Mrs Hoover will be back in June 2011 for a new season of summer shows at the English Language Centre, Hove, Sussex.
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Friday, 21 January 2011
STOP PRESS: Mrs Hoover will be giving a keynote address at the 45th IATEFL Conference..
COMEDY NIGHT WITH MRS HOOVER
Brighton on Monday 18th April 2011
Come and meet Brighton’s Leading Landlady for overseas students, delegate to the hostmothers of Great Britain and the woman who put the ‘hospital’ in ‘hospitality’.
Though not a trained teacher herself, Mrs Hoover has some robust opinions on how to teach English (“I’m a native speaker, it just comes naturally to me.”) And after four decades of catering for EL learners from all over the world, she knows a thing or two about cross-cultural understanding: “We’ve got the culture and it makes me cross when they don’t understand it!”
Hold onto your hats for an end-of-the-pier ride through the eccentric world of Mrs Hoover — Hostess to the World.
Fun, laughter, free biscuits and some (very) irregular verbs!
http://www.iatefl.org/brighton-2011/45th-annual-conference-and-exhibition-2011
Brighton on Monday 18th April 2011
Come and meet Brighton’s Leading Landlady for overseas students, delegate to the hostmothers of Great Britain and the woman who put the ‘hospital’ in ‘hospitality’.
Though not a trained teacher herself, Mrs Hoover has some robust opinions on how to teach English (“I’m a native speaker, it just comes naturally to me.”) And after four decades of catering for EL learners from all over the world, she knows a thing or two about cross-cultural understanding: “We’ve got the culture and it makes me cross when they don’t understand it!”
Hold onto your hats for an end-of-the-pier ride through the eccentric world of Mrs Hoover — Hostess to the World.
Fun, laughter, free biscuits and some (very) irregular verbs!
http://www.iatefl.org/brighton-2011/45th-annual-conference-and-exhibition-2011
Thursday, 13 January 2011
Had a nice chat with my new Colombian girl, Rosa...
Had a nice chat with my new Colombian girl, Rosa. She told me a lot of things about her home country that I never knew before.
Apparently, they have a proper government with a president and a council of ministers, and they even have elections every four years, like we do. She insisted that the rest of the world had the wrong image of her country. “They think we are all drug smugglers, or bandits!” she wailed.
“And kidnappers,” I reminded her.
“Yes, yes, all that. It’s so unfair!”
“Stereotypes are unfair, Rosa,” I said. “Some people in Europe associate us British with excessive drinking and hooliganism, yet I don’t know a single person with an ASBO*. Except of course for Mrs Baker at number 181 Davigdor Road.”
I was also surprised to learn that her country is in South America and used to be a Spanish colony; I’d always thought it was a part of Canada and had been a British colony.
* Anti-Social Behaviour Order, issued to individuals in recognition of their contribution to lawlessness in Britain, and often worn as a ‘badge of honour’ by ‘feral youths’. (See also: Hoodie, Hooray Henry, Prince Harry)
Apparently, they have a proper government with a president and a council of ministers, and they even have elections every four years, like we do. She insisted that the rest of the world had the wrong image of her country. “They think we are all drug smugglers, or bandits!” she wailed.
“And kidnappers,” I reminded her.
“Yes, yes, all that. It’s so unfair!”
“Stereotypes are unfair, Rosa,” I said. “Some people in Europe associate us British with excessive drinking and hooliganism, yet I don’t know a single person with an ASBO*. Except of course for Mrs Baker at number 181 Davigdor Road.”
I was also surprised to learn that her country is in South America and used to be a Spanish colony; I’d always thought it was a part of Canada and had been a British colony.
* Anti-Social Behaviour Order, issued to individuals in recognition of their contribution to lawlessness in Britain, and often worn as a ‘badge of honour’ by ‘feral youths’. (See also: Hoodie, Hooray Henry, Prince Harry)
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Got a call from the language school this morning...
Got a call from the language school this morning asking me if I’d take a VIP next week for a month. Apparently, he’s a Euro MP (whatever that means) and the school wants him to have the full five-star treatment.
