The continuing saga of collecting MF from OSW.

Sunday 12th January

The continuing saga of collecting MF from OSW.

JD delivered MF to JETs a few days ago, so now it's my turn to hitch a ride (again) in a bid to retrieve my newly purchased mode of  transport.

Arriving at the gates of South Fork,

I was able to take a new -daylight- look at MF and decided he looked alright for an old boy. Especially one who had spent time in the ownership of JD... JD is not typically known for tlc of inanimate objects.

But better than that, I got to spend a couple of hours in the company of JET.

Within no time, it was time to say farewell for now.   Let's hope "now" isn't too long this time.


After an uneventful trip along the major cross-country motorways , by one pm I was home, intact, with car.

So the Road to KL was via Cannock too.   This moving abroad malarkey was proving to be a good one.

Via old south Wales...

4th January 2014

Normally, people travel to New South Wales via a stop off in the East.  Well, just to be different, I decided that The Road to KL needed a touch of OSW to add seasoning.

As Higgs - the sexy black Peugeot - sadly passed away on 11/11/13, I needed a run-around to tide me over till KL day in August.

Dad has a car in the garage; I need a car. Two birds one rock... little did either of us know that it would go fits up.

The plans were made: tax, mot, and insurance bought.  Single train tickets for daughter and I from here to Newport were booked; our day was set.  Despite the threat of tsunami floods in the west country, we encountered no delays, disruption to service or wet weather.

We were collected from the futuristic corrugated tin hut, locally known as Newport Station on arrival and whisked away to be treated to a lovely lunch in a cosy cottage on the beautiful rolling hills of Torfean. The day was going like a dream. Or so we thought....

Home time soon arrived, but Dad's NDN had parked across his garage doorway, preventing us from leaving on time.   I don't enjoy driving in the dark and had hoped to be back for six. However, the delay of an hour allowed more time for chatting and socializing, something we don't do often enough, and with the mammoth road trip only 31 weeks away, we will have less chance for 104 weeks. So the delay was considered a blessing... what's an hour when you're with family?

Eventually, we were set.  NDN's car moved, Gabrielle Aplin in the CD player, and the route planned, via the fill up as the tank was low.  In fact it had run out of fuel two days earlier, as the gauge had casually said, "I have a quarter, don't worry!" But, like a good BBC weatherman, he had lied.  That's sorted his name for me, Michael Fish!

Little did we suspect, that MF, Michael Fish remember, likes being a Welsh car.  Little did we know that MF's tank contained more crap than that spouted by the cast of Celebrity Big Brother 2013. Little did we know that I would soon find another name with the same initials...

Furthermore, we soon discovered that MF's acting  is better than the whole cast of CBB, as with a full tank, he began a convincing impression of Skippy the kangaroo from The Clarance to The Turnpike.

In one way I relieved it had happened at 4pm on the outskirts of New Inn rather than at 5pm on the M42.  We drifted into a bus lane and awaited rescue from Richard and Dad.  Daughter and I decided it was an adventure.  It was character building and a little mental torment would make us better people in the future!  So we grabbed the opportunity to open our reading material and waited for the verdict.

After a tow to the Garn, a mechanic's overhaul, by 630pm the jury returned a verdict, of not without a new filter.  It's okay, he said, the shops will be opens in the morning.  But there's no guarantee they will have a filter!   "Bother!" I exclaimed, as I'm a professional these days.  And set about the trainline app to see if a return to the rose of the shires was feasible at short notice.

Within the hour, number one child and I were stood on the station awaiting the second single journey of the day, this time via London rather than BHX.  Only five hours more of public transport before we would be home.

So, home, carless and feeling like we have had our fill of trains, the underground and especially sharing our personal space with drunk, lairy, loud mobile phone users, to last us until at least August 2016.

Roll on the 10th August...

Contract signed

2nd January 2014

Contract signed.  Timeline received.  So how many non-working days are there from 2nd January to 10th August?

