Shop 'til you drop (dead from boredom!)

What is it about shopping? You don't have a brass farthing to spend and yet you see all kinds of things you'd like to buy, yet when you are out to spend money you see naff all! I spent whole afternoon perusing the delights of the local shops (all two and a half of them!) in a vain bid to get something for Assisi. Nothing fancy, just some linen trousers and a couple of t-shirty tops, a lightweight jacket and some comfortable shoes. Net result - nada! That's not strictly true, I did manage a linen look jacket from New Look. I tried on some trousers in Miss Selfridge. I felt a bit apprehensive about going in there as I wondered if I was a bit old for it but I found some trousers that fitted but I wasn't 100% sure. I will probably pick them up later in the week. I spent what seemed like a vast sum on Lancome cosmetics (Hypnose mascara and Teint Rénergie Lift). I don't use them that much so I felt I could justify it.

Last night I thought it was time I watched Captain Corelli's Mandolin. My sister lent it to us years ago and I figured it was time she got it back! It was an enjoyable enough film but it was rather spoiled by the casting. I would not have put Nicholas Cage in the starring role. I have never seen such a wooden performance. There was no chemistry at all between him and Penelope Cruz. In fact he displayed marginally less passion than a frozen chicken! Shame.

Feeling knackered (with a capital 'N'!)

I'm feeling utterly done in at the moment. All last week I was on supervision duty for the GCSE speaking exams. This meant that I was limited in what I could do in terms of my general work. But my general work consisted of the admin for the Year 8 reports and the paperwork for Strasbourg and also 3 day trips to Boulogne aside from the day to day routine stuff. I shall not be sad to wave goodbye to all of this at the end of term. Next week we have an activities week in school. The teachers are all moaning because they have had a really busy time of late and yesterday the Year 11s took their leave of us - exam leave, that is. Some of the 6th form have already gone and next week the Year 10s are on Work Ex. placements. Traditionally next week is the lightest week of the year for anyone who teaches above Year 9. But instead an intensive schedule of activities is planned. So, they are all seeing their arses about it and dragging everyone else into a downward spiral! God bless H who is bright and enthusiastic about the whole project otherwise I might be tempted to seriously maim someone. Hopefully the weekend will revive my drooping spirits!

Busy, busy, busy...

This is the first post for a while. I have been SO busy. The work in the kitchen has been moving on and now we are almost done. Our fitter and mate, A, is away for a couple of weeks now but we are almost done. He still needs to fit the under-cupboard lights, do the tiling and finish the trims for the floor. We need to get our act together and paint the woodwork, remove all the kitcheny stuff from the dining room and restore it to its proper place, buy and fit a blind and some art work, I think to break the monotony of the walls. Well, when I say art work, nothing too fancy in a kitchen - just nice posters in clip frames, I think.

For the past two weeks, I have been frantically catching up on some reading. I had been asked to join a group to decide on some books which could be recommended to people who might wish to explore Christianity without stepping over the threshold of a church. Of course, me being me, I couldn't pace myself over it, I had to cram all nine books into the fortnight! All this and the other little incidentals like work, family, life eating, drinking and other bodily functions! It was like being a student again, an insurmountable task with only a short time in which to do it. There's nothing quite like that surge of adrenalin. Anyway, the meeting was this morning and I managed to finish the last book by about 11.40 last night. I enjoyed it, though, and I've learned so much. It was all very Late Review. Can't decide if I was more Tom Paulin or Germaine Greer.

In the midst of all this, I went to a superb concert at the Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral featuring music from the Sistine Chapel sung by the Sixteen (heavenly!) followed by drinks at the Cafe deli Fratelli to celebrate E's birthday; went shopping with the family; went for a Chinese in Liverpool with some old friends; said 'Au Revoir' to my firstborn as she returned to Uni (the train which spirited her away is shown above) and had my birthday ( 2(7x3)+3 if you are interested!). Lovely pressies including everyday earrings (not a big jewellery freak but needed something to keep the ears open), a little gerbera in a vase ornament for my new study (when it happens!), a fragranced candle, 2 CDs (Corinne Bayley Rae & Ray Lamontagne), Betty Blue DVD and new trainers.

Identity theft...

