when i'm right i'm very very right

I'm good. Real good. How long ago was it that I said we needed to rethink our A-level system? How long ago was it that I suggested an International Baccalaureate-esque programme? Just to help you out it was the 18th August.

What news do I hear today? I hear that our Prime Minister, Tony "education education education" Blair has finally done something about it. He's made a speech. Or at least, according to the news, he is going to make a speech imminently.

In a speech in Birmingham, Mr Blair will say he wants 400 academies, double the present target for the year 2010. - bbc.co.uk

But what else?

The government is expected to promote the International Baccalaureate as an alternative to A-levels in the state sector.
It may have been stuck in with all the other less interesting information about Trust Schools and City Academies but it is, nonetheless, there. Or at least it will be there. When he makes the speech that is. Mr Blair is giving a distinct nod in the direction of the IB as a means of assessment and it has made me smile.

For those who may not be familiar with the IBs they comprise six main subjects studied over two years, three studied to a higher level than the other three. There are also compulsory elements - a 4,000-word essay on a topic of the student's interest; theory of knowledge; and creativity. It is the kind of course I wish I was offered when I was 16. If I ruled the world I would make little changes; maybe merge it into year 12 work (ditching GCSEs of course) and add extra curricular elements. But I like the general principle. It's important to offer a broad education - not one that narrows and narrows until our young people start suffering tunnel vision.

When I was doing my A-levels I was convinced that I would become a scientist - after all my older siblings were all scientists. I almost decided to do just science based A-levels but opted for English Literature as well, just in case. As it turned out I was useless at science. I ended up doing an arts degree and I loved every minute of it. Where would I be if I hadn't chosen the Eng Lit A-level a decade or so ago? Why are we pigeon holing our kids at 16? Maybe we could go the whole hog and ask them what they want to be when they're 6 and shaping their education to fit. The train driver and astranaut courses would be very popular I'm sure.





So 10 years to the day since Ole Tone proclaimed that infamous three word soundbite he is finally coming round to my way of thinking on education - it's a shame it's a bit late really.

how much!?!?

It’s our school formal tonight. A couple of hundred teenagers are about to descent on one of the nicer hotels in Portrush and turn it into party-central. For those Americans out there a formal is, I suppose, a little like a school prom. Final year pupils dress up in evening wear, try to slip a few miniatures into pockets, handbags and secret hemlines, and go to a hotel for a meal and a dance.

This is my third formal as a teacher. I didn’t go to my own formal as a pupil – we got tickets to see Bob Dylan in Belfast (I know, it shames me) and spent the evening in the Kings Hall. I remember thinking at the time that we were saving money despite the travel costs and the entry fee to the concert – these days I think we’d be saving more than a little money.

The pupils these days think nothing of the money they throw at it. I’ve seen couples arrive in a chauffeur driven vintage Rolls Royce followed by another couple in a stretched Jaguar Limo – from Limavady to Portrush! In my day you got your elder sister to give you a lift down in her bashed up Rover Metro.

I asked a fairly level-headed seventeen year old how much she was spending on this evening.

“Hmm” she said, “The dress was fairly cheap – it only cost £180; the shoes and handbag were expensive - £50. The jewellery is a present from my Mother – although I bought a necklace to go with my dress £75. The Limo is £40 each, the make up, eye brow shaping, manicure, pedicure, wax, eyelash tint and teeth whitening is about £120. The tan was two sessions I think that’s £30 in total. I had my hair styled, that was £48, the tickets are £25 but I’m paying for my partner as well so that’s £50. The photo is £8… I think that’s about it. How much is that?”

“£601” I think the shock had sharpened my mental arithmetic skills. “for one night.”

“Yeah, but it’s the only night like it I’ll ever have.”

“For one night.”

“But I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.”

“One single evening.”

“But I’ll still have the dress and jewellery for years to come.”

“Will you ever wear the dress again?”

“Hell no!”

“How long will the hair and stuff last?”

“Well I can’t keep it like that for school on Monday.”

“six hundred pounds.”

“and a pound”

I’m spending £35 – I feel cheap.

what's he doing to me?!?!

I encouraged a young kid from school to start writing a blog today - he often has long periods of free time and seems to have little to fill it. I think it'd be good for him to have an outlet for his feelings. He suffers from Aspergers and I thought it might be interesting for people to hear how he perceives the world. The thing is I think he's trying to get me fired:

well like it says i have had 4 posts today and i am neraly
home thenk god this will probably be my last post today well i have had a hard
day

hehehehe

i wish free most of the day and sitting in the forementioned teachers classroom relaxing but if the head of special needs knew she would kill me well have to do a bit of work for once

100 not out

This is my 100th post. Monumental I know. Some people celebrate religious festivals, some personal anniversaries, some famous moments in history... somewhere out there I like to think that there are some web geeks cracking open a Dr Pepper in honour of the centenary special needs post. I know how unlikely that is, but I can dream.
There is, as usual, a problem. This post should be special, it should be worthy of its status, it should be memorable, it should be the post to end all posts... but I can't think of anything to write. Total mental block. Creative tank running on empty. Imagination systems failure.

In the past three months I've written posts - sometimes cliched, sometimes facetious, sometimes humiliating - but I've always thought of something to say. Today I apologise, I am spent. 100 posts, 3 months, 35,346 words - and I've run out.

I was reading a blog the other day - I wish I could remember the address, but I can't, sorry - where the author had decided that his readers have had a great time reading his writing and should start paying to support him. He put a link to paypal along with the rational that he had written so many words which equated to two novels which would cost about $12. After looking at my bank balance I like this idea. Now, including character names, the screenplay of Heathers comes to 15,123 words. So, in essence I've written twice as much as Daniel Waters did in 1988. On Amazon.com the DVD (THX version - not the special box set, I'm not greedy) retails at $10.99 - which would work out at $25 if he wrote as much as me.

I take personal cheques and most major credit cards - thank you.

now that's not something I thought I'd see

Every so often in this strange dander through the daisies that we like to call life some thing happens that makes you stop for a minute and go "Now that was odd"

In my case it was whilst I was browsing the web reading reviews and checking out the photos from the Casino Royale premiere in London. This one photo managed to throw my mental state such that I forgot all about what I was going to be teaching next period - and to breath for several minutes.

Actually I exaggerate. Paris and Judy - although apparently very different people - move in similar celebrity orbits. They were bound to collide eventually. Dame Judy Dench got there by being an extremely talented actress who has worked a life time of labour and consistently produced amazing performances on stage and screen (As Time Goes By notwithstanding) - Paris Hilton fought hard as a competing sperm twenty six years ago to be born an heiress. Thousands didn't make it - she should be congratulated.

