England Croke in Dublin

"In front of a supercharged home crowd on a dry but blustery day in Dublin, Ireland tore into the white-shirted visitors from the kick-off" So said the BBC website almost 2 years ago to the day. Ireland again entertained the English today and again beat them - so what were the differences.

When the England squad's preparation includes a history lesson, you know that this is no ordinary rugby international.bbc.co.uk

Well, first of all it was held at Croke Park - the home of GAA in Ireland. Contrary to the predictions of a friend of mine this didn't turn out to be the issue it could have. "Rugby is now the most sectarian sport in this country" he proclaimed sagely. He obviously didn't expected to see the crowd politely applauding the British National Anthem. I'm not sure what he did expect - pipe bombs?

The crowd of mainly Irish fans respected the British national anthem "God Save the Queen", and the English flag flew next to a grandstand first built with rubble from the 1916 Easter Rising by Irish nationalists against British rule. Guardian Unlimited

The second difference was that this is an English team with a bit of confidence about them. Two years ago England were a demoralised bunch even before kick off after losing 9 out of their previous 11 games. This year's England team were sitting second in the table after beating Scotland and Italy - there were even whisperings of title contention.

The Irish put on a show of intensity not seen since New Zealand's infamous victory over France in November 2004, and the English were powerless to prevent the green tide that washed over them, leaving few survivors in its wake. World Cup Web

The third difference was that England Coach Andy Robinson has left the building to be replaced by Brian Ashton. Quick note to Mr Ashton - Resting key players, mind games and pretending players 'may' not be fit enough might work for Alex Fergusion. But International Rugby is a very different game from Premiership Soccer. I hope you learned the lesson our players taught. By focusing on one player and turning him into some kind of saviour figure you forget one thing - a team will always beat an individual. Jonny Wilkinson wasn't at his best today, but even if he was Ireland would have won the game.Difference number four. Hmm... struggling now. Ah, of course - the weather. According to that BBC quote at the start it was dry and blustery in 2005. This year it was rainy and still. In this situation a good kicking game is favoured. Luckily for the Irish O'Gara (not always my favourite player) was on fire, scoring 8 kicks out of 8 and totally confusing the English with his range of positional kicks and poor old Jonny W - with the weight of his country upon his shoulders, was overshadowed.

Ireland delivered the performance the occasion demanded on Saturday when they hammered England by a record 43-13 in a momentous Six Nations encounter at Croke Park to reignite their championship ambitions. New Zealand Herald

Finally, the fifth difference between now and 2005. The score. Two years ago Ireland won 19:13 - a handsome enough victory. In 2007 Ireland won 43:13. A record breaking score that will make anyone wearing green well up and choke back a few tears of pride. Congratulations to those English supporters who did themselves proud by singing and cheering throughout a match they never looked like winning - it can't have been easy. The commentator said towards the end of the match "The Irish players are beginning to enjoy this now." Me? I enjoyed every second.

sorry there's no title - the dog ate it

Picture the scene. A small group of pupils round one table in a small classroom getting on with a piece of coursework. One of them puts down his pen and begins to look around the room seemingly aimlessly.

SNT: Get on with some work.

PUPIL: That's what I'm trying to do.

SNT: Well get on with it then.

PUPIL: I can't.

SNT: Why not?

PUPIL: I can't cause I haven't got my polly pockets.

I have heard some excuses in my time. I remember in a previous incarnation as an English teacher in a small town school I set a homework. Each pupil handed it in except one little girl who earnestly held up a note from her mother. It read "Unfortunately Sonia has not been able to carry out the homework you set her. The Laptop is broken and her father is away on business." I kept the note - I look at it every so often to make sure I didn't imagine it.

What's the best excuse you've come up with to explain being unable to carry out a task? I have to admit that I came up with a few humdingers when I was a school kid; but I'm much too ashamed to record them here.

As for the pupil? Well luckily plastic pockets are not something I'm short of in my little stationery filled room. I was able to give him a handful - he still didn't do any work though.

