Some months ago I decided to do a fun lesson for some of my younger students by basing it on a magic trick. This magic trick to be exact, whereby you guess the other person's chosen card by simply dealing out 21 cards in a certain way three times. As a trick it requires no skill or preparation, you just have to be able to follow the instructions (the point of the lesson - reading for gist); a six year old could do it.
This morning my former students Javier messaged me to ask if I wanted to come with him and his friend Lucia to a magic show in Ventas after work. Great! I hadn't seen Javi for a while and I've always enjoyed seeing magic; for me it's a win-win situation - when you can work out how they did the trick you feel pleased with yourself, and when you can't you just feel amazed.
The show turned out to be at a small magic school, some kind of end-of-term graduating ceremony for recent students, hosted by one of the teachers. The performance space was small, with barely twenty of us seated in three tiers. This kind of intimacy was necessary for the show as the majority of the performers were doing card tricks, with the 3 of hearts making repeated appearances. This may have been intended, as by the end it had become a kind of running joke.
Pretty much every performer - there were about 9 - asked for at least one volunteer to shuffle the deck, chose a card, check the table and so on, so it was kind of inevitable that eventually my turn to be called upon would come around.
In the end it was the compere who called me up and, after checking I understood Spanish, decided to score a cheap laugh by handing me the deck of cards and announcing "y ahora, de ingleterra, el magnifico Theo!" and retiring from the stage. Great.
I probably should have just sat down again. Or given him back the cards. He was really stretching the timing of his little joke a lot and the stage was becoming a vacuum. Then I remembered the class I had done. "Fine" I thought, "I'll do a trick." It was an easy trick - a six year old could follow the instructions. Except I didn't have the instructions.
As was kind of inevitable, I screwed up the trick. However, I like to think I did so with a sense of comic timing and I was certainly rewarded with laughter that I feel was, on the whole, with me rather than at me. The irony is that if the compere had called on Javi, who was sitting next to me, he would have actually got some magic - Javi is an excellent amateur magician. Anyway, I said to Javi I'd go with him another time, and this time I'm damn well going to practice in advance!
Showing posts with label cards. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cards. Show all posts
Thursday, 10 June 2010
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Mus, Yoga and Pretty Persuasion by Theo
Spanish lunches are quite a thing. Last weekend we were invited to lunch at Belen and Cesar's and made the mistake of having plans for that evening. Bad idea. This weekend we were more sensible, as when we were again invited to lunch at Belen and Cesar's (clearly Belen wanted a rematch at Parcheesi/Ludo), we cleared the schedule!!
We arrived at 2pm as instructed to find that Nataly and David had not only beaten us to it, but were also providing food - a delicious goat's cheese salad followed by cannelloni. Kind of unfair we thought, seeing as we had been ordered in the strictest terms NOT to bring any food. A slight double standard on the part of our hosts, but we graciously let this slide especially as our tongues started to melt with delight at the taste of Nataly's culinary arts. Mmmmmmm! A delicious meal and great company, Cesar bravely trying to insist everyone speak in English (apparently the others need practice, not that we noticed), though lots of Spanish was spoken too.
We hadn't however turned up completely empty handed. We had discovered the previous week that our hosts lacked a set of Spanish playing cards, which we remedied on this visit. Spanish cards have coins, clubs, swords and cups as suits and further differ from English cards by lacking the queen, the nine and the eight. However these cards are completely necessary for playing Mus, a popular card game in Spain, often practised by large groups of old men in bars and squares around town. We first came across it a year ago in Vaughan Town and totally failed to understand it - our complete lack of Spanish back then being a major barrier.
On this occasion Belen, the only one who knew how to play, was much more successful at teaching us despite constant interruptions, questions, protestations and disagreements among her students. It's a combination of poker and bridge, in that you play with a partner and you bet on the strength of your hand, though there are no trumps and the value of the cards changes depending on the stage of the game. Very complicated. Needless to say, the Belen/Katetheo team won.
The Mus lesson concluded, Kate proceeded to instruct Nataly on the finer points of the yoga sun salute (it was dark by now) and the afternoon was rounded off by a foray for films and popcorn followed by a showing of Pretty Persuasion on the large screen - who needs cinemas! It was a very good, blackly funny look at the bleakness of American private schools, teen jealousy and litigation. If you enjoyed Cruel Intentions, Heathers or Election then it's definitely worth renting. By the time we got home it was 11.30pm. Some lunch!
We arrived at 2pm as instructed to find that Nataly and David had not only beaten us to it, but were also providing food - a delicious goat's cheese salad followed by cannelloni. Kind of unfair we thought, seeing as we had been ordered in the strictest terms NOT to bring any food. A slight double standard on the part of our hosts, but we graciously let this slide especially as our tongues started to melt with delight at the taste of Nataly's culinary arts. Mmmmmmm! A delicious meal and great company, Cesar bravely trying to insist everyone speak in English (apparently the others need practice, not that we noticed), though lots of Spanish was spoken too.
We hadn't however turned up completely empty handed. We had discovered the previous week that our hosts lacked a set of Spanish playing cards, which we remedied on this visit. Spanish cards have coins, clubs, swords and cups as suits and further differ from English cards by lacking the queen, the nine and the eight. However these cards are completely necessary for playing Mus, a popular card game in Spain, often practised by large groups of old men in bars and squares around town. We first came across it a year ago in Vaughan Town and totally failed to understand it - our complete lack of Spanish back then being a major barrier.
On this occasion Belen, the only one who knew how to play, was much more successful at teaching us despite constant interruptions, questions, protestations and disagreements among her students. It's a combination of poker and bridge, in that you play with a partner and you bet on the strength of your hand, though there are no trumps and the value of the cards changes depending on the stage of the game. Very complicated. Needless to say, the Belen/Katetheo team won.
The Mus lesson concluded, Kate proceeded to instruct Nataly on the finer points of the yoga sun salute (it was dark by now) and the afternoon was rounded off by a foray for films and popcorn followed by a showing of Pretty Persuasion on the large screen - who needs cinemas! It was a very good, blackly funny look at the bleakness of American private schools, teen jealousy and litigation. If you enjoyed Cruel Intentions, Heathers or Election then it's definitely worth renting. By the time we got home it was 11.30pm. Some lunch!
Wednesday, 20 August 2008
Frustrating Times in The Netherlands
The Dutch are lovely, helpful people. We've found this everywhere we've met them (which is everywhere) on our travels. One of the reasons why we've met them everywhere, we've come to realise, is that their own country can be a deeply frustrating one - they clearly just want to get out of it.
Take shopping for food for instance. Now, neither of us is a huge fan of supermarkets generally, and in an ideal world we'd shop at farmers' markets or have organic, seasonal vegetable boxes delivered to our bumper. However, as we've yet to find a campsite providing such a service, we've found supermarkets have been an invaluable source of our daily travel rations. This would also be the case in The Netherlands - if we could ever find one. Elsewhere in Europe our shopping technique is simple - get on the ringroad or bypass of a sizeable town and, voila, (or, presto, as the case may be) there's a Carrefour. Often they are signposted from a good 10kms away. Not so in The Netherlands. If big, out of town supermarkets exist here, we haven't found one. Instead we've been reduced to finding tiny town centre mini-markets (which means, of course, finding parking) which have a small range of produce and aren't easy to find in the first place. Then we have to pay. Environmentalists would probably salute this hypermarket-sparse landscape, but we certainly burn a lot more fuel trying to do our shopping in the Netherlands than in other countries.
Here's the next annoying thing about The Netherlands. While good old chip-n'-pin has worked everywhere else - meaning we can use our no-charge-for-use-overseas Post Office credit cards for groceries - very few places in The Netherlands seem to take Mastercard (or Visa). The Dutch have their own bankcard system (also, ironically, called PIN) and thus many places only accept Dutch cards. This has included campsites, aside from the one in Amersterdam which I presciently booked in advance. This wouldn't have been such a huge problem if: a) cash points were easy to find - total mission and b) both our Nationwide debit cards hadn't been swallowed by ATM's. This latter occurrence is no way the fault of The Netherlands of course, but it has naturally added to the frustration and means we'll have to pay commission every time we withdraw cash (from our Alliance & Leicester account).
In addition, Kate has caught a cold, the weather is rubbish and our laptop screen has developed a big white line down the middle. Again, none of this is the fault of The Dutch. But we're having a bit of a frustrating time of things here in The Netherlands.
Take shopping for food for instance. Now, neither of us is a huge fan of supermarkets generally, and in an ideal world we'd shop at farmers' markets or have organic, seasonal vegetable boxes delivered to our bumper. However, as we've yet to find a campsite providing such a service, we've found supermarkets have been an invaluable source of our daily travel rations. This would also be the case in The Netherlands - if we could ever find one. Elsewhere in Europe our shopping technique is simple - get on the ringroad or bypass of a sizeable town and, voila, (or, presto, as the case may be) there's a Carrefour. Often they are signposted from a good 10kms away. Not so in The Netherlands. If big, out of town supermarkets exist here, we haven't found one. Instead we've been reduced to finding tiny town centre mini-markets (which means, of course, finding parking) which have a small range of produce and aren't easy to find in the first place. Then we have to pay. Environmentalists would probably salute this hypermarket-sparse landscape, but we certainly burn a lot more fuel trying to do our shopping in the Netherlands than in other countries.
Here's the next annoying thing about The Netherlands. While good old chip-n'-pin has worked everywhere else - meaning we can use our no-charge-for-use-overseas Post Office credit cards for groceries - very few places in The Netherlands seem to take Mastercard (or Visa). The Dutch have their own bankcard system (also, ironically, called PIN) and thus many places only accept Dutch cards. This has included campsites, aside from the one in Amersterdam which I presciently booked in advance. This wouldn't have been such a huge problem if: a) cash points were easy to find - total mission and b) both our Nationwide debit cards hadn't been swallowed by ATM's. This latter occurrence is no way the fault of The Netherlands of course, but it has naturally added to the frustration and means we'll have to pay commission every time we withdraw cash (from our Alliance & Leicester account).
In addition, Kate has caught a cold, the weather is rubbish and our laptop screen has developed a big white line down the middle. Again, none of this is the fault of The Dutch. But we're having a bit of a frustrating time of things here in The Netherlands.
Sunday, 22 June 2008
Florence: Golf, Football and Skeletons
We'd like to consider ourselves relatively well informed about the places we have been visiting - their historical importance and so on. Florence took us a bit by surprise though; despite both of us having studied history I don't think either of us quite realised just how great a role Florence played, not just in Italian affairs, but in shaping the world, for it truly was the birthplace of the Renaissance. The amount of art gathered here is truly staggering - we didn't even attempt to see it all, though we did go and marvel at the original David which even after clocking both the replicas was still astounding. 
(The 10 euro entry price made us appreciate the free entry to London museums like never before.) The Duomo's facade and dome are remarkably beautiful, though after the marvels of the interior of Siena's Duomo, the interior here struck us as slightly austere and understated, though there were beautiful frescos and paintings to be found there and in other neighbourhood churches we ventured into.
The sheer wealth that must have once resided here must have been exceptional at one time and beyond even the conception of most Florentine contemporaries. This home of Dante, Giotto, Petrarch and Michelangelo is filled with beautiful townhouses, their eaves overhanging the narrow streets to give some respite from the baking sun, which was cooking at 9am and 6pm, and pretty well unbearable at midday. The Ponte Vecchio, still lined with jewelers had a charm that survived the hordes of hawkers and crowds of tourists that rivaled Rome.
There were surprises and treats everywhere; a museum of musical instruments, including one of the earliest pianos; a missed bus stop which resulted in us watching the sun set over the city from the heights of Piazzale Michelangelo; discovering quite by chance that on the second evening we were there a large street party, Bianco Notti, would be taking place in the old town around Palazzo Pitti to celebrate (we presumed) the summer solstice; once there stumbling upon a University Museum still open at 11pm on a Saturday and filled with animal skeletons of all shapes and sizes. Florence is a truly magical and surprising city.
If only the campsite had had a swimming pool!! It was baking - by 8am the sun was already high in the sky with the tarmac radiating heat, and at night we were sleeping on top of the covers. The campsite did however have amazing views over the city, which led to the rather incongruous juxtaposition of the illuminated dome of the Cathedral with the bar's big screen showing a rather dull football match between Turkey and Croatia. Loosing interest (in the match not the view) we made friends with Damon and Hannah, two Mancunians spending a month riding the rails around Europe. They taught us a new card game - Golf - which I managed to loose quite spectacularly just in time for the equally spectacular end to an otherwise dull match - two goals in the final two minutes of injury time followed by a penalty shoot out, which Turkey won. Another surprising turn of events.
(The 10 euro entry price made us appreciate the free entry to London museums like never before.) The Duomo's facade and dome are remarkably beautiful, though after the marvels of the interior of Siena's Duomo, the interior here struck us as slightly austere and understated, though there were beautiful frescos and paintings to be found there and in other neighbourhood churches we ventured into.The sheer wealth that must have once resided here must have been exceptional at one time and beyond even the conception of most Florentine contemporaries. This home of Dante, Giotto, Petrarch and Michelangelo is filled with beautiful townhouses, their eaves overhanging the narrow streets to give some respite from the baking sun, which was cooking at 9am and 6pm, and pretty well unbearable at midday. The Ponte Vecchio, still lined with jewelers had a charm that survived the hordes of hawkers and crowds of tourists that rivaled Rome.
There were surprises and treats everywhere; a museum of musical instruments, including one of the earliest pianos; a missed bus stop which resulted in us watching the sun set over the city from the heights of Piazzale Michelangelo; discovering quite by chance that on the second evening we were there a large street party, Bianco Notti, would be taking place in the old town around Palazzo Pitti to celebrate (we presumed) the summer solstice; once there stumbling upon a University Museum still open at 11pm on a Saturday and filled with animal skeletons of all shapes and sizes. Florence is a truly magical and surprising city.
If only the campsite had had a swimming pool!! It was baking - by 8am the sun was already high in the sky with the tarmac radiating heat, and at night we were sleeping on top of the covers. The campsite did however have amazing views over the city, which led to the rather incongruous juxtaposition of the illuminated dome of the Cathedral with the bar's big screen showing a rather dull football match between Turkey and Croatia. Loosing interest (in the match not the view) we made friends with Damon and Hannah, two Mancunians spending a month riding the rails around Europe. They taught us a new card game - Golf - which I managed to loose quite spectacularly just in time for the equally spectacular end to an otherwise dull match - two goals in the final two minutes of injury time followed by a penalty shoot out, which Turkey won. Another surprising turn of events.
Friday, 25 April 2008
where we've been and where we're going
An update then, for regular readers, and for others a quick summary to avoid trawling through the past 19 odd posts.
We caught the ferry at Poole at the beginning of April, and drove down the West Coast of France - Cherbourg, Mont Saint Michel, Dinan, Carnac, Nantes, La Rochelle, Ile de Re, Rochefort - to Montcuq in the Lot region. We've been here for two weeks now drinking and eating far too much at Cathy & Jean's - Kate's mother and her French-of-Italian-extraction boyfriend. We've been relaxing, washing clothes, shrugging off colds, taking day trips to Carcassonne, Toulouse & Cahors, learning Spanish, doing odd bits and bobs to Sheena, and playing lots and lots of card games. This Sunday there's a big party for us that is basically a second wedding reception for those French friends who couldn't make it to Bristol.
Where to next?
We're both looking forward to getting off - it's been great chilling out here and being spoiled, but we're itching for the road. Bilbao, probably via Biarritz, is our first stop - we've met some people through Global Freeloaders there who are going to let us park up and use their kitchen and bathroom, while we find out whether we've learnt any Spanish at all. Then Madrid, Salamanca, Porto, Lisbon and Seville are the next stops on our rough itinery, before we rock up at the Rocket Festival outside Grenada on May 16th. Afterwards we plan to check out Granada itself then head up towards Barcelona for the Primavera Sound Festival, both of us having secured press passes, which starts on the 25th - SJ Esau, Portishead and Fuck Buttons on our 'to see' list. Then back to France - probably via Andorra - and on, via the French Riviera, to Italy, where we plan to spend most of June, before heading back to Cherbourg via Slovenia, Switzerland and Paris to catch a ferry back to take our turn as wedding guests.
We caught the ferry at Poole at the beginning of April, and drove down the West Coast of France - Cherbourg, Mont Saint Michel, Dinan, Carnac, Nantes, La Rochelle, Ile de Re, Rochefort - to Montcuq in the Lot region. We've been here for two weeks now drinking and eating far too much at Cathy & Jean's - Kate's mother and her French-of-Italian-extraction boyfriend. We've been relaxing, washing clothes, shrugging off colds, taking day trips to Carcassonne, Toulouse & Cahors, learning Spanish, doing odd bits and bobs to Sheena, and playing lots and lots of card games. This Sunday there's a big party for us that is basically a second wedding reception for those French friends who couldn't make it to Bristol.
Where to next?
We're both looking forward to getting off - it's been great chilling out here and being spoiled, but we're itching for the road. Bilbao, probably via Biarritz, is our first stop - we've met some people through Global Freeloaders there who are going to let us park up and use their kitchen and bathroom, while we find out whether we've learnt any Spanish at all. Then Madrid, Salamanca, Porto, Lisbon and Seville are the next stops on our rough itinery, before we rock up at the Rocket Festival outside Grenada on May 16th. Afterwards we plan to check out Granada itself then head up towards Barcelona for the Primavera Sound Festival, both of us having secured press passes, which starts on the 25th - SJ Esau, Portishead and Fuck Buttons on our 'to see' list. Then back to France - probably via Andorra - and on, via the French Riviera, to Italy, where we plan to spend most of June, before heading back to Cherbourg via Slovenia, Switzerland and Paris to catch a ferry back to take our turn as wedding guests.
Monday, 14 April 2008
The Little Differences
"They got the same sh*t over there as they got over here, only it's a little different.." - Vince, Pulp Fiction
So here we are, being royally pampered in a rustic French style and adapting to les differences. The French have got some really great things. Like bidets, clearly invented by a nation which rightly prioritises carnal activity highly and appreciates efficiencies of hygiene thereof. Excellent for honeymooning couples, I can tell you.
Three-hour five-course lunchtimes are also still very much the norm. During her time in France, my Mum has developed the ability to knock up a daily mega-course feast in the blink of an eye. Today we had fresh vegetable and home-grown white bean soup, followed by poireaux mimosa (leeks cooked in long lengths and served with vinaigrette and hard boiled egg yolk pushed through a sieve so it resembles the flowers of a mimosa), then pasta with wild morels (collected yesterday by Mum's man, Jean and their friend Jacques), after which the cheese course and then coffee and pistachio ice cream to finish with.
In this household, soup is a must with every meal (including breakfast for Jean, who customarily starts the day with a piece of cake and a bowl of soup rinsed out with a glass of the local red wine) as, of course, is bread. Currently there are a lot of "mon dieus" being said about the price of bread which, in France as everywhere else, is going up sharply because of soaring wheat prices. Since the French revolution, the importance of bread to the people who live here cannot be overstated.
The big meal is eaten at lunchtime with a smaller supper at about eight in the evening. Mind you, I say smaller, but it still tends to be three courses comprising soup, a main dish and cheese. But it makes sense to do it that way round, especially if you've got the option of a siesta, as that much digesting can be a tiring business. And you really should try and reign in your natural greed and keep your courses very modest. I reckon Theo and I have more than made up for the starvation that began our honeymoon, thanks to the "gastro" we both endured in the days after our wedding. This afternoon we've resolved to go for a run to try and shake off some of the extra carbo-loading.
The other interesting aspect of eating here involves the cutlery. They don't bother with special soup spoons, dessert spoons will do. But most importantly, you have your own knife - a pocket twist knife (Opinel, ideally) which you keep sharp and use for everything, whether it's opening oysters, cutting bread, picking wild champignons or slicing up your vegetables. Jean and his good friend Norbert are also very specific about the exact type of glass they use for their wine, but there isn't time to go into all that now.
Since we arrived, we've met a good number of Mum and Jean's friends, which has certainly been useful in cranking up our rusty French. On the whole we've just about made ourselves understood, Theo doing rather better than me (well, he did study French to A Level and a good deal more recently than I did). The people have all been very friendly to us and we have been made to feel very welcome. But probably our most successful mode of communication has been through playing cards, largely Belote and Ascenseur, with Mum, Jean and Norbert. Not quite the vernacular to be used in polite company, but "putain" and "con" are excellent all-purpose exclamations and we're now pretty adept at telling apart our coeurs, carreaux, trefles and picques and have more or less got our heads round the eccentric (to English eyes, anyway) mode of scoring points in continental whist games.
And finally the French computer keyboard, as alluded to by Theo earlier. The different placing of the A, W, M, Z and Q in particular can lead the unwary English touch-typist into strange avenues of written Franglais and this, plus the unexpected placing of punctuation marks, accented letters and the fact my Mum's laptop has a stubbornly sticky D key, can make computer work exhausting and only possible in short doses. The word "putain" comes in handy there, too.
So here we are, being royally pampered in a rustic French style and adapting to les differences. The French have got some really great things. Like bidets, clearly invented by a nation which rightly prioritises carnal activity highly and appreciates efficiencies of hygiene thereof. Excellent for honeymooning couples, I can tell you.
Three-hour five-course lunchtimes are also still very much the norm. During her time in France, my Mum has developed the ability to knock up a daily mega-course feast in the blink of an eye. Today we had fresh vegetable and home-grown white bean soup, followed by poireaux mimosa (leeks cooked in long lengths and served with vinaigrette and hard boiled egg yolk pushed through a sieve so it resembles the flowers of a mimosa), then pasta with wild morels (collected yesterday by Mum's man, Jean and their friend Jacques), after which the cheese course and then coffee and pistachio ice cream to finish with.
In this household, soup is a must with every meal (including breakfast for Jean, who customarily starts the day with a piece of cake and a bowl of soup rinsed out with a glass of the local red wine) as, of course, is bread. Currently there are a lot of "mon dieus" being said about the price of bread which, in France as everywhere else, is going up sharply because of soaring wheat prices. Since the French revolution, the importance of bread to the people who live here cannot be overstated.
The big meal is eaten at lunchtime with a smaller supper at about eight in the evening. Mind you, I say smaller, but it still tends to be three courses comprising soup, a main dish and cheese. But it makes sense to do it that way round, especially if you've got the option of a siesta, as that much digesting can be a tiring business. And you really should try and reign in your natural greed and keep your courses very modest. I reckon Theo and I have more than made up for the starvation that began our honeymoon, thanks to the "gastro" we both endured in the days after our wedding. This afternoon we've resolved to go for a run to try and shake off some of the extra carbo-loading.
The other interesting aspect of eating here involves the cutlery. They don't bother with special soup spoons, dessert spoons will do. But most importantly, you have your own knife - a pocket twist knife (Opinel, ideally) which you keep sharp and use for everything, whether it's opening oysters, cutting bread, picking wild champignons or slicing up your vegetables. Jean and his good friend Norbert are also very specific about the exact type of glass they use for their wine, but there isn't time to go into all that now.
Since we arrived, we've met a good number of Mum and Jean's friends, which has certainly been useful in cranking up our rusty French. On the whole we've just about made ourselves understood, Theo doing rather better than me (well, he did study French to A Level and a good deal more recently than I did). The people have all been very friendly to us and we have been made to feel very welcome. But probably our most successful mode of communication has been through playing cards, largely Belote and Ascenseur, with Mum, Jean and Norbert. Not quite the vernacular to be used in polite company, but "putain" and "con" are excellent all-purpose exclamations and we're now pretty adept at telling apart our coeurs, carreaux, trefles and picques and have more or less got our heads round the eccentric (to English eyes, anyway) mode of scoring points in continental whist games.
And finally the French computer keyboard, as alluded to by Theo earlier. The different placing of the A, W, M, Z and Q in particular can lead the unwary English touch-typist into strange avenues of written Franglais and this, plus the unexpected placing of punctuation marks, accented letters and the fact my Mum's laptop has a stubbornly sticky D key, can make computer work exhausting and only possible in short doses. The word "putain" comes in handy there, too.
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