I am the best teacher you never had

Don't take my word for it - I have a plethora of testimonials from pupils I never taught as evidence. Indeed it's an astonishing fact that pupils I haven't taught are statistically much more likely to rate my teaching ability than those I actually taught.

Recently I was asked about privately tutoring a couple of pupils from a previous school. I mentioned it in passing to the teacher I'd been covering back then. "Oh yes." she replied, "They thought you were a great teacher. Apparently they were hoping you'd take over their class when you were finished covering for me."
I didn't know these kids. I'd never taught them - and yet somehow they see me as their path to GCSE success. So much so that they are prepared to ask their parents to pay me for it. None of the pupils I taught came looking for private tutoring - actually, that's not true. One did; but she fell out with me over an exam mark.

I bumped into another pupil at the gym. I say bumped into, but it was really more a case of him bounding over with a hand thrust out, shouting, "Sir!" I didn't recognize him - I'd never taught him. He told me how much the school (he was speaking for them all?) missed me; and how, in the run-up to his exams, would I consider helping him out with a bit of private tuition. How did he get such a positive impression of someone who he'd never seen teach. At least if he had it would have been of me covering a single lesson in science of something weird. I thought maybe he was asking me because I was the only available English teacher he knew of - but his mother told me my style of teaching had impressed him. It must be good to affect someone in a classroom at the far end of the school. It didn't seem to affect the ones in my actual classroom as much.

For the record none of this is as much of a slight against my teaching as it sounds - we all know I'm an awesome teacher. It's simply that my awesomeness fades a little with familiarity - that's natural. It's easy to be that teacher when you're popping in and out of their educational lives.
One quip about how they're not to laugh when I bang my head on the hanging board light - because it will happen; or that I got my accent from extended exposure to Due South reruns on daytime TV, and they're putty in my hands; they want to like me.

It's when you find yourself responsible for ruining their weekends by making them do coursework, or ruining their lives by giving them a less than impressive mark on their less than impressive exam paper; that's when the gold loses a little of its glister. And heaven forbid, if ever you give them anything but glowing praise at a parents' consultation - you will be dead to them. Dead.

So I'll take whatever adulation I can get - and keep on not teaching most of the world so that almost everyone will love me.

Now excuse me while I "accidentally" bump my head on the board light.

I'd be cynical about this, but I tire of it

If I have a flaw - well, one that stands out above the rest, it would be that I am infected, and filled with a cynicism that shames me. I wish I didn’t have it – I wish I could at least control it better – but it’s always about there somewhere.

I have a good friend who hasn’t a cynical bone in his body. He is devoid of cynicism and when we are together it makes me all the more aware of the skepticism, the suspicious and sneering smog that floats around me. I mock his naivety and make knowing smirks when he refuses to see the bad in someone. I mock him but I envy him – I envy him so much.

Let me tell you a little story about something that happened a year or so ago. I was on route to Church one Sunday morning. My dad was driving my grandparents and I, as he did most weeks. And, as most weeks, he was listening to the Priests as he drove. (For those who’ve never heard of them, The Priests are a classical musical group made up of three Catholic priests all from Northern Ireland who have been singing together since they boarded as students at school in Garron Tower off the north coast)
It’s a short journey and quite soon into it the Priests began to sing ‘How Great Thou Art’ That’s when it began.

It started with a quiet humming, then gradually my grand father began to softly sing along; then my father; then my grand mother. As I listened I was surprised to hear four voices – I was singing too; picking out the bass line. There we were, three generations of Campbells belting out ‘How Great Thou Art’ in some form of four part harmony. It was a beautiful moment, a spontaneous moment, a hallmark moment, if you like. And then I ruined it.

As we approached the Church I thought of how people there would react to the spectacle. It was all okay when the only witnesses were the cows in the fields we passed out on the open road – but at the Church there would be actual people – people who knew me. They would stop and stare; they would think we were odd; they would point and laugh and commit the image to memory so they could bring it up in conversation with their family over the Sunday roast. From now on, any time they saw me they’d remember me as one of the motorcar choristers. That could not happen! I stopped abruptly. And immediately I wished I hadn’t. Quite honestly I wished people had seen me – I wished they had known me as one of the Motorcar Campbell Choristers – because I know it would have been with the affection that they always held us; not matter how strange we sometimes were.

