Specialised edition developed with advice and guidance from the Thomas Pocklington Trust
Compatible with:
JAWS and other screen readers
Dolphin SuperNova and other magnification software/hardware
Google and other captioning software
Learning to touch type is considered one of the most beneficial skills for visually impaired and blind individuals. This is because it allows them to transfer their thoughts easily and automatically onto a screen. It provides them with an invaluable tool and asset for independent working and communicating.
Learning to touch type at any age can dramatically boost confidence, self-belief and independence. However, teaching learners with visual impairment at an early age can drastically transform their experience whilst at school and in FE/HE. It puts them on a more even standing with their sighted peers and opens doors to new career opportunities.
Achieving muscle memory and automaticity when touch typing increases efficiency and productivity. However, most importantly, it frees the conscious mind to concentrate on planning, composing, processing and editing, greatly improving the quality of the work produced.
The KAZ course is a tutorial and is designed to be used independently or with minimum supervision. However, a structured lesson plan is available in Administrators’ admin-panels should they wish to teach the course during lessons.
Module 1– Flying Start - explains how the course works, teaches the home-row keys, correct posture whilst sitting at the keyboard, and explains the meaning, causes, signs, symptoms and preventative measures for Repetitive Strain Injury.
Module 2– The Basics - teaches the A-Z keys using KAZ’s five scientifically structured and trademarked phrases.
Module 3– Just Do It - offers additional exercises and challenge modules to help develop ‘muscle memory’, automaticity and help ingrain spelling.
Module 4– And The Rest - teaches punctuation and the number keys.
Module 5– SpeedBuilder - offers daily practice to increase speed and accuracy.
In recent years, films like "Amnesty" (2011, by Bujar Alimani) have modernized the blood feud. Instead of rifles, the feud is now fought with Mercedes sedans and legal loopholes. A young couple tries to date, but the boy’s family is feuding with the girl’s cousin. The exclusive love story becomes a negotiation between mafia-like family structures.
These films argue that the Kanun never died; it just changed its clothes. The social topic is the persistence of honor culture in a globalized world. You can have an iPhone and a LinkedIn profile, but if your father killed someone in 1982, your marriage is still forbidden.
The Lens of Life: Modern Albanian Cinema and the Art of Connection
Albanian cinema has evolved far beyond its socialist-realist roots, now serving as a bold mirror for a society in flux. Modern "Film Shqiptar" (Albanian film) has moved into a deeply personal space, using exclusive relationships—those intimate, often claustrophobic bonds between partners—as a vehicle to explore broader social topics like migration, patriarchal legacy, and post-communist identity.
Here is how contemporary Albanian films are redefining storytelling through the lens of human connection. 1. Relationships as Social Commentary
In contemporary Albanian film, a marriage or a romance is rarely just about two people. It often represents the collision of old-world traditions with modern aspirations.
The Marriage (Martesa) (2017): This groundbreaking film uses a wedding to expose the tension between personal desire and societal expectation. It follows a couple preparing for marriage while one partner hides a secret past love, highlighting the struggle for LGBTQ+ visibility in a traditional society.
Within Love (Në Kuadër të Dashurisë) (2023): A modern romantic comedy that dives into the complexities of separation and divorce—topics once considered taboo. It captures the evolving dynamics of urban life in Tirana, where couples must navigate the social fallout of a relationship’s end after a decade together. 2. The Weight of Tradition and "The Kanun"
Social topics in Albanian cinema frequently grapple with the Kanun (ancient customary law) and how its rigid codes of honor impact modern relationships.
The gjakmarrja (blood feud) has killed thousands of Albanians over centuries. But in cinema, it is not the violence that wounds—it is the romance.
Ismail Kadare’s Broken April (adapted for screen in 1990 by director Esat Ibro) introduces a young bride married into a feud family. Her exclusive relationship with her husband is not a choice but a death watch. They have one month before the cycle of vengeance reaches him. The film’s most famous sequence is their first night: instead of consummation, they sit side by side, listening for footsteps. He teaches her how to load his rifle. She braids his hair one last time. The social topic here is not feud violence but suspended intimacy—love that exists only in the space before a bullet.