I liked this so much I stuck it up on my wall

blogging in action

somebody wrote a blog about me writing a blog about meeting them.

oh no

Sorry. I obviously meant 'for whom to vote' yesterday.

who to vote for...

Dave presents a rather unnerving projection of the state of the union after the various regional and national elections facing us in the next few years.

voters in Northern Ireland will probably elect the unashamedly fundamentalist Protestant leader Ian Paisley and ex-IRA commander Martin McGuinness into power.

Inevitable

The Welsh Assembly elections on May 3 may well result in the formation of a Labour-Plaid Cymru coalition

 Scarey

Scottish National Party has a sneezing chance of winning the keys to Edinburgh’s sparkling parliament building on the same day

Scarier

Feelings of ecstatic liberation at having a nationalist party in power may prompt the Scots to vote in a referendum for independence... Sinn Fein would then claim the UK is effectively dead. and it could tell its followers to expect formal Irish unity by 2021... Isolated Protestants in the northwest of Ulster would start talking about negotiating a separate union with England and Wales.

Scariest

I have to admit that I have a tiny wicked desire to see this happen - just for the sheer interest of it all. At the same time I would probably emmigrate so I could witness the excitement from a safe distance.

In a few weeks I will head off to a local primary school to vote (lucky primary school teachers must get the day off.) I will (dv) definitely vote - I take that responsibility seriously. The thing is, at this stage I have absolutely no idea who I will be voting for.

I'm not one of those tribalists who votes for the party his father, grandfather and Noah voted for. And I'm not of the opinion that your vote is defined by the Church you attend - why restrict your opinions to two or three parties because the rest go to mass on a Saturday night instead of heading down to the local RP, FP or P on a Sabbath morning?

What are my options? Well, in my area the DUP are hot favourites to take all that they survey. Despite their reluctance to enter into power sharing they're not so reluctant when it comes to electioneering. Within hours of the election date being announced they had their banner up in the most prominent position Coleraine has to offer. My major problem with them is that I disagree with their policies on the Environment and Education. I would find it hard to vote for someone who doesn't share my principles when it comes to Education.

Next up we have Sinn Fein. Its hard to trust ex terrorists as a rule. It's even harder to trust ex terrorists who can talk for twenty minutes without actually saying anything or can turn a valid criticism of republicanism into a damning indictment of the british government. I admire the strides they've taken - but am I ready to vote for them? I'm not so sure.

The SDLP. Where Sinn Fein can turn a position of weakness into a position of strength the SDLP are adept at the return journey. I was very disappointed with their handling of the policing situation in recent times and it really shook my faith. They need to work hard to regain respect in the community.

UUP. The Ulster Unionist have had a hard time of it lately. Has a stint in opposition done them good? Not a bit of it. Instead of fighting tooth and nail to regain power the UUP have been practically anonymous. Oh, I must admit Reg Empey did call the DUP naive on Friday... that'll have them quaking. While the DUP and Sinn Fein have been painting to country red, blue, white, green and gold for weeks I saw my first UUP banner two days ago. It's like they are counting on past glories and I think somebody needs to tell them that the recent past hasn't been very glorious for them.

The Alliance Party. Good old yellow pages. They're the party we'd like to vote for but never do. They say nice things and paint a lovely bright yellow future. Unfortunately they have all the bite of a box of stale cornflakes. Maybe someday... but not today.

As for the rest, Conservative Party (the tories?! I think not), Green Party (like Alliance but more green than yellow), Make Politicians History (funny name - not much else), People Before Profit (Socialism is much easier to say), Procapitalism (probably invite the People Before Profit folk round for tea all the time), Progressive Unionist Party (interesting bunch - their bark tends to be louder than their bite), Socialist Environmental Alliance (appear to be mixing the greens with alliance - makes a greeny yellow I think), Socialist Party (more honestly named than the PBP lot), United Kingdom Independence Party (UKIP?!? you can't be serious), Workers Party (if all the workers in the country voted for them I reckon they'd stand a better chance.)

I'll look into the Independent's when I have an hour to waste. Maybe by March I will have a better idea of who to vote for. I hope I do. Is it possible to put -1 -2 and -3 instead of 1,2 and 3 on your ballot paper?

scared of the strangest things

"Write about orange. Tell them about the orange file."

