Well Read

The front page of the Times is full of misunderstanding. This is not that unusual. From the lofty position at the top of the news building, fronted by London Bridge and backed by the Shard, it can be difficult for the editor of the Times to understand everyday reality but rarely is is so starkly illustrated. 

There are often stories about how there are jobs for the unemployed, if only they’d “get on their bikes” and look for them, which is nearly always wrong. Normally, they’d leave insider trading stories alone because you don’t drop your friends in it but if it’s about Essex criminal buying flats in Dubai from prison then the term can be adopted with impunity. 

Do you remember Section 28? It was a piece of homophobic legislation that banned teachers from sympathetically answering confused children’s question. The Times seems to think that in the few dying months the Conservative Party can remain in power they will pass a dictat that is Section 28 for those who are triggered by transgender people. According to the article teachers must not talk about sex until children are 13 but must teach about online dangers, including revenge porn. Now, I wonder how that’s possible.

If all this wasn’t confusing enough, the front page also shows the first portrait of the King. I imagine the initial conversation went something like this.

‘Does your Highness have any wishes to how he is portrayed?’

‘Hmmm. One should appear well-read.’

My face in now well red at the joke that I’m sure many other people have made.

Looking with a naked eye

 Do we ever really see everything? Some things are too small to be seen with the naked eye. Most are too small for my naked eye. Thank goodness for contact lenses.

On the sixth anniversary of my mum's death, after a week of rollercoaster emotions (that I will vehemently deny because 'Really? You should be over this by now.') the sky filled with colours and it was a Eurovision that caused everyone to be united by song. 

One of my grief quirks is that I look to the sky for messages on anniversaries. It makes absolutely no sense and I chastise myself over this thought.

'What on earth are you thinking? Why are you even looking?'

'Well', you never know, do you?'

'You do. You don't believe in an afterlife.'

'I know... but... there was that heart shaped cloud....and the polo.'

'A polo? That's a stretch. Why would you interpret a cloud with a hole in the middle as a polo?'

'Well, Mum loved mints. If she was going to send a message it could be a polo.'

'Look, even if there was an afterlife what makes you think your parents are suddenly wielding such enormous power that they can move clouds?'

'Now you put it like that.'

And then I come back to my senses. Except that on the day before the 6th anniversary I had reached a hyper-state that out performed even the twitchiest of kids I teach and so when I went to bed I crashed and actually slept. In the morning of the anniversary I woke to see that Mum had filled the sky with pinks, purples and greens and I had missed it.

'How could you?' I berated myself, 'She went to all that trouble and you just slept. You don't normally sleep, why did you choose that night?'

'I know. I can't believe it. Northern Lights too and those pictures on Facebook look amazing.'

I wondered about Mum's choice of sky message. They had been to stay at the Ice Hotel (blooming freezing) and been on a snowmobile (I'm never letting your dad drive that fast again) and been very disappointed with the half-hearted Northern Lights display. She would watch the news of Northern Lights being seen in Scotland or off the North Yorkshire coast and complain that she'd been 'all that way and they're so much better in the UK.' They were so disappointing she hadn't even bothered to take photos.  

Anniversary days are never as bad as you think they'll be. The sun shined and I was left alone to read, walk, clean the house and collect cheese for the Eurovision cheese-fest. 

The Eurovision song contest is may favourite political event of the year. If you look carefully, even with a naked eye, you can predict future wars. Countries that are likely to come to blows in the future make fun of each other, or vote for the other, despite it being the worst song in the world and occasionally someone has a punch-up and gets banned. This year’s Eurovision was “United in Song” only if you looked with the naked eye. Any kind of visual aid would have highlighted the divisions. The Irish ballet dancing witch had a runic message tattooed on her face (Ceasefire in the rehearsals), boos were blended out in the audio as Israel performed (although they got loads of public votes). Europapa wasn’t able to perform because of an “incident”.  Ukraine sent a message of peace to Russia and this year they didn’t retaliate with bombing the singer's home city despite the fact they weren't allowed to perform as the EBC aren't on their side in their war. Thank goodness Palestine aren't allowed to compete as they aren't in Europe, unlike Israel, so they were saved from having to pick a side. I might need better glasses to understand all of this, however, mine, do allow me to see just how wonderful it is to have the country known for peace being the runaway winner. 

During the boring bit my son rang from the station and enquired, politely about the possibilty of a lift. It was the quiet time I needed after the excitement. Driving back into Maldon the sky looked lighter towards the estuary.

'Oh, look, it's lighter over there. Maybe there'll be more Northern Lights and I won't have missed them,' I said to my son hopefully.

'That could be them,' he said, 'You do know that you can barely see them with the naked eