winter 2010

Isn't winter wonderful? Clean, fresh, crisp...



it's almost enough to have you forgive the egg sized bump formed on the back of your head after slipping on the ice on the pavement.

the trouble with mrs robinson

And so I join the ranks of the hundreds of other blogs and newspaper articles this week to begin with the phrase: “here’s to you Mrs Robinson.” I almost didn’t. It was almost too easy - but how many other times will I get the chance to use a Graduate reference with such delicious relevance?

Most of you will already know the story, but for those who don’t here’s a bit of exposition - I’ll try be brief.

Peter Robinson (aged 61) is Northern Ireland’s First Minister. He has a wife, Iris (aged 60). She is also a member of Parliament - as well as being an MLA and a Councillor. She is therefore quite a high profile politician in our little land - no more high profiled than when she publicly declared homosexuality an abomination a little over a year ago.

The problem is, as it turns out, that around the time she was proclaiming moral judgement she was also popping behind her husband's back for a spot of adultery with a young man called Kirk McCambley, aged (at the time) 19. [insert personal choice of Mrs Robinson seduction quote where appropriate.]

There was also some fuss about accounts and how she has broken parliamentary rules by not declaring some rather large loans she managed to secure for her toyboy’s business plans. She also didn’t declare her interest when Mr McCambley applied to the local council to lease that business - a council on which Mrs Robinson sat. It’s all a bit murky and the ramifications for her and her husband (if it is discovered that he knew about these breaches and did nothing about them) will be better discussed elsewhere.

Truth be told I care little for the woman. I felt slight sympathy when I heard she was quitting politics due to mental health issues - I felt even more when it was announced that she had attempted suicide. I still feel a little uneasy at the way people are querying the legitimacy of the suicide claims - it would surely be incredibly cynical to use something like that as a counter for anticipated bad press. I'd like to think even our politicians are above that. All of this is sordid and a touch sleazy - but I care not for the details of a stranger’s personal life - even if they are a public figure.

The problem with Mrs Robinson in my world became apparent when I opened facebook.

Mrs Robinson Jesus loves you more than you will know. Hahahahahahahahahahaha.

You see, the Robinsons are devout Christians. And the more I read the more I found my non-christian friends reveling in the opportunity to use this story as evidence that Christians are a bunch of war-mongering, red-necked, child killing hypocrites.

So infidelity isn't as much of a sin as homosexuallity(sic) then Mrs Robinson?

And this does worry me. It feels like if someone in the public eye professes to be a christian they are scrutinized and any flaw is further proof that christianity is the root of all evil.

If that is christian love then I think I'd prefer to be gay.

So here's to you Mrs. Robinson....HA HA HA (so apparantly its an abomination to be gay but she can waltz around cheating on her wifebeating husband?) Not the f***ing Waltons after all are we?

how I love it when people fall flat on their faces. isn't it great when the holy aren't holier than thou.

It's as if we go round telling everyone how perfect we are and make a point of letting them know how holier we are than they are. The quotes I put here are from friends of mine. They make me wonder how my friends see my faith. I knew they were atheists - but I always assumed they had a certain respect for my beliefs.

I can't keep up. OK so Homosexuality=bad; hypocrisy, homophobia, greed, lying & adultery = good? Is that right?

How does this work in reverse? If every time I saw someone spill out of a pub and start a fight with a stranger I went "atheists! aggressive bunch" would that be fair? If every time a non-christian was accused of fraud I pigeon-holed everyone as greedy, would that be justified.

I am no DUP supporter - and truth be told I've never really had much of a liking for the Robinsons. They're not perfect - they've committed some major sins. But, actually, I'm not perfect - I'm far from it. Luckily though, although I need to set an example and be aware of how others perceive me, I am not the role model to which the christian world aspire - nor are the Robinsons. Our role model is free from sin - flawless.

So don't paint us all with the Robinsons' brush - and don't paint them with my brush. We none of us are perfect - but maybe we'd get a bit closer to it if we concentrated on our own problems rather than glorying in others'.

tis the season to be wary

What is it about this time of year?

Last year I was falling off a wall onto my ankle (which, incidentally, has yet to heal fully); and this year I managed to snag a particularly sharp bit of my thumb nail on my forehead and gouge out a three inch strip of skin.

Who disfigures themselves taking off a T-shirt?!

I’m going to bed - wake me up in 2011!

This cannot be allowed to happen.

It's a disgrace. I want you to write to your MP, your MEP, your MLA, your congressman... whatever applies. We need to organise rallies, petitions, non violent civil disobedience immediately. This is just wrong and someone needs to do something about it - it's time to make a stand.

Could someone tell me why anybody out there would possibly think it was a good idea to change the name of Campbell's Soup to Bachelor's.

Bachelor's!