No, I'm not talking about someone stealing your personal info to apply for loads of loans in your name. This is the twighlight zone type of theft. I saw a film, years ago. It starred, I think, Roger Moore. I can't remember the details too well but the theme made a deep and lasting impression on me. The protagonist nearly lost his life in a car accident. All was well until a little while after the accident when people seemed to be seeing him all over the place when in fact he was elsewhere. Somehow or other when he had had the accident, he split into two people. The worst thing was that his 'doppelganger' was a pretty nasty piece of work and was out to completely eliminate the real guy from his own life.
Well that's a bit how I feel from time to time. I have an associate. A little while back this associate hoodwinked me out of a particular role that I held. Not content to rest with this particular role, this person then went and pushed their way into various other subsidiary roles that I had happily been performing for a number of years. On and off I have struggled with this, but just recently they have been really getting my back up. When they adopted the original role, they enlisted me for 'holiday cover' but in over two years they have carefully avoided taking up the offer, preferring instead that the job goes undone. Difficult circumstances in this person's life led to me overcoming my own reticence and offering them a short sabbatical simply as a supportive gesture - I couldn't do more as I have other commitments now. Again they have not taken the offer in spite of the declining quality to the work that they are doing. So I have kind of grown accustomed to the territorial approach of this person. Just recently, though, everywhere I go, this person is there, too. I had learned to deal with them acting as my own personal haemorrhoid in our own community. But now they are invading all my other places and wheedling in with my other friends. It is truly horrible. My only consolation is that they are not an attractive person in any way. They lack any semblence of personality. They cannot make eye contact with people. They lack any interest in people other than themselves. They go all out to promote themselves in any way they can (well, no-one else would). They are so colourless that they are forced to live their life vicariously through their children in a vain bid to try to make themselves interesting. They cling like a limpet to those that might be useful to them. They elbow into conversation and situations without any regard for protocol.
So part of me wants to say, just give them enough rope to hang themselves. But part of me feels pity for them. They don't have much going for them and their marriage seems pretty lacklustre. There is also an unhappy past, a long stint in a mental hospital as a teenager. So actually they are quite unhappy. And, of course, as a Christian all of this negativity comes between me and the big guy and that grieves me. Life is not such a straightforward game to play sometimes, is it?
Apologies for the pluralised neutral state of this individual. I couldn't think of any other way to maintain 'their' anonymity. But at least it has got it off my chest...until next time.

The outcome...

I finally came off the phone at 10:35 having been on since about 9:15. I finally got through to the 'other' department at 10:15 though thankfully the awful music stopped at 9:59. The chappy here said "Sorry you're having trouble, unfortunately I don't have the facility to process orders so I'm going to put you through to the Sales department." I protested "NO! I've just come from there, I've been on the phone since 9:15. Sales said they can't process online offers. Can't you put me through to someone who can authorise this?" This flummoxed him a bit and he put me on hold. This time the music was 'Morning' from the Peer Gynt Suite by Grieg - soothing music to calm angry customers, presumably. At 9:15 he put me through to Customer Options. At last someone who seemed to know what they were talking about. Lynn gave me the deal I wanted for £3 less per month than I am currently paying (have I been overpaying all this time? How much more could they give?) The only sticking point was the wireless router which had been offered for £30 but she could only do for £50. In the end, she managed to come down so everybody's happy now.

Let's just see if promises are fulfilled...

C.

The trials and tribulations of telephone enquiries

I have been putting this off for about a week now in the vain hope that the order would actually be fulfilled. A minor upgrade to my existing BT Broadband order. The offer arrived inoccuously enough by email - promises of increased connection speeds, monthly download quotas and an optional wireless router. I dutifully followed the links and ordered but two weeks later, nowt! Before venturing onto the phone I tracked the order via the website - no sign, the only option was to phone. I navigated the labyrinth of menus until I finally got through to a human voice. "No," she confirmed, "no sign of your order. I'll put you through to our sales department" So I gave the usual, name, rank and serial number info to the next department. "We can't help with online orders because the offers are different, I'll put you through to another department to see if they can help you." So here I am, multitasking, a phone wedged between head and shoulder and blogging, having been listening to the same awful tune for over 20 mins. Obviously they are very busy today in the "This'll teach the buggers to phone up with an enquiry" department.

