The road to Blackberry Hill

It’s very nearly Christmas. I haven’t been in school all week and should have been doing lesson plans and getting a head start on the remaining assignments. And, to give myself some credit, I did start the week in that way. On Monday I went to the college, got some books out on the reading list, and then went home and started writing up lesson plans, and emailed them to my class teacher for review. You really can’t ask for anymore than that.

On Tuesday morning I got a reply from her, basically I have to rewrite them. Bummer. And I had spend a huge amount of time, and even a few quid, getting the resources together for the lessons, which now are of no use as I can’t teach that lesson. Even bigger bummer. If anyone wants a CD of a pygmy honey gathering song, let me know. And, after you’ve listened to it, could you please let me know what it sounds like.

Thing is, this totally knocked me back, I was really, really (and totally unreasonably) pissed off. My limbic system kicked in (the bit of the brain that controls emotions and such like), and has stayed kicked in ever since, at least in respect of college / school. When this kicks in, your logic functions shut down and you just have to go with it.

In some ways this is great, I know that I am too pissed off to think about it, so there is no point trying. This is very liberating, especially around Christmas, it means I can just enjoy the festivities. However, there is a suspicion in my mind that this realization is itself logical, which means that I’ve got past the limbic system and am very capable of doing some work. But you can overanalyze these things.

More interestingly, I’ve always thought of myself as the sort of guy who was very open to criticism, and actually sought it out. I am aware that I can get defensive, especially on things close to my heart, but I’ve always thought that I’ve had a pretty positive approach to this sort of thing, but this little episode would indicate otherwise.

Or perhaps, I used to be, but am not anymore, which I wouldn’t really categorise as progress.

But that’s not the only thing I’ve noticed about myself. I was wrapping some presents for my kids (or, to be more accurate, one present, the Mother of My Children had bought and wrapped all the others – so no change there) and I wrote her name very carefully in very fancy script, lots of twirls and such like. If it had been half neat, you would have put your mortgage on it being a chick’s handwriting.

This is exactly the sort of thing that I would have never, ever done in my previous existence. I would have scrawled it quickly, if it turned out legible, that would have been a plus.

Is it possible that I am changing in some very subtle way, and I can only observe this from the things I do as I certainly don’t feel any different?

Or is possible that I drank one too many glasses of wine before writing this?

Happy Christmas.

It’s a hot topic. Apparently. However, now that I do have a bit of time to spend with the fruit of my loins, I thought I’d spend it productively and introduce them into the mystical ways of football.

Having had three girls, I’d always feared that I would lose them to ballet, or tap dancing, or something else that involved pink and/or frilly clothes. And that is indeed what has happened to my older two, I just wasn’t around enough to save them from their fate. However, I am here for my youngest, and I have a clear opportunity, nay obligation, to set her on the true path.

We started today. When considering the training rota, I had, in true teacher fashion, envisaged a 10 minute starter, 40 minutes of core activity and an excuse of a plenary at the end. But this being footy, I was going to put in 30 minutes of hard strengthening work as well. However, on reflection, I thought for the first training session, I’d relent and just do the fun stuff instead. I can’t decide if this was me going soft, or cunning plan to hook her onto the game.

So we start, I’m thinking a quick kick around in the hall to warm up. She seems to be enjoying, but then I notice, she only uses her right foot. I’m in shock, what should I do? Ok, don’t panic. So I sit her down, father to daughter, and we talk, honestly and openly. Or rather, I talk, but she doesn’t seem to be taking it in. A couple of times she even starts wandering off and I have to bring her back. Why can’t she see the advantage of having two feet?

To be fair this is not her only draw back. When she tries to kick the ball, occasionally she misses entirely. If you’re aiming for the Arsenals of this world this may be a bit of a showstopper, but my mate’s a Bristol Rovers fan, I’ve seen them play, and missing the ball every now and then seems to be a pre-requisite. I’m a realist, having seen her first session, I think she’s probably more suited to the Rovers than the Arsenal.

And there’s a few other things as well. She will only kick the ball if she’s holding my hands. And she can’t run, in fact she can’t even really walk. She can kind of stand there, but if you approach, she collapses on the floor and starts crying. I consider this ideal early conditioning for behavior in the opposition’s penalty area.

I’ll have to think about it, it may not yet be too late to stem the tide. But time is of the essence, she is coming up on her 14^th month in this world.

Autumn, season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. And assignments. Art assignments, RE assignments, Maths assignments, MA and PE assignments. I’m not sure if there is a collective noun for assignments, but I would propose a plague, a plague of assignments. If Pharaoh had been confronted with that straight up, there would have been no need for the messy water into blood thing (ugh), or, indeed, the plague of locusts (why is that the last of them? If it were me, I’d have been a lot more freaked out by the water into blood).