I have just arrived home from taking my Dad to a Priests concert at Glenarm Castle (not too far from where they met at Garron Tower) They didn’t sing ‘How Great Thou Art’ but it was a wonderful experience to see them live, and it brought that Sunday Morning drive back to mind.
My grandfather passed away a month ago. There will never be a chance to relive that moment. I have committed it to my memory, not that I bring it up over the Sunday roast – but when I think of it I am reminded of how amazingly fortunate I am with the family in which I was placed. My grandfather was immensely wise, immensely gracious – he quietly lived a life filled with understanding, faith and love. If I learn anything from him it should be that a cynical attitude, while more and more prevalent, is not compulsory. It’s not even the default setting. If I am to make the most of this beautiful creation I need to start trying to see it through untainted eyes, and see the best in everything around me. My good friend and my family seem to have known that secret all along.

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art.

we love it!

The Sun has a slogan - "The Sun. We love it!" and once in a while they do something that makes me think that they might be right. Today they were thinking of ways to enliven the process of page layout and came up with this little gem. Whoever it was that placed the photo of Cameron and Obama above the ad for New Look footwear must have been bored. A bored genius.

changing ties

I don't know whether it's a sub conscious thing or just stupidity - but I have developed an unfortunate habit when it comes to choosing which tie to wear to work.

I used to hate wearing ties. As a pupil, and then as a young teacher I found them restrictive and conformist. I wanted to teach in a knitted turtle neck and Che Guevara beret. I railed against the idea that a piece of fabric tied, noose-like, across my adam's apple somehow illicited authority or respect. It appeared unfair to me that female teachers seemed able to wear whatever they wanted while male teachers (excluding PE staff of course - but then can they really be considered teachers?) were required to wear a shirt and tie. I didn't see the point.

I still don't see the point. Honestly I don't. I will fix anyone who claims that we instinctively imbue people in ties with more authority with an icy stare. It isn't about the tie - it's about looking smart and professional. Whether I'm wearing a tie or not is immaterial.

But I'm bringing back the tie. Not only do I wear one with a suit to work, weddings, church, going to court - I've started wearing them on nights out and soon I hope to introduce them to my day-to-day attire. I'm not doing so to appear sagely or mature - in the same way a tie can't overcome my inherent untidiness it could never fool anyone regarding my levels of maturity. I'm doing it because I've come to see value in wearing something pointless.

Everyone needs to put on something that serves no purpose whatsoever - not because they have to, but because they can. Go on. Wear a cravat, a flower in your hair, an elastic band round your wrist, a broken pocket watch, an empty briefcase, a key chain full of redundant keys; carry an umbrella - but never open it.

In the meantime I will wear a tie to school because it is expected of me. Which brings me back to my unfortunate habit. As I look at the pupils in front of me it occurs that their ties look awfully familiar. The shade of green, the red diagonal stripe, the black accents - I'm wearing a tie that is almost identical to the school uniform tie. Vaguely embarrassing coincidence maybe - except I have form. This has happened before at two other schools. So far the pupils here have been too polite to mention it. The pupils had no such coyness in one of the previous schools. In that case the pupils took only seconds to ask with massive grins, "How come you're wearing the school uniform?" They continue to remind me any time they see me in the real world - three years later.

It's only a matter of time before someone does comment, so I better get my excuse ready - maybe something about the value of doing something for no reason?

shapes and sounds

What is the most powerful thing you can imagine? Nuclear weapons? Stars? Planets? Emotions?

It'll come as no surprise to anyone when I reveal that I truly believe there are few things as powerful as language. It's the kind of thing I'd say in a job interview, but it also happens to be true.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.

John 1: 1-2

I love language. It fascinates me, it intimidates me, it terrifies me. Many of you already know this - so why am I describing my fixation all over again? Well, shocking as it may seem, not everyone shares my view. Some people actually see truth in that old saying, "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never harm me." But why?