Almuth, the accommodation secretary, said, “We’d love you to have him as you’ve had so much experience of so many nationalities and types and you’re used to dealing with tricky customers.” She’s right, too: when you’ve lived under the same roof with foreigners as I have these last 33 years, there’s nothing, however bizarre, that can faze you. But here’s the hilarious part: she says to me, “There’s just one problem — he’s allergic to cats.”
“And I’ve got two,” I said.
“Yes, I know,” she said.
“Jeffrey and Ian,” I said.
“Yes, she said, and she hesitated. I could hear her repeatedly clicking the button on her retractable ballpoint pen. “The thing is,” she said, “I was wondering if you could possibly have the cats placed in a cattery for the duration of Mr… er, Malherbe’s stay. Naturally, the school would meet the costs of their accommodation…”
Now I’ve had some strange requests in my time as a hostmother but this was priceless! I happen to know that Almuth herself is of foreign extraction, so I was willing to make allowances.
“My dear,” I said, “I think you’ve misunderstood one of the basic principles of family life in this country. I’ve sometimes had occasions to get rid of students because the animals didn’t take to them, but the other way round… Well, it’s unthinkable. Now if you’d asked me to have Leslie placed in temporary residential care, there might have been some room for manoeuvre!”
Almuth, the accommodation secretary, said, “We’d love you to have him as you’ve had so much experience of so many nationalities and types and you’re used to dealing with tricky customers.” She’s right, too: when you’ve lived under the same roof with foreigners as I have these last 33 years, there’s nothing, however bizarre, that can faze you. But here’s the hilarious part: she says to me, “There’s just one problem — he’s allergic to cats.”
“And I’ve got two,” I said.
“Yes, I know,” she said.
“Jeffrey and Ian,” I said.
“Yes, she said, and she hesitated. I could hear her repeatedly clicking the button on her retractable ballpoint pen. “The thing is,” she said, “I was wondering if you could possibly have the cats placed in a cattery for the duration of Mr… er, Malherbe’s stay. Naturally, the school would meet the costs of their accommodation…”
Now I’ve had some strange requests in my time as a hostmother but this was priceless! I happen to know that Almuth herself is of foreign extraction, so I was willing to make allowances.
“My dear,” I said, “I think you’ve misunderstood one of the basic principles of family life in this country. I’ve sometimes had occasions to get rid of students because the animals didn’t take to them, but the other way round… Well, it’s unthinkable. Now if you’d asked me to have Leslie placed in temporary residential care, there might have been some room for manoeuvre!”
Saturday, 20 March 2010
Hello again!
Hello again!
Hasn’t it been a long and horrid winter? I don’t know what it’s been like where you live but this end of Davigdor Road in Brighton has felt positively polar for the last five months. I haven’t felt like going outside without at least two thick cardigans, a quilted jacket, winter coat and fur-lined boots. But when I peered out of the kitchen window this morning I noticed five little daffodils, their bright yellow faces beaming at me as if to say, in squeaky but endearing voices, “Here we are again!”
Spring at last! I thought. Time to tackle the cobwebs on the landing, beat the sitting room carpet, change the bed linen and update my blog.
Visitors are coming in and out of Brighton and Hove all year round, of course, but it is at this time in late March/early April that the trickle swells to a steady flow. Before you know it, the summer torrent will be upon us; landladies like me will be in season again and absolutely inundated with demands for our services.
I thought I’d make my spring offering to you a privileged glimpse into the inner workings of a Brighton-and-Hove host family home. An up-close, no-holds-barred view of English hospitality in action. For the first time I am going to allow the world to take a peek into Mrs. Hoover’s Diary, the candid record I have kept, for many years now, of life with my “international family” at Joyles, (number 179 Davigdor Road).
So, here we go with the first installment!
Love,
Joyce x
PS Oh, just in case you are a newcomer to this little corner of the internet where I keep house, perhaps I should explain that Leslie is my husband and Kenneth is my dog.
Wednesday 4th
Hiroko’s been looking glum lately. She didn’t finish her dinner yesterday, although it was faggots, mashed potato and peas — a pleasant change, you’d think, for someone brought up on seaweed soup!
