English Teacher and Accent Reduction Specialist
For study until 11 August 2024
Subject: The Shopping Mall
Audio: On usual social media platforms.
The Shopping Mall
Until the early 80s my town had a Butcher, Fishmonger, Newsagent, a really weird shop that sold only towels and a Fruit shop. By 1984 the country was gripped with a political fervour. A new breath was sweeping over the country in the early eighties with the promise of Capitalism.
For study until 4 August 2024
Audio: On usual social media platforms.
We all can recount stories of our school days and in my life too there were always those awkward moments when it came to competitive sport.
Firstly, at school there were teachers who had a penchant for watching kids running round the entire school complex (approximately 5 miles) twice. The teachers were sheltered under umbrellas, wrapped up in coats, scarves and gloves while we were wearing the obligatory skimpy school uniform for sport, running in the snow. Secondly there was the procedure for selecting players and putting them into teams. The most athletic boy was of course the captain and he got to select his team. It was common practice for those of us who were more academic and less able physically, to be left on the sidelines along with the fat twins whom, of course everyone hated. There were clear winners and losers in this system and I was near the bottom of the list with my new best friends. We enjoyed watching sport, after all we were rarely selected to actually play.
That moment of calling out names for each team was the hardest because I knew I was never going to hear “Joseph, today you will be the goalkeeper”. I felt like a prisoner in a jail when they have that mail call. As much as you kind of hoped there would be a letter there for you, you somehow knew that it wasn’t going to happen.
I don’t remember my Father ever taking me to sports matches but I do remember being taken by my Grandfather. I could never fathom why one man wearing red boxing gloves wanted to punch the living daylights out of the other guy and more importantly why Americans referred to that time spent with children at sports matches as “quality time”. If there was anything qualitative about watching a boxing match, I never found it. It was a place full of old men who were wheezing and coughing clutching cigarettes, who seemed pleased to see bloody noses.
On Saturdays I started going to the library instead and soon discovered a clandestine group of kids who were hiding there and studying. They too were bored of “quality time” with family. We didn’t want to be called nerds but we had earned that reputation. Spending time guessing the names of Capital Cities of the world seemed so much more peaceful, these kids knew the meaning of quality. It was fun learning where Moldova was and you would be surprised how relevant that is in my life these days. I also learnt how to solve the Rubik’s cube in minutes. I admit that it wasn’t exactly a crowning moment in the world of sport but it did earn me a reputation, albeit not a positive one.
Sport in 1970s UK was not about competition. It was about learning to hate each other.
George Orwell once said:
“Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard of all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing violence. In other words, it is war minus the shooting.”
I never understood why they wanted to divide us and force us to compete against each other. It supposedly made us stronger but for me and many others it was a very painful time realising that we didn’t fit the mould. Groups of us found solace in books and in our own imagination, we were different. All of us children came from the same gritty economic background, our parents were all miners, iron labourers or factory workers. Some of us knew we were destined for something greater but we didn’t know what. Our parents couldn’t relate to us, they didn’t know how to win us over, kids who weren’t destined for the mines or steel works “how would they survive”?
Not only were we different from our parents we were different from our older kin as well. My brother knew how to bounce a ball like Pele, enter an old mineshaft without getting caught and I knew how to play the piano like Richard Clayderman or James Last. Somebody somewhere should have realised there was a problem. For kids like me this was something much deeper than choice of playground, it was something else rising, a new horizon with global promise. It felt magical but made us vulnerable, we were fish out of water, a tribe of misfits sitting alongside a pack of lions who were conditioned in a very different way, waiting to prey on anything weaker. We avoided confrontation about hating sport, we were outnumbered. It was survival of the fittest. Yet sport was supposed to unite us, it was competitive and had shared vision, winning defeating and building character.
I watched the Olympic Torch being carried into the Auditorium in Paris yesterday. My heart leapt at the symbology of true sportsmanship, the unity of watching the torch and all that it represents. Something which illuminates and burns away the twisted version from school and raises the standard. A standard which encompasses all people, disabled, male, female, strong and weak and all the other dualities we have to work our way through.
I’m wondering how the newer generations work through problems like this or maybe the definition of sport itself is evolving to meet their needs. Either way, it took many years for me to find peace about it. In Arabia I found a new hobby in watching Camel racing and returning to the UK have found myself at ice hockey matches, during “quality time” with family. A far cry from tribal football matches and sectarianism which still sends shudders up my spine.
