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.