Sherlock is my Holmes boy

A few weeks ago I started devouring Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock short stories. Despite the fact that earlier I said it wasn't really my bag. I really enjoyed the kickarse Downey Jr-Ritchie version, and so when the BBC released 3 feature length episodes of Sherlock set in modern times, my interest was piqued.

And it is FANTASTIC. As other reviewers have noted, there is a total dirth of sleuths in modern pop culture. A CSI and NCIS for every city. NYPD and L&A: SVU and CI and all manner of other crime fighting acronyms that show the super brainy and logical detectives hunting out the bad guys and knocking them down. And so this version of Mr Holmes and Dr Watson needs to bring the best game it can. "And the game is on"

Created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gattiss, the Beeb has brought witty and intriguing crime television to life. Conan Doyle's details are brought to life in modern London, with all the trappings of a technological society to aid his brilliant powers of deduction (or induction, if you want to be a pedant about it) - text messaging, smart phones. The original Holmes tale A Study in Scarlet has been tweaked for Ep 1 as "A study in pink". Instead of a pipe, there is nicotine patches. Instead of horse drawn handsome cabs, it is black cabs. And Holmes has the wonders of modern refridgeration for his severed heads and other experiments. Watson doesn't keep a journal, he is a blogger (bless his soul) - and he blogs about his adventures with his new flatmate. The vibe of Conan Doyle's original stories is by no means destroyed in this new one - just tweaked to make it fit in the modern world. Guy Ritchie kind of messed with the vibe a little bit - it was less of a scuffle and more of a full blown action bonanza. Moffat and Gattiss have brought the scuffle back to the sleuth work.

And should there be any doubt as to the quality of the show if Moffat is behind it? He is credited as the Man Who Saved Dr Who. He was also the gendudeius behind the highly addictive Jekyll from a few years ago. He is responsible for the much loved Press Gang. But most importantly, he is the comedy genius behind the oh-so-brilliant Coupling - one of the best written sitcoms of all time, witty and insightful commentary on the difficulties of negotiating relationships and friendships across the great divide of Gender. But I think that is a-whole-nother blogpost. Perhaps it deserves a rewatch...? The point is that Moffat is no stranger to brilliant tele, and Sherlock is no exception.

The principal performers also bring a touch of the brilliant. Bendedict Cumberbatch not only has a tasty and chunky name, he also inhabits this oft-performed role to perfection. He is simultaneously prickly and endearing. He captures the Asperger's tendencies, and has a chilliness to his stare (last seen in Atonement) that hints at the enromity of the calculations of his brain, and the lack of emotion behind them. Yet another emotional retard/amputee? Martin Freeman has comic timing by the bucket load. His every-man face, made famous and endearing in The Office (the original and the best, UK of course) and Love Actually. He brings a little more internal turmoil to Dr Watson - war vet from Afganistan with PTSD. He is more emotionally engaged in the cases than the world's only Consulting Detective, but his empathy forces Holmes to view events through different lenses. Freeman isn't just playing the sad clown or the awkward lover, and is showing a greater depth in his characterisation.

But I think my favourite character is not Holmes. Or Watson. Or Scotland Yard detective Lestrade.

It is the city of London. Gatiss, in the geeky making-of special features doco, says that they were trying to fetishise the streets of Modern London in the way the traditional interpretations of Victorian London are shown, with the fog, and the cobbles, and the handsome cabs. And it works!! I mean, it doesn't take much for me to swoon at shots of London, and I was especially treated with glimpses of the South Bank and Waterloo Bridge - which has been redubbed the Pinch Me Bridge (as in 'Pinch me, I'm in London, and from this bridge I can see pretty much all of the cliched sites of the city!). From his famous base on Baker Street, Sherlock and his sidekick flit all about the fantastic city. Chinatown, Battersea, Hungerford footbridge, the Gherkin... The beautiful cinematography is almost enough for me to chuck in my job and hightail it all the way to Londres for good.

But three episodes is not nearly enough. Moffat has hinted that there are current negotiations for timing and format for further episodes. Crossing all of my fingers!

Literary BFFs

In a perfect world, where the people on the pages are flesh and blood, I would put so many into my contacts on my phone, friend so many on facebook and drink copious amounts of coffee with them all. But if I had to boil it down to just 10 besties from the world of fiction, as mandated over at The Broke & The Bookish the list would look a little something like this...

1. Lyra Belaqua  - His Dark Materials (Philip Pullman).
Completely massacred in the really horrific film version, this chick is so awesome. Impulsive and inquisitive and generally arse kicking across multiple dimensions. I guess if I got to be real life friends with her I would also get to hang out with Pantalaimon too, her much more sensible but equally awesome daemon companion. If you haven't read these books, get your arse into gear.

2. Bridget Jones - Bridget Jones' Diary (Helen Fielding)
Sure she is completely neurotic, sure she has some social retardations and some serious hang ups about her body image. But I love the way she finds herself drowning in self-analysis - just like me and my real-life friends do. Three pages in to this book, I have already taken on her vertnacular and internation.