What a way to spend the first day of the Easter hols!

Signing off now.

C.

Listening to: Some absolutely dire 80's sax digi-muzak loop - for what seems like a day - nearer 25 mins, actually!

Waiting....

We have been awaiting the arrival of a couple of new sofas - remember from an earlier post, this necessitated a hasty facelift to the back lounge. Well the phone call came through to tell us on Tuesday afternoon that they would be delivered today. We had exhausted all but one possibility for taking delivery of them. Yes, it fell to me to take a day off work. Fortunately I had some scope; technically my holidays fall in the school holidays, having a term time only contract. However, I am not required to work all INSET days. We do have an INSET coming up the day after the Easter break so I said I would work that and take today as a day in lieu. We were unable to pin them down as to a time, even so far as morning or afternoon. Eventually they arrived at 4.30 - half an hour after my normal finish time! The delivery men enlightened me as to the fact that this was the last drop of the day. Funny how they didn't know this yesterday or even this morning. I think I would have preferred to be the first drop of tomorrow's round! Ah well, at least they're here, as you can see.

And how is the kitchen getting on? Well, as you can see, it is looking a bit better, having been plastered and painted. But we have considerably less in the way of furniture. The cooker is kind of, stand alone, which makes cooking a challenge. No handy bits of worktop to rest a spoon or a plate on. It's worse than camping. All the food, including the fridge/freezer is in the dining room next to the kitchen. The cutlery and crockery is all out there too. The pans are in the garage. The other night I was meticulously measuring boiling water into a pan. Only after I'd almost finished did I discover a dead silverfish. Well, I expect he was alive until I immersed him in boiling water!

We have had all the wiring done now so having de-constructed, we will hopefully soon be re-constructing.

See ya!

C

Spring has sprung.

Funny how nature seems to be in on the secret about the clocks going forward. Yesterday I took this photo on my way to work. OK, granted, the sun was not greatly in evidence, but there was something lovely about the morning mist and the bed of naturalised daffodils on the grass verge by the bus stop. I love daffodils, and the way that they grow in this particular location make it one of my favourite spots. There are prettier places in the world, sure, but it is the fact that this spectacle is totally gratis, a pure act of grace, in this mundane spot, make it very special to me. In the same place this morning, I spent a good two or three minutes watching a humble earthworm make the arduous journey from the rough tarmac pavement onto the soft grass. What a superb start to the day!

On the way home I was walking down the road when I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. I turned around and spied a little mouse. Oblivious to me, he trotted along in an unhurried manner, stopped to investigate some potential food source, then scampered up a little sandstone wall into a garden. I got such a good view of his world. He was a very healthy looking little mouse and for a moment I wanted to pick him up and take him home! Of course I wouldn't but I did take with me the blessing of having briefly made his acquaintance. As I travelled onwards toward home the birds competed against each other with their joyous song to a benevolent creator.

Spring has sprung.

Longing to belong...

There is nothing that I want more than to feel that I belong. But I am not part of the crowd. Forever on the outside looking in. All the time wanting to be at the centre and yet desperate to run away once I get there. Nowhere is this more evident than in a church setting. It is hard to 'belong' in the Catholic church as, like the Anglican churches, we have such large congregations in comparison to many of the free churches. If you've a congregation of thirty, it is easy to get to know everyone. In a Catholic church you are extremely lucky if you know thirty people. I want a nice ready-made community - I don't want to have to work for it. And yet here I am, drawn to irrevocably into trying to build community when it is patently obvious that most don't actually want community - they just want to fulfil the weekly obligation and go home. I don't even have the skills or personality to build community but I feel I have to give it a go. I talk the talk a lot. I try to walk the walk but only manage to stagger about aimlessly. I've been making a concerted effort to do this for 7 years now and it's depressing me. I really try to love people, you know, the old agape business, but I get bugger all back. I know it isn't about what you get out of it but the truth is, I need the encouragement. I know some wonderful people who really care, but I still don't really feel I belong.