I feel a little bad for Paris sometimes. It wasn't her fault she was born rich. It wasn't her fault that she never experienced what most people consider a normal upbringing. It wasn't her fault she had a sleaze for a boyfriend. Yet there are people out there who have created web sites ridiculing her, berating her, and even flash games where the player attempts to kill her. A slight overreaction perhaps. The girl isn't the brightest, nor the most compassionate, nor the most witty... but she's hardly a serial killer.

As for that photo; well, actually there is another PH image that shook me to the core in a much more disturbing way...

chestnuts roasting on an open fire and all that.

The only thing more predictable than christmas decorations going up even earlier each year is people phoning in to radio stations and writing blogs complaining about christmas decorations going up earlier each year. I was listening to one woman who was truly concerned that Christmas was going to cease to exist soon. She almost wept as she described how shops were filling their windows with Christmas goods and towns were putting up street lights all around her. I felt her pain as she predicted that the decorations would look wilted and dowdy by christmas day itself.

As I listened I watched as they erected and decorated the huge tree outside Coleraine Town Hall – no doubt donated by Norway or someone; I think someone should look into how the Norwegians’ affinity for giving away trees to all and sundry at this time of the year contributes to global warming. I turned and mentally visualised the poor woman slowly shaking her head in dismay as I spotted the Moore’s Christmas displays. I walked sadly away sipping my Christmas blend starbucks coffee in its smart red cardboard cup. Above me the stars shone brightly – don’t they know its not christmas (the lesser known Band Aid b-side.)

Which brings me to where I am now – listening to Diana Krall crooning seasonal jazz, watching one of my pupils drawing a Christmas tree on my whiteboard. It’s only November 15th! Do I worry that I am lessening the impact of the season itself – watering down yuletide? Hmm. No.

I love Christmas – it’s definitely in my top 5 times of the year. I love the feeling I get when I genuinely get caught up in the spirit of the season (usually in the ‘Inn’ on Christmas eve with a hot whiskey in my hand) Right now I’m willing to join in the hype in a heavily ironic way.

As for the pupil… well, I think some of my energy saving convictions have finally started to wear off on him.

the consummate professional

Teaching is a unique profession. Having said that, like other professions, teachers have to behave in a certain way even when they're not in school. We are expected to set an example to those around us. Take me for example - when I do something wrong my first concern is that no one who knows I'm a teacher witnessed it. Well, maybe not my first concern but it's up there.

Take a situation, for example, where a teacher is out shopping for groceries. There I was in Coleraine ASDA looking at some computer game reviews in their magazine section when I spotted a couple of my pupils entering with their parents. Conscious of the fact that it would never do for me to be seen to be promoting video games (when my job requires that I promote reading, reading and more reading) I immediately dropped the magazine and stealthily made my way to the fiction shelf of the book section. The consummate professional. The professional who quickly grabs the nearest hardback when he hears the whisper behind him,"Mum, that's my teacher, Mr C!"

The professional who tries a quick turn and flash of his professional smile only for the book he was holding to wrench itself free of his grasp and enlist a dozen or so followers from other shelves on its slow motion journey to the ground. The professional who, in trying to catch at least some of the falling books trips on his own feet and goes sprawling into the pile on the floor.

I try a little one sided smile as if this happens all the time

"He's the special needs teacher."

"Figures."

Always the dignified professional.

the song in full

I said I'd think about putting our performance here for your critical appraisal - I hmmed and hahhed but I think the recording quality is adequately low to hide most of our major errors. And this time the microphone was far enough away from me - so here it is - better late than never (as the actress said to the special needs teacher):

I will sing.mp3

It's always odd after a performance of something, be it a song or a play or a film or anything, that you've spent time preparing. I'm kind of glad I don't ever have to hear it again, and glad to have a break from rehearsals - but there's a slight touch of regret that it's all over. More so with plays than with songs. I'm not that much of a sentamentalist - I don't get all teary about saying goodbye to 'an old friend', I move on without too much bother - but I do feel a little sad for an hour or two. It's ok with films - you still have the footage to remind you (until someone moves to london and takes it with him)

what do midterms mean to you?

What does the word midterm mean to you? For me midterms are great - they mean a few days off at the heart of the school term, they mean staff development days, they mean a welcome break for the quickest of all recharges, they mean Portrush and Portstewart are bunged with families praying for good weather.

They used to mean something much more sinister. In my short stint at UW they meant exams - and major lack of preparation. We didn't have midterms at UUC, just coursework and little tests. UW loved their midterms. Walking into the Canadian Literature exam knowing that my revision consisted of listening to a Leonard Cohen album on my way to the hall will abide as one of my most stressful memories.

What do midterms mean for the Republican Party? I bet they wish it meant holidays and exams.

Service interupted for essential maintainence

Sorry for all the weird stuff that's been going on with this blog recently. I've always intended to do a bit of design and customisation but it took me a few months to get round to it. Unfortunately while I was changing things everything went a bit pear shaped.

"Isn't that always the way? You try to improve things and end up making them worse" as one of my pupils told me this morning. I kinda hope not. I mean sometimes its inevitable that a change leads to a few problems - well temporarily perhaps - but I hope its not always the case.

Imagine if this philosophy transferred itself from my web design to my teaching. Imagine if I had to make kids' lives hell in order to reach an eventual greater good.

"Isn't that the case" interupts the same pupil. Yeah, sometimes it feels that way. At heart I'm still a big kid wanting to ditch the books and crack up the monopoly set, wanting to say 'You want to sit and play games on the computer instead of mastering algebra - yeah, why not? I know a great web site for retro games.'

In my heart I do hope that what I do improves the immediate childhood of the people I work with and not just their future. Teenage years are too nice a part of our lives to spend looking ahead.

A doner a day... will probably kill you

Rumour has it that McDonalds are going to reduce the trans-fatty acids in their food to 2% by 2008. Shocking news indeed.

My knowledge of trans-fats consists solely what I heard in a TV documentary about them a year or so ago. It was probably one of the scariest things I’ve seen in years. They went over the risks associated with trans-fat acid, how 5 gram increase had been linked to a 25% increase in the risk of heart disease or something like that. They explained that the process of hydrogenating fat (or something) created trans fats – evil little fats that normally only occur in some diary and meat products. They tested a whole range of fast food – KFC, Mickey D’s, Burger King, the lot – and found a terrifyingly large amount of the stuff.

The biggest offender wasn’t some American chain however, it was the donor kebab. Now for the scary bit – The thing I remember most about the documentary is that when it ended I had an incredible urge for a kebab. After watching how they kill people regularly I had a hunger that could only be satisfied by strips of reconstituted sheep product… and lots of it. I really need to reassess my diet.