I had been discussing my blog and how difficult it was to think of new things to write. Photocopy Guy Geoff felt I should write a blog entry all about the colour orange. Why? Well, you see Geoff has a terrible fear of orange. Anytime he sees me with the orange file I use to bring down my photocopying he visibly cringes.
I sometimes wonder if it is the contents of the file that worries him more than the actual colour but the fact remains that he just doesn't like it when he sees that file. Whether the fear is rational (extra work on top of the 3 million exam papers he already has to copy) or irrational (orange just doesn't work for him) is beside the point. We all have fears and worries. I'm sure Geoff has others - he just thinks they're too weird to mention in polite company.

Working in education I come across a lot of odd phobias. Fear of adams apples, fear of cellophane, fear of polystyrene, fear of loud noises, fear of rubber bands, fear of bananas, fear of being poked... These are all genuine phobias that I have had to deal with in one school or another. I'm sure they all have scientific names and anyone with a day to spend on wikipedia is welcome to provide me with the correct terms.

I think I suffer from Caligynephobia myself - the irrational fear of beautiful women. They terrify me. I never know what to say when I am within a few yards of them, my breathing become erratic and I start looking all round the room to avoid eye contact.

Luckily I am not alone - and there is help out there. Dozens of websites offer solutions. One in particular caught my eye. It suggested that other solutions often required months, even years.

To add insult to an already distressing condition, most caligynephobia therapies take months or years and sometimes even require the patient to be exposed repeatedly to their fear.

This website promised that caligynephobia can be eliminated with the right methods and just 24 hours of commitment by the phobic individual.

But when I stop to think about it the other treatments start to appeal more and more. I'm thinking I may only be cured by prolonged exposure to beautiful women - I am prepared for it to take years if necessary. Anyone know where I apply?

and they wonder why...

Two completely unrelated rugby stories for you today. First of all is the news that most of the English clubs have, grudgingly, taken England's hint and will be resting their England International players. All except Sale that is - Sale have pointed out that they pay the players' wages and if they want to play their biggest stars they will. Leicester and Newcastle have fallen into line and have announced that they will rest their England players . England Head coach, Brian Ashton, named the squad on Tuesday in an effort to get his players rested from club games at the weekend.

"What Brian would like, quite rightly, is the starting XV not to have to play," elite director Rob Andrew said... "It will mean (the players involved) won't do a great deal on Monday or Tuesday, will train Wednesday and go to Dublin on Thursday."

I have a certain amount of sympathy for all parties involved. The clubs have every right to feel like they are being subjected to emotional blackmail - who wants to be seen as hindering the National team; and the England coaches would be taking a huge risk watching their players take part in a competetive league match days before a vital Six Nations meeting.

Now leave all that aside as we move onto the completely unrelated second story. The English Premier Rugby League have issued a statement stopping Scottish players based in England from training with their countrymen this week.

Scotland coach Frank Hadden has hit out after three English-based players were prevented from joining his national squad training session... a PRL spokesman told BBC Sport: "Our position has been consistent for all unions for some time - players have to return to their clubs for the fallow weeks... "It is up to the clubs to select whoever they wish. The clubs will always look at each individual on a case-by-case basis."

The PRL surely have a point. They aren't in the game to help out the Scottish - this is all just a bit of goodhearted gamesmanship after all. They are perfectly within their rights... Or are they? Scotland head coach Frank Hadden obviously doesn't think so. With Scotland preparing for their next RBS Six Nations clash against Italy on Saturday 24 February, he is furious he has been deprived of three of his key players.

"The English clubs have been aware of our training days for a long time, but there was a three-line whip yesterday which caused the players to be told by their clubs that they couldn't train... We have been in discussion with the IRB and our understanding is that the IRB have been in touch with the RFU (English Rugby Football Union), and the RFU have contacted the clubs and said that they must comply with regulation nine, and they have chosen not to do so... The regulations say you have to give a fortnight's notice. We've given them two months' notice."