Yoga and Haworth

I experienced yoga for the first time on Wednesday. I have always fancied having a go, but in recent years I have been slightly put off by the attitude of some of my Christian friends towards it. Frankly, as far as I am concerned, you get out of it what you want to. I am interested in the physical benefits of deep exercise and perhaps even the meditational focus. I believe that if you want to meditate, you can do this with yoga and with a focus on the one true God. To my eyes, approached in this way it is not a million miles away from contemplative prayer in the Christian sense. I am a wee bit bemused by the tendency of some Christians to totally demonise it (and I mean that they do actually believe it is demonic!). But on the other hand, I don't want my friends to think that I might be 'possessèd of a demon'

I felt more comfortable that it was an after work thing at the school and that it was my dear friend K's dad, Mr D, who was taking the class. K is a delight and may I stress, not in the slightest bit demonic! I was honest with her and we discussed it together. She found it really strange. I was encouraged by the fact that C was also going and she is a practising Methodist/URC hybrid. She thought the whole thing was hogwash and made the jolly good point that all goodness has its source in God anyway. So I went and I enjoyed it - except maybe when the Year 9 footy team traipsed in to the hall to get their bags. We were in the process of doing this pushing your abdomen in and out thing while your lungs are emptied of air. Mr D showed his belly to demonstrate this. There was a visible movement for him. My own experience, and I believe, that of many of my classmates, was a mild sensation of quivering belly blubber! Thankfully no bare flesh was on show from us but we made a curious sight to the lads!

Today I went on a trip with the Head of English and some 6th Form English Literature students to Bronte country. This was to enrich their study of the novel Wuthering Heights. A trip to the parsonage, a short talk on the novel and a walk on the moor has hopefully given them a sense of the brooding and often bleak environment in which Emily concocted her famous novel. The story of the Brontes is fascinating. For 3 sisters (ie WOMEN) to all be published novelists, of such a high standard, given their sheltered upbringing and lack of formal education in those times is an astounding achievement. How such creativity could flourish in Haworth, which was as impoverished and unhealthy as some of the poorer districts of London of that time, is nothing short of miraculous.

The quote of the day goes to one likely lad who was looking at posters advertising the showing of the film, Jane Eyre, and commented, "Jane Eyre - did she live round here as well?" I managed to stifle my guffaws which is more than can be said for some of his pals!

It's the way they tell 'em!

Getting plastered...

Well, we are finally getting our kitchen sorted out. We got an extension to Chéz H about four years ago and our kitchen, with its authentic 1980's chic was in serious need of a facelift. It wasn't until our kitchen fitter's wife, a long term employee of M&S commented that the wallpaper looked like such and such a range that Marksie's used to stock, that the awful realisation dawned on me. It was, indeed, the same design that was on a pair of tea trays that I bought when we first married - some 25 years ago! Later that evening I began to tear bits of the paper off the wall to ensure that there was no going back.

The job is not wildly straightforward. The kitchen was once two small rooms, a kitchen and a breakfast room, on two levels. The floor had been levelled off but the ceilings were still different heights and there was a dip in the corner for the stairwell. Added to this, when the extension was built, we moved the boiler into the garage. This meant that we had horrendous piping (à la ship's boiler room) over the dining room door which had to be boxed in, leading to a somewhat pig's ear appearance. All of these different levels on the ceilings and walls tended to cast a lot of shadows and darken the appearance of the room. This has all been levelled off properly now and so even now it looks brighter.

We also, rather impulsively, decided to renew our sofas in the back lounge. But if you are going to do that, you might as well freshen the room up a bit. So we are going to give it a lick of paint. Hopefully we can manage this before the sofas arrive! To dull the effort and monotony of such chores His Lordship likes to treat himself to the occasional little gift. This time it was a disposable boiler suit. On Saturday he merrily donned himself in his new acquisition. I naturally thought he had intentions to do some work in the lounge but there was not a great deal of evidence of this. This morning I asked him, "So, when you got changed into your paper boiler suit, what did you do, exactly?" "You mean workwise?" I nodded and he mumbled something about the loft and lots of dust. "So, you were just poncing about in it?" His embarrassed laugh said it all. Well, if you can't dress up in a paper suit and pretend to be a forensic investigator in the comfort of you own home...

Of course, what usually happens when you are up to your eyes in muck and bullets? The boiler packs in. We spent a week with no boiler, the front door open all day, holes in the ceiling of the (uninsulated) kitchen ceiling and arctic winds. And £200 for the pleasure of it!