When I asked her what was wrong, a large teardrop ran down her nose and into her raspberry jelly and evaporated milk. Then Ahmet shouts out, “Look – she’s cry! Why you cry? You no like jelly?” I told him to be quiet. “Take no notice, dear,” I said to Hiroko. “If you’re worried about something, you can always talk to me.” I felt sorry for the girl, though I was a bit put out about the wasted faggots. “Japanese people are very shy and sensitive,” I said, looking pointedly at Ahmet.
“You have to approach them politely and indirectly. Now, Hiroko,” I said, putting my hand on hers and giving her a reassuring smile, “ what’s the matter, dear? Come on, spit it out!”
“Probrem is,” she said, dabbing her nose with a corner of the serviette, “when I speak Engrish no one understand me…”
“What was that?” said Leslie, suddenly taking an interest. “Could you say that again?”
At this the poor girl burst into tears and ran upstairs.
“You oaf!” I said to him. “Now look what you’ve done!”
“What do you mean? Did I say something wrong?”
At this point Jean-Pierre gave one of his little disdainful puffs: “Me, ah sink she is ’umsick,” he said.
“Homesick”, I corrected. “Of course she isn’t homesick. None of my students are ever homesick. It’s against the rules.” I had to shout this last sentence because Kenneth had suddenly started barking his head off. He always barks when Jean-Pierre speaks, though whether it’s the accent that bothers him or a dislike of the French in general, I can’t tell. And that in turn set Leslie off: “Shut that dog up, will you, for God’s sake!” Then Ahmet provoked Kenneth even more by barking back at him until I got cross with Ahmet, at which point Heidi stood up and announced she was going to bed because she couldn’t stand it any longer. As she got up she knocked Hiroko’s plate off the table: two uneaten faggots rolled across the carpet gathering fluff. Kenneth leapt to get them, I tried to intercept him (faggots give him terrible wind), and in the process got a nip on my hand. I shouted out, Kenneth bolted the faggots, Leslie hurled his Greyhound Fanciers Gazette across the room, and the whole dinner ended in pandemonium.
“You can clear up!” I said, glaring at Jean-Pierre, then left the room and went upstairs to comfort Hiroko.
When I came back down to the dining room fifteen minutes later, I found Ahmet going from chair to chair finishing off everyone else’s jelly.
Hasn’t it been a long and horrid winter? I don’t know what it’s been like where you live but this end of Davigdor Road in Brighton has felt positively polar for the last five months. I haven’t felt like going outside without at least two thick cardigans, a quilted jacket, winter coat and fur-lined boots. But when I peered out of the kitchen window this morning I noticed five little daffodils, their bright yellow faces beaming at me as if to say, in squeaky but endearing voices, “Here we are again!”
Spring at last! I thought. Time to tackle the cobwebs on the landing, beat the sitting room carpet, change the bed linen and update my blog.
Visitors are coming in and out of Brighton and Hove all year round, of course, but it is at this time in late March/early April that the trickle swells to a steady flow. Before you know it, the summer torrent will be upon us; landladies like me will be in season again and absolutely inundated with demands for our services.
I thought I’d make my spring offering to you a privileged glimpse into the inner workings of a Brighton-and-Hove host family home. An up-close, no-holds-barred view of English hospitality in action. For the first time I am going to allow the world to take a peek into Mrs. Hoover’s Diary, the candid record I have kept, for many years now, of life with my “international family” at Joyles, (number 179 Davigdor Road).
So, here we go with the first installment!
Love,
Joyce x
PS Oh, just in case you are a newcomer to this little corner of the internet where I keep house, perhaps I should explain that Leslie is my husband and Kenneth is my dog.
Wednesday 4th
Hiroko’s been looking glum lately. She didn’t finish her dinner yesterday, although it was faggots, mashed potato and peas — a pleasant change, you’d think, for someone brought up on seaweed soup!
When I asked her what was wrong, a large teardrop ran down her nose and into her raspberry jelly and evaporated milk. Then Ahmet shouts out, “Look – she’s cry! Why you cry? You no like jelly?” I told him to be quiet. “Take no notice, dear,” I said to Hiroko. “If you’re worried about something, you can always talk to me.” I felt sorry for the girl, though I was a bit put out about the wasted faggots. “Japanese people are very shy and sensitive,” I said, looking pointedly at Ahmet.