Bachelor's make Super Noodles; they make Cup-a-Soup; Pasta Sauce... they do not make canned soup. There are iconic brands out there. Think of biscuits and you think McVities; think cereals and you think Kelloggs; think ketchup - Heinz; think of tinned soup... who did you think of? Bachelors? A brand being iconic doesn't make it the best; but it makes it iconic. I'm not suggesting that the soup will be any different taste-wise. But it won't be Campbell's.

Did Andy Warhol make a print of Cup-a-Soup? Would a pop art image of a supper noodle wrapper be as striking, as iconic as the tin of Campbell's Soup?

So I think you'll agree that changes (back) need to be made - as a matter of urgency. Do we really want a future where real food succumbs to the might of the army of dried food. I'll leave it in your hands.

The Mr C retreats to his cocoon to reappear months later as... Mr C

Where has he been? Months have gone by and this blog has remained mute.

I wish I could say that there has simply been nothing to write about - but truth be told quite a lot has happened personally, locally and internationally since I last put finger to keyboard. The world has been awash with educational, environmental, and ego-centrical happenings. Teachers have been suspended for slipping some of their own rather personal video footage into class presentations, teachers in Ireland have been faced with rather stiff pay cuts to help bail out the rest of society, politicians have been wallowing in mires of expense account funded self pity, some have managed to take their minds of it for a little trip to Copenhagen to discuss how we're all doomed. A lot has happened - and I have remained silent.

Well, no more.

I have returned to add a few more pennyworths. Obviously the two people who read my blog have long since lost interest and have moved on to reading worries of a haberdasher .com or something of a similar elk and I will have to try and appeal to a whole new set of readers.

Maybe I should take this opportunity to change the focus of this blog. I could write about anything I wanted. What would appeal to the masses? Maybe I could write about reality TV - I could dedicate this blog to the X-factor... except it has come to a conclusion and I am proud to say that I didn't watch a minute of the coverage - why bother when the papers tell you all the best bits anyway.

I could write about gardening. Except for the fact that my greatest achievements in that field have been to kill off practically invincible plants. When plants and shrubs picture me they see me in a hooded cloak carrying a scythe.

No - I will do what i do best and write about what I should write about. Why change the habit of a lifetime? (or at least the three or four years I've been blogging anyway.) If anyone has contact details for my readers could you give them both a call and let them know I've updated.

Thanks.

word of the day (part 4 in a 73 part series)

serendipitously seren·dipi·tous·ly (sēr’ən-dīp’ī-t-əs-lē) adv. lucky in making unexpected and fortunate discoveries, having or bringing good fortune; The word comes from the term serendipity, a noun to cover the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident, the fact or occurrence of such discoveries or an instance of making such a discovery.

Another word that made me smile. I just love the sound of it. Did you know that the word Serendipity was formed from an old word meaning Sri Lanka, Serendip? The English author Horace Walpole used it in a letter in 1754. It was part of the title of "a silly fairy tale, called The Three Princes of Serendip: as their highnesses traveled, they were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things which they were not in quest of."

Someone should have pointed out to him the perils of ending a sentence with a preposition

and just like that - phsssh - it's gone

Summers seem so tender, with weightless afts spent watching waves
Caress the beach and gentle breeze make aspens sway.
Summers seem so life eternal, so everlasting;
Till back in room K2,
With pen in hand,
They seem to last but just one day.

Every year I say it – and every year it seems a little truer – but summers get shorter all the time. I remember the summers of my youth. Lifetimes they were! We did everything it was possible to do on this earth back then – and had time to spare.

Glorious they were. Walking through the country roads to friends' farms – jumping from great towers of hay bales, landing on a pile of loose hay on the ground twenty feet below. Spending days by streams, below bridges, racing tiny speedboats made from broken twigs or leaves. Eating berries from the hedges as we went. Planning great bicycle journeys that would open our minds and broaden our horizons and make us men. Summers back then were real summers. At least in my slightly rose tinted memory they were.

Now summers are solely a time to recharge. They have ceased to exist as entities in their own right and now I look on them only as a break in the school calendar. How I long for the time I used to see school as something which existed simply to separate the holidays. This year it felt like it was already August by the time I had locked my classroom door at the end of term. July just sort of disappeared. And August was over in the blink of an eye. If you were to ask me how I spent it I would um and ah for a while, look around the room for inspiration, clear my throat and say, “Did I ever tell you about the times we used to jump off bales of hay and play pooh sticks at the bridge…”

So here I am, at my desk, about to see my form class for the first time in six weeks that that have gone by like six minutes - like a train that has forgotten to stop at the station.

Truth be told it’s good to be back. Back to the grindstone, routines, challenges… etc etc. Don’t tell my pupils but I miss them when I’m away from work. It’s not a dislike of teaching that makes me long for the heady days of my youth. I wouldn’t want to lose the joys that exist from September to June. I just want my Julys and Augusts back. Please.