Teaching Tania - love is all you need ???
In this second book of twelve year old Tania's adventures, a love-struck Tania has the idea that the world would be a better place if EVERYONE was happily in love.
She pursues this goal with her usual tenacity, turning the whole world's secret services upside down, causing international incidents and not doing the health of her parents much good either.
But can she make 'THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE' in spite of the obstacles those in power put in her way?
This book is available as an e-book download for £1.71 ($2.99) from :
Amazon.com - click here and
Smashwords - click here
She pursues this goal with her usual tenacity, turning the whole world's secret services upside down, causing international incidents and not doing the health of her parents much good either.
But can she make 'THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE' in spite of the obstacles those in power put in her way?
This book is available as an e-book download for £1.71 ($2.99) from :
Amazon.com - click here and
Smashwords - click here
SAMPLE CHAPTER
Chapter 3. Well done, Tania
Dear Tania,
Congratulations! I saw your Dad this morning and he was in perfect health with no sign of broken bones or any other injuries. I don’t of course know exactly what you said to your mother but it obviously worked a treat. It is very pleasing to note that not only does your English vocabulary, spelling and grammar come on by leaps and bounds, but you are at last beginning to show some signs of real low cunning. Have you ever thought of a career as a diplomat?
You may be surprised to learn that I am a secret admirer of diplomats. Indeed, knowing that I consider politicians to be about as useful as head lice, you are probably even taken aback by this news.
But, you see, politicians have complete freedom to create their very own lies, something which they do very, very badly. Diplomats, on the other hand, are saddled with the lies of others, but they communicate them with all the poise and panache of a cat refusing to drink your offer of milk until your back is turned.
'Hello, Mr. Foreign Minister, the Ambassador here! As you know, we elected a new president yesterday, so I’m just phoning to bring you up-to-date on the revised official line from the White House. Apparently, your head of state is now a worn-out old despot, aid to your country ceased as from yesterday, and our army is massing on your border ready to keep the peace if there’s even a hint of anything remotely harmful to our national interests. Now, we are so looking forward to seeing you and your lady wife at the embassy tonight for the big ball. There will be an orchestra from Vienna and one of our third secretaries has managed to lay his hands on a couple of cases of Chateau Lafitte ’86 so it should be a spiffing do.”
Ah, what style!
Of course, I cannot say that I admire all members of the diplomatic service. Find someone with the intelligence of a Czech policeman and the tolerance of an Islamic fundamentalist or a leader of the Klu-Klux-Klan, and you have exactly what it takes to make a perfect Immigration Officer.
With your superior intelligence and linguistic skills, it is highly likely that in adult life you will travel abroad extensively, and it is as well to warn you now that this will be a traumatic experience. I am not talking here about the journeys themselves. In spite of plane delays, hijacks and air disasters, these will be as nothing compared to the hassle of applying for visas.
The first problem you will meet in the visa application process will be finding out where to go. Don’t imagine you can walk through the welcoming front door of the embassy or consulate, throw up your arms joyfully, and shout
“I’m here for my visa!”
The main door will be locked, and there will be a small sign, written in a language they hope no-one will understand, directing you on a tour of the city and leading you to a dirty back entrance.
There you will find another sign, half obscured by dirt and neglect, informing you that visas are issued between 10.00 and 10.05 am on the third Thursday of every month with an ‘A’ in it. As they don’t specify the language to be used for spelling the month, you will have no choice but to turn up at the appointed hour every month until you get lucky.
When you get there, some two hours early to get to the front of the queue, you will find about a hundred people have arrived before you. You will wait, probably in the rain, until the doors open, some two hours late. Then you will be ushered, in small groups, into a dirty back courtyard, with no shelter from the driving snow or blazing sun, according to the season.
Finally you will be admitted, after an intensive body search, into a small room guarded by two enormous soldiers with machine guns. There you will be asked to complete a form written in unintelligible English (or the language of your intended destination) , and be made to hand over a large non-refundable sum of money for what will almost certainly be the privilege of being told you are an unwanted alien.