In my opinion it has a lot to do with the diet of limp, flavourless drivel we are spoon-fed and which we spoon-feed those around us. Honestly, I am no language ludite wishing we still spoke Jacobite english. I recognise that language evolves and I embrace the fact. It shows that language is an organic thing - and something living is always more powerful than something inert.

As a teacher I can see the reason behind simplifying language and what can happen when people use language to exclude certain members of our community. But I also see the need to constantly challenge our understanding of the world though increasingly complex questioning.

For everyone who partakes only of milk is unskilled in the world of righteousness, for he is a babe. But solid food belongs to those who are of full age, that is, those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil.

Hebrews 5:13-14

The more we simplify the language the more we remove the colour and the power of those words. Let me give you an example from the world of education. Take a look at this monologue. You may have read it before; it is the moment Romeo first sets eye on Juliet - a moment that changes his character profoundly:

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!


It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night 
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, 


As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 
The measure done,

I'll watch her place of stand, 
And, touching hers,

make blessed my rude hand. 


Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! 


For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Now read the modern translation from a text book I picked up in a classroom this morning:

Oh, torches look dim beside her! She embellishes night time like a rich jewel in an Ethiopian’s ear – too beautiful for everyday use, too valuable for this world. She stands out like a snow-white dove amongst the crows.

Once the dance is over I’ll see where she stands and make my rough hand blessed by touching hers. Did my heart know real love till now? My eyes need look no further: I hadn’t seen true beauty till tonight.

I do understand why it is helpful to simply the language for young students (and atleast this translation didn’t cut most of the speech completely the way Baz Luhrmann did in his film version.) The most common complaint I hear in school about Shakespeare is that they “don’t understand what he’s on about.” It is testament to the power of the language that they, without perhaps always understanding the meaning of every word, could still experience the control and power contained in them.

And therein lies the evidence for my views of language. The power contained is threefold – the message carried, the knowledge shared, and the very living words themselves. You must surely agree with that if not with my final assertion that the greatest of these three powers is the third. I won’t force you to believe that the shape of words, the sound of words, this is where the beauty lies as much as in the message. In fact you are more than welcome to disagree about the power of words at all. I will happily consider your argument – as soon as you work out how to present it without language.

reasons why I'm single (part 4 of a 78 part series)

I admit that most of the reasons in this series are to do with my social ineptitude; but once in a while it isn't my fault. Every so often I get to blame someone else's social ineptitude.

I went on a blind date a short while ago. Until recently the very idea of that statement would have brought a little sick up in my mouth - but I've given up worrying about these things now and I was at a loss for something to do.

I say it was a blind date but actually I had met the woman before. I knew her to be incredibly intelligent, attractive, complex... unreliable. So when I arrived at the restaurant right on time I wasn't surprised to receive a text from her saying she was running late and I should just go on in and wait. That's never a good look - the sitting at a restaurant table by yourself knocking back glass after glass of sparkling spring water; so I didn't. I checked at the desk to make sure the table was in order and, since it was a pleasant evening, waited outside for my date to arrive.

While I was waiting I people watched. There are three restaurants very close together at that end of Coleraine and they were all really busy. I watched an arguing couple arrive and make their way into one of the restaurants - the wife ordering her husband not to make a scene "like the last time." I watched a little old lady, so stooped that her face seemed inches from the ground, struggle to get out of a volvo - the young driver (her son?) making no effort to help her and seemingly growing impatient at her difficulty. I watched a car arrive at some speed and cruise round the car park looking for a space. There was only one and a mercedes in the next bay was over the lines, making the available bay tight - maybe too tight. The driver thought it worth a try anyway and began to squeeze into the space. 'She'll never make it at that angle' I thought aloud. She didn't - but that didn't stop her trying. Seconds later there was a gut wrenching screech as her black car scraped along the metallic silver paint job of the Mercedes.