“You have to approach them politely and indirectly. Now, Hiroko,” I said, putting my hand on hers and giving her a reassuring smile, “ what’s the matter, dear? Come on, spit it out!”
“Probrem is,” she said, dabbing her nose with a corner of the serviette, “when I speak Engrish no one understand me…”
“What was that?” said Leslie, suddenly taking an interest. “Could you say that again?”
At this the poor girl burst into tears and ran upstairs.
“You oaf!” I said to him. “Now look what you’ve done!”
“What do you mean? Did I say something wrong?”
At this point Jean-Pierre gave one of his little disdainful puffs: “Me, ah sink she is ’umsick,” he said.
“Homesick”, I corrected. “Of course she isn’t homesick. None of my students are ever homesick. It’s against the rules.” I had to shout this last sentence because Kenneth had suddenly started barking his head off. He always barks when Jean-Pierre speaks, though whether it’s the accent that bothers him or a dislike of the French in general, I can’t tell. And that in turn set Leslie off: “Shut that dog up, will you, for God’s sake!” Then Ahmet provoked Kenneth even more by barking back at him until I got cross with Ahmet, at which point Heidi stood up and announced she was going to bed because she couldn’t stand it any longer. As she got up she knocked Hiroko’s plate off the table: two uneaten faggots rolled across the carpet gathering fluff. Kenneth leapt to get them, I tried to intercept him (faggots give him terrible wind), and in the process got a nip on my hand. I shouted out, Kenneth bolted the faggots, Leslie hurled his Greyhound Fanciers Gazette across the room, and the whole dinner ended in pandemonium.
“You can clear up!” I said, glaring at Jean-Pierre, then left the room and went upstairs to comfort Hiroko.
When I came back down to the dining room fifteen minutes later, I found Ahmet going from chair to chair finishing off everyone else’s jelly.
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
The new website
Hello visitors
I do hope you like my new-look website. Clever Mr Cotterell, my webmaster general, has given it a lovely rosy pink glow, and it looks so bright and cheerful now that, having clicked your way here, you can’t bear to leave!
I do hope you will take a peep at my new gallery of pictures and read my wise and thought-provoking captions.
Do feel free to send me your comments and, just so long as they are positive, Mr. C will forward them to me.
Well, no time to waste — only 23 shopping days till Christmas!
Have to go now and hold the ladder while Leslie climbs up the front of number 179 to hang our life-size flashing Santa’s Sleigh and Reindeer from the gutter.
Love
Joyce x
I do hope you like my new-look website. Clever Mr Cotterell, my webmaster general, has given it a lovely rosy pink glow, and it looks so bright and cheerful now that, having clicked your way here, you can’t bear to leave!
I do hope you will take a peep at my new gallery of pictures and read my wise and thought-provoking captions.
Do feel free to send me your comments and, just so long as they are positive, Mr. C will forward them to me.
Well, no time to waste — only 23 shopping days till Christmas!
Have to go now and hold the ladder while Leslie climbs up the front of number 179 to hang our life-size flashing Santa’s Sleigh and Reindeer from the gutter.
Love
Joyce x
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Off to Berlin
Dear Visitors
It’s me again. I nearly forgot to tell you ― I’m off to Bernau near Berlin in Germany on Friday 25th September. I’ve been asked to talk to a large audience of English Language teachers about why they should send their students to learn English in Britain, and what host families, like me, can add to their cultural education. Just up my street – I can’t wait to give them a piece of my mind! If you want to fly out there and join in the fun, well, you can. But you’ll have to hurry!
JH x
It’s me again. I nearly forgot to tell you ― I’m off to Bernau near Berlin in Germany on Friday 25th September. I’ve been asked to talk to a large audience of English Language teachers about why they should send their students to learn English in Britain, and what host families, like me, can add to their cultural education. Just up my street – I can’t wait to give them a piece of my mind! If you want to fly out there and join in the fun, well, you can. But you’ll have to hurry!
JH x
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