Anyway, back to today’s news. Great, isn’t it? Rather a shame that it’s going to take so long to actually carry it out. I was looking forward to replacing the greasy cardboard flavoured conveyor belt burgers with slightly-less-bad for you greasy cardboard flavoured conveyor belt burgers.

Free words for all!

I’m a book crosser. Not a cross dresser, nor a professional lollipop man – a book crosser. I give books away. Loads of them. Usually I pop them into one of those industrial bin things with Oxfam or something written on the front; but sometimes I print off a label from the internet, stick it on the inside front cover and leave the book somewhere public for the world to find. Share the wealth. Pay it forward. I read a book, I like a book, I leave it for someone else to enjoy, safe in the knowledge that my kind deed will be reciprocated in the future – literary karma.

The problem is, and I have to admit this has slightly disillusioned me, - I have never seen anyone else leave any books anywhere. I’m doing all the giving and none of the receiving. And to make matters worse not one of my tracked books has reappeared on the web site. They have all just disappeared into the ether.


It’d be ok if I could make myself believe that people did pick them up who would appreciate them – that their journey continues in silent, anonymous, perpetual motion. But an image of an over-zealous cleaner grabbing them along with three empty harp cans and dumping them into a bin bag which is then transferred to one of those XL wheelie bins before being chewed into an apathetic truck and spat into a landfill site without a single sentence being read keeps me awake at night.

Or alternatively they might have been picked up by a magpie of an aspiring reader who likes their covers and thinks they might fit in with the new kitchen colour scheme – but not a thought as to the convoluted adventures that await past those shiny covers.

If you happen by a lonely looking novel sitting in a bus depot or a coffee shop and notice that it obviously has no owner – look inside and see if it has one of those cheap printed labels. It may have been left there just for you, it could be the best book you’ll ever read, it could be fate. You never know it may even be one of mine. People of the world search out these orphaned books and give them a home, but more than that – give them a companion.

paradox city

A photo I took while driving through a familiar part of North Antrim this morning. I was trying to use up the remainder of a film I had used as part of an assignment for the local PWA. I love driving through the Antrim Hills - you see so many beautiful (and varied) sights. I long to leave this country often - but I never want to leave North Antrim.

games affect concentration and... where was I again?

Where was I? Oh yeah; I’ve been thinking a lot about attention span recently. I’m convinced that kids today have a shorter attention span than we did when we were at school. I put it down to TV and Video games but that’s only because I tend to state the obvious (sometimes twice)

A couple of weeks ago the Simon Mayo radio show was brought from some big computer game expo thing. I didn’t catch all of it as I was supposed to be doing work or something. I do, however, remember listening to various people discussing the relative merits or otherwise of modern computer games. They looked at educational value, hand eye coordination – they even made some comment about how they were preparing young people for what was becoming an increasingly fast paced world.

I’ve played the Max Payne and Grand Theft Auto series, I’ve enjoyed them, great for letting off steam – however I really don’t want to be in the kind of world they’re preparing me for.

Another piece of recently published research linked computer games and TV to childhood obesity. They weren’t stating the obvious ‘if kids stopped starring at a screen long enough for them to get off their fat butts and go for a walk they might not be so fat.’ No they were making things just a little more confusing. They suggest that watching TV and playing games before going to bed affects sleep patterns which consequently affects eating patterns which consequently makes kids fat.

Personally I would add to that hypothesis slightly. I believe that watching TV and playing games before going to bed affects sleep patterns which consequently affects eating patterns which consequently affects concentration levels which consequently draws kids to the no-concentration-required world of TV and games which consequently affects sleep patterns… I, of course, have a solution – the Jamie Oliver computer game. No, don’t thank me now, I do it for the good of the kids.

One thing I didn’t pick up on during what little of the radio show I heard was the old nugget about how computer games can affect our behaviour. How some child plays Grand Theft Auto and then has an unquenchable thirst for violence – an urge to go out into the street and beat up a prostitute. Sometimes I think that the media over-hype this kind of story. I really do believe that behaviour can be affected by the games kids play – but when serial killings and group beatings are blamed on some gameboy title it all becomes a little ridiculous. I’ve seen kids in the playground practising some move they saw on playstation the night before. Luckily it was from Pro Evolution Soccer, not Manhunt. And at the end of the day that’s how it will happen – kids behaviour will only be affected by games in the same way it will be affected by TV, movies and even books. I’m a little worried about how all those Harry Potter fans will turn out.

I leave you with some words of wisdom passed on to me by a wonderful Canadian/Swiss/Croatian artist. “They say children are affected by the games they play – if that was true those of us who grew up in the eighties would all be moving manically round, listening to electronic music and swallowing pills … ... oh”

usually I disagree just for the sake of disagreeing but...

Have you ever had one of those "you know what, he may just be right" moments?

education to come?

A quick quote from a novel I read recently. Hayley McDonald’s, school kid in the future, has just finished performing a presentation on why she loves America. This is in a time when corporations have become so powerful that they are more important than government, so important that our surname depends not on our family, but on who we work for:

The teacher jotted something in his folder. McDonald’s-sponsored schools were cheap like that: at Pepsi school everybody had notebook computers. Also their uniforms were much better. It was hard to be cool with the Golden Arches on your back.
-Jennifer Government - Max Barry

The novel is a very enjoyable read. I also found parts of it (such as the exert above) more than a little disturbing. Disturbing in that I can see them happening. There is a huge disclaimer that the start of the book attempting, I assume, to ward off law suites from Mattel, McDonalds, Pepsi, the NRA and especially Nike. It points out that the novel is a work of complete fiction – that none of the events would ever happen.

The thing is I can see some of it happening. The big corporations already influence government – is it such a wild jump to imagine them usurping it? The sponsored schools thing – well that scares me stiff. So you can imagine my horror when I picked up a copy of this year’s school magazine and looked at the back. There, in bright writing, is a list of companies who have ‘helped out’ the school in the past year. It was a long list. A similar list has been put on the brand new minibus that those companies ‘helped’ us buy.

I’m inclined to give the benefit of the doubt and consider such help community involvement rather than out and out sponsorship but how long will it be before we cross the line that we’ve been kicking recently? How long before I’m teaching maths using Tesco price lists?

forgive me

Apologies to both of my readers for the unscheduled break in transmission. This was caused by necessary maintenance to an unexpected fault on the line. Oh, and I had a wee touch of the flu.

Nothing serious – I was still going to work, passing on my germs to countless kids in the hope that an 87% pupil absence rate forces the school to add a couple of extra days to the half term break.