Busy and expensive times.

Take that, you brutes!

I cannot believe the hyperbole surrounding Take That. I mean, they threw in the towel years back to "pursue solo projects" so it was hardly a marriage made in Heaven, was it? They all had a go at something - Gary Barlow had a crack at a solo career, as did Mark Owen, Jason Orange had a bash at acting and I don't know about the ugly one. I guess the royalties must have been running a bit low and Gary needed the cash for a bit of roofing at his impressive home in Delamere. When I heard they were getting back together I thought it might be a one-off novelty concert for Comic Relief or something rather than full blown tours and recording. But no, there were thousands of women of a certain age, who should know better, clamouring for tickets. I was amazed that Beverley Knight was supporting them on tour - surely it should have been the other way around. Anyway, they are a far cry from the fresh-faced boy band they once were (they started that whole awful awful boy band thing - they have a lot to answer for!) They are four, slightly worse for wear looking blokes now. I have to take my hat off to them though, what a clever comment for the postmodern age! They are their own dodgy tribute band! Fake That.

In a confused mood...

The past few days I've been in a confused mood. When I am feeling disgruntled with events in the local church, I go seeking reassurance elsewhere. I don't mean I try a bit of hinduism or wicca or even other churches; I seek to find solace in the greater Catholic church. That is possibly the worst thing you can do in these situations. In 2007 it should be easier than ever to sample the great expanse of Catholic wisdom with the plethora of bloggers out there. So, I'm like, looking for a Catholic blogger who might speak words of comfort to me. Believe me, I have trawled through tons of them in the past few days and it has, at best, been boring and, at worst, an alarming experience. I am sure these people cannot be reflective of the whole church. Where are all the reasonable Catholics? Catholicism may have more rules and regulations than all the other churches put together but we also have conscience. The trouble is that the reasonable Catholics have problems exercising that conscience for fear of the the fascists out there. We have a crisis in vocations at the moment so it is good to see, via the blog medium, that there are a number of young men who are willing to take up the baton and if they are not already in seminary, they are actively engaged in the discernment process. What is scary is the extremist nature in which they choose to express their faith through their blogs. Actually a lot of the more mature priest bloggers are no better. I shudder to think of the damage, actual and potential, which is being done to congregations in the western world. Is this the latest ploy to adjust the priest/lay person ratio? We are having no luck in the vocations department so let's decimate the church-going public. I feel very little of God's extravagent grace once it has been filtered through the medium of these men in black and the church's answer to the Hitler youth.

If you want to avoid fascist Catholic blogs (or find them, if you are a fascist Catholic!) a fairly good rule of thumb is to avoid anything with a Latin name. Other warning signs are ones which have cheesy representations of the Virgin Mary - you know the type. What is it about Roman Catholics? We have always championed art and creativity as a suitable way to glorify God and have a tremendous wealth of Christian art but we still prefer mass produced kitsch. The latest to take up residence in the Catholic psyche is the appalling 'Divine Mercy" image shown above. There are a few variations on this theme doing the rounds but this seems to be the VHS to the others' Betamax and Philips 2000, to use a technological analogy. It follows a basic specification revealed by God to St Faustina. Personally I can't stand the thing. There is something in the almond shaped eyes that reminds me of those grotesque Japanese animé characters.

I blame Mel Gibson for popularising a nostalgic image of the pre-Vatican 2 church. He should stick to acting.

The good thing is that I come out feeling the better the "devil" you know than the "devil" you don't. I'm quite lucky really - at least I don't encounter many fascists in my congregation.

Well waddya know?

Guess what? I'm in. I have been offered a place on the PGCE and I've accepted it. So just a few more months in my job now until I leave to go back to college.
So may I introduce you to my hand picked project team who will assist me in this next stage of my life. Meet Classy the Beanie Bear. She upholds all standards in teaching, professional and moral, and will work closely with me as my mentor next year (she may only be a soft toy but believe me she will prove to be an infinitely superior mentor to the one I had in my first teaching practice five years ago!) Classy was a gift to me from my nearest and dearest when I got on my last PGCE which, as you recall, ended up being an aborted mission. Shame-faced, I have had to pass her each day sitting on my shelf. At last Classy can once again take up her rightful place at the helm of the good ship 'Initial Teacher Training'. At Classy's right (as we look at her) you will see Alien. Alien was a great moral support to me last time round. As you can see, he is armed with a pink gun. He may look a bit camp but don't be deceived, he is the champion of behaviour management and will once again be acting as my guru in this particular area. He's never had to use that gun but...