This sort of situation makes me sigh long and hard. The English seem to think that we should be understanding as they walk all over the rest of us to get what they want. In many ways they are like the 12 year old playground bully in for a bit of counselling who claims he doesn't need friends and then goes on to complain that no one likes him.

I suppose the point I'm trying to make is that in a few weeks time when England play France and the anglocentric British media start whining about how the celtic nations all want France to win and that we always support anyone but England I wish someone would look out these two articles again and let them read exactly why they have such a bad reputation. It isn't anyone but England we support - it's anyone less arrogant, petty and spiteful than England... oh, I suppose that would be anyone. I think English sport and their sporting media should take a moment and try a spot of introspection. A humbler more sporting country would be so much easier to like.

i don't know what to do

I was reading the Observer last night (yes I know it came out on Sunday - sometimes I'm a slow reader) and now I'm all confused.
I try to be an ethical buyer; I do my best to look after the environment; I tend to walk on my tiptoes when it comes to carbon footprints... but I find it very hard to know what is the right thing to do.

The Observer magazine ran an item on orange juice. I like orange juice. Fresh orange juice though, not that sweetened dilutable stuff. But just what is the most ethical way to buy your juice?

In the photo you can see Carl Pescosolido (a man ahead of his time in fruit efficiency terms)standing in a pile of thousands of rotting oranges somewhere in California. Such waste makes me despair but there are other ethical challenges I'm struggling with. Oranges tend to come from either Spain or Florida - so it makes sense that I should buy European ones to reduce the airmiles. But I like the Tropicana style juice which comes from the States. The most efficient form for travel is pasturised pure orange made from concentrate. It can travel in its concentrated form thus minimising the effect of travel. Plus it has a longer life so can be shipped rather than flown. All good... except the actual pasturisation process uses a lot of energy so its environmentally harmful.
Okay, the thing to do then is to buy (unwrapped) Oranges (European of course) and juice them myself (using a manual juicer of course). I would have to make sure that the Oranges were ethical produced, maybe even organic (no nasty pesticide issues) and that they were shipped, not flown. Except the oranges come in their own natural wrapping. All that skin and pith that is thrown away at the juicing stage added to the bulk on route making the travel stage highly inefficient.

Ahhhhh! Somebody tell me what I should do. My head is slowly frying in fairtrade, non GM soya fat. I'm worried that I will never again drink juice without having nightmares. I need guidance. In the meantime I think I'll read the Josua Jackson interview instead.

it snowed today - in my car

It's odd how events can build up detail by detail to a somewhat unexpected eventual effect.

Take today for instance. I bought a Starbucks latte - not unexpected so far. It was too hot to drink immediately so I set it on my dashboard and set off. I drove below a flock of starlings that made a mess of my car if you know what I mean. I drove to a drive thru car wash to clean it. For some reason the car wash wasn't working so I decided to drive round to the front to inform a member of staff. The windows had steamed up while I was stopped and I couldn't open them because they were covered in... well... So with my vision impaired I drove - bumped into a kerb - my coffee went all over the dashboard, the seats, the floor. I cried.

Luckily i had wipe things which I was able to use to clean up the dashboard and upholstery things for the seats and floor. Unluckily some of the coffee had gone down the vents and I couldn't get at it - so I left it to dry.

My car smells of stale coffee (It wouldn't even have been so bad if it was Costa Coffee - I like the smell of Costa Coffee)

The thing is, once I returned to the car after a while and the coffee in the vents had dried, I turned on the engine. Air came up through the vents and with it little flakes of dry soya milk floated up and around the inside of the car. It was a beautiful moment. Unexpected, slightly icky, but very very beautiful.

something special

Yesterday as I was driving home I had an idea. It was -5 degrees C and so many salt spreaders had been out that there was a thick layer of salt on the road and all the cars were covered in it. The car washes get closed down if the temperature drops too low so no one was cleaning it off. I got home and filled a bucket with warm water and set about making my car cleaner than it had ever been before. It positively sparkled and I immediately jumped in and went for a drive. where did I go on this momentous occasion? Tesco's of course. I went to buy groceries (and to attempt to impress one of the checkout staff) but for one glorious hour my car was by far the shiniest vehicle on the roads. I had a special car.