Having said that, the thought of turning on a computer and looking at that flickering screen for all but the most life/career threatening purposes made my stomach heave in a most unsettling manner.

So you’ll excuse me – I know you will – I know that you are the kind of discerning reader who would rather wait a few days than have to scrape vomit off your screen before reading. And for that I thank you.

driving and talking

I was out for a drive today and saw a hitchhiker outside the Causeway Hospital in Coleraine. She was headed for Belfast but I wasn’t planning on going any further than Ballymoney – Still she reckoned every little helps and got in.

Almost immediately we began one of the best conversations I’ve had in months. It just seemed to move seamlessly from topic to topic with hardly a break for her to take a bite of her sandwich or for me to check my dangerously low diesel level.

It turns out she’s from the Yukon, had been wondering what to do, decided to hitchhike her way round Ireland – like you do if you’ve got a spare moment in the Yukon. We discussed people, differences in people, similarities in people, relationships between people, people and their food, people and their jobs, people looking out for other people and people and religion.

It turns out she’s an evangelical Christian. Despite being here for months she claims she only met her first evangelical Christian in that past few days. I found that really hard to believe but was more than happy to take her word for it.

It turns out she finds all the different versions of Presbyterianism confusing – this gave me the opportunity to try out my short explanation of the various Ps. Now anyone who has listened to my explanation of the various Ps will know that the 7 miles between Coleraine and Ballymoney isn’t going to cover it – not by a long shot. And by the time I’d finished and she’d returned the favour by explaining the various Canadian denominations we were well on our way to Antrim.

I can honestly say I had an absolute ball and Elizabeth, despite the fact that I ran out of diesel on the ride home, I look forward to talking to you again sometime… highly unlikely but I look forward to it anyway.

what was I talking about again?

I’ve been thinking a lot about attention span recently. I’m convinced that kids today have a shorter attention span than we did when we were at school. I put it down to TV and Video games but that’s only because I tend to state the obvious… Sorry, lost my train of thought – I’ll come back to this some other time.

it's the interesting facts corner

Did you know… this is an interesting fact I came across recently… did you know… you’ll like this one… did you know that the Bible is the most……shoplifted book in the US.

When I thought about it I could see why. Bibles are usually fairly easily stolen – they’re left sitting around with little or no security – they come in handy pocket sizes – who’s going to confront a pious bible reading, God fearing thief of shop lifting a copy of the Word?

Ironic, wrong, bizarre – but believable.

And for once I’m not going to end with the comment ‘only in America!’ I wouldn’t be surprised if we found something similar over here.

Set in Stone

Set in Stone

I once put a stone up,
A standing stone.
Just me and 699 other people;
There was meant to be a thousand
I guess 300 people weren’t told
Their presence was required.

47 tonnes, 10 metres high,
All to the tune of 2001 a Space Odyssey.
It was a symbol, an emblem
Of the Millennium,
Although it was actually raised in 1999;
June 26th.
I know some people think the Millennium is 2000
And some who believe 2001,
But no one thinks it was ‘99.
I guess the stone pullers hadn’t been told.

“In the spirit of the future”
Peace and reconciliation among the youth
In Northern Ireland.
Punishment beatings a month later,
Homes burned out, children killed,
Riots, victimisation, fear, hate.
I guess no one told the rest of the country about the stone.


© Sam Campbell. Unpublished poem

‘drink sewage if you want to do your bit for the environment.’

That’s what I woke up to this morning.

I like to wake up to the radio so I set my stereo to come on automatically fifteen minutes before I get up. There are probably many psychological theories about people who like to wake up to the sound of politicians sparring with Nicky Campbell or John Humphreys but I just like to give the impression that I know what’s going on in the world. I find that coming out with some random piece of government policy leads people to believe you are more knowledgeable than you really are.

Anyway, this morning I woke up to the above. A shocking way to start the day. It turns out, however that they’re not suggesting sticking a long straw into the sewers and sucking away at raw sewage (presumably as reassuring for you as it was for me to learn) Apparently with our lack of rain and lowering of water tables around the country we are in real danger of water shortages.

The solution is something that is already happening in countries such as Australia – we cut out the middle-man. Now, I haven’t done Geography since I was sixteen but I remember the water cycle diagram that we learned in great detail. Rather than our used water being cleaned up and sent into rivers, then into the ocean, then being evaporated, then forming clouds, then coming down as precipitation, then making its way into reservoirs, then being used by us – we should treat it more than usual and pump it back into the reservoirs.

Of course one other solution would be to make better use of the water we have already, fix up the leaks and learn that our natural resources are valuable – not expendable.

Write a blog – tell a history

Historians have decided that the academics of the future would probably be very interested to read about what we’re all doing in our lives, what we ate for breakfast this morning and what our journey to work was like. Me, I’m not so sure that they will be but I’m up for most things.

A quick visit to the history matters website will allow you to be involved in the ‘biggest blog in history’, an opportunity ‘for you to join in a mass blog for the national record.’ Well if they want to read it I’m more than happy to write it.

Go on, you could be famous in 3121. Future generations may marvel at what you got up to on the 17th October 2006.

A neo-liberal version of the good samaritan

I was sitting in my classroom pondering which of my selection of hot beverages to choose when a colleague came in wanting to fill his kettle at the sink in my room. We passed the time of day and he helped me choose. As we chose he noticed the fair trade logo on the three types of coffee, and all the teas and hot chocolates. I was a little worried what he thought. This guy is what I would describe as straight talking, no nonsense, say it as you see it kind of a man. And in my little world of stereotypes he would be the kind of man who would sneer at the whole concept of fair trade.

How wrong can you be? He was, it turns out, a great advocate of fair trade - in fact he went far beyond the little I do. His wife is a Amnesty Internation rep, he bans non-fair trade chocolate from his house (pity the poor kid who brings a mars bar in) he is officially the most liberal non-liberal I have ever met.

Now I have never been able to have a decent conversation about coffee bean taxation with the badly-knitted-woolen-jumper-wearing-arty-types that hang round the university, never been able to discuss moral premium with the local religious leaders and yet here was a leather coat wearing, mountain of a man with slicked back hair chatting with me about how coffee growing doesn't have to involve chopping down rainforests in Peru as it can be grown in the shade. The man's a computer teacher - not even a biologist or geographer. Once I picked my eyebrows off the ceiling we went on to discuss how famers here have a nasty time making ends meet and how that pressure is multiplied when you, and your family, are surviving on the edge as they are in many third world countries. We talked about how during this harvest thanksgiving season we should be looking for positive ways to level the playing field and praying for those less well off - the man's a non-practising atheist! We finished up with a fascinating discussion about Sri Lankan spices. I'm still in shock - he's knows everything there is to know.