Up to this point; I’m sure a tenacious girl like you won’t be put off, but you still have to meet the dreaded Immigration Officers.
The interview will take place in a drab room with a minimum of furniture. There will be no chair for you to ensure that you don’t get too comfortable. The two spotlights shining into your eyes won’t help either. The Immigration Officers will ask their questions in the violently aggressive manner of someone who really wanted to be in the secret service, managing to look bored and at the same time completely distrustful of anything you say.
At the end of the interview, they will go behind a thin wall to discuss your case in loud voices so that you are sure to overhear their humiliating comments.
“What do you think, Peregrine, should we give it to her?”
“Looks a bit shifty to me, Lionel. I don’t trust women, even young ones..”
“You’re quite right!.”
“And would you take a look at this passport? It doesn’t even have proper writing. Just funny shapes. Foreigners, huh!”
“But at least she’s not one of those creatures whose suntan lasts right through the winter.”
“There is that, certainly. But where exactly is she from?”
“Russia.”
“Russia? Isn’t that where they have those dreadful communist chappies?”
“I believe you’re right. But I’m not sure if they have them any more.”
“Oh, I say, are you sure?”
“Well, not exactly, but I seem to remember reading something about it in the Times. I don’t normally read the newsy bit. Must have been a day when the cricket was rained off.”
“Better safe than sorry, all the same. Let’s turn her down anyway.”
“Good idea, old chap. I’ll tell her!”
“Why not me? You get all the fun.”
“Sorry, old boy, seniority and all that! Now look here, young miss, we don’t let any old Tom Dick and Harry into jolly old England, and we’re certainly not having a Tania. So toddle off back to the dark ages and never darken our doorstep again!”
And, Tania, if you think that this is the worst you’ll ever come across, I’m sorry to have to tell you that the British have one of the most civilized visa application services in the world. Apparently the French can be particularly nasty and I have heard that the Americans can attain a level of cruelty and discourtesy unmatched by any other nationality. But I expect it will be some years yet before you have to face such ordeals. In the meantime, your current problems with your Mum are sufficient good practice for the later trials of adult life. But this is what growing up is about, isn’t it?
Best wishes,
Your teacher,
J
Copyright 2008 James Gault
You can buy this e- book for download at Amazon and Smashwords - click the on-line store name.
Dear Tania,
Congratulations! I saw your Dad this morning and he was in perfect health with no sign of broken bones or any other injuries. I don’t of course know exactly what you said to your mother but it obviously worked a treat. It is very pleasing to note that not only does your English vocabulary, spelling and grammar come on by leaps and bounds, but you are at last beginning to show some signs of real low cunning. Have you ever thought of a career as a diplomat?
You may be surprised to learn that I am a secret admirer of diplomats. Indeed, knowing that I consider politicians to be about as useful as head lice, you are probably even taken aback by this news.
But, you see, politicians have complete freedom to create their very own lies, something which they do very, very badly. Diplomats, on the other hand, are saddled with the lies of others, but they communicate them with all the poise and panache of a cat refusing to drink your offer of milk until your back is turned.
'Hello, Mr. Foreign Minister, the Ambassador here! As you know, we elected a new president yesterday, so I’m just phoning to bring you up-to-date on the revised official line from the White House. Apparently, your head of state is now a worn-out old despot, aid to your country ceased as from yesterday, and our army is massing on your border ready to keep the peace if there’s even a hint of anything remotely harmful to our national interests. Now, we are so looking forward to seeing you and your lady wife at the embassy tonight for the big ball. There will be an orchestra from Vienna and one of our third secretaries has managed to lay his hands on a couple of cases of Chateau Lafitte ’86 so it should be a spiffing do.”
Ah, what style!
