I'll not bore you with the whys and wherefores of why and wherefore I happened to be reading up on schools in the Bangor (north Wales) area, but let me share my delight in finding some very subtle tweakings to the wikipedia site of one of those schools, here. Note the beginning of paragraph three, and the delicate amendment to the Band Jazz Ysgol Tryfan heading.
I'd heard of wikipedia being open to falsehoods and general nonsensemongering, but I'd never knowingly encountered such suchness before.
Young people - so wonderful, so creative.
Unrelated: It's recently occurred to me that the meaning and function of my blogging has changed enormously, once more. With Alex now being so much more grown up than in the early days of my writing, here, and my confidence in my position in his and Emma's lives growing a lot, this largely safe and supportive space for reflection has become a bit redundant. I'm not saying that I'm done with blogging - I'm not, but things have changed.
Hope this finds you well.
Showing posts with label School. Show all posts
Showing posts with label School. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
A Post on the Subject of Environmental Psychology, and Formal Education
From my new workspace, I'm overlooking a small gravelly garden, big fir trees, a chaotic bamboo patch, and a dovecote. The birds that are a-twitter at the tops of the firs seem uninterested in the seed-feeders, below - wise, given the number of cats that frequent this area.
There is something really rather pleasing about the swoop and swirl of blue tits.
Just yesterday, I mentioned to a teacher - a bit stressed, she was - that were her school located within an entirely concrete landscape (as so many are), then that pressure that she was feeling would somehow be a fraction more overbearing. Casting a casual glance across the green fields adjacent to the staff room, and to a hill beyond, she murmured.
'Mm. You know you do talk some shit sometimes, but I know what you mean.'
Then I added to her workload.
There is something really rather pleasing about the swoop and swirl of blue tits.
Just yesterday, I mentioned to a teacher - a bit stressed, she was - that were her school located within an entirely concrete landscape (as so many are), then that pressure that she was feeling would somehow be a fraction more overbearing. Casting a casual glance across the green fields adjacent to the staff room, and to a hill beyond, she murmured.
'Mm. You know you do talk some shit sometimes, but I know what you mean.'
Then I added to her workload.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
expectations
During his bath-time, The Boy and I talk. He makes a surprising remark about one of his class-mates, and this leads to me wondering about how developed these children's expectations of one another are, even by the age of nine (a serious interest, though not phrased in these exact terms at that moment).
Shane: Let's play a game where I ask you questions in three parts and you answer them - dead easy.
The Boy: (looks at me, chooses not to bob back under the water, though not yet committing to this nonsense)
Shane: Okay. Think of all the people in your class. I'm going to name three of them - not including you, and you've got to tell me what you think these three might end up doing when they're older - what you think they might end up working as.
The Boy: (wet-haired, possibly interested) Mm.
Shane: Let's start with... Imran.
The Boy: (reaching for shampoo, though interested - thinking hard) Mm. (still thinking - taking this very seriously) The thing is, I don't know Imran very well, so it's hard to say.
Shane: Okay, no problem. Let's try a girl. How about... Danielle.
The Boy: (shampooing) Mm. I don't know about Danielle, but I can find out tomorrow.
Shane: No no, let's not do that. That would sound weird - it might scare her if she thought that your step-dad was wondering what she might end up working as. No, let's think of someone who you do know - last try at this.
The Boy: (mildly amused) Yeah, that would have sounded weird.
Shane: Yeah.
The Boy: (back to being serious, reaching for the rinsing jug) I think I know what Ryan wants to be.
Shane: Alright, tell me what you think Ryan might end up being.
The Boy: (jug of water cascades noisily and splashingly over head) (louder, straight tone) He wants to be a wrestler.
Shane: A wrestler.
The Boy: (hair dripping, eyes still tightly shut) Mm.
Shane: Mm.
I can't be sure that my original ponderance has been effectively handled.
I pass a towel.
Shane: Let's play a game where I ask you questions in three parts and you answer them - dead easy.
The Boy: (looks at me, chooses not to bob back under the water, though not yet committing to this nonsense)
Shane: Okay. Think of all the people in your class. I'm going to name three of them - not including you, and you've got to tell me what you think these three might end up doing when they're older - what you think they might end up working as.
The Boy: (wet-haired, possibly interested) Mm.
Shane: Let's start with... Imran.
The Boy: (reaching for shampoo, though interested - thinking hard) Mm. (still thinking - taking this very seriously) The thing is, I don't know Imran very well, so it's hard to say.
Shane: Okay, no problem. Let's try a girl. How about... Danielle.
The Boy: (shampooing) Mm. I don't know about Danielle, but I can find out tomorrow.
Shane: No no, let's not do that. That would sound weird - it might scare her if she thought that your step-dad was wondering what she might end up working as. No, let's think of someone who you do know - last try at this.
The Boy: (mildly amused) Yeah, that would have sounded weird.
Shane: Yeah.
The Boy: (back to being serious, reaching for the rinsing jug) I think I know what Ryan wants to be.
Shane: Alright, tell me what you think Ryan might end up being.
The Boy: (jug of water cascades noisily and splashingly over head) (louder, straight tone) He wants to be a wrestler.
Shane: A wrestler.
The Boy: (hair dripping, eyes still tightly shut) Mm.
Shane: Mm.
I can't be sure that my original ponderance has been effectively handled.
I pass a towel.
Monday, July 19, 2010
dissipating
Recently, The Boy and I were walking one of his pal's home, following their after-school knock-about time (various larks and boyish shriekery, all of which sounded like a good time was being had). The unusual detail to the evening, was that this pal was not one of the usual suspects, so when I was asked whether he'd be allowed to come back with us, I was keen to say 'yes' - The Boy's sociability is one of the things that most pleases and impresses me.
As we walk, I ask The Pal whether he walks to school or is dropped off by car. He explains that for mother's walk-related schedule, it tends to be car, apart from her one day off per week. He then pipes up with, 'But I couldn't walk from my Dad's - that's too far'. He adds that Dad lives in Nearton, only a couple of miles away. And I remember there being mention, only a month or so ago, of this young lad's parents separating (I still don't know what that means... half-way house, permanent split, or otherwise). The Lad - who I'd distantly read as a bright-eyed chap, suddenly looks a bit serious, though not quite mournful. It is a sensitive moment, as I happen to catch the eye of Alex, who seems also to recognise this with the most acute of eyebrow twitches. And Alex speaks.
'There's no way I could walk to school from my Dad's house! (mock laugh) He lives in London!'
'You could' I suggest, 'but you'd have to set off about a week earlier'.
'Yeah', he agrees. Continuing, he turns to his pal, 'Imagine that - having to set off a week before we're meant to be at school - that's just nuts.'
