Anyone that knows me, even a little bit knows I am not cut out for travelling. But here I am fitting in quite well. I have slim to none common sense. There things are set out in a certain way, no one really knows why they are this way, they just are. You learn not to question them, and not to point out that they could easily do the same task another way and save time. Which is why I can call this place home.

In amongst all the noodles and rice I am finding some pretty good foods, you have to hunt for them though, and if you can read a Chinese menu, bonus. I however am struggling to pick up

the lingo, so I am not going to attempt to try just yet. In the words of Karl Pilkington "it looks like someone is testing a biro".

Apparently I am a teacher. Not really sure how that happened. Apparently speaking English and looking English is all you need. I have both. Well, Derbyshire. Close enough.

Every day I drag my ass up at 11am, (far too early) and get on the magical underground transportation device, fight my way on and go to work. My days are spent teaching little children "brats" to speak English. I am told what to teach and I sent in to the class room, armed with a white board pen and a ball. Teach them some basic English for 40mins, which they will never use and come out for my ten minute break, then do it all over again.

Speaking the Chinese lingo is not a requirement, because some little Chinese lady will stand in the corner and translate for me. I cannot be 100% sure what I am in there for. But, the pay is good, the hours are short and the people aren't that bad.

Last week was Open week, where the parents came in and observed our lessons. It seems like it should be relatively simple, but this is China. More importantly, this is a private school where the parents pay extortionate fees to put their kids in Kindergarten (yes, to be taught my me - I don't get it either). After all the chaos of open week was over and done, national week came along, and a week a off work.

National week is a week (believe it or not) when China travels. The Beijingers go to their home town, and everyone leaves their home towns to visit Beijing. Simple in theory. Well, I hate tourists, I hate Chinese tourists even more. The streets are filled with people wide eyed and excited to visit their capital, dressed in matching Burberry shirts. They carry China flags, I even saw some poor boy that had the stars shaved into his head. So, if you find it at all possible to fight your way off the subway and make it to the street, you are then faced with a sea of maps and umbrella hats, people taking family photos and then they spot you. Wow, a real life white person, on the street. And then the photos start. One photo, OK I can deal with that. But then a queue forms. I am a little taken aback at the sight of a queue in China, I feel I should be taking pictures of this spectacular moment.

So, on go the sunglasses. They mean "leave me alone". And they work, to a certain extent. That is until they decide to take pictures without your consent. It starts with a stare, they think you cannot see them through your sunglasses, then they take out their phones. They will then hold their phone in the air, a little the lion king scene, then home in you and, and snap. Some forget the flash, that's a little embarrassing for them. Sometimes you can see the reflection of their phone in their sunglasses.

I do wonder though what they do with these pictures. "There's the great wall, there's the Forbidden City, and the Lama temple, Oh, and here's a random white person". Or is there a website, that they upload all of their pictures to, and make funny captions?

And in honor of national week, they set off fireworks and firecrackers on the pavement, so if one goes off you have to pray that it's not close to you. This particular night, a rogue firework hurtled towards us, and exploded within inches of my friend. It was ridiculously scary, but as with everything in China, so funny. The thing about being in China is, you have to learn to chill out and take everything with a pinch of salt.