I think I understand these things more now than ever before and have definitely found peace about sport.
For study until 28 July 2024
Subject: Life Without ID Cards
Audio: On usual social media platforms.
This particular bank looked the same as any other, bandage coloured wallpaper, glass rooms and an assistant who looked so young that I’m sure I have food in my freezer older than her:
“Computer says no” she said, during my latest attempt to offer ID to open a bank account. Despite my protests and assurances that I was actually British, she wanted more, one piece of photo ID and a Utility Bill from where I live, clearly showing my name and address. The first one was no problem, I have a Passport but they clearly had me over a barrel with the second bit.
I explained twice “I’ve just moved back here from Spain – I don’t have a permanent address yet” but my appeal fell on deaf ears: “When you have ID showing an address – come back to me and we will process your application – like an Electricity Bill from the last three months for example.” was her latest way of getting rid of me.
She was an impressive opponent, dressed in a navy coloured business suit, she meant business. Looking her over I noticed that she had more curves than a Formula One car race track and no doubt she was twice as dangerous. Her bling jewellery was a testament that poverty is not only about cash, but a state of mind. I needed a bank account and clearly she wasn’t going to budge. I was beginning to agree with my Spanish friends, how do we cope without ID cards in the UK?
I finally found an old bank account that I had forgotten about from years before – I hadn’t used it since I left the UK. I trotted along to their branch and simply told them I needed a new bank card and where to send it. Fortunately, I remembered all of my old security passwords.
Dealing with organisations without ID cards is always rough, but trying to deal with Financial Institutions is worse still and involves an endless cycle of conversations, I think that’s the same the world over. The problem in the UK though is not only the lack of ID cards, it’s also about our legalistic approach to the world and our lack of social structure.
If I had been living with relatives, there would have been no problem I could have asked my parents to give me a letter saying I was living there. Friendships here are never large enough to encompass those kinds of favours and that left only my Brother to turn to for help. He lives around here somewhere but I haven’t spoken to him in ten years. I wasn’t about to turn up like a long lost brother just for a favour – I’d rather shoot myself with a gun.
My Grandmother used to tell me stories about how they were given ID cards during the war to buy food and as soon as it was over, they quickly burned them. Our view of democracy means that the Government cannot hold one central list of who we all are and what we look like, but no doubt there are a number of other lists they could use if they really wanted to find me. It’s not just about ID cards, its more about how we live, how we are, the way we all seem to live in bubbles now without social interaction.
I pay a vet to come and feed my cat twice a day when I go on holiday. (I wouldn’t trust my neighbour with a stuffed toy let alone my cat and she’s not the kind of person I would associate with). Strangely, the vet (who is female) looks like me wearing a wig, I’m sure if we talk long enough she also is going to be a relative three times removed. Business is business though and she also has a huge list of ID requirements before she takes my house key.
With ever changing politics I have no doubt that they will be forced to give us some kind of ID card in the future, but for now I need to make sure I’m ready and armed with a Passport and utility bill with my name and address, just in case I ever need it. Well old age is coming and my free concessionary travel card will do more than give me free bus rides, it will act as a beautiful piece of evidence that I live here. At least old age is good for some things.
Affirmations
Monday – People help me to grow and encourage me with English.
Who supports you most in your learning journey and what type of encouragement do they give you?
Tuesday – Learning helps me connect with others.
Who have you met on your learning journey and how have they influenced you?
Wednesday – I reach out when I need to on my learning journey.
Describe a time when you had to accept the help of another person in your journey?
Thursday – Asking for help is not a weakness.
Describe a time when you felt insecure about an English problem you had. What did you do? Did asking for help come naturally?
Friday – Learning English is truly satisfying.
Do you believe this? If not, take a moment to think about why.
For study until 21 July 2024
Subject: My Mate Karim
Audio: On usual social media platforms.
Sometimes I forget how diverse British culture is because I just go with the flow. I don’t really have any hard and fast views of what a British man is supposed to look or act like.
So when my mate Karim appeared one night back in 2006 telling me his mother finally found someone for him to marry, it didn’t come as any great shock. We came from different backgrounds but we simply didn’t care. We were very good friends.