His pal joins in with the mock laughter, and seems to relax - the frown dissipating.
It is gentle, it is normalising, it is a moment in which my love for Alex is immediate and felt.
'Race you', he calls, as he tears off from his pal and I. The Pal runs off, too, albeit bearing a school-bag weight disadvantage.
We reach The Pal's house - another first, for me. Mother answers the door, relaxed in enormous pink slippers and pleased to see her little man. I proffer the ever-pleasing complimentary remarks about her son, and The Boy and I bid these folk, plus younger brother, a good evening. The novelty of the drop-off - we grown-ups remaining largely unfamiliar, means that there is a certain stiffness, but all is fine. There is simplicity and gorgeousness in all of this.
Until.
Turning back to wave at The Pal and his mum, The Boy calls out - all high spirits and with comic intention, 'See you later, suckers!'.
I roll my eyes, sigh, and am relieved to note that this has generated a genuine smile from the mother.
The Boy and I walk home.
As we walk, I ask The Pal whether he walks to school or is dropped off by car. He explains that for mother's walk-related schedule, it tends to be car, apart from her one day off per week. He then pipes up with, 'But I couldn't walk from my Dad's - that's too far'. He adds that Dad lives in Nearton, only a couple of miles away. And I remember there being mention, only a month or so ago, of this young lad's parents separating (I still don't know what that means... half-way house, permanent split, or otherwise). The Lad - who I'd distantly read as a bright-eyed chap, suddenly looks a bit serious, though not quite mournful. It is a sensitive moment, as I happen to catch the eye of Alex, who seems also to recognise this with the most acute of eyebrow twitches. And Alex speaks.
'There's no way I could walk to school from my Dad's house! (mock laugh) He lives in London!'
'You could' I suggest, 'but you'd have to set off about a week earlier'.
'Yeah', he agrees. Continuing, he turns to his pal, 'Imagine that - having to set off a week before we're meant to be at school - that's just nuts.'
His pal joins in with the mock laughter, and seems to relax - the frown dissipating.
It is gentle, it is normalising, it is a moment in which my love for Alex is immediate and felt.
'Race you', he calls, as he tears off from his pal and I. The Pal runs off, too, albeit bearing a school-bag weight disadvantage.
We reach The Pal's house - another first, for me. Mother answers the door, relaxed in enormous pink slippers and pleased to see her little man. I proffer the ever-pleasing complimentary remarks about her son, and The Boy and I bid these folk, plus younger brother, a good evening. The novelty of the drop-off - we grown-ups remaining largely unfamiliar, means that there is a certain stiffness, but all is fine. There is simplicity and gorgeousness in all of this.
Until.
Turning back to wave at The Pal and his mum, The Boy calls out - all high spirits and with comic intention, 'See you later, suckers!'.
I roll my eyes, sigh, and am relieved to note that this has generated a genuine smile from the mother.
The Boy and I walk home.
Monday, July 05, 2010
stayers
I attend The Boy's sports day. He is to race the three-legged race (they won, with his larger sidekick practically carrying him over the line - messy, but victorious) and the bean-bag race (a creditable finish somewhere in the middle).
At some distance from us, Emma spies the egg-and-spoon racers lining up.
And they are off.
They totter and teeter and wibble and wobble towards us.
Absent-mindedly, I gaze around, as many about me squeal and applaud in support.
Emma: Those eggs don't look even.
Shane: There'll be fallers.
Emma: No. I mean the actual eggs. They're not egg-shaped.
Intrigued, I look, and focus in, and all becomes clear.
Shane: That's because they're not eggs.
The racers get ever nearer.
Emma: They're potatos.
Shane: Potatos, they are. And the girl in yellow seems to be suffering from a particularly knobbly potato.
Emma: Stewards enquiry?
Shane: (momentary ponder) Not at all. This is education. It's all about how they deal with the uneven playing field.
Emma: (sighs) Profound.
Shane: Thanks.
And I am gone - remembering walking up Snowdon with my favourite spoon.
A potato bobbles towards my feet, a child in green feverishly following it, snatching it back and pressing on for the line.
My revery is mashed.
At some distance from us, Emma spies the egg-and-spoon racers lining up.
And they are off.
They totter and teeter and wibble and wobble towards us.
Absent-mindedly, I gaze around, as many about me squeal and applaud in support.
Emma: Those eggs don't look even.
Shane: There'll be fallers.
Emma: No. I mean the actual eggs. They're not egg-shaped.
Intrigued, I look, and focus in, and all becomes clear.
Shane: That's because they're not eggs.
The racers get ever nearer.
Emma: They're potatos.
Shane: Potatos, they are. And the girl in yellow seems to be suffering from a particularly knobbly potato.
Emma: Stewards enquiry?
Shane: (momentary ponder) Not at all. This is education. It's all about how they deal with the uneven playing field.
Emma: (sighs) Profound.
Shane: Thanks.
And I am gone - remembering walking up Snowdon with my favourite spoon.
A potato bobbles towards my feet, a child in green feverishly following it, snatching it back and pressing on for the line.
My revery is mashed.
Monday, June 07, 2010
passions
We've been back in blighty for a week, having spent a few days at the festival in Hay-on-Wye. The week of down-time left space for several longish local walks - woodland, meadows, canal - all with Alex several counties away (he returned well, he returned happy, he returned yesterday). The following notes are late reflections on what I - we - sat in on (and missed), whilst in Hay.
Henning Mankell (Saturday 29 May, morning): cancelled. Explained here (Mankell was aboard one of the flotilla boats that sought to break the blockade of Gaza).
Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and Ruth Rogers, in conversation with Jim Naughtie (Saturday 29 May, early afternoon): The River Cottage and River Cafe chefs and food writers spoke in memory of Rose Gray (co-founder of the River Cafe). Whilst Rogers extolled the virtues of Italy and its sun-drenched produce, Hugh F-W's bent was differently located. Throughout, there was a quiet distinction in that the ethics and politics of food were much more to the fore in F-W's general message. Key word: sustainability. Jim Naughtie left enough space for the foodies to speak for themselves, and was a beacon of how best to facilitate engaging and occasionally challenging discussion.
Small Space (by Jane Nash and Dan Milne) (Saturday 29 May, early evening): We met by the town's clock tower. And were then guided towards this piece of theatre - a one hour two-hander, performed in the kitchen-diner of a nearby cottage, to a sell-out audience of 20. Themes of intimacy and honesty were charted through the fragmented story of a couple's meeting, marriage, and learning to live with one another. It's rare that theatre gets to be so intimate that you really are looking into the whites of the actors' eyes, and they your's, but more importantly - it's rare that theatre is so tightly written and sharply executed. A great production, that made me want to return to New York, stand up from my uncomfortably high stool and applaud loudly, then quickly push on with my own writing pursuits.