Why did I do it? Let's face it, looking down at it in the car park now it is just as covered in salt as the rest of the cars. But just for a short moment it was something different from the rest; and I've come to realise that the term special is just as relative as terms like better or faster or larger. As a special needs teacher that's a big realisation. You can't be special all of the time - sometimes being special is easier than other times - sometimes being special isn't what I really want or need at a particular time. What is important is that I am the best I can be in my own little world - and that I clean my car from time to time.

Strictly Who Do You Think Dragons' Apprentices Dance With... on ice

It has to be said that I don't watch a lot of TV these days; well, not compared to when I was a student anyway. I don't know if its a lack of time or general disinterest but I rarely watch more than a three hours a week (and most of that is Match of the Day so it doesn't count - watching sport is a healthy pastime) Having said all that I am fairly good at keeping abreast of TV land through the tabloid press and television listings in the Independent.

Yesterday I sat down to watch the Northern Ireland v Wales friendly match. As anyone who watched it will tell you this was not the most exciting match in history and I was forced to change the channel occasionally to avoid falling asleep. On the other channel was Dragons' Den, a show where people put their ideas to a bunch of rich people hoping to get a hand out... except no! This couldn't be Dragons' Den - it's ITV. And I'm pretty sure Richard (the man of the people... but certainly not my people) Madeley doesn't host Dragons' Den. It turns out this was a completely different show called The Fortune. In this show people put their ideas to a bunch of rich people hoping to get a hand out... hmmm... sounds familiar.

So ITV have decided that it would be a good idea to churn out a low grade rip off of a BBC2 show as peak time viewing. Have they looked at BBC2 ratings? The whole point of BBC2 is to provide a quality alternative to ratings chasing peak time programmes on BBC1 and ITV. Therefore it stands to reason that a copy (and a particularly bad copy at that) of a BBC2 show is hardly going to be a ratings winner. Or maybe the TV bosses know something we don't - maybe they have some research showing that pairing Richard (doesn't like Danii Minogue cause she calls him a letch) Madeley with an arrogant, football club owning, surfer wannabe would make dynamite viewing. Oops.

It's not as if they can claim ignorance - looking at ITVs weekly peak time viewing at the moment suggests that they've tried all this before:

Dancing on Ice... a complete rip off of the BBC's Strictly Come Dancing... but with ice.
You Don't Know You're Born... a complete rip off of the BBC's Who Do You Think You Are.
The Tycoon... a complete rip off of the BBC's Apprentice... which was a complete rip off of NBC's Apprentice.

Will someone please come up with something original and send it to ITV. If only to stop me complaining about it online. It was still more interesting than a Northern Ireland against Wales football match though.

life is like a snowball

Life is like a snowfall - nice and pretty to look at but bloody freezing when some skitter of a 10 year old lumps a bit of it at the back of your neck.

This morning I awoke to a white world. Very picturesque. I walked across the yard noticing just how big my footprints were (could this be related to the size of my big feet?) I cleared my car and set off along the unsullied road - beautiful. half a mile later I joined the main road where the glistening white turned to brown sludge. How quickly things change.

I work with children - lots of them. Sometimes I struggle to believe that these street savy teenagers were once innocent and naive. But sometimes... just sometimes one of them will say something that will remind me that these are not yet fully formed cynical adults - there is a glimmer of that innocence hidden behind the smart comments and dishevelled uniforms.

