Coming to the end

So, I am, more or less, in my last week of teaching in Italy. It is very weird. Last night none of my 5:30 class turned up, so I had no chance to say goodbye to them. However, my 6:15 class did turn up and, being a horrible teacher, I made them work like dogs (like dogs, I tell you!) which, I think, came as a bit of a surprise. Maybe they were expecting fun and games, a farewell gift of sweets and a certificate of achievement. No such luck. I don't do fun and games with children (adults are a different matter), I don't believe in buying sweets for children and the woman who 'organises' the courses hasn't actually spoken to me for about six weeks (no loss there) so nothing doing on the certificates. Upside is that I haven't had to do reports. Like parents all over the world, Italians like pieces of paper to say how well their darlings have done - well, I guess that's not my problem now.

I have one final kids' class today. And I have to say this is my favourite kids' class. They work well as a group, they like and help each other, and they're always willing to try new things. This is the group I sacrificed my 'no singing in public' rule for.

To be honest, I won't miss teaching the kids. I think it's something that should be done by those who genuinely enjoy it. It is challenging and exhausting but it can be very rewarding. I have also come to the conclusion that the teacher should be able to speak the students' language even if they don't use it in class. The coursebook I've been using recommends discussions and instructions in the students' language and some of the activities are impossible for me to do because I don't speak Italian - you try explaining how to play 'Go Fish' to a six year old who doesn't speak English, getting them to understand Hangman was difficult enough and they play that at school.

In contrast, I will miss my adult students. It always amazes me just how much work people are willing to put in to master a new skill especially as I just don't seem to be able to make that effort. My beginners have gone from 'My name is...' to 'At work I have a colleague I don't like. I can say "I don't get on with her"?' - ok the word order is a little shaky at the end but I can't do the same in Italian, and I've been living here!

Changing the subject completely, the weather here has been gorgeous. It is hot and sunny during the day and warm at night. However, and inevitably, there are downsides to this. The first is the humidity. This part of Italy is a major rice growing area which means the surrounding fields are paddy fields. That means lots of standing water, hence humidity. Which brings me to the second problem. With standing water you get mosquitoes. Generally I don't have a problem with mosquitoes. They bite me, my body reacts appropriately and within an hour all that's left is a red spot but I like to sleep with my windows open (to get whatever cool breezes there are) so I have to have the plug-in repellents otherwise their buzzing would just irritate me all night.

The other thing that irritates me, and this is the third downside, is the inability of Italian men to wear deodorant. They may think the combined smells of sweat, last night's garlicky meal and their aftershave make a winning combination but they are wrong. I spend a fair amount of time holding my hand in front of my nose because I always smell nice (at least to me).

On a final point, I currently look like I've gone five rounds with Frank Bruno (an under-rated British boxer for those of you not British). The right side of my face is slightly swollen and my right eye is completely bloodshot. The reason for this? Hayfever. I think an evil imp has lodged in my right sinus and is tormenting me. This is the cycle of events (and tough luck if I've already told you this) my right eye starts itching and watering. My right nostril starts itching. A sneeze builds up and cannot be averted. I sneeze, not just once but three times. I have to blow my nose to reduce the irritation. My nose starts bleeding - not heavily, just within the mucus membranes. The blood dries. As it dries, it starts irritating my sinus causing my eye to start watering, etc. etc. etc. Feel sorry for me, pleeeease.

Spring is in the air...

Well, spring has finally sprung here in Italy. The locals are down to shirtsleeves or t-shirts, unveiling limbs which, unlike the British, are not lily-white from being hidden all winter but brown from those weekend trips to the seaside or mountains which all Italians seem to take as a birthright.

There is fluff in the air, some kind of pollen which, where there are many of these trees, makes you think it's snowing. Unfortunately this gives me hayfever which, combined with my cold, means I'm constantly sneezing and blowing my nose. This sets off a vicious cycle whereby my nose is irritated so I sneeze. This means I have to blow my nose which, in turn, starts bleeding (not severely, just inside). As the blood starts to dry, it irritates the lining of my nose which makes me want to sneeze - and here we go again. I even had a weird dream about it last night - the least said about that the better. The fluff is very pretty to look at but not so pretty to interact with.