Of course, I cannot say that I admire all members of the diplomatic service. Find someone with the intelligence of a Czech policeman and the tolerance of an Islamic fundamentalist or a leader of the Klu-Klux-Klan, and you have exactly what it takes to make a perfect Immigration Officer.
With your superior intelligence and linguistic skills, it is highly likely that in adult life you will travel abroad extensively, and it is as well to warn you now that this will be a traumatic experience. I am not talking here about the journeys themselves. In spite of plane delays, hijacks and air disasters, these will be as nothing compared to the hassle of applying for visas.
The first problem you will meet in the visa application process will be finding out where to go. Don’t imagine you can walk through the welcoming front door of the embassy or consulate, throw up your arms joyfully, and shout
“I’m here for my visa!”
The main door will be locked, and there will be a small sign, written in a language they hope no-one will understand, directing you on a tour of the city and leading you to a dirty back entrance.
There you will find another sign, half obscured by dirt and neglect, informing you that visas are issued between 10.00 and 10.05 am on the third Thursday of every month with an ‘A’ in it. As they don’t specify the language to be used for spelling the month, you will have no choice but to turn up at the appointed hour every month until you get lucky.
When you get there, some two hours early to get to the front of the queue, you will find about a hundred people have arrived before you. You will wait, probably in the rain, until the doors open, some two hours late. Then you will be ushered, in small groups, into a dirty back courtyard, with no shelter from the driving snow or blazing sun, according to the season.
Finally you will be admitted, after an intensive body search, into a small room guarded by two enormous soldiers with machine guns. There you will be asked to complete a form written in unintelligible English (or the language of your intended destination) , and be made to hand over a large non-refundable sum of money for what will almost certainly be the privilege of being told you are an unwanted alien.
Up to this point; I’m sure a tenacious girl like you won’t be put off, but you still have to meet the dreaded Immigration Officers.
The interview will take place in a drab room with a minimum of furniture. There will be no chair for you to ensure that you don’t get too comfortable. The two spotlights shining into your eyes won’t help either. The Immigration Officers will ask their questions in the violently aggressive manner of someone who really wanted to be in the secret service, managing to look bored and at the same time completely distrustful of anything you say.
At the end of the interview, they will go behind a thin wall to discuss your case in loud voices so that you are sure to overhear their humiliating comments.
“What do you think, Peregrine, should we give it to her?”
“Looks a bit shifty to me, Lionel. I don’t trust women, even young ones..”
“You’re quite right!.”
“And would you take a look at this passport? It doesn’t even have proper writing. Just funny shapes. Foreigners, huh!”
“But at least she’s not one of those creatures whose suntan lasts right through the winter.”
“There is that, certainly. But where exactly is she from?”
“Russia.”
“Russia? Isn’t that where they have those dreadful communist chappies?”
“I believe you’re right. But I’m not sure if they have them any more.”
“Oh, I say, are you sure?”
“Well, not exactly, but I seem to remember reading something about it in the Times. I don’t normally read the newsy bit. Must have been a day when the cricket was rained off.”
“Better safe than sorry, all the same. Let’s turn her down anyway.”
“Good idea, old chap. I’ll tell her!”
“Why not me? You get all the fun.”
“Sorry, old boy, seniority and all that! Now look here, young miss, we don’t let any old Tom Dick and Harry into jolly old England, and we’re certainly not having a Tania. So toddle off back to the dark ages and never darken our doorstep again!”
And, Tania, if you think that this is the worst you’ll ever come across, I’m sorry to have to tell you that the British have one of the most civilized visa application services in the world. Apparently the French can be particularly nasty and I have heard that the Americans can attain a level of cruelty and discourtesy unmatched by any other nationality. But I expect it will be some years yet before you have to face such ordeals. In the meantime, your current problems with your Mum are sufficient good practice for the later trials of adult life. But this is what growing up is about, isn’t it?
Best wishes,
Your teacher,
J
Copyright 2008 James Gault
You can buy this e- book for download at Amazon and Smashwords - click the on-line store name.
Copyright 2010 James Gault