Generally feeling pretty positive about the course at the moment. Every potential teacher has to do three standardized on-line tests – Maths, IT and English. I’ve managed to successfully negotiate the first two of these. The IT one is trivial, and is really just testing your ability to attend the test centre at the allocated time.

The Maths one is a different kettle of fish, I know people who have failed this. On-line practice tests are provided, the main purpose of these appears to be to turn anyone who was nervous about this test into a total wreck. As with everyone else, I crashed and burned big time on the practice, but fortunately I still managed to struggle through on the actual thing.  Possibly the best part of passing is that I can go around telling everyone how much tougher the real test is compared to the practice (small things, small minds…)

I had booked my English test (although they are on-line, you still need to do them in an approved test centre and book a test slot in advance). Unfortunately I got the wrong day so missed it. If it works on the same basis as the IT test then I failed. Fortunately, you are allowed to retake them.

Those assignments. I assume that they are timed to coincide with half term, so that rather than being in lectures we can spend all day in the library. Couple of problems with this. Firstly, children (I’ve a feeling I’ll be saying that a lot if I ever make it to being a teacher). In half term, if you’ve got children, rather then parking them at school all day, they are at home and tend to want you to entertain them. And they’ve got a pretty compulsive line in argument – they can scream.

Secondly, plague. This little corner of London has been inflicted with it big time, and the last thing that I feel like doing is trawling through academic journals on students and teachers attitudes to Maths. And even if I did feel like it, its not safe for me at present to be more then 7 feet away from a vacant loo.
Q. ‘O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
A. The trots

Most of the Irish students have flown home for the week, I don’t know if they will have got a bulk discount. Irrespective, I’m sure that the last thing they will be talking about is the assignments. “Gathering swallows twitter in the skies” – isn’t it nice to be able to quote Keats. Clearly, I know nothing about Keats, or poetry, or anything at all really, but the internet can make a sensitive soul of any of us.

http://www.bartleby.com/101/627.html
http://www.bartleby.com/101/633.html

I got the results of my grammar test back, and I passed. Strange things do happen. I’m not sure if that is our only test, but I think that means that I’m now qualified to instruct the youth of this nation in the mysteries of English grammar. I suspect I’m not the only one fearing for the future at this point.

The pass mark was 75%. I actually got quite a lot more than this, but looking at the results of the paper, I’ve no idea why the ones I got wrong were wrong. Call me old fashioned but wouldn’t you want your prospective teachers to get pretty much 100% on this, give or take the odd slip up? I mean, if you’re learning to drive, you kinda want you’re driving instructor to get the brake pedal right more than three quarters of the time. Though, judging by some of the driving around our neck of the woods lately, I think there are a few people out there who have forgotten which is the brake pedal altogether.

We had out first MA seminar this week. It’s an “optional” part of the course that everyone has been enrolled on. But we’re not doing an MA, we’re doing a PGCE (M), which means you’re doing a PGCE with a little bit of MA tacked on the side. You don’t end up with an MA at the end of it. Confused? So am I, and everyone else on the course, and, I suspect, potential employers. Possible interview progresses thus –

            “So, it looks like you failed to get your MA then?”
            “No, I completed the course successfully”
            “So you have got an MA?”
            “Er, no, it wasn’t an MA course”
            “But the M bit in the PGCE(M) is for MA?”
            “Yes, you do MA work but don’t get an MA”
            “So if you didn’t do the MA work you’d fail the course?”
            “No, you’d still qualify as a teacher”
            “OK, so you did this why exactly?”
            “Umm….”
            “Thanks, we’ll let you know”

Thing is, not only do I not know really why we’re doing it, but I’m also not sure what it really entails. Our homework for this week is to write a journal detailing key moments in your life to date, and to draw out some underlying personality traits from this. This bothers me on a couple of fronts. Firstly, I’m twice as old as most people on the course, so that’s twice as much work for me. For most of those guys, the most traumatic event they’ve encountered is failing to get tickets to the Blue gig.

Some of them even appear to go into shock when they find out how old I am. I was in the student union bar the other day (yes, I have been, once). It was late and people had been seeking to take maximum advantage of the alcohol subsidy, and the person I was talking to, as much as any. In fact she didn’t look too steady on her feet. But I don’t think it was a coincidence that she dropped her glass at exactly the point I told her I am in my 40’s.

The other thing about the homework is a deep, profound, existential “why”? Maybe I was in the City too long, but one lesson I learnt there is that sometimes the best thing you can do is – do what is required and do it very well, even if it is patently and profoundly stupid. Maybe we should re-write the folk story, this time the emperor would be lauded for his new suit, rather than being ridiculed for it. So I will do my timeline, I will do it very well, and hopefully pass.

And if you see businessmen in the City wandering around apparently naked, you will be mistaken. It’s my new line in suits, coming soon to an M&S near you.