Does anyone know where I might be able to pick up a Rainbow fish story sack...?

The Interview

Well I went for the interview. I was a bit apprehensive about the speaking Spanish, as I said in an earlier post. You know what it is like at these things.

"Yah, my name's Jocasta. I haven't spoken Spanish for ages - it's six months since I was travelling through Ecuador and Chile. Though I did spend two years working in an orphanage in Nicaragua - but that was back in 2003. Amazing!!"

With this in mind I did have three lessons with a lovely lady from Colombia - one of the major advantages of living in a multicultural society! Anyhow, having tackled a ton of mock interview questions and learned important vocabulary like didáctica, metodología and pedagógico the conversation consisted of little more than 'hello, how are you, where did you do your degree?' in Spanish, of course. It was a bit like speed dating as they raced to get through about 5 of us in half a minute.

The written test was a piece of cake.

Then we had to read a story, or at least a passage to a small group. This was the funny bit. The invitation letter had said that you could use visual aids but not OHP transparencies. I made a conscious effort not to go in for any gimmicry so just went with book in hand. Everyone else took it as read that visual aids were de rigeur and at the very least had a cardboard fish or a few bits of A4 to waft around at appropriate points. What did we do before clipart? One girl was obviously working as a classroom assistant and had clearly raided the resource cupboard before the interview because she brought 'a story sack' containing all manner of goodly things to make one boring story a cross-curricular fest to last at least two terms! The main item was, of course, the Literacy Hour big book "This is Rainbow fish. See how his scales shimmer as he moves through the water..." Yawn!!! There was even a glove puppet for Rainbow Fish. She had a lever arch file bursting under the strain of all of the lessons she had done with good old Rainbow Fish and his cronies! In years to come some kid will, no doubt, do Post-Doctoral research in Nuclear Physics in reference to Rainbow-bloody-Fish! I did wonder at one point whether I should have said, "Normally I use a ventriloquist's dummy called Kyle to present this story" but thought better of it. Best laugh of the day was the girl who arrived with a goat under her arm - not a real one, I hasten to add, but a large cardboard cut-out. I wondered if she had brought it on public transport and whether she would have to pay a fare for it! Utterly surreal.

The interview went oddly, really. There was I, prepared to talk about the Primary Languages Strategy, Accelerated Learning, Assessment for Learning, Every Child Matters and other such DFES goodies and they kept asking me crappy questions about working with other adults in the classroom. It was hard to try to get the conversation round to what I wanted to talk about. Ah well, in the words of Doris Day, que será, será.

Let's just play the waiting game now. I should know by Friday.

The yoof of today...?

What has been in the air the past couple of days? Working in an all boys school is lively at the best of times but since the beginning of the week something has gotten into them. At lesson changeover, it has been impossible to take more than 10 paces along the corridor without tripping over boys wrestling with each other. I have lost count of the number of seasoned teachers who have verbalised the desire to pack it all in and do something less stressful. The mess above was left in a classroom after lunchtime registration. Three tables were completely upturned. This was done by the Year 10 form, a largely pleasant and amiable bunch spoiled by a small group with mildly thuggish tendencies. Unable to find any pastoral staff at that moment (our school is quite big - roughly 1500) and with a class outside waiting to get started, I took this photo on my phone for evidence. This picture may surprise those who haven't been into a secondary school since their own school days, 20, 30 or perhaps even just 10 years ago. Is this an accurate reflection of schools/young people in the UK in 2007? I don't know, I have only this to go on. I know it stands in stark contrast to my own experience of school as a pupil in the 1970s. It is not uncommon for boys to drop litter on the floor and when challenged about it, say "No, that's what cleaners are for." It is even less unusual for the polite request of a teacher to be met with a blatant refusal. I remember hearing a supply teacher address the class she was taking (and she was a very good teacher) "I know I don't deserve your respect but I hope I can earn it". This differs somewhat from my own view. I have always felt that everyone I meet starts with a credit in the respect account. Whether that credit grows or diminishes depends on subsequent experience. The saddest thing is that my own reflections lead me to believe that my own generation is to blame, wanting to give our children the things that we never had and in so doing creating self-obssessed, shallow individuals who are oblivious to the fact that anything worth having is probably worth waiting for and that everybody should be valued irrespective of the role that they have in society. We seem to live in an age when nothing less than instant gratification will do.