He started by telling me how he was a little bit nervous about his forthcoming marriage. He had agreed that his parents would find a bride and that the wedding would take place in the town where his grandparents had immigrated to the UK from, back in the 1960s.
“We are like chalk and cheese” he said referring to himself and his future wife. Then he told me his great idea:
“Why don’t we fly to Pakistan together and you can get married too?” he suggested.
I could see he had a look of desperation in his eyes. He didn’t want to face this alone.
“Thanks” I replied…
“but that’s not really workable for me”. and nervously laughed at what I hoped was a joke.
I had seen that look before, I always thought of it as the kind of look a deer gets before it gets struck by a car in the middle of the night.
“It really is game over” he continued.
Karim was just as British as I am and culturally he pushed himself to enjoy everything he could, a sportsman, popular with the ladies and one of these guys who always had a friend, cousin or uncle who was ready to offer any kind of “deal” that you might be after.
I’ve had enough British Born Pakistani friends in my life to know that there was no way out of this for him and he had been preparing for this moment for some months. He considered himself lucky that he knew the girl, it was one of his cousins. Although I could never really figure out how they were related, they were cousins but 5 times removed and he barely knew her.
I considered Karim to be very fortunate because he walked between two worlds, which left his mind open in a way few people reach. By day he was very much living up to his parent’s high expectations of Islamic South East Asian living and by night he was the disco king, with a childlike determination to achieve everything Western living could offer until 1am most weekends. He was able to merge the two ways of life without going insane and without the usual crutches young white men rely on, drugs and alcohol. Mixing with Karim introduced me to a lot of places and people where alcohol was not at the forefront of people’s minds.
I had almost the same conversation with my Chinese friend, although he came to Britain in the 1990s to study and eventually stayed. There was a moment when his parents simply advised “it was time to marry” and he went scurrying off to China. He also maintained that look of fear which he tried to hide behind a kind of masculine persona.
Karim had certain qualities that I never found in my own peer group, loyalty, friendship, brotherliness and in many ways he was more of a Brother to me than my own brother was. I often wished I was half the man he was, yet he faced discrimination, judgement, intense expectations from his kin and from the society that we live in. The difference between his life and mine was that he came from a community, a network of people who loved and supported him yet he wanted to be independent. Like most British people I was taught not to expect help from people and to make the best of what I can achieve alone. I had independence but was seeking community.
I was invited to his British wedding celebration, he arrived on a white horse dressed in Indian Clothes with photographers, surrounded by his family and I was reminded again how different culturally we are. His wedding had 300 people, in contrast, at my wedding there were 4, me, my other half and two witnesses and even one of them I didn’t know personally. My parents had long since passed away and there was no one else in the family I keep in touch with. In his words “Arranged Marriage isn’t that bad – you just fight for six months then you learn to live with each other”.
Karim moved to the Emirates, I moved to Spain and we kind of found what we wanted – some sense of knowing more about who we are. To be British was to be a Global Citizen in the 1990s, but by today’s standards I’m not sure that’s the message the next generation are receiving. With Borders closing, Brexit, crimes rising and attitudes changing, Karim says he was right to move to raise his family in a place where he knows they will be in a diverse atmosphere. After all, diversity is the one true thing we all have in common.
As extreme political views ebb closer to the front in Politics the gap between those of us who want a diverse mixed culture and those of us who don’t is widening. There’s obviously people who feel that being British means something else – maybe Karim, my Chinese friend and many others never got that Email.
(Never got that Email in this case simply means “were not aware”)
Affirmations
Monday – My English keeps getting better.
Do you truly believe that statement? If not, why not.
Tuesday – My efforts are paying off.
What are you doing differently from when you first started studying English? How long did it take before you saw results. Why was there a delay?
Wednesday – Others are amazed at how quickly I learn.
Being honest…. how long did it take you to get to this point? Why was that?
Thursday – I love learning English.
Did you hesitate when you read this? Why do you think you don’t love it?
Friday – English is becoming more natural daily
What progress are you measuring?
For study until 14 July 2024
Subject: Government Housing-Friend or Foe?
Audio: On usual social media platforms.
The UK was a very industrial place until Margaret Thatcher came on the scene in the 1980s. For many people up until that time the daily grind involved working shifts in the local factory. In my case, my whole family worked in the local steel factory, that included my Father, Grandfather, Great Grandfather and even my Great Great Grandfather until he was fired for promoting Trade Unions in the early 1900s. Meanwhile the women were working (where there were not enough men) in the local thread mills, which offered lighter work.