More recently, the documentary The Blood That Binds (2016, dir. Erenik Beqiri) follows a young couple from two reconciled blood feud families. Their engagement is a political act. Their wedding is a treaty signing. But the film’s power lies in the small moments: the groom’s mother flinching when the bride touches her son, the bride’s uncle refusing to eat at the same table. Exclusive relationships, the film argues, are not just romantic—they are ancestral. The dead sit at every dinner.
During the communist era (1945–1990), Albanian cinema was heavily censored. Themes had to align with socialist realism: the fight against fascism, the construction of the new man, and the liberation of women from backward traditions.
However, the most brilliant Albanian directors learned to hide subversion in plain sight. Every "party-approved" film about building a dam was secretly a film about broken exclusive relationships and repressed social trauma.
In recent years, films like "Amnesty" (2011, by Bujar Alimani) have modernized the blood feud. Instead of rifles, the feud is now fought with Mercedes sedans and legal loopholes. A young couple tries to date, but the boy’s family is feuding with the girl’s cousin. The exclusive love story becomes a negotiation between mafia-like family structures.
These films argue that the Kanun never died; it just changed its clothes. The social topic is the persistence of honor culture in a globalized world. You can have an iPhone and a LinkedIn profile, but if your father killed someone in 1982, your marriage is still forbidden.
The Lens of Life: Modern Albanian Cinema and the Art of Connection
Albanian cinema has evolved far beyond its socialist-realist roots, now serving as a bold mirror for a society in flux. Modern "Film Shqiptar" (Albanian film) has moved into a deeply personal space, using exclusive relationships—those intimate, often claustrophobic bonds between partners—as a vehicle to explore broader social topics like migration, patriarchal legacy, and post-communist identity. film seksi shqiptar exclusive
Here is how contemporary Albanian films are redefining storytelling through the lens of human connection. 1. Relationships as Social Commentary
In contemporary Albanian film, a marriage or a romance is rarely just about two people. It often represents the collision of old-world traditions with modern aspirations.
The Marriage (Martesa) (2017): This groundbreaking film uses a wedding to expose the tension between personal desire and societal expectation. It follows a couple preparing for marriage while one partner hides a secret past love, highlighting the struggle for LGBTQ+ visibility in a traditional society. In recent years, films like "Amnesty" (2011, by
Within Love (Në Kuadër të Dashurisë) (2023): A modern romantic comedy that dives into the complexities of separation and divorce—topics once considered taboo. It captures the evolving dynamics of urban life in Tirana, where couples must navigate the social fallout of a relationship’s end after a decade together. 2. The Weight of Tradition and "The Kanun"
Social topics in Albanian cinema frequently grapple with the Kanun (ancient customary law) and how its rigid codes of honor impact modern relationships.
The gjakmarrja (blood feud) has killed thousands of Albanians over centuries. But in cinema, it is not the violence that wounds—it is the romance. The gjakmarrja (blood feud) has killed thousands of
Ismail Kadare’s Broken April (adapted for screen in 1990 by director Esat Ibro) introduces a young bride married into a feud family. Her exclusive relationship with her husband is not a choice but a death watch. They have one month before the cycle of vengeance reaches him. The film’s most famous sequence is their first night: instead of consummation, they sit side by side, listening for footsteps. He teaches her how to load his rifle. She braids his hair one last time. The social topic here is not feud violence but suspended intimacy—love that exists only in the space before a bullet.
More recently, the documentary The Blood That Binds (2016, dir. Erenik Beqiri) follows a young couple from two reconciled blood feud families. Their engagement is a political act. Their wedding is a treaty signing. But the film’s power lies in the small moments: the groom’s mother flinching when the bride touches her son, the bride’s uncle refusing to eat at the same table. Exclusive relationships, the film argues, are not just romantic—they are ancestral. The dead sit at every dinner.
During the communist era (1945–1990), Albanian cinema was heavily censored. Themes had to align with socialist realism: the fight against fascism, the construction of the new man, and the liberation of women from backward traditions.
However, the most brilliant Albanian directors learned to hide subversion in plain sight. Every "party-approved" film about building a dam was secretly a film about broken exclusive relationships and repressed social trauma.
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