Richard Layard, Geoff Mulgan and Anthony Seldon discussing the Movement for Happiness (Sunday 30 May, early evening): We attended this for a mix of professional and personal interest reasons - as if those things could so easily be separated. It was reference to what this movement's aims might yield - in terms of an approach to education - that drew us in. In short, the movement - as it is being referred to - seeks to provoke people into thinking and acting their way into living in both more personally fulfilling, and socially conscientious ways. Discussion of this raised enormous questions regarding the political, economic and psychological affiliates to what initially sound like radical changes to how we live - or rather why we live how we live. Many questions were discussed, rather than answered - and herein lies the central challenge to the happiness movers (and to many other fantastically worthwhile and creative intellectual endeavours). Translating big thinking into coherent, digestible, points for practicable action is not always so straight forward - although Seldon did articulate a 5-point list that I didn't make a note of. We'll be watching and listening and making some contribution to the furtherance of ideas that were presented, as we work on through 2010 and beyond.
One more point on the above session: Rosie Boycott, entirely open in her manner and (stand-in) chairing of this discussion, made interjections which seemed to naively lay bare the kinds of personal dissonance and social discord that will occur when a critical mass of individuals pursue lifestyles that are largely, if not entirely, self-serving. In suggesting that our domestic economy and broad social behaviour would become 'just a little boring' were they to more closely resemble those of, say, Denmark, the example of the individual chasing down 'some hot-shit media job' and all of the prizes that go with that (read personal wealth, reward, and an enhanced sense of self... self self), Boycott provoked a murmur of disapproval and a more glaring sense of cultural disunity within the room. Anthony Seldon seemed to observe that it was exactly such a profoundly self-oriented caricature (as was perhaps chairing the discussion) that was anathema to what the Movement for Happiness sought to inspire. Whilst not righting off personal ambition, the suggestion was that this might be most socially progressive were it wedded to (what I read as) an Adlerian sense of gemeinschaftsgefuhl - simply put, a sense of community, or social interest. That said, perhaps the entirely self-oriented individual will read their own progress as absolutely a matter of broad social interest. And so it goes.
Audrey Niffenegger in conversation with Lisa Allardice (Monday 31 May, morning): The author of The Time Traveller's Wife, and Her Fearful Symmetry, proved to be an elegant, engaging, and wry discussant of her motivations, passions and working practices. This was most in evidence as the hour-long session was opened up to questions from the floor. For the 25 minutes up to this point, I was reminded of how good an interviewer Jim Naughtie had been on Saturday afternoon. Whilst Allardice' editorship of the Guardian Review is no doubt high office, it probably demands a different set of qualities than does the task of being a stimulating literary interrogator. At times, Niffenegger appeared justifiably bored by the fawningly fannish initial questioning.
And that, was that.
Henning Mankell (Saturday 29 May, morning): cancelled. Explained here (Mankell was aboard one of the flotilla boats that sought to break the blockade of Gaza).
Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and Ruth Rogers, in conversation with Jim Naughtie (Saturday 29 May, early afternoon): The River Cottage and River Cafe chefs and food writers spoke in memory of Rose Gray (co-founder of the River Cafe). Whilst Rogers extolled the virtues of Italy and its sun-drenched produce, Hugh F-W's bent was differently located. Throughout, there was a quiet distinction in that the ethics and politics of food were much more to the fore in F-W's general message. Key word: sustainability. Jim Naughtie left enough space for the foodies to speak for themselves, and was a beacon of how best to facilitate engaging and occasionally challenging discussion.
Small Space (by Jane Nash and Dan Milne) (Saturday 29 May, early evening): We met by the town's clock tower. And were then guided towards this piece of theatre - a one hour two-hander, performed in the kitchen-diner of a nearby cottage, to a sell-out audience of 20. Themes of intimacy and honesty were charted through the fragmented story of a couple's meeting, marriage, and learning to live with one another. It's rare that theatre gets to be so intimate that you really are looking into the whites of the actors' eyes, and they your's, but more importantly - it's rare that theatre is so tightly written and sharply executed. A great production, that made me want to return to New York, stand up from my uncomfortably high stool and applaud loudly, then quickly push on with my own writing pursuits.
Richard Layard, Geoff Mulgan and Anthony Seldon discussing the Movement for Happiness (Sunday 30 May, early evening): We attended this for a mix of professional and personal interest reasons - as if those things could so easily be separated. It was reference to what this movement's aims might yield - in terms of an approach to education - that drew us in. In short, the movement - as it is being referred to - seeks to provoke people into thinking and acting their way into living in both more personally fulfilling, and socially conscientious ways. Discussion of this raised enormous questions regarding the political, economic and psychological affiliates to what initially sound like radical changes to how we live - or rather why we live how we live. Many questions were discussed, rather than answered - and herein lies the central challenge to the happiness movers (and to many other fantastically worthwhile and creative intellectual endeavours). Translating big thinking into coherent, digestible, points for practicable action is not always so straight forward - although Seldon did articulate a 5-point list that I didn't make a note of. We'll be watching and listening and making some contribution to the furtherance of ideas that were presented, as we work on through 2010 and beyond.
One more point on the above session: Rosie Boycott, entirely open in her manner and (stand-in) chairing of this discussion, made interjections which seemed to naively lay bare the kinds of personal dissonance and social discord that will occur when a critical mass of individuals pursue lifestyles that are largely, if not entirely, self-serving. In suggesting that our domestic economy and broad social behaviour would become 'just a little boring' were they to more closely resemble those of, say, Denmark, the example of the individual chasing down 'some hot-shit media job' and all of the prizes that go with that (read personal wealth, reward, and an enhanced sense of self... self self), Boycott provoked a murmur of disapproval and a more glaring sense of cultural disunity within the room. Anthony Seldon seemed to observe that it was exactly such a profoundly self-oriented caricature (as was perhaps chairing the discussion) that was anathema to what the Movement for Happiness sought to inspire. Whilst not righting off personal ambition, the suggestion was that this might be most socially progressive were it wedded to (what I read as) an Adlerian sense of gemeinschaftsgefuhl - simply put, a sense of community, or social interest. That said, perhaps the entirely self-oriented individual will read their own progress as absolutely a matter of broad social interest. And so it goes.