I'm sorry if this sounds rather negative. Let me redress the balance somewhat. When you feel terribly let down by youngsters, it is usually -no, it is always their peers who redeem the situation. It's the chirpy little individual who doesn't know the value of his "hiya Miss". It is the vast, vast majority who, though some may need their rough edges smoothing out a bit, win the day and will grow up to be fine citizens. You always have to keep that basic fact in mind.

Happy 2007!!!

I wonder what this year will hold for us all. Well, surprise of surprises, I have been invited for an interview for the PGCE primary course on February 14th. That is great - at least if I bomb out at the interview I will know why. There is just the minor stumbling block of having to have part of the interview in Spanish. I haven't spoken Spanish properly since 2001 and I would never have classed myself as the super fluent type since I didn't take a year out in Spain when I did my degree. I did, however, spend 3 delightful weeks in Malaga staying with a lovely family and attending a language school each morning. The good news is that our German assistant in school is going to ask around her Hispanic friends to see if they will do some conversation practice with me. Meanwhile, I will be blasting my eardrums with Spanish via some of my old university tapes and any Spanish songs I can get my hands on. Not forgetting the old vocab cards and grammar exercises. Oh, the joys of the subjunctive voice!!

Apart from that things are a bit quiet.

Miscellaneous drivel...

Well the official notification from GTTR (the Graduate Teacher Training Registry) finally arrived on Monday. It has taken me until today to finally log on to track my application's progress. Last year I was checking every 5 minutes. Let's wait and see what happens. I'm a bit nervous since I have applied for Primary Education with a Spanish specialism and I think they get a native speaker to phone you up and speak to you in Spanish before inviting you to interview. My Spanish was never exactly brilliant but I would be hard pressed to hold a conversation in the present tense these days! Would you believe that they didn't do any such thing when I applied to do Secondary! So presumably it is OK to not be able to speak the lingo if you are hoping to teach it to A Level students but not if you are looking to teach little tots in Year 6! Of course, as I always say, you just sneeze and find yourself on a secondary PGCE course. I think these primary courses with a language are funded partly by European Union money so you have to do a month long placement in Spain and 'buddy' up with a Spanish trainee. I must admit, I don't relish the prospect of leaving the family behind for a month but if that is what's needed I'll just have to bite the bullet. Anyway, there's a long way to go before then.

At work, I am currently supervising the kids who are doing mock speaking exams as they prepare their role play. Several days of being cooped up in a small room with two lads (a different two every 10 minutes) and issuing instructions which are getting more like the air cabin crew safety instructions by the hour. There is the odd thing to break the monotony - such as the delightful little blighter who left his calling card in the room when he went off to his exam. It was the smell of pure fear, I think! What is it about teenage boys? Do they all have defective flatulence retention reflexes? And what on earth do they eat?

I've got this 'thing' on at church tomorrow. It's a poetry evening. People come along and read their own poems or their favourites and we try to get some musicians to do a little musical interlude now and again. I've done a little PowerPoint to some music and I am a bit anxious about it. PowerPoint never seems to run the same on different machines. They all run at different speeds and synchronising the words and pictures is a nightmare. I think I've sorted that now but we've only just acquired a projector. I don't know how to sort out the audio side of things so I am hoping someone will be able to link the thing up to an amplifier. I will have to take advice. Anyway, I've been out to buy the wine so the key is to get everyone at least mellow so that they won't even notice! (Is that ethical, in a church?)

Of course this Thursday is a lousy night for me to have to be involved in something like this. Given a choice I would have preferred Wednesday of next week. I will have to dash home at the end and sort out a bag of clothes. I am off to Newcastle straight from work on Friday to see my baby girl up in Newcastle. We're gonna have a girly weekend together. So that's something to look forward to.

C.

Divine Guidance needed...

A few years back I started a teacher training course. I just didn't feel at all comfortable with it and left. I was trying to teach French to teenagers, most of whom didn't have the slightest interest in learning it. The PGCE consists of hoop-jumping to the nth degree. Every lesson has to be planned to the minute with cross references to the many parts of the National Curriculum which have been addressed. Other boxes to be ticked include 'Spiritual, moral and cultural', 'Health & Safety', ICT amongst other things. Resources have to be created (these days a little worksheet doesn't seem to cut the mustard - it has to be at least PowerPoint but preferably something for the interactive whiteboard). But these have to have something to challenge, inspire and produce progress from everybody from Homer Simpson to Albert Einstein and everyone in between irrespective of their Aspergers, ADHD, Emotional and Behavioural problems or plain old disaffectedness. Or ordinariness, for that matter. Afterwards, for every lesson, you have to apply liberal amounts of sack cloth and ashes and get a big stick to beat yourself with. This is better known as the lesson evaluation. One night, gazing into the abyss and seeing what the rest of my life could consist of, I decided to throw in the towel.

Having now spent a few years in education in an administrative support role ('Remodelling the Workforce') I have had a chance to see at close quarters what teaching consists of and to get to grips with educational jargon. It is no longer alien to me. I have also seen that the Government's much vaunted 'career paths' for support staff in schools are not going to materialise - that would require money. I figured I was ready to have another go at the massive box ticking exercise that is teacher training. So, I decided to apply for a Primary PGCE place. In spite of many years of experience as a mum/helper with primary age children in a school setting (though my work experience is in a secondary setting) I was knocked back on not having enough up to date experience. It seems that in spite of claiming to encourage 'mature' adults to become teachers, they first have to renounce their right to a full-time, wage-earning job to do so (and, by extension, pension rights - a big ask if you want my opinion!). I am lucky in that my Headteacher was incredibly supportive and was at the time allowing me to take time out to spend time in local primaries. But as my experience was not there at the time of filling in the form, the teacher training college (they call themselves a university these days, but personally I'm not so sure!) didn't take it into consideration.

I had happily forgotten about it all until last week when the college sent me the feedback form from my last application. I already knew the reasons but this letter just unsettled me. I had decided to leave it alone. I don't know whether this is what God wants for me and no amount of prayer and asking the question seems to produce the answers I need. I have decided I will apply but if I get the knockback again, I know it is not meant for me.

Watch this space.

C

Desperately seeking me...

Just returned from Greenbelt and utterly inspired but not entirely sure what to do with all that inspiration. I wish I could know who I am. I don't seem to fit into any neat category. I'm really interested in all of the alternative worship stuff that is happening at the moment. The really interesting thing is that we in the Catholic church have always done the art and symbolism stuff but it is being rediscovered by the new movements who have their roots in the Protestant tradition (I'm sure they must be ostracised by the hardliners). Perhaps we can pick up on some of this to give our worship a new twist. Purely by chance I discovered a great blog by a guy called Jonny Baker who is involved with Grace (who were at Greenbelt), an emerging church in London. Also turns out he is heavily involved with the worship at Greenbelt. Also turns out he is married to one Jenny Baker who gave a talk on prayer at Spring Harvest when I was there a few years back (2002, I think). It was a double header with Pete Greig of 24-7 Prayer.

Sadly, though, being a Catholic does not give you much opporunity to use all this stuff. We just don't have that flexibility to muck about with the liturgy. Plus, we have to be careful of the 'thought police', that particular brand of sad wierdo who actually believes that God is interested in phariseeic (is that a word?) 'i' dotting and 't' crossing - and if they don't get any joy from God they will think nothing of escalating the matter to the Bishop or even the Holy Father himself! Surely it was for individuals such as these that the phrase 'Get a life!' was coined!

I'm thinking of approaching people in some of the other churches locally to see if we could do some non-denominational worship services which could incorporate some of this stuff. If only God will let me have an extra few hours in a day! I get what little energy that I have from my interactions with Christians from many different traditions. If I were to isolate myself in a Catholic bubble I would dry up spiritually. Keeping the lines of communication up with friends in other churches is my way of living out Christ's call to unity. I'm too dumb to understand the finer points of theology, but I do know that when we all work together, the vibe is great.

God Bless.