3. Eliza Bennett - Pride & Prejudice (Jane Austen) and Pride & Prejudice & Zombies (Seth Graeme-Smith)
Lizzie B appears quite a  bit in the lists from the site. She is honest and flawed and three dimensional and logical and friendly and not the shrinking violet leading lady of most classic novels.Austen drew her with detail and brilliance, and Graeme-Smith coloured her in with a modern brush. He explains with a little more depth why Mr Darcy is attracted to the kick-arse zombie slayer. But I already explained this.

4. Katniss Everdeen - Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins)
She really isn't the kind of girl to readily be friends with just anybody. But she is fierce and determined and loyal. She is a bit of an emotional amputee, but there is a number of them in my real-life. Plus I do have a bit of a superman complex.

5. Ron Weasley & Hermione Granger - Harry Potter (JK Rowling)
I probably would only be friends with Harry through these other two. Ron is funny, and Hermione is way too clever. Harry is just a wee bit moany and self-centred to be totally my tribe.

6. Leslie Burke - The Bridge to Terabithia (Katherine Paterson)
This was my go to book of my teenage angst. Far too young for me at that age, but the magic of the friendship between Leslie & Jesse was something that I really wanted to be a part of. I'm beginning to see the pattern here of fearless and gutsy chicks who defy a stereotype and don't mind getting dirty. Leslie fits this again, and she is a pretty awesome girl.

7. Ellie Linton - Tomorrow When The War Began (John Marsden)
When faced with horrors and struggles, it is always the natural leaders that you want to be with. But even without the pressures of war, and the difficulties of having almost everyone you love held in prisoner of war camps, Ellie would be a great gal to have around. She is a little bit country, and a little bit rock and roll. I know girls who come from this life, this small town rural existence. And some of these girls are my real life besties.

8. The BFG - The BFG (Roald Dahl)
My dad used to call this book, and this character, Bloody Good Friend. Despite the dyslexia in interpreting the acronym, he was right. The Big Friendly Giant is indeed a bloody good friend. And who wouldn't want a friend like this? This was deadset my favourite book in the world when I was a kid. So it seems totally fitting that he appear on a list like this.

9. D'Artagnan - The Three Musketeers (Alexandre Dumas)
A lover, and a fighter. Can wield a sword, and undoubtedly a loyal friend. Plus his ability to drink and kick arse would undoubtedly be useful.

10. The Bunyip - The Bunyip at Berkley's Creek (Jenny Wagner)
He is a lost soul - but aren't we all? In the midst of a total identity crisis. This picturebook is pretty seminal in my growing up, and his hunt for self-discovery is pretty much a clear metaphor for everyone's self-doubt and uncertainty. But despite his odd looks, he is friendly and welcoming and I reckon would make a pretty good BFF.

Pain of the suburbs

Brendon Cowell can write. He wrote a number of episodes of the brilliant Love My Way. He has been a highlight of the Australian theatre, film and television scenes for a number of years. And he has recently released his first novel, How It Feels.

And it is beautiful.

Neil Cronk is a theatrical and creative young man, trapped in the suppressive suburbs of the Shire. His friendships, family and romantic relationships in his school years are rich and real, and his desperation to ditch all things suburban is almost tangible. In these relationships and this suburban peninsular he feels perpetually judged and trapped (I knew that feeling). He escapes to the freedom of studying theatre at university (I knew that too) and his ego thrives unchecked and rampant through his life of performance and debauchery (I may or may not have known that as well). He suffers and struggles through the whole process of identity and relating to others as the epidemic of young male suicide sweeps through the Australian suburban landscape.

This book is ultimately about friendship, and what it means to be a Man. As in, a grown up, functioning human  Man that can cope with shit and get shit done. Neil Cronk spends most of the book not knowing this.

There are passages of this book that gave me a phisiological response. His description of London, and all things that are "so very London" gave me a true physical nostalgia, a pain of memory. His anxieties about letting others in, about letting himself out, about dropping that all important macho ego wall of rebuff evoked the men I love so vividly. Neil Cronk is by no means a likable character, but he is so three dimensional in his construction. While reading this, I kept needing to remind myself that this is NOT a memior of Brendan Cowell, but the details of his life that I know of really do mirror that of Cronk.

The Australian literature landscape has been in desperate need of some weighty contenders, with youth, and vigour and gravitas. I hope Cowell writes lots lots more.

The Great Annual Sigh

Here it is. The greatest feeling a teacher can know. The stretching out of weeks of non-commital down time. Time to catch up on a much ignored blog, on the pile of long ignored books to be read, and on the hours of well ignored DVDs.

These past few weeks have brought some pretty tricky times, and I am still kind of bracing myself - I don't want to jinx it by thinking it might be over. Distracting myself with relaxation seems to be the only logical thing to do?

So I am hoping the next month or so is going to bring much happier times, much less angst and pain and uncertainty. Fewer reports, and more frosty beverages.

The answer

Some time ago, I used this blog as a place to vent some bile about a nasty teaching experience. And within that post was the oft asked question, 'Why do you want to teach?'

This question has been raised and answered so often in the positive in the last few weeks.

I had my first ever Pracky (trans: Practicum teacher - student teacher, trainee teacher). And she was BRILLIANT. The kind of person who walked into the classroom with confidence, with enthusiasm, with drive to make the next hour of the students' lives engaging, rewarding and productive. Having a Pracky can be a bit draining, can be a bit disheartening. But this Pracky inspired me to reinvigorate my teaching, to reinvent the way I look at texts and learning.

Plus this has also been the season for letting go of the big kids - Year 12 have done their English papers and are beginning to pack up and leave The Boy Factory for good. Seeing the fellas that I have been teaching since they were in Year 10 finally get the idea of how to write an intro, finally let the penny drop about what anthropomorphism is (and how to spell it), and finally drop the facade and ask for help with drafting a practice response... Let's just say it is Rewarding.

I teach because I love it. I'm not in it for the big bucks (HA!), and I am not in it "for the power" as one of my not-so-wise students last year thought it might be. I don't do it for the 11 weeks of holidays (though I was told yesterday that part of our IR agreement takes into account the fact that only 4 of these is considered annual leave - the rest is meant for prep and time in lieu for all the out of hours marking/reporting etc). I don't do it for the cruisey hours - I've done 9-5 and it is far far cruisier.

I actually love building a relationship with my students. I like the fostering of mutual trust. I love the idea that I can trust them (I rarely lock my door, despite living on site with 400 teenage hoodlums) and I like that they can trust me enough to bring me their crises and their deeper questions.

I am going to try to remember to re-read this post the next time one of them hurls a choice four-letter word at me. Or the next time a parent accuses me of being incompetent or unapproachable. Or the next time some doofus (whose only experience of school is hating it when he/she went there) slags off the laziness or the fiscal demands of teachers. Or when I feel like I am drowning in the marking/report writing/prep, and am in serious need of a snorkel.

Hooray for loving my job!!!

Supercoach: The Road to The Finals

As I have bemoaned before, The Mighty U14s haven't really been up to scratch since Round 1. The first game we played reflected the pre-season training. Trust. Passing. Space. Talk. The 4 cornerstones of my coaching rants.

This week was do or die. And other such sporting cliches. After 2 weeks of nursing injuries (a fight with a bathroom sink for the skipper, a fractured footbone for the right back) and illnesses, thanks to The Boy Factory Plague, and wet weather and exams affecting our training schedule,  we have been receiving results that reflected our complete lack of fitness and confidence.

And with The Green Machine trouncing us 2 weeks in a row, they have been nipping at our heels, closing our healthy gap of 9 points down to 1 point. With West Bubblefuck Football Association (rant about them to be found here) have canned the usual semi-finals season, due to so many wet weather weekends, a second place finish is essential.

So this weekend we faced Top of The Table. We have been comprehensively beaten by them before. We've also given them a touch up once, and then drawn in another game. One might say - specifically, my striker - we're pretty evenly matched.

Coming in to the match, there were nerves. A few golden rev up speeches by myself and my sidekick-supercoach.

For 80% of the game, they played like warriors. Focused. Energetic. With sharing and talking and teamwork. There was a moment in time that I turned to my sidekick and said "They're asleep. They've switched off." And within 20 seconds, Top of The Table had scored the softest goal I have ever seen. The backline were caught napping, and a not-that-hard ball was put through past the too-far-forward keeper. It barely rolled against the upright before dribbling across the line. My boys had their heads down, and at half time, we were down 1-0. At one point, I actually saw stars. A little too much shouting, and not quite enough inhaling.

More rev up speeches about intensity at half time. Sidekick got a little loose with some profanities, and lied to say that The Green Machine were up 1-0 in the game on the other side of the park, in an attempt to put some fire in their bellies. The striker tried to have a gripe about the sloppy defence, which may have been warranted. But I hit back with the instruction that the front line needed to share with each other more.

Onto the field again, a little more hungry for the ball. A soft call of being pushed over at the top of the box led to a beautiful penalty that was near impossible to save. And then we're down 2-0.

But as if from nowhere, desperation became hunger, which was converted into 2 quick goals.

2-2 at the whistle!!!

And The Green Machine drew with Bottom of the Ladder!!

At this stage, we're in the final. Sure there is the small matter that we have played 3 games less than all the other teams in the comp, but I really don't see how that can be recitified by next Saturday. Just like Mr Shue in Glee, I feel like I have pushed my team all the way to Regionals. Except we're not going to do a Journey medley.

The Gods of Seinfeld

If you are curious as to where my life is at, and also the state of Lil Bro's life too, please just watch Season 7 Episode 2 of Seinfeld, "The Postponement".

The prophetic Gods of Seinfeld are so much more accurate than Jonathan Cainer or any other lame astrologer with a flaky voice. The Gods of Seinfeld speak of marriage, break ups, choosing to be an adult.... And hot hot coffee.