Audrey Niffenegger in conversation with Lisa Allardice (Monday 31 May, morning): The author of The Time Traveller's Wife, and Her Fearful Symmetry, proved to be an elegant, engaging, and wry discussant of her motivations, passions and working practices. This was most in evidence as the hour-long session was opened up to questions from the floor. For the 25 minutes up to this point, I was reminded of how good an interviewer Jim Naughtie had been on Saturday afternoon. Whilst Allardice' editorship of the Guardian Review is no doubt high office, it probably demands a different set of qualities than does the task of being a stimulating literary interrogator. At times, Niffenegger appeared justifiably bored by the fawningly fannish initial questioning.
And that, was that.
Friday, May 07, 2010
unhurried
I'm taking a measure of the atmosphere, and the result demands a light note on which to end the week.
We are to move house, to not very far from where we are now. Until a week or so ago, I'd asked both Emma and Alex to not go broadcasting this information - keen as I was for the move to seem more definite before any public notice - as I say, that was until a week ago.
About a fortnight ago, collecting Alex from school, a rush of his classmates spill out into the area where their parents and so on gather to collect them. Immediately, a huddle of boys gather about me.
Boy1: Hi Shane.
Shane: Hello Boy1.
Boy2: Can Alex come round mine on Thursday?
Shane: Thursday, Boy2? Hmmm, I don't know about Thursday - I'll have to check whether we've got anything else on. He'll be able to let you know himself tomorrow.
Boy2: Okay.
Boy3: Thursday - Alex can't on Thursday - he's going to an estate agents'.
Shane: Is he? (There was never a plan to go to any estate agent on Thursday.)
Boy3: Yeah. He told us.
Shane: Who's us?
Boy3: The class. You're moving to Canal Road.
Shane: Oh, right. So it's sorted then?
Boy3: Yeah.
As per usual, Alex is one of the last to leave the building - quite unwilling to be hurried. He passes his bag to me.
Alex: I made everyone laugh today.
Shane: How did you do that?
Alex: I told them that we won't even need to get a lorry when we move house - we can just carry our stuff to Canal Road. I said, 'We'll be like an army of ants - ants carrying pants'. They all laughed.
Shane: Mm. Didn't we say that we'd not tell people about this for a little while?
Alex: Did we?
Shane: Mm.
Alex: I wasn't listening.
Shane: Ah. That'll be it.
Alex: Mm.
We walk home, glancing left down Canal Road as we pass it.
We are to move house, to not very far from where we are now. Until a week or so ago, I'd asked both Emma and Alex to not go broadcasting this information - keen as I was for the move to seem more definite before any public notice - as I say, that was until a week ago.
About a fortnight ago, collecting Alex from school, a rush of his classmates spill out into the area where their parents and so on gather to collect them. Immediately, a huddle of boys gather about me.
Boy1: Hi Shane.
Shane: Hello Boy1.
Boy2: Can Alex come round mine on Thursday?
Shane: Thursday, Boy2? Hmmm, I don't know about Thursday - I'll have to check whether we've got anything else on. He'll be able to let you know himself tomorrow.
Boy2: Okay.
Boy3: Thursday - Alex can't on Thursday - he's going to an estate agents'.
Shane: Is he? (There was never a plan to go to any estate agent on Thursday.)
Boy3: Yeah. He told us.
Shane: Who's us?
Boy3: The class. You're moving to Canal Road.
Shane: Oh, right. So it's sorted then?
Boy3: Yeah.
As per usual, Alex is one of the last to leave the building - quite unwilling to be hurried. He passes his bag to me.
Alex: I made everyone laugh today.
Shane: How did you do that?
Alex: I told them that we won't even need to get a lorry when we move house - we can just carry our stuff to Canal Road. I said, 'We'll be like an army of ants - ants carrying pants'. They all laughed.
Shane: Mm. Didn't we say that we'd not tell people about this for a little while?
Alex: Did we?
Shane: Mm.
Alex: I wasn't listening.
Shane: Ah. That'll be it.
Alex: Mm.
We walk home, glancing left down Canal Road as we pass it.
Friday, February 05, 2010
boobs
I am being befriended by a DadAtTheEdgeOfThePlayground - only occasionally AtTheEdgeOfThePlayground, truth be told - he works in sales, 'away a lot'. The man's son is Alex' best friend - both boys bright and quirky.
For practical reasons, it's been necessary for DadAtTheEdge' and self to have one another's phone numbers for quite a while. But today, I received a 'comedy text message'. It read:
BREAKING NEWS: John Terry Update - Fabio Capello has released a statement clearing the England captain, 'I don't know what all of the fuss is about... Everyone knows if a full back leaves a hole, it's the job of the centre back to fill it!'
That was it. The comedy text message.
I'm feeling a bit intimidated. Might have to make up some joke about boobs or something, next time I see him. You know, all laddish and that.
For practical reasons, it's been necessary for DadAtTheEdge' and self to have one another's phone numbers for quite a while. But today, I received a 'comedy text message'. It read:
BREAKING NEWS: John Terry Update - Fabio Capello has released a statement clearing the England captain, 'I don't know what all of the fuss is about... Everyone knows if a full back leaves a hole, it's the job of the centre back to fill it!'
That was it. The comedy text message.
I'm feeling a bit intimidated. Might have to make up some joke about boobs or something, next time I see him. You know, all laddish and that.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
I
(With updates, below)
From a very young age, I had a sense of 'power relations'. Whether concerned with big public institutions - schools, police, family, or with social microcosms - teacher/pupil, mam/dad, copper/youth, I had an interest in how and why things were the way they were. In common with this, I found any kind of serious debate engaging - as much for the way in which arguments were substantiated, as for which way they were won, lost or left undetermined. Remaining the case, I would go on to read of rhetoric.
At school in the mid-late 1980s, I sat in a year group assembly, with around 150 of my peers, and began to listen to some bloke (not a teacher) talk about 'politics'. I imagine that he was an officer from some ill-thought-through local authority scheme - through which young minds were to become switched on to matters political. Over the course of the man's talk - thirty minutes at most, I found myself becoming more and more engaged. This was countered by a murmur, that became a rumble, that became outright disruption, from at least 100 of my fellow audience members. At the time, I realised that the speaker's task was thankless, and his approach - reasoning with us - ambitious. These were the days before drama and dance and hip-hop were taken to be the way to reach errant youngsters. I also guessed that the man at the front was 'the kind of person who didn't shout at children'. During what was probably a fairly grim half hour for him, he lobbed a few questions at our braying mass. Some fell into no man's land, others didn't get that far. I still don't know why the bystanding teachers left it until after he had departed to berate us - their own kind of theatre, perhaps.
That day, the point at which I noticed the background noise came a moment after I'd answered a question that the visitor had called out. To have answered at all was a bit out there, but to have to repeat myself felt a bit much.
'Tony Blair', I repeated, for he was our MP at the time. Fresh-faced, ambitious, going places.