Another unfortunate side-effect of spring seems to be an epidemic of horn-blowing. Normally Italian drivers don't use their horns (in the same way they don't use their indicators) but since the warmer weather has arrived, all I seem to be hearing is car horns. Now the thing about hitting the horn is that it may relieve the tension for the driver but it sure does wind up the innocent passers-by. Even the normally sanguine Italian pedestrian has been known to cast a filthy look at an inconsiderate driver. That's pretty serious here in Italy.

I went to Abbiategrasso on Friday. It's the next town along, only ten minutes by train, but the difference is remarkable. I don't know if it's because it's a smaller town or because it's the other side of the Ticino river (the theory put forward by my students) but the attitude is completely different. For one thing, it has a library! I'm sure there is one in Vigevano but I wouldn't like to try and find it (and even if I did I wouldn't like to try and use it). More importantly, there is a town centre, with shops, that sell things you want to buy (rather than expensive clothes and handbags). People sit around and talk to their friends and there are parks. OK, they aren't parks by British standards (but I've come to the conclusion we're spoilt) but they are more than dogwalking areas which is what I seem to have around me in Vigevano. The parks in Abbiategrasso have benches where you can sit and talk - benches in the shade so you don't get fried - and bins to put your rubbish in, and swings etc. for children to play on. I like Abbiategrasso however, I am honest enough to admit I don't know how long the 'like' would last if I lived there.

Anyway, enough of this rambling. I've got stuff to do (don't know what stuff, but stuff)

Ciao belli

Che cazzo

This country just gets more peculiar by the day.

Now that the good weather seems to have arrived, I've taken to going out without a jumper or coat. The temperature has been good but the looks I've been getting are incredible. As I look around me today, I can't see a single Italian who doesn't have a jumper or coat on (and it's 16 degrees out there).

Now that they no longer have to carry an umbrella whilst cycling, the latest trend is to walk your dog by bike. I have to say that Italian dogs are not the best disciplined animals in the world which makes the whole cycling and dog-walking very precarious. Not that that has stopped anyone.

Yesterday I had to pay my electricity bill. I turned up at the post office at 11:30. I thought this would be a good time because all those collecting their pensions would have been and gone, working people would be at work and non-working parents would be preparing to collect their offspring. Boy, was I wrong. The queue was actually out of the door and into the road. It took me 45 minutes to actually get to the cashier (and one minute to pay) by which time the number of cashiers had reduced from three to one and the queue was even longer. I honesty don't know why the Italians put up with it - it's not as if there are that many post offices and the cashiers weren't pushing themselves to get things finished (and they kept disappearing into the back for oddly suspicious ten minute spells).

Today I went to get money out the cash machine only to find my card has stopped working. It's less than six months old! I did managed to get money over the counter but they charged me for it! This even though it was their card that stopped working and my being entitled to make one counter withdrawal for free a month. I have to go to my own branch to sort this out. I'm going to ask for the charge to be refunded but, well, this is Italy where nothing makes sense and contracts are worth less than the paper they are written on.

Finally, in this litany of WTF?!?!? I'm using an internet cafe in Piazza Duomo. It's part of a bookshop. You go in the entrance and the sign says: Spazio Internet 2 so you go up to the second floor only to find out that you have to go back down to the ground floor to buy the (rechargeable) internet card, then return to the second floor where you have to present your ID document, have your details taken and sign a piece of paper giving them the right to your first born before they will let you use their machines. When you've gone through this tedious process you are directed to machines which are nicely lined up, side-by-side in the window (so no privacy there), set back about two foot from the edge of the bench, in front of which are the stools. Now here's the genius. The stools are fixed height (level with the bottom of the bench) and with a forward slant so you can't sit on them with your legs under the bench (thus putting you another foot away from the screen and with your head about eighteen inches above the to of the screen - ergonomic? I think not) and for this privilege you have to listen to music from the 80's and 90's interspersed with bleeping from a faulty machine. Such joy.

And on that note, I shall sign off.