Who is your neighbouring environmentalist? Look around, you could be surprised.

Living

Living
by Ivana Hill

Everyone wanders the world the same,
Desperate for love, but they’re ashamed,
So they just play those little games,
They don’t give their all cause they’re afraid.

Well life was made for living,
And love was made for giving,
So give your love away.
You don’t have to be afraid.

I found a braver way to live,
Step out and take each chance to give,
Find someone lonelier than me,
Give them the love that will set them free.

Cause life was made for living,
And love was made for giving,
So give your love away.
You don’t have to be afraid.

And when your heart breaks just the same,
Time to call on that simple name,
Love unending, love divine,
Jesus’ love so pure, so fine.

Give your heart into another’s open hands,
Though they may give it back He’s got a bigger plan.
It’s better to love and lose than never love at all,
It’s better to try and fail than to live afraid to fall.

Cause life was made for living,
And love was made for giving,
So give your love away.
You don’t have to be afraid.

So the next time you observe
A lonely heart, recall these words.
And as you give, you will receive,
Love will come home and never leave.

Cause life was made for living,
And love was made for giving,
So give your love away.
You don’t have to be afraid.

© Ivana Hill, music & lyrics

not quite the proms but as close as I should ever get

I'm nervous. Very nervous. I don't know why - no actually I do. It's not because we have an inspection coming up in a week or so (we're getting used to those now) and it's not because Northern Ireland are playing Latvia tonight. It's because our harvest service is coming up soon and I'm in the choir.

I've been in the choir for years - I can usually bluff my way about; but this is different. Our church no longer has a permanent music/worship/organist type thing to lead the choir. Different people take responsibility for different services. We are pretty blessed to have so many talented people who can teach us the songs.

This harvest we are being led by a supremely talented young man (I call anyone younger than me young and he was in the year below me at school so he qualifies - just) who tends to push us to our limits. The music he chooses is unlike anything we sing at any other time - sometimes I think we should all be dressed up in costumes and dancing as we sing. Anyway, despite the fact that he claims this one particular song is easier than others we've tried I remain unconvinced that we can handle it. So nervous am I that I recorded our final practice so I can listen to it over and over. You can hear a clip of it there. The loud flat voice would be me as I'm the one closest to the mic.

As you can hear we have a long way to go and only four days and one refresher practice to go. Will we improve? Will I ever hit that high note? Will I post a song to let you see (hear) for yourselves? I'll think about it. Wish me luck anyway.

wowzer! Is he still on TV?

I was reading the back of a rice krispie pack this morning – checking out the latest competition – wondering if I could pass myself off as a twelve year old to win a digital camera for myself and some resources for my school. I would have to create a piece of art using nowt but a cereal box (if I remember rightly practically all the art we did in my primary school days involved little more than a cereal box so I feel I’m at an advantage) The art would be judged by none other than CITV Art Attack presenter Neil Buchanan.

‘Neil Buchanan?’ I thought to myself, ‘Is he still presenting that thing?’ Buchanan was presenting Art Attack (a kids art show for those who have never heard of it) when I was doing my A-levels. I remember this vividly because I carried out a bit of Lever Arch File customisation that had been featured on the programme and was mercilessly ridiculed in school for weeks… ok, months.

Now I know that when I said the name Neil Buchanan some of you recognised him slightly in a kind of ‘where do I know that name?’ way and some of you don’t have a clue who he is at all. However if I were to mention, say, Tony Hart the majority of you (presuming you’re british and over the age of 25) will smile a smile of affectionate recognition. In my mind that is the difference between the generation Xs and the generation Ys or whatever it is they call them. We had true characters – even in children’s TV.

Who doesn’t think of the gallery when they hear that particular piece of music even today? Who didn’t pick sides when Morph and Chas started fighting? Who didn’t make a complete mess of their kitchen trying to do something that Tony Hart made look easy?

When I was a child, right up until I had my own children, I was constantly amazed and entertained by this wonderful exponent of the art of communication. I still remember where I learned one or two of my all time favourite tricks from. Tony had that wonderful ability to make you believe you could do it as easily as counting up to 10.

But it wasn’t just Tony Hart that defined generation Xctv. Think ‘Jim’ll fix it’ (you’re humming the theme tune, aren’t you?) think ‘Danger Mouse’, think ‘Inspector Gadget’ (That’s the original – not the film version or ‘Gadget Boy’ or any other reincarnation)

Buchanan is a great presenter (His huge pieces of art will forever be ingrained in my memory) and I’m sure children’s TV is of a much higher production standard than it was in the 80s. Perhaps we even cringe sometimes when we see the kind of rubbish we watched back then, but will today’s young folks remember ‘Bel’s Boys’, ‘Skyland’ or ‘Curious George’ in the sentimental way we remember ‘The A-team’, ‘Teenage Mutant Turtles’, and of course Tony & Morph? Somehow I doubt it.

For some interesting (for not strictly true) stories about Mr Buchanan check out the page Monkeon have on him. If he’d actually done some of this stuff maybe we’d be saying ‘Tony who?’

wonders will never cease

It seems today Ian Paisley met with the head of the Catholic church in Ireland, Dr Sean Brady. Now, I have to admit that it came as a little bit of a surprise to me. Having said that I am pleasantly surprised. It's only twenty years since he was describing the pope as the antichrist.

Actually I most pleased with the fact that both delegations described the discussions as positive and there are plans for more meetings. It's a rare thing in this little country to hear such sentiments.

I don't doubt Ian's religious views are unchanged - but it's nice to see him trying for a bit of moral high ground.

if you build it they will come

I was listening to a speaker from the Irish Mission talking today. Usually when I think of mission I think of men in safari hats and khaki shorts chasing after men with bones through their noses. He, however, was talking about Carnlough and Waterfoot - places in the Glens of Antrim. Loads of sheep but cannibals are rare.

He talked about his work and, later, about the relevence of the battles in Chronicles 5 to modern mission. But the bit I was interested in was the bit where he said that the Roman Catholic parents had asked them to set up Children's Activities over the winter. Here are the very people they had come to save - to point out the error of their ways. He wasn't leaving us in any doubt about his opinions concerning the afterlife for RCs. He felt they were following a false path. And yet here were these people coming to him. Why? I can't imagine a group of Muslim or Budhist mothers coming up to me in S4 on a friday afternoon enrolling their kids in the School's Scripture Union.