As irrelevant or as dull as such talk may have been to so many of us back then, I'm minded to wonder about how many of that assembly were later touched, destroyed, or otherwise supported or ground down, by decisions and alliances forged on Tony Blair's watch. I'm also wondering what became of that day's guest speaker - people don't plan to go in for that sort of punishment, surely.
Tomorrow, I'll listen to Blair's evidence to The Iraq Inquiry. And later, I'll listen to the maintream fall-out from it.
----- ----- ----- -----
UPDATE (Fri, 11:35am): I found myself recalling being examined for the Ph.D., this morning - something to do with semiotics and seating arrangements. The Inquiry panel seemed to be more visibly nervous as today's session began. Blair also very tense to start with - seems to have relaxed into it. The pre-session Five Live phone-in was predictably grim. I sometimes wonder whether they sift out those callers who might seem to be possessed of balance and articulacy (...regardless of their bottom-line position).
UPDATE (Fri 4:19pm): Getting towards the end of the session, and I'd say that there's little that hasn't been heard before being aired. The nature of the questioning and answering has made me reflect upon contrasting styles of interrogation - the hard-headed, in-your-face journalist versus the stealthy, catch-you-with-defences-down approach, versus something that is a bit more zingy - something purely about fact-finding, rather than generating news, or a peformance, or a political blow. That's about it.
UPDATE (Fri 6:03pm): Early summaries and reactions - 'analysis' would be an overstatement - as broadcast on Five Live, have been fairly narrow in their focus. Despite close to six hours hours of contextual description, and accounting for the political and diplomatic balancing act that led to the second invasion into Iraq, the detail that gets the featured coverage is the lack of an apology from Blair. Predictable, not something that offends or bothers me personally, but it's easy to appreciate how and why others have reacted as they have. There seem to me to be three main sources of anti-Blair sentiment, namely: the Tories (Blair having upset the blue apple-cart, and led government, as the Conservatives navigated dire straits); the grieving (in the absence of a sense of hard, unequivocally clear evidence of attempts to avoid military intervention); and the old left (when Labour got New, others became old/grey/disenfranchised, by default). And so it goes.
From a very young age, I had a sense of 'power relations'. Whether concerned with big public institutions - schools, police, family, or with social microcosms - teacher/pupil, mam/dad, copper/youth, I had an interest in how and why things were the way they were. In common with this, I found any kind of serious debate engaging - as much for the way in which arguments were substantiated, as for which way they were won, lost or left undetermined. Remaining the case, I would go on to read of rhetoric.
At school in the mid-late 1980s, I sat in a year group assembly, with around 150 of my peers, and began to listen to some bloke (not a teacher) talk about 'politics'. I imagine that he was an officer from some ill-thought-through local authority scheme - through which young minds were to become switched on to matters political. Over the course of the man's talk - thirty minutes at most, I found myself becoming more and more engaged. This was countered by a murmur, that became a rumble, that became outright disruption, from at least 100 of my fellow audience members. At the time, I realised that the speaker's task was thankless, and his approach - reasoning with us - ambitious. These were the days before drama and dance and hip-hop were taken to be the way to reach errant youngsters. I also guessed that the man at the front was 'the kind of person who didn't shout at children'. During what was probably a fairly grim half hour for him, he lobbed a few questions at our braying mass. Some fell into no man's land, others didn't get that far. I still don't know why the bystanding teachers left it until after he had departed to berate us - their own kind of theatre, perhaps.
That day, the point at which I noticed the background noise came a moment after I'd answered a question that the visitor had called out. To have answered at all was a bit out there, but to have to repeat myself felt a bit much.
'Tony Blair', I repeated, for he was our MP at the time. Fresh-faced, ambitious, going places.
As irrelevant or as dull as such talk may have been to so many of us back then, I'm minded to wonder about how many of that assembly were later touched, destroyed, or otherwise supported or ground down, by decisions and alliances forged on Tony Blair's watch. I'm also wondering what became of that day's guest speaker - people don't plan to go in for that sort of punishment, surely.
Tomorrow, I'll listen to Blair's evidence to The Iraq Inquiry. And later, I'll listen to the maintream fall-out from it.
----- ----- ----- -----
UPDATE (Fri, 11:35am): I found myself recalling being examined for the Ph.D., this morning - something to do with semiotics and seating arrangements. The Inquiry panel seemed to be more visibly nervous as today's session began. Blair also very tense to start with - seems to have relaxed into it. The pre-session Five Live phone-in was predictably grim. I sometimes wonder whether they sift out those callers who might seem to be possessed of balance and articulacy (...regardless of their bottom-line position).
UPDATE (Fri 4:19pm): Getting towards the end of the session, and I'd say that there's little that hasn't been heard before being aired. The nature of the questioning and answering has made me reflect upon contrasting styles of interrogation - the hard-headed, in-your-face journalist versus the stealthy, catch-you-with-defences-down approach, versus something that is a bit more zingy - something purely about fact-finding, rather than generating news, or a peformance, or a political blow. That's about it.
UPDATE (Fri 6:03pm): Early summaries and reactions - 'analysis' would be an overstatement - as broadcast on Five Live, have been fairly narrow in their focus. Despite close to six hours hours of contextual description, and accounting for the political and diplomatic balancing act that led to the second invasion into Iraq, the detail that gets the featured coverage is the lack of an apology from Blair. Predictable, not something that offends or bothers me personally, but it's easy to appreciate how and why others have reacted as they have. There seem to me to be three main sources of anti-Blair sentiment, namely: the Tories (Blair having upset the blue apple-cart, and led government, as the Conservatives navigated dire straits); the grieving (in the absence of a sense of hard, unequivocally clear evidence of attempts to avoid military intervention); and the old left (when Labour got New, others became old/grey/disenfranchised, by default). And so it goes.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Q
I had a really good day last Friday, I mean really good - exhausting, exhilerating, massively affirming, and the kind of day that will stay with me for quite a while. It was also all about work - although it was really about the responsiveness of the people who I was working with, to my work.
Apart from getting a few dozen grown-ups to go on a longish walk in icy woodland conditions (they suffered, but they enjoyed), and to later gad about various eateries and drinkeries (they enjoyed), I got them to take on a seriousish photographic task (they enjoyed), but more interesting to me, I had them tackle a couple of playful but tricky questions - one from the archives, plus a new one (for me). Those questions were:-
Q1. [From the archives] Think of an occasion when you took a risk. What was that risk?
Q2. [New] You may be aware of the TV programme, Come Dine With Me. (If not, someone will explain.) You are to host a most amazing supper, at Le Chateau Imaginaire. Your guests are to be three famous/ish people - all from different walks of life (i.e. no trios of any particular professional or source of notoriety), plus one non-famous person, who is neither an existing friend or relative. So, who are your guests?
