t Beat the Feeling!” campaign. This jingle, released in 1989, featured crowds of people smiling far too widely, often mid-laugh, as they sipped their Coke in slow motion. The music swelled, the camera panned over golden beaches or neon-lit cities, and somewhere, a child ran through a sprinkler. The message was clear: Coca-Cola was not a drink. It was a lifestyle.
A lifestyle where no one ever had a headache. Or rent. Or the slightest trace of cynicism.
This was not new, of course. Coca-Cola had been linking itself to happiness since the 1971 classic “I’d Like to Buy the World a Coke,” a song so idealistic it made peace in the Middle East look like a reasonable weekend goal. But in the 1980s, the jingles got louder, more polished, and somehow more desperate.
Everything about them said: “Look! Everything’s fine! Don’t think too hard!”
The irony, of course, was that much of the world in the 1980s was not fine. There was recession, unemployment, nuclear threats, and the growing fear that Ronald Reagan might accidentally press the wrong button before his next nap. Meanwhile, Coke’s ad campaigns danced forward, blissfully unaware or perhaps entirely aware of how false their promises sounded.
This made the jingles all the more surreal. In the middle of your family’s second-hand car breaking down, the radio would blast, “Can’t beat the real thing!” as if it were gently mocking your life.
They sang about sharing Coke with friends while half the country wasn’t speaking to each other. They sang about energy and joy while millions felt tired and broke.
And yet, the jingles worked. That’s the dark genius of it all. People bought the drinks. People sang along. For a few seconds, humming the tune in a supermarket aisle, you did feel a little better. Coca-Cola wasn’t selling sugar and water. It was selling escape.
Even now, those old jingles haunt us. Not just as melodies, but as memories of a kind of mass hypnosis. A time when we all agreed, without saying it, that pretending everything was wonderful was better than facing how complicated it really was.
There’s a special kind of horror in watching an old 1980s Coke ad today. The hair is big. The smiles are bigger. Everyone is dancing in a way that suggests they’ve either found salvation or been recently electrocuted. You know it’s fake. They knew it was fake. But we all played along.
And let’s not forget the children. In many of these jingles, kids sang too—voices so clear and hopeful it made you feel guilty for ever doubting anything. Their eyes sparkled with the kind of trust you only see in people who haven’t read the news yet.
What were we teaching them? That joy came in a can? That unity could be achieved through matching T-shirts and high kicks?
Perhaps the darkest joke of all is that the Coca-Cola jingles were right, in their own strange way. They did bring people together. They united us in pretending that the world was simple, that problems could be solved with bubbles and branding.
It wasn’t true, of course. But it was catchy.
And maybe, in the end, that’s all a jingle needs to be.
Hi, everyone. Welcome again to another teacher Joseph podcast.
Well, we have a new Pope and you’d think after 266 tries (at least) we’d have perfected the art of picking someone. So that it doesn’t feel like a rerun TV show.
…but no, they pushed him out onto the balcony like a contestant in a reality show. The crowd of course, cheered. Somebody fainted, I think, a nun in the front row. And yeah, it was quite a day. Well, I was watching it on the Vatican live screen, the BBC News headlines were on the screen in front of me as well. …and yeah, I was talking to a student at the time.
Um, yeah. They always talk about this white smoke like it’s some kind of grand mystery. But yeah, I mean, it’s just people in the background burning the ballot slips, isn’t it? Well, of course the new Pope gave the usual speech. Humble, hopeful, big on unity, short on specific things that he’s going to do. I preferred the old pope. With his speeches, remember, every time he appeared on the balcony.
Be not afraid. Be not afraid.
That’s all he ever said when they they pushed him out, wasn’t it? On the balcony?
The future is in your hands. Be not afraid.
He repeated that with a lot of passion, didn’t he? Well, yeah, this one gave the usual speech. Peace to everyone and love and everything. Yeah, mercy mission. Something about climate. I’m not sure exactly what he said. I didn’t watch all of it. They’re saying that he’s the man of the people. I don’t know quite what that means. The Guardian newspaper’s calling him transformative, which makes him sound like medication or plastic surgery. Yeah. And of course, Twitter. Well, X. They’ve already started some…. well… half of them think he’s the second coming of Christ, and the other half think he’s some kind of infiltrator from dark forces. I don’t know where these conspiracy theories come from. I mean, he’s a Pope. I I’m not sure I even care enough to form a conspiracy theory. Yeah, I’m just here sipping tea and waiting to see if he makes it past the honeymoon period without re-banning the guitar at mass. Do you remember? You know, when I was growing up going to mass was very much a very Latin affair. My goodness me. You could get thrown out for smiling and then somewhere along the way in the 1970s. Going to mass was like going to a folk music concert. Everything suddenly sounded like a song by Peter Paul and Mary, by the way. If you don’t know who Peter, Paul and Mary are, you need to listen to them. It’s a kind of a… just a nice trio. Singing very nice songs about life with the guitar, yeah.
Yeah, one of my friends rang me to say that they think the new Pope looks like a kind of man who, who’s going to introduce sweeping reforms. Yeah, but he’ll probably then just, you know, delegate these reforms to a committee who meet once every 10 years. I don’t know if they, if they’re able to make big reforms, I think there’s so many differing views now than there used to be. I’m. I mean, I’m not against the papacy. I think it’s probably a good idea. It’s just that…this idea that each new pope is going to fix something, you know, like a plumber fixes the water tank. I mean, it’s been 2000 years. So I don’t know, maybe it’s it’s time for them to look at things differently. But anyway, they started this, this kind of idea of change, isn’t it, to make them fit in with everybody else. So …many people don’t like that, I think. And but of course, there’s always that voice. It says, oh, well, this will be the last Pope. Honestly, everyone keeps telling me this. I’m not sure.,,,obviously somebody has some direct link with God.
Yes, this Pope is the last one.
Well, nice. Yeah, whatever. Yeah. So of course, everyone’s saying, well, maybe things will be different. But I thought the last one did a good job. You know, he seemed to, you know, like, stand on the tarmac at airports, kiss it, and then say things like. Be not afraid, just like the last one did. John Paul the second. So yeah, they seem to enjoy making these statements. There’s always the robes, the Latin, the bells ringing in the backgrounds. I love the drama. You know, wearing these long flowing purple robes.
Yeah, it’ll be interesting to see what happens, though. I mean, the first few months, of course, they’re all……. the first few months, everyone will love him. They will all love him, is what I want to say. And then, of course, the cracks will show. Then the encyclicals will come just like, you know, Donald Trump’s Executive orders. And then everyone’s going to be unhappy, and I suppose I’ll be sitting in the church wondering if they’ll ever fix the heating. Yeah. Who knows? Maybe he’ll surprise us. And he’ll excommunicate a few people.
Nice face. Not big on smiling. I think… you know, he was kind of pulling his mouth apart like the Royals do…. you know they,,, they smile in a way that makes them all look like Dracula. But yeah. Yeah. Well, let’s see what happens. I mean, he can’t do that much damage, can he? He’s only in the first day of the job, so. I don’t know. He he’s not a world power, so to speak, with economies. But he has a lot of moral power. So I don’t know what that means exactly, but we’ll have to wait and see. So…. Yeah, let’s see how long it lasts and what changes he’s able to make. And yeah, be not afraid, that’s still my favourite ….Pope John Paul the second he started that, didn’t he? The future is in your hands, making him sound like some kind of really bad version of Dracula, but nice phrase, though he did make us feel better. Or maybe it’s just because I was younger and less cynical. I don’t know.
But anyway, enjoy the new Pope.
See you all.
Bye.