I think - and I could be wrong - I think that there are a couple of reasons these parents came looking for this programme to be set up by a bunch of Protestant missionaries. I think that, although there are undoubted and inescapable differences in the denominations the perceived end game is the same (sort of - we'll ignore pergatory for the purposes of this post) but the other, and in my mind more important, reason is this. Although it wasn't mentioned I am assuming there had been some kind of summer programme for these kids. I'm also assuming that it was fulfilling a need in the community and I'm assuming the parents of these kids felt it would be worthwhile if there was something similar during the dark months. I'm assuming they had found a trust and respect for the people who ran the summer scheme and who else would they go to for something more? As Kevin Costner knows - if you build it they will come.

Isn't that a great way to reach out to people? To be able to get to a stage where you're not running round like a headless chicken forcing hard truths down people's throats - oh I know that's a necessary part of it - I just like the idea of people coming of there own accord with requests. That would be good.

nolan

There are very few people that dent my pride in being Northern Irish more than Stephen Nolan.I have listened to the late night weekend show on Radio 5 for many years – I remember Edwina Curry presenting it – I disagreed with the vast majority of what she said but she presented most topics in an almost balanced way. I remember Richard Bacon presenting it – as I listened I tended to get a mental picture of him sniffing drugs on Blue Peter but he was amiable and interesting. Now we have Nolan. I disliked him intensely on Northern Irish TV and radio – now he’s gone national I like him even less.

On Saturday I actually switched stations – and for someone as lazy as me that’s a big deal. He was hosting a phone in about, amongst other things, Graham Norton admitting taking drugs. When I say ‘amongst other things’ I mean he would take the odd call on other topics, discuss it for ten seconds and then ask the call what he thought of a millionaire presenter taking drugs. The man was fixated on Norton’s pay package. The more he went on the more I began to wonder if perhaps the lady was protesting too much. Surely a presenter who admits he has taken drugs and actually found them a pleasant experience is better than one who describes them as horrendous things – then heads for the nearest nightclub toilet to sniff some coke off someone’s bald head. But that’s just my opinion and not actually relevant. Nolan’s obvious agenda “Do you think it’s fair that someone earning millions each year spends it on drugs – that’s licence payers money you know – you’re paying someone to buy drugs! Your license fee is going to some back street dealer!” made me feel queasy.

And yet the man is nominated for award after award and people hang on his every word. It disturbs me how someone who makes statements so far left field of rational sensible opinion (well, from my point of view anyway) strikes such a cord with the general public. Is it me who is the odd one out in this society?

i should be the new home secretary for education

There’s a lot of talk on the news recently about how the country is running out of prison spaces. Leaving aside the obvious point about how we let it get to the stage where we have only around 200 places left in the whole country (That could be filled after a single football match between Millwall and Cardiff) I have a suggestion.

The education system will soon be facing a problem. A demographic down turn caused by an estimated cost of £165,000 to bring up a child and better television will lead to a funding crisis in schools. Fewer pupils, less money. Less money, less progress.

We could solve these two issues in one swoop by merging them. Criminals and children learning together in perfect harmony. Classrooms would be filled, Classroom discipline would improve, teachers would hold on to their jobs and prison cells would be freed up. Teenage shoplifters would have professional role models and school dinners would undoubtedly improve. It seems a logical step to me.
Just a thought.

who's strange now

Here I am, as usual, sitting in Starbuck with my post-school coffee (differs from my pre-school, breaktime, post-drama lesson, LSU meeting, and lunchtime coffees in that I pay someone else to make it for me) The place is humming and the staff are looking more than a little overworked. School kids are leaving their trademark mess behind them and tables are overflowing with empty mugs and half eaten muffins.

In the midst of all this madness there is a woman walking round between tables clearing them and leaving everything in a tidy pile by the coffee bar. While the rest of us seem happy enough to shove the previous occupiers of our table’s leftovers to the side she is squeezing round us balancing eight venti mugs, three plastic cups and a sandwich cartoon on her fingers. She doesn’t work here, she isn’t even a customer – she just came in to lend a hand clearing tables.

As she lifts the cups from my table she looked up and asked what I was writing about – I told her – She smiled “They’re always busy at this time of the day.” She cleared the table next to me… and left. Her job here was done.

How awesome is that? A true servile attitude. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover she went straight over to Ground or some other coffee shop to start all over again. And always with a smile. Isn’t it sad, however, that my first instinct as I watched her was that she isn’t all there? Isn’t it sad that we have gone so far into a self-interested existence that we would rather wallow in some one else’s latte smeared mess while looking disapprovingly at overworked staff than do someone else’s job. What, are we scared of the barista union?

100 yards in 6 (stupid) minutes

I cannot believe how badly set out this world can be at times. What do town planners do all day?

The above image is not modern art - It is not a proposed rerouting of the Drumcree Orange March. It is the route through the town I had to take to get from the front of my school to the back last night.

We were having a concert in aid of the Salvation Army. The evening was hosted by a local celebrity and ,as local celebrities will do, he brought along his entourage.

At the end of the night the audience and performers drifted off. I walked through from the hall at the back of the school to the front car park. There the celebrity was getting into a car. One of his assistants was holding the door for him. When the car departed the assistant went to go back into the school to get to his car (parked in the back car park.) This is where the trouble began.

The door had closed behind him when they went to put the (stupid) celebrity in his car. If the (stupid) door closes behind you it automatically locks. Not a problem - ring the bell and someone in reception buzzs you in - well, they do if there's anyone in the (stupid) reception. At 11pm there wasn't. He began banging the door and shouting despite the fact that a quick look at the empty car park would have shown that there was no one left inside.

He tried to walk around the building. Unfortunately someone had decided it would be a bad idea to have a way of getting around the building and had placed big (stupid) metal fences to stop people doing it.

It was raining - I was feeling compassionate. I offered to drive him to his car. We got in and set off. Almost immediately we were caught up in the (stupid) one-way system and had to travel right round the town. As he drove in what was obviously the wrong direction I could sense his unease. He had his hand on the door handle and I half expected him to dive out at one of the (stupid) red lights that we kept meeting.

I tried to lighten the mood with a little banter - he remained silent.

Eventually, after a tour of a rather uninteresting part of town, we arrived at the back of the school and he stumbled from my car into his. I said goodbye - he didn't look back. Ungrateful sod.

what is it about me?

Do I look like a serial killer?I only ask because as I walked around town today I noticed that people tend to avoid making eye contact with me. Young children look up at me like I have 'child slave trader' written across my head and dogs whimper as I pass.


It's amazing - when I try to look all imposing the school kids haven't the slightest fear of me - yet in the street I am some kind of sinister giant. I have to learn how I do it for the next time I'm covering year 11.

irony

Definition of irony: Getting so frustrated at lack of wifi spots in the town that you go and pay for access at Starbucks only to find, on your return to your car, that you are parked in a free wifi spot.