The final part to question two (the non-famous person) had the potential to unseat a few of our riders, but no, they played and they played fair.
And after that, I had them return to Q1. But this time, I asked:
Q3. [New] Think of an occasion when you avoided taking a risk. What was that risk?
This was a question that relied on my players to already be working well together, as it would require some teasing out - its meanings and possibilities. But you know what, they were fantastic. I gave them a good time, and they delivered.
So good, so very good.
If you've any thoughts on any of the above questions, feel free to share (I am interested) - whether you're a familiar to the comments box, a one-off wanderer, or someone somewhere in-between.
Apart from getting a few dozen grown-ups to go on a longish walk in icy woodland conditions (they suffered, but they enjoyed), and to later gad about various eateries and drinkeries (they enjoyed), I got them to take on a seriousish photographic task (they enjoyed), but more interesting to me, I had them tackle a couple of playful but tricky questions - one from the archives, plus a new one (for me). Those questions were:-
Q1. [From the archives] Think of an occasion when you took a risk. What was that risk?
Q2. [New] You may be aware of the TV programme, Come Dine With Me. (If not, someone will explain.) You are to host a most amazing supper, at Le Chateau Imaginaire. Your guests are to be three famous/ish people - all from different walks of life (i.e. no trios of any particular professional or source of notoriety), plus one non-famous person, who is neither an existing friend or relative. So, who are your guests?
The final part to question two (the non-famous person) had the potential to unseat a few of our riders, but no, they played and they played fair.
And after that, I had them return to Q1. But this time, I asked:
Q3. [New] Think of an occasion when you avoided taking a risk. What was that risk?
This was a question that relied on my players to already be working well together, as it would require some teasing out - its meanings and possibilities. But you know what, they were fantastic. I gave them a good time, and they delivered.
So good, so very good.
If you've any thoughts on any of the above questions, feel free to share (I am interested) - whether you're a familiar to the comments box, a one-off wanderer, or someone somewhere in-between.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Z
In light snow, I drop-off The Boy at his school. He is excited at today's visit to a local theatre, 'We might be there all day' he mentions. I feign jealousy, remind him that I'll be away for a couple of days, and say that I look forward to seeing him on Wednesday. Super-efficient, this morning, I dodge all manner of trendy mums and wholesome dads, as I make a quick get-away for a dart across the city.
A different school:
The reception area, a 9:20am whirlwind of children and their parents (or folk assumed to be their parents):
There is some confusion as to the identities of one or two late-comers. In the office, someone questions whether at least one of the children may have just returned from a lengthy spell overseas. Recognising the challenge and the absence of the regular home-school liaison (translator, to you and I), the headteacher steps up to the hatch, to help out a couple of stretched secretaries:
Headteacher: (pronouncing clearly) Has he been away?
Parent: (frowns, not understanding)
Headteacher: Have you been on holiday? Pakistan?
Parent: (pause for processing) Lost jumper.
I move off to speak with twenty or so of their colleagues, with whom I have business on Friday.
Later, as I depart, one of the secretaries is taking a list of names from a girl, who has just led her three younger siblings into school. Again, there seems to be some confusion as to who and where these children should be.
Secretary: How do you spell that?
'Four-day week' I chime to this secretary.
She smiles, 'See you Friday'.
Driving away, I think ahead to discussions that I'll be having later this term, about tracking pupils' progress - an action not without hurdles, especially where the tracking of names is not to be taken for granted.The light snow now seems to be mixed with rain.
Monday, January 04, 2010
V
Into the shop, I headed directly to the fridge for my standard of skimmed. Moving to the queue, the Professor Sprout being served was in much too much of a flighty, circumspect quiver, to look up for polite acknowledgements.
And through my Monday morning daze, I see and I understand.
A purchase to explain the 'ruddy complexion', and to pop the illusion of 'outdoor type'.
First day of term. She'll need it later.
And through my Monday morning daze, I see and I understand.
A purchase to explain the 'ruddy complexion', and to pop the illusion of 'outdoor type'.
First day of term. She'll need it later.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Footnote
The Boy is eight years old. He'll be nine in January.
Alex: Right, today at school, the teacher read part of a story then just stopped. And she said we had to write the rest of the story, but that we weren't allowed to write about anything that was violent. We had to describe how people were feeling.
Shane: Mm.
Alex: But I said to her, 'Well, Miss, this story might have to have a little violence in it, because my new character is going to be a boxer.' She laughed at that.
Shane: Good. Laughing is good.
Alex: Mm. But then, I asked her, 'Is it ok if I use footnotes?' And she laughed! I mean, what's funny about that?!
Shane: Did she say anything?
Alex: She asked how I knew about footnotes, so I told her. She said it would be fine.
Shane: That's good. I think there's a lot of adults who wouldn't know about footnotes, so she was probably surprised more than anything.
Alex: Mm.
Shane: Mm.
Alex: You know with footnotes, do you always have to start with number 1.
Shane: Yeah. Some people start from number one on each new page that has a footnote - one, one, one two, one, one two three, one, and so on, others will keep going up by one regardless of the page - one, two, three, la la la.
Alex: Mm. I only had one footnote.
Shane: That's fine. You only needed one footnote.
Alex: Mm.
Shane: Mm.
Alex: Right, today at school, the teacher read part of a story then just stopped. And she said we had to write the rest of the story, but that we weren't allowed to write about anything that was violent. We had to describe how people were feeling.
Shane: Mm.
Alex: But I said to her, 'Well, Miss, this story might have to have a little violence in it, because my new character is going to be a boxer.' She laughed at that.
Shane: Good. Laughing is good.
Alex: Mm. But then, I asked her, 'Is it ok if I use footnotes?' And she laughed! I mean, what's funny about that?!
Shane: Did she say anything?
Alex: She asked how I knew about footnotes, so I told her. She said it would be fine.
Shane: That's good. I think there's a lot of adults who wouldn't know about footnotes, so she was probably surprised more than anything.
Alex: Mm.
Shane: Mm.
Alex: You know with footnotes, do you always have to start with number 1.
Shane: Yeah. Some people start from number one on each new page that has a footnote - one, one, one two, one, one two three, one, and so on, others will keep going up by one regardless of the page - one, two, three, la la la.
Alex: Mm. I only had one footnote.
Shane: That's fine. You only needed one footnote.
Alex: Mm.
Shane: Mm.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Logo
Alex missed school today - truly, a heavy cold, albeit with exaggerated symptoms.
After lunch:
Alex: I didn't much like the tuna mayo.
Shane: I thought you liked that.