96.  Ninety-six.  That's nearly 100.  That's loads.  Isn't it?

96 non-teaching days, which I normally fill.  Filled to the brim with markings and planning. Filled with cleaning and shopping.  Filled with candy switching and reading and socializing...

No way. 96 days is nothing...

 With Visas pending, the need to sort, sell, store and pack begins. NOW!

where to begin?

1st Jan 2014


Well, where to begin?

October 2012


One rainy weekend afternoon, while browsing the Guardian, I came across an advertisement to teach overseas. Overseas: the sunny, warm, daylight type of overseas.   Glancing over my shoulder to the cold, wet, dusk street, the idea of sitting on a balcony in Jakarta or Malaysia overwhelmed me.  Why would I want to work (with intervals of chatting) from 7am to 7pm, only seeing the daylight at the weekends, when I could work 7am to 7pm and still have sun, warm and daylight to enjoy Monday to Friday and all day weekend.

Ideally, like all good wives/mothers,  I needed to consult the family before considering applying for such a life changing job..... well, maybe a normal, considerate, rational wife/mother might behave that way.  Me, I spent the afternoon daydreaming and applying for my dream posting.

Once I had pressed the send button I considered how to break the news carefully.....

Me: Who fancies a trip overseas?
The family:  In the summer holidays?
Me:  It would start about then!
Son:  Will it be a long drive in the car again?  Can we go in the duty free shop on the ferry?
Me:  The drive would be much shorter.  About an hour or so... then we get a plane.
Daughter:  But you promised Paris, Disney and two weeks in a villa with a pool.
Husband: Don't book anything with a flight more than two hours.
Me:  (Spinelessly) maybe we can discuss this again soon! (Thinking) how can I make 9000 miles and a twelve hour flight sound like no ‘more than two hours’?...

I eventually plucked up the courage, with some liquid help, to tell the hubbie.  He laughed, and suggested that it was something to consider, in the future.  It was a long shot and I probably shouldn't get excited or do anything daft, and definitely not discuss it, unless I hear back from them.

The idea blossomed and I soon began researching areas, countries and schools that met the needs of the whole family.   Near the equator for the long days, speak English, good expatriate community, tolerant of other cultures and religions, reputation for excellence from teaching staff, accommodation provided in secure compound.... watched too many CSI programmes!

Twelve months later I applied for another post, was interviewed, waited patiently and eventually received the offer at 11:33 on Thursday 12th December 2013.   I didn't opened the email until after my working day was over. I was alone in my room, browsing my email to see if I'd heard from my car insurance - somebody had recently driven into my car at 30mph on the A14, writing off my lovely car Higgs, and injuring both daughter and oneself - when I noticed the email.  It was from them.  They had contacted me, as promised, before Friday 13^th.

Expecting a rejection, as it had been a bad few weeks - I had no car, a sore back and neck, a head cold and little voice - I reluctantly opened the email, just wanting to get it over with.


Seconds later, my colleague came flying into my room.  Her reaction startled me.  That's what stopped me screaming.   I had been screaming, piercing I think she called it, without realising it.

This was it: our chance to see the world together as a family.   Our chance to travel around a new continent.  Our chance for the son to realise there is more to life than his exbox and Mackie-d’s.   Our chance for the daughter to see another culture, another way of life, another world.  A world where some children don't have instantaneous technology, hair straightener and the opportunity to see live bands every few months.  Our chance for the hubbie to see birds worth seeing when he looks out of the kitchen window, rather than just flying rats, hells angels and - if he is really lucky- the odd goldfinch!   Furthermore, the chance for him to pop out on his bike, when he likes, because he isn't working from dawn till coming home in the dark time, or that the weekend’s weather is too blustery.   My chance, my time to do this for my family.

It's time for me to work my socks off, resulting in everybody in my family having some benefit.   It's time for my children to get a different type of education, not only one that we couldn't ordinarily afford, but also an education in a different type of life.  It's time to learn some new practise from a new bunch of colleagues - so I can become an even better teacher... maybe even coming home professionalism personified!  It's time...

Oh my goodness, there's so much to be done.  Will there really be enough time?