In the early days, going back to the 1840s my family lived in small cottages which were only big enough to hold a handful of people. Like most people of their day they raised between ten to fifteen children. By the time the 1920s came, slums had developed, there was no running water, no indoor sanitation and “rows” of houses were built around the steel work factory with simply two rooms and running water with outside toilets. In the 1930s the Government realised there were issues with sanitation and started to build housing estates known as “housing schemes” or “council estates” which they could rent to employees of local factories. This marked the beginning of organised housing – built around towns which were themselves formed to support local industry.
Moving forward 100 years to 2024, the Northern part of the UK is dominated by these estates and the Government remains one of the largest property owners. In Scotland the Government owns a quarter of all total rentable accommodation. I remember visiting my Grandparents in the 1980s and both my maternal and paternal Grandparents were happily living on Council Estates. The towns where they lived had three Council Estates. They knew all of the neighbours, people who were economically the same and were either friends or relatives. These estates tended to be full of old hardened women who clearly had battled their way into old age whose families had left home years before. In many ways they were the matriarchs of these estates, knowing exactly what “buttons to press” to ensure the Government took action when they need a repair to their homes or have someone forcibly removed. It felt strange because the people were poorer compared to today yet they were incredibly proud.
In the North of the UK today, renting an apartment or house from the Government is considered perfectly normal and accessible for everyone (because there’s little choice) whereas in the South where there was less industry and more education, fewer of these estates exist.
Since the Government owns a lot of property, they are also one of the largest employers in Scotland and Northern England. Plumbers, Electricians, maintenance people, office staff and housing managers are all required. As you would expect from the Government, the salary isn’t great even though the working conditions are better than the private sector, so they generally attract unskilled workers who are happy with a lower pay. This is a very attractive option for boys who do not want to enter further education, many of whom grew up and live on Council Estates themselves.
Things are slowly changing. The local Government here has started to demolish some of these old homes in order to build new ones for residents. The combination of an ageing population as well as houses no longer meeting basic standards of living such as energy saving and noise pollution means that they need to look at how they provide accommodation. Some of these estates historically had very bad reputations and needed to be demolished as well owing to their high crime rates and social problems.
Since the 1990s the Local Government has been proactively demolishing and rebuilding, making these properties safer to live in. Selling the ground to property developers also means many Council estates are surrounded by luxury privately owned property developments, which creates a kind of a hydrid, displacing the cold sting of poverty associated with these estates in the past.
Unlike today where we can define “home” as a mental construct, a structure of Love and Family, a place of peace we can choose to reside in, in the old days home and house was all about physicality, bricks and stone.
As the metaverse or holographic universe comes upon us, we will once again be asked to redefine dwellings as an ethereal space. The jury is out on what exactly the future will look like but it will likely offer us personal and communal spaces to live together.
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Affirmations
Monday – There is a place for me in the Learning Community
Compare how learning alone compares to your experience of being in School with others. What is your learning tribe or community?
Tuesday – I can Learn at any age or point of life
Why do you think age is a barrier for some people?
Wednesday – I am flexible enough to make change
Why do we lose our mental elasticity as we get older? How do we stop that process?
Thursday – I choose to learn today because it brings me joy
What other healthy choices do you make daily to support your learning and your mental health?
Friday – I speak English and it gets better every day
How do you measure your progress? If you do not measure your progress, make a mental note to ask your teacher for ways to do this.
For study until 30 June 2024
Subject: British People and Food: My Story, by Teacher Joseph
Audio: On usual Social media platforms.
Continue reading “Weekly Lesson: British People and Food: My Story, by Teacher Joseph”For study until 23 June 2024
Audio: On usual Social media platforms.
1.Many people are quite surprised to learn that the UK is home to several indigenous languages. While English dominates as the primary language, indigenous languages like Welsh, Scots Gaelic, Irish Gaelic, and Cornish are integral to the nation’s heritage. These languages, although spoken by minorities these days, play a crucial role in cultural identity, historical continuity, and linguistic diversity. Even to class (classify) speakers of these languages as minorities, brings about a label, an identity, which supposedly needs protection.
Continue reading “Weekly Lesson: Indigenous Languages in the UK”