Alex: Well, I do, but I added some raspberries** and it wasn't good.
Shane: Tuna, mayo and raspberries...
Alex: - not good.
Shane: Mm.
He'll be back at school tomorrow, and so I'll not be setting number quiz challenges, justifying jigsawing 'down-time', or contriving logo design work* for an eight year old. I will miss him, though. His singing about not being allowed to play on the Playstation or to watch any more television - all to the tune of Eye of the Tiger, well that was the high point of the day. I believe the term is 'LOL'.
* We support creative endeavour...
** Up to a point.
After lunch:
Alex: I didn't much like the tuna mayo.
Shane: I thought you liked that.
Alex: Well, I do, but I added some raspberries** and it wasn't good.
Shane: Tuna, mayo and raspberries...
Alex: - not good.
Shane: Mm.
He'll be back at school tomorrow, and so I'll not be setting number quiz challenges, justifying jigsawing 'down-time', or contriving logo design work* for an eight year old. I will miss him, though. His singing about not being allowed to play on the Playstation or to watch any more television - all to the tune of Eye of the Tiger, well that was the high point of the day. I believe the term is 'LOL'.
* We support creative endeavour...
** Up to a point.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Coats
Home-time: a two minute walk from the front door to Alex' school.
It's blowy, not quite a gale. The hedge reminds me that it needs cutting back. 'I know, I know', my eyes tell it. Wisps of litter - toffee crisp, regal, lotto - pirouette down the road. This heralds the main act: The Considerate Drivers - the ones who ignore the parking notices. Whirring past, there's good reason in those darkened windows. I ponder the kinds of mindset, lifestyle and plain idiot that will again overlook instructions to not block children's sight-lines. Having passed the turning for the canal, I'm well-placed in today's 3:15 chase. Fat dawdling women lumber up ahead, we call them 'The Coats'. They'll bunch up at the first gate, for single-file procession down the ramp. Better for me to take an outside line - hit the main gate, approach the waiting area from the far side - avoids the crush - social, psychological. The tall thin woman with the pushchair, she takes the same course. I wonder whether the tiredness in her general air - that same tiredness that she's been carrying for at least four years now - is just about the kids. I once asked her about her previous life: 'Scientist'. You could have knocked me down with a chocolate-bar wrapper. Waiting, the Chinese man - older than he looks - is in his usual spot. I like him. He once tried to convince me that everyone should try EuroDisney, 'at least once, just for experience'. I meant to nod - polite, like; but all I could do was crunch my neck in a bit - tortoise-like. Within earshot of the school, the excited clatter of putting-away-time slaps me awake. It's the sound of brace brace for Act I Scene I of the next 12 days. The scientist proffers a smile. I raise a half-smile. I imagine an anthropological study of school drop-off/pick-up times, I see a mainstream film of lives that cross but don't cross - people you know but who you don't know, it all feels so transient. A bell cuts through my reverie.
--------laterthatsameday--------
I just received an e-note to say that my American friend, Gene - OldHorsetailSnake, has died. I never met him. This, I regret. A lady called Vicki writes, '...politics, the environment, his running fashion commentary and his love of dung beetles were regular themes'. A natural born educator exits blogstage right.
It's blowy, not quite a gale. The hedge reminds me that it needs cutting back. 'I know, I know', my eyes tell it. Wisps of litter - toffee crisp, regal, lotto - pirouette down the road. This heralds the main act: The Considerate Drivers - the ones who ignore the parking notices. Whirring past, there's good reason in those darkened windows. I ponder the kinds of mindset, lifestyle and plain idiot that will again overlook instructions to not block children's sight-lines. Having passed the turning for the canal, I'm well-placed in today's 3:15 chase. Fat dawdling women lumber up ahead, we call them 'The Coats'. They'll bunch up at the first gate, for single-file procession down the ramp. Better for me to take an outside line - hit the main gate, approach the waiting area from the far side - avoids the crush - social, psychological. The tall thin woman with the pushchair, she takes the same course. I wonder whether the tiredness in her general air - that same tiredness that she's been carrying for at least four years now - is just about the kids. I once asked her about her previous life: 'Scientist'. You could have knocked me down with a chocolate-bar wrapper. Waiting, the Chinese man - older than he looks - is in his usual spot. I like him. He once tried to convince me that everyone should try EuroDisney, 'at least once, just for experience'. I meant to nod - polite, like; but all I could do was crunch my neck in a bit - tortoise-like. Within earshot of the school, the excited clatter of putting-away-time slaps me awake. It's the sound of brace brace for Act I Scene I of the next 12 days. The scientist proffers a smile. I raise a half-smile. I imagine an anthropological study of school drop-off/pick-up times, I see a mainstream film of lives that cross but don't cross - people you know but who you don't know, it all feels so transient. A bell cuts through my reverie.
--------laterthatsameday--------
I just received an e-note to say that my American friend, Gene - OldHorsetailSnake, has died. I never met him. This, I regret. A lady called Vicki writes, '...politics, the environment, his running fashion commentary and his love of dung beetles were regular themes'. A natural born educator exits blogstage right.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Evening
At 8:10pm, Emma arrived at Alex's school for her parents' evening meeting with his teacher, Mrs Jay. Meanwhile, Alex and I trogged through bath-time, pyjama-time and then we settled into a few games of pre-bed-time chess (he has been teaching me 'castling').
By 8:45pm, Emma was back. She entered Alex's bedroom with a half-suppressed smile on her face.
Emma: Well, would you like to hear what Mrs Jay said?
Shane: Yeah.
Alex: Let's hear the good stuff.
(There couldn't really be any bad stuff, could there.)
Emma: ...so you're doing well, and she says that you're a pleasure to have in the class.
Alex: Mm. So that's it, then. Good.
Emma: But she also said that she knows that you can do more than you sometimes do.
Alex: What does that mean?
Emma: When you talk to the teacher, she says that you come out with some beautiful words - so she knows that you've got a good vocabulary.
Alex: Mm.
Emma: But sometimes, she says that you seem to just want to write enough to ensure that you don't get into trouble.
Alex: Obviously.
Shane: Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Wait there, young hound. You should be showing her how amazing you can be.
Emma: That's right. She says that today when she asked you to develop some of your sentences, you pointed out that you were already ahead of some of the others -
Shane: Did you really?
Alex: Mm, I was*. [* Such an objection would have seemed way off-the-scale when I was that age]
Shane: Nice one, young bud' (holds out side-on fist for chummy fist bump).
Alex: (Fist bumps) (Smiles)
Emma: The point is that it's not about the others, it's about what you're capable of and what you actually do. So let's see you trying to wow Mrs Jay with your writing from now on, eh. Let's see if you can write as well as you can talk.