There was a pause. Then, instead of pulling out and trying a better angle, the driver pushed further forward and the screeching started up again. My teeth were on edge just watching it from 20 yards away. Eventually the driver gave up and pulled out to change the angle. It was then that I noticed I hadn't taken a breath for a while - so I took a quick gulp of air. The driver changed the angle and went in for a second attempt. And got it completely wrong again. The screeching began even sooner than the previous attempt and sounded, if anything, louder and more painful. And there was no pause this time. The driver pushed on through until she had squeezed her little car completely into the space - and left a huge scar in its expensive neighbour.

The stooped old lady had witnessed the whole thing, and with a look that suggested she may know the owner of the Mercedes, took off surprisingly quickly to inform them that their car had been abused. In some cruel, twisted way I was enjoying the spectacle and began to hope my date would be a bit later so I could see what happened next. What did happen next was that the driver of the little black car was clearly spooked by the old lady sprinting for the restaurant, and pulled out of the space, scraping up the side of the Merc one last time - in reverse - before taking off round the back of the building. Seconds later a large, red faced man came running out of the restaurant and practically began to wail when he saw the side of his car. The old lady was at his side and was looking around, searching for the black car. I too looked to see where it was hidden. It was then that I saw it, parked round the side of the restaurant, and my date was getting out of the drivers seat.

With barely a flick of her hair and a deep breath she made her way to the restaurant, her long elegant strides seemingly effortless, even on some of the highest heels I'd ever seen. As I met her by the door she proffered her cheek for a kiss and apologised for being late, saying she'd "had a little trouble finding a parking space."

I was dumbstruck. We went on to have a lovely meal, full of incredible conversation - and all I could think of was what she'd done to that car - and just how easily she was able to act like nothing had happened. There is no doubt that she is an amazing person, and whoever she chooses to share her life with will be one incredibly fortunate man - but I knew there and then it wouldn't be me. How could I go out with someone knowing that the more I saw her the more chance there'd be that the car beside the only available parking space would someday be mine.

three observations about losing weight

There are three observations I would like to give you in terms of weight loss if I may.

Over the course of the past four months i have been trying to shed a few pounds in an effort to take some control of my health and raise a bit of money for charity in the process. I just about managed to squeeze past my target of 20kg and it was an amazing feeling.

It has to be said, however, that I did become somewhat addicted to the supportive/flattering comments I received from those around me. I'm worried how I'll deal with the inevitable slowing down of these bite-sized ego boosts over time. I must find something to fill the void - suggestions welcome.

My new found vanity expresses itself in many forms: I definitely spend more time looking in mirrors; I walk with a straighter back, simply because my chin looks better that way; I tuck my shirts into my jeans - just to show I can.

It would be trite and overegging to describe the past few months as life-changing - but personality changing they have definitely been if nothing else. And actually not all good changes. I am certainly proud of achieving my targets - the fact that it was such a struggle makes the pride all the sweeter; I am certainly more positive about my self image and indeed my health; but, sometimes when I catch myself studying my reflection in a shop window, I pull up short and wonder what on earth was it all about.

In my mind I am 100 times more attractive, but I am certainly no looker even now. In my mind I am 100 times healthier, but my published ideal weight is still a good 20kgs further south. In my mind I am 100 times fitter, but I still struggle to run more than a mile.
I have a long way to go yet and, if anything, these next targets will be tougher than the last. I want to succeed. I want to be able to buy fashionable jeans rather than any that happen to fit me. But I don't want to feed that ego any more than it needs fed.

So, before I forget what I'm doing, my three observations:
1) Targets are always easier to achieve when they've been set by someone who knows you better than you know yourself. They are also easier to hit when you keep your eyes open.
2) Water costs nothing, is sugar free, and if you drink enough of it you start to like it. On the other hand coke is actually ridiculously expensive, has more sugar than Jamaica, and (much to my amazement) when you return to drinking it after a break of four months it tastes utterly repulsive.
3) Encouragement is important - but fawning flattery is destructive. Learn to listen to compliments with a discerning ear.

Having said that, don't stop with the flattery. I'd miss it.