Starbucks - I'll be getting my soya lattes to go from now on.

'previously on mickey d's'

Out for a quiet drive today I came across a McDonalds in the middle of somewhere I’d never been before – I’d tell you where but I’m not actually sure myself. Now obviously I would normally never partake of junk food - can't you tell by looking at me? But I was starving and the only other car in the car park was a vintage Rolls Royce and so I assumed it was a higher class of Mickey D's.Inside I was the only customer except for two men who were clearly a bridegroom and a chauffeur. Obviously the poor man had lost his nerve on the way to his wedding and his driver had pulled in to the nearest fast food joint for a Big Mac with a portion of counselling on the side. I was intrigued but not rude enough to actually shove my head between them and listen in on the conversation - so I can only surmise. I like to think the conversation may have gone a little like this:

Groom: I can’t do it!
Chauffeur: It’s understandable to have second thoughts on the morning of your wedding – it happens to the best of us. But we put them aside, close our eyes and take the plunge. She’s probably concerned as well but you’ll both get through this together. Think of the wonderful future you will have.
G: No, I meant I can’t eat this. Charlotte made me give up junk food.
C: You’re planning to humiliate the woman by jilting her at the altar and you’re worried she wouldn’t approve of your dietary choices?
G: She says it’s for the good of my health.
C: If you’re so worried about your health I suggest you rethink the idea of jilting the daughter of a shotgun-owning farmer. Indigestion won’t be the half of it.
G: You don’t understand – I couldn’t handle the pressure. It was like she was looking at me and expecting me to hold the key to her future, her family’s future, our country’s future… The future of the human race. I look in her eyes and see dependence. When she smiles at me it’s as if she’s trusting in me completely. Damn it I love her but I couldn’t live with myself if I ever let her down. She may trust in me but I’m not sure I trust in myself anymore.
C: You don’t think you might be being a little dramatic?
G: Why do you say that?
C: The serving staff just gave you a standing ovation.
G: What am I going to do?
C: I’ll tell you what you’re going to do – You’re going to take a bow, wipe that bit of ketchup off the side of your mouth, get to that church, marry the woman of your dreams and live happily ever after. Oh, but just one thing before you do?
G: Yes?
C: Are you going to finish those fries?

I’m a sucker for a happy ending.

me and my mate steve jobs

Could I possibly be more of a non-mac-using-mac-head? It's verging on tragic really. I am immersed in IBM compatibility. I use windows and have done since I owned my second computer (The first was an Amstrad CPC so it doesn't count)

Despite this I consider myself a Mac person. Just look at my laptop wallpaper - its a longing for something enabled by something else. It's a digital oxymoron - it's sad.

I used to use Apple Macs all the time. Back when I was the unofficial editor of the official school newspaper. We had a suit of 12 Apple Mac IIs and Classics - there were only two of us using them. I thought they were the business. I defended them to the hilt against my PC loving fellow geeks.

Then I went to university - we bought a compaq. A few years later I started building my own - all windows based of course. I did all my university work in the Windows 98ed Computer labs and then went to the empty Apple Mac lab for solace and mutual respect. Just me and my half eaten apple buddies. Man and machine. I didn't use them for actual work - I didn't trust them. I loved them but I didn't trust them.

And so now I haven't used a mac in any serious capacity for eight years. Ironically one of my PC loving fellow geek friends from those heady school days now has an ibook. Where did it all go wrong?

I'm glad it's not like this all the time

A week or two ago I wrote a post all about watching Derry City play in a chip shop in Ballymena - that's me watching it in a chip shop, not them playing in a chip shop. It was a post of joy and optimism. A post proclaiming love and peace in a country thought of as a recovering war zone. I was uplifted writing it.

Now I am crestfallen.Coming from Northern Ireland it is hard to avoid topics of religion and politics. If you see a film in NI it generally mentions the "situation" Plays set in Ulster tend to have a group of loyalists and a group of republicans playing montagues and capulets, stand up comedy routines tend to have at least one Big Ian reference - they're not funny otherwise. It's hard to avoid these topics, but not impossible. A group of us make short films in this country and I can't remember one reference to "the troubles" - unless you count a prank involving an Irishman in Camp David wearing a balaclava.

I had intended this blog to be sectarian free but thinking back over the past couple of months I can point to at least six posts with something to do with political religion in Northern Ireland. and here I am about to write number seven - I guess I failed.

You see it's like this. Derry were playing the return leg of that football tie in Paris last night. I went back to Ballymena to stand outside that chip shop waving my rangeltic scarf (creating it involved mutilating two separate football scarves to make one but I think it was worth it) If I thought I would witness a similiar show of bon ami I was sadly mistaken. Two drunks paying no attention to the football and a rather angry looking youth who called me jaffa scum because I was wearing a hearts shirt. I left despondent.

A friend of mine lives in a loyalist area of Derry, or should we say Londonderry. Her nephew is the result of a mixed marriage and is being brought up a a Protestant in a Catholic area. She told me today how she had picked him up from Boys' Brigade last night. They had gone to buy stickers in a shop near her house and as they were leaving the shop he looked up at her and said, "It's just as well we went to your shop and not ours. Cause if we went to ours they would have see me in this uniform and known I was Protestant." He's four. So young, so cynical. She said it nearly brought tears to her eyes - it very nearly brought tears to mine.

Things have improved. Things are improving. I just wish they'd hurry up a bit.

Humour - Radio 4 style

What's the difference between an entamologist and an etymologist?

An etymologist knows.

those poor welsh

There are stirrings among the people, unrest in the streets, the people are dividing into two, and conflict seems inevitable. We have until November 20th to sort this mess out or all hell will break loose. It appears that some people are no longer happy with the mythology-ridden George as the patron saint of England.

They say he wasn’t even English, that he gained his considerable wealth through fraud, that he was as mean as a mean thing, and that as Archbishop of Alexandria he was so hated by his people that when he fell from grace and was incarcerated they stormed the prison, dragged him out, murdered him and threw his remains into the sea. And not a single mention of a dragon anywhere the Welsh will be relieved to know.)

These Anglo-Saxon rebels want St Edmund put in the place of George. They claim the whole George thing was nothing more than Normandic propaganda (those damned French are usually to blame)

St Edmund (the Martyr) was an Anglo-Saxon king round the middle of the century – the ninth century that is. He battled hard against the Danes (those damned Danes are usually to blame) but lost. Legend has it that he actually threw away his weapons wanting to imitate Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. He was arrested, tortured, tied up and used as a target for javelin throwing practice. Legend has it that the whole time, as he became a human porcupine, he refused to deny Christ. They had to behead him in the end.