Alex: Cheese!** [** A juvenile reaction to anything that's especially good, bad, or worthy of note.]
Emma: Mm. But otherwise, it's good to hear that you're doing well. She also said that you've got more depth than a lot of the other boys (Alex frowns) - that means that you've a lot of interests and aren't just totally focused on one thing, or on one group of people - says that you get on with everyone. Also mentioned that other teachers have asked 'who the little boy with the dark hair and the good manners is' - seems that those pleases and thank yous that Daddy keeps going on at you about have been sinking in.
Alex: Mm.
Altogether, this was a pleasing review. I'd been disappointed at not being able to attend (kith and kin unavailable for child-minding). As I listened to Emma's commentary, I began to wonder - do I overestimate the extent to which I impact on the boy's well-being and upbringing. In a self-aggrandising sort of way, I wanted (more) credit for what good qualities were emerging in the boy.
Final chess score:
Alex 2 - 1 Shane (aggregate 3 - 3)
By 8:45pm, Emma was back. She entered Alex's bedroom with a half-suppressed smile on her face.
Emma: Well, would you like to hear what Mrs Jay said?
Shane: Yeah.
Alex: Let's hear the good stuff.
(There couldn't really be any bad stuff, could there.)
Emma: ...so you're doing well, and she says that you're a pleasure to have in the class.
Alex: Mm. So that's it, then. Good.
Emma: But she also said that she knows that you can do more than you sometimes do.
Alex: What does that mean?
Emma: When you talk to the teacher, she says that you come out with some beautiful words - so she knows that you've got a good vocabulary.
Alex: Mm.
Emma: But sometimes, she says that you seem to just want to write enough to ensure that you don't get into trouble.
Alex: Obviously.
Shane: Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Wait there, young hound. You should be showing her how amazing you can be.
Emma: That's right. She says that today when she asked you to develop some of your sentences, you pointed out that you were already ahead of some of the others -
Shane: Did you really?
Alex: Mm, I was*. [* Such an objection would have seemed way off-the-scale when I was that age]
Shane: Nice one, young bud' (holds out side-on fist for chummy fist bump).
Alex: (Fist bumps) (Smiles)
Emma: The point is that it's not about the others, it's about what you're capable of and what you actually do. So let's see you trying to wow Mrs Jay with your writing from now on, eh. Let's see if you can write as well as you can talk.
Alex: Cheese!** [** A juvenile reaction to anything that's especially good, bad, or worthy of note.]
Emma: Mm. But otherwise, it's good to hear that you're doing well. She also said that you've got more depth than a lot of the other boys (Alex frowns) - that means that you've a lot of interests and aren't just totally focused on one thing, or on one group of people - says that you get on with everyone. Also mentioned that other teachers have asked 'who the little boy with the dark hair and the good manners is' - seems that those pleases and thank yous that Daddy keeps going on at you about have been sinking in.
Alex: Mm.
Altogether, this was a pleasing review. I'd been disappointed at not being able to attend (kith and kin unavailable for child-minding). As I listened to Emma's commentary, I began to wonder - do I overestimate the extent to which I impact on the boy's well-being and upbringing. In a self-aggrandising sort of way, I wanted (more) credit for what good qualities were emerging in the boy.
Final chess score:
Alex 2 - 1 Shane (aggregate 3 - 3)
Monday, December 15, 2008
Wall
So there I am...
...laptop, Christmas tree, digital central heating controller yet to be afixed to the wall (small white box, left of image) - the epitome of Creative Professional at Large. Following a cursing Friday, I was coarsing through Monday - like nobody's business, or rather - like my business. As I'm calling and emailing The Great and The Good - in order to bring about a most handsome project, I bash out yet another email, to confirm The Vision. Cutting to the chase, I set about mentioning that, 'In a nutshell, the meeting is about...'. Reviewing my fine Visioning, I am aghast to note a typo - a typo that speaks of choppy waters, of contingencies, of... a darkening Vision? It reads:
'In a nuthell, the meeting is about...'
Nuthell?! Most unseemly. My continuing problems with the 'S' key on the laptop, yields a vision of allergic reactions, of working with loonies, of squirrels unwell.
.
...laptop, Christmas tree, digital central heating controller yet to be afixed to the wall (small white box, left of image) - the epitome of Creative Professional at Large. Following a cursing Friday, I was coarsing through Monday - like nobody's business, or rather - like my business. As I'm calling and emailing The Great and The Good - in order to bring about a most handsome project, I bash out yet another email, to confirm The Vision. Cutting to the chase, I set about mentioning that, 'In a nutshell, the meeting is about...'. Reviewing my fine Visioning, I am aghast to note a typo - a typo that speaks of choppy waters, of contingencies, of... a darkening Vision? It reads:
'In a nuthell, the meeting is about...'
Nuthell?! Most unseemly. My continuing problems with the 'S' key on the laptop, yields a vision of allergic reactions, of working with loonies, of squirrels unwell.
.
Friday, November 07, 2008
Monday, September 08, 2008
Quantization
Last week, my young friend mentioned that he and his classmates had had dance practice. In terms of physical education, some teachers prefer to deliver dancing lessons as opposed to potentially competitive sports. At the moment of my hearing that the routine was being choreographed to Michael Jackson's Thriller, it's fair to say that the teacher's star rose.
I spent the tail-end of Friday evening watching the final moments of this year's Big Brother series. A young woman, Rachel Rice, won. From what I've seen and heard of this year's series, it was a win for niceness and moderation and the merits of self-control. As the programme closed, a montage of clips was played, the backing track to which was gorgeous. It's highly unusual that a first-hearing of a song or piece of music really grabs me, but this did. From a search based on the lyrical extract 'Throw those curtains wide', I learned that it was 'One Day Like This', by Elbow:
As you may infer from this post, I've been on YouTube. The next, final piece of music is a hugely uplifting oldish favourite, David McAlmont and Bernard Butler's 'Yes':
Tum-te-tum-te-too, a very good week to you.
I spent the tail-end of Friday evening watching the final moments of this year's Big Brother series. A young woman, Rachel Rice, won. From what I've seen and heard of this year's series, it was a win for niceness and moderation and the merits of self-control. As the programme closed, a montage of clips was played, the backing track to which was gorgeous. It's highly unusual that a first-hearing of a song or piece of music really grabs me, but this did. From a search based on the lyrical extract 'Throw those curtains wide', I learned that it was 'One Day Like This', by Elbow:
As you may infer from this post, I've been on YouTube. The next, final piece of music is a hugely uplifting oldish favourite, David McAlmont and Bernard Butler's 'Yes':
Tum-te-tum-te-too, a very good week to you.
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