One week back at the chalkface. And how many words have I managed to add to the word count of my current blockbuster-in-progress since I returned from my UK holiday? Zero. Oh well, I knew it was going to be tough. I could always stop blogging, I suppose. Or sleeping.
Like the Ukraine, I’m in a period of transition. Upheaval might not be too strong a word for it. It’s all change and things have got to settle down. I must once again find my rhythm, a routine, into which I can find the opportunity and energy to sit down and write. I’m not crying about things. I’m being pragmatic. (That way I might stay sane.)
So why am I blogging about writing when I’m not – writing that is? The blog’s always been about the trials and tribulations, the journey, of trying to make it as an author of note, so I suppose that anything to do with anything that impacts on that aspect of my secret life should be recorded for posterity.
This week I’ve been on an orientation week with my new employer. This was on the European side of Istanbul. Next week I will be moving to the campus where I’ll be working for this year, which is on the Asian side of the Bosphorus Channel.
My commute (the ‘c’ word in case you still hadn’t twigged) this week has taken an hour and forty-five minutes each way. Gulp! you might be forgiven for thinking. In truth, and much to my surprise, I’ve enjoyed it. Really. I’ve used a right old mixed bag of transport and I’ve rubbed shoulders with the ‘common man’ in these parts. (And one or two of them don’t half pong.)
I leave at , to the , catch a to Kadikoy, then a to Besiktas, short , then and finish with a twenty minute . The journey takes about twenty minutes and early in the morning it’s a pleasure to be with the on my , in one hand and a in the other. Beats being stuck in on the in the
Am I just procrastinating? Sigh.
The new people in my new job seem nice enough, which is good. Only one small hiccough this week. I might as well relate it. Sharing is caring and caring is sharing and all that.
There are quite a few new overseas teachers like me just started. They come from all over the globe to give the school a real multi-cultural feel. I like that. It’s a melting pot of difference.
During the parts of the week where we had no seminars or meetings we were kept busy with various tasks to work on. I was asked to look at the English language curriculum with a view to ‘tightening’ it up a bit. Another colleague – Canadian – was asked to cast their experienced eye over the school’s assessment policy. The school also has a Chinese teacher this year and he was given the job of performing an inventory and organising the office supplies. It all felt like we were being tested in some way.
Senior management checked up on us on Friday. I’d managed to complete my task. Jo, the Canadian, had finished his, but when we entered the office looking for Chen to see how he’d got on, the powers that be were very disappointed to find that nothing had been done and the shelves were still bare. No one knew where Chen was. And then he burst out of the stationery cupboard and shouted, ‘Here I am!’ in perfect English.