Sounds great – lets change now. Except I can’t really see it happening. People just couldn’t be bothered. It seems a lot of hassle to change after we’d got used to the old guy. The English don’t really do much to celebrate their Saints anyway. And is Edmund really that much better than George?

His history, too, relies on legend and mythology (even if it is slightly more realistic that fighting dragons.) He, it appears, isn’t actually English either – He’s German (Like our current Monarchs), born in Nuremberg (which explains his love of motor racing). And, unfortunately, the Welsh don’t come out any better. Edmund’s flag is a white dragon on a red background (which, let’s face it, would really mess up the Union Jack) symbolising the English Dragon which did battle with the Celtic Dragon (The red dragon – seen on the Welsh flag) fairly constantly.

So, let battle commence – but please have it sorted by November 20th (St Edmund’s day) so the English know which days they are supposed to do nothing to celebrate their Patron Saint as usual.

Meeting minutes

Ecco shoes and a cheap suit £170

Teacher Planner and Pen £7

An hour and a half of drama dept meetings instead of relaxing with a skinny latte in starbucks -£2.40

Making notes so sparse and confusing that I've forgotten what they mean 10 minutes later

-Priceless

anyone know who these guys are?

Is it possible? Can it be true? Is it conceivable that I have already forgotten who won Big Brother this year? How insignificant must it be that I can forget so quickly? And I'm usually good at the insignificant stuff. Every year they leave my mind more quickly than the previous. Some time around Big Brother 9 I'll have forgotten who won before the show begins.

oh, and just in case you're interested the people in the photo are Lee and Sophie from Big Brother 3 apparently.

inanimate conversations

I had an interesting conversation last night. It was a conversation between two people – it was going strong before I joined, it was going strong while I was a part of it, it was going strong after I left, and all the time it was a duologue.

Confused?

I had popped down to the Co-op in Ballycastle to pick up a gift for the school caretakers and the rain was bucketing down. The car park was empty except for myself and a cyclist in a bright yellow waterproof cape thing. He was deep in conversation with someone but that person wasn’t immediately apparent. As I approached he looked up from his bike lock and directed his conversation to me:

“…coming over, no more than five miles. I mean what kind of a situation is that? Who do you think is to blame? I couldn’t believe it but it doesn’t matter. I got soaked. Would you look at this rain. I’m completely soaked. And this thing doesn’t do much to keep the rain out. It’s a terrible day. They say it’s some weather system from the other side of the Atlantic that causing it. Some hurricane or other.”

“Hurricane Gordon?”

“Aye, something like that.” Well at least I knew I was playing a part in the conversation. “It’s been like this all day. I didn’t know whether to do my shopping or not but I had to take the chance eventually. I mean it may never stop, may it?”

“Well, I doubt…”

“Imagine that, huh? Rain forever. I wouldn’t mind so much if that were the case, you’d expect to get wet then. I think they should invent some kind of covered bike. Perhaps even one with…”

“Four wheels and an engine? They have, it’s called a…”

“I’ll have to get changed as soon as I get home you know. Soaked through. It’s a lot easier getting wet than it is getting dry you know. This jacket is ringing. I’ll leave it by the radiator and maybe it’ll be dry by the morning. I’ll need it in the morning. There’s a change in the weather you know. You can’t be going out without a coat like you could a week or two ago…”

As I walked off the conversation continued without a break. He chatted to his bike lock, he chatted to the loaves of bread, he chatted to fair trade chocolate, he chatted to the stella artois (though these Belgian beers don’t speak much English – they probably didn’t understand a word he said.) He chatted to the checkout assistant. And as I walked back past his bike towards my car he chatted with me again:

“…getting darker. I don’t think it’s going to let up anytime soon. It’ll rain right through the night you know. Maybe it’ll be better tomorrow but I can’t see this rain stopping any time soon. I’m soaked you know, this thing hasn’t…”

“Do you know you have made my day? I have had a blast chatting with you. Don’t ever change you ability to talk to anyone. It’s people like you who make this area one of the friendliest parts of the world. Safe home.”

“Oh”

There was silence. I loaded up my car and drove off. As I looked in my rear view mirror I could see him in the distance as an advertising hoarding started up a conversation with him.

Hurrican Gordan (and his little Irish brother)

There are two sides to every story, it takes two to tango, He who hesitates buys the stock two points higher, Too many cooks spoil the broth. Life occurs in twos. That's my theory at the moment anyway. The best arguments are two sided. Especially, it seems, when it comes to the weather.

I got very annoyed yesterday. I overheard (was nosily listening in on) a conversation between two americans over for the Ryder Cup. I knew they were over for the Ryder cup because they were obviously rich, were wearing visors (who other than golfers and golf fans wear visors?) and they were americans in Ireland. There is another reason I guessed they might be over for the cup - the fact that one of them said to the other "I hope the weather's better in Dublin when we're at the Ryder Cup." A bit of a giveaway you'll agree. It was his friends reply that incensed me so. "Well, you have to expect rain if you come to Ireland - It's always raining in Ireland."

I could have dropped. "It's always raining in Ireland." For starters we're not IN Ireland sonny. We're in Northern Ireland, you want to leave the security of the Bushmills Inn and try making that statement in Dodge? But we won't even start on that. For main courses it does NOT always rain in Ireland. And for desserts it's some hurricane on the other side of the Atlantic that's causing the bad weather here, so, indirectly, it's your fault it's raining right now! - These are all things I could have said if I had the courage and my brain worked faster than it does.

Yep, the weather's a funny old game. And I don't envy the forecasters' job for a second. They can't win. Earlier they said it would be stormy and, in the early evening, its wasn't. "Pah! never trust a weatherman" we said. Then by late evening the trees were being pulled out by the roots - were we happy? Did we hail the weather forecasters? I think not. When it all comes down to it there are two views of weather people, and for once I'm going to put them in the positive:

We put too much weight on what the meteorologists tell us simply because we assume it is some kind of science. Just because something ends in 'ology doesn't make it a science - just look at Psychology. Weather forecasting is right up there with magic eight balls and radio 4 horse racing tips. We really need to stop expecting so much from them and start being amazed that they get it right as often as they do.

Weather forecasters are always right. They tell us how things are at the moment - the way things stand at the moment. If the weather system changes direction or speed its not the forecasters fault. Think of it as someone trying to say how the premiership table will finish up in may - as things stand right now Portsmouth will win the league - I'm assuming that may change in time though.

At the end of the day both statements are correct. It's just rich american golf fans who aren't.