And now. as the pupil beside me keeps remarking, the snow is falling again - who knows, maybe it'll cover up that horrible slush with a fresh layer of glistening virgin snow.

spooky

Okay. That was a bit odd. Can anyone offer a suggestion as to why when I tried to post earlier someone or something was typing over what I was typing. It was surreal. I would type a couple of words and then ....... would appear. Then it would change into words. Here we can see a transcript of the post I was trying to make:

benefit is that yet have the suspects only those
what????
most who really the you leave the house
who are you?
Las most Vegas for the rest are tied to the ring in the U.S. now has gone a lot of us
what is going on?
of what was going on the one is going on behind one is going on was going on
weird
Who really believe that needs you to the U.S. you to the U.S. to 00 and a civilian lines are due to the essence of
are you even making sense?
the agreement into having a good thing for sure what you really believes that the GES heat the U.S. to double the civilian side to the essence of the remote having a good time for what the CC in the U.S. media from the
I'm getting bored
in the listserv in the Mr. Kessler is the limit on the Russian children than a year to us and 9090 lead in a in this league and its
oh i give up
that the defendant and I know and what was then known as my long years....

Well anyone any the wiser? I'm thinking of googling some of the stuff typed to see if I can find where it came from - maybe I'm being contacted from beyond the grave by some city analyst... or maybe some aliens interested in US Economics.

how does it feel being 30?

Much the same as being 29 but with more people asking how it feels to be the age I am.

I am now entering my 31st year. Many people have done so before and many will do so after me but it still feels like it is something a bit special. Maybe it was my colleagues presenting me with a cake in the staff room on Friday morning, or maybe it's the two cards sitting on the mantelpiece from my family, or maybe it was the email I got from my internet service provider wishing my many happy returns and offering me some special birthday deals on things I don't need.

I have to say that the biggest difference between being 'in my twenties' and becoming a 'thirty something' is in perception. Let's face it - what major changes can happen in the few hours between going to bed at 29 years, 364 days and waking up at 30 years? The head of the English Dept did offer to carry out a bit of stage makeup on me to change my appearance tomorrow - maybe paint on a moustache or something - but the best I can really do to change my appearance for my new chronological classification is to wear my new tie. Definitely more a 30s kind of a tie than a 20s.

One sure sign I'm getting older is the onset on senility. This morning I got up, had a shower, brushed my teeth, squeezed some shaving gel into my hands... and promptly rubbed it through my hair. I don't know if I somehow mistook it for shampoo or whether I, subconsciously, felt I should shave my head. Either way it's a disturbing action. Could it be age related?
Sometimes, in our eagerness to categorise things, we create boundaries. The problem with boundaries is that they are very narrow things to separate vastly different things. Imagine what life would be like in our little Island if the border wasn't so much a line between two countries and more like a slow gradient of levels of Irishness. People could admit to watching RTE more than the BBC yet still prefer Roast Beef to Irish Stew - Petrol prices could gradually get cheaper rather than jumping suddenly either side of the Foyle - so many problems solved in such a simple way.

My pupils don't see it that way though. A 29 year old teacher is still a young teacher - inexperienced yet approachable whereas a 30 year old teacher is old guard - old fashioned but authoritative. Well, usually. When I ask them what age they think I am they tend to say 45. Yeah, thanks for that.

an irishman abroad

Don't transfer windows make football exciting? I know you probably don't like to admit it but I'm sure many of you were on the edge of your seats with tension wondering whether the free transfer of Steve Aitken from Stranraer to Stenhousemuir (two of my favourite Scottish teams) was going to go through without a hitch in the final seconds of the window; I know you shook your head, as I did, when Ashley Young joined Villa for almost £10 million - I could hear you: "He's good... but £10 million!" You sighed when Hearts brought Tomas Kancelskis over on loan because you knew that here was yet another player whose name you would struggle to chant at the next Edinburgh derby... I know you did all of that - we all did, and it's ok to admit it.

But my favourite signing of all was Reading bringing Alan Bennett over from Cork for an undisclosed fee. I'm assuming the 72 year old Playwright will slot seamlessly into the Reading defence where he will be expected to use his height to deal with crosses and make dry comments about his family in a Yorkshire accent.

As a Newcastle fan I have long learned to ignore the majority of comings and goings in January. Even when we do sign someone decent he gets injured after two games and we're forced to play the twelve year old son of the reserve team coach anyway. I've even become immune to the money thats thrown around the league these days - Although if I can't pay off my student loan soon I may be forced to sell some of my year 8 literacy group. In the meantime I'm off to the old Vic to see a musical by Watford's new goalie.