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A My Name Is Alice

Alice Johnson, that is. Gosh, I feel a bit like Karen Valentine in Room 222. And I bet nobody that reads this is even old enough to remember that show. Actually, I'm not old enough either, ahem, but I have a savantian memory for anything related to Love, American Style ("... truer than the red, white and blue-ue-ue-ue ...").

Two weeks ago today I finished up being a student at IH and today I got my tour of the staff room and my copier PIN number. Start my first lessons on Monday.

It's just part-time and will probably only go week-to-week for now, filling in the schedule around the full-time teachers who are contracted to have x amount of hours. That said, next week I'll be working 1:1 in the Executive Center. It's a good way to get my foot in the door at the school and a put what I learned last month to use. They get very busy in August, so getting my feet wet now will be a good way for them to see if I can take on a full-time class when they're swamped.

My lucky victim student is an arts administrator from Hungary who wants to improve his social English, conversation skills, etc. I can already think of lots of authentic texts to play with ... brochures from the Tate Britain, podcasts of Mark Kermode's movie reviews from BBC 5 Live, blurbs from Time Out London, clips from Sunday's New York Times Arts & Leisure.

Or maybe he'll want to chat about Premiership football, in which case I'm screwed in for some education myself.

I wonder if he watched Eurovision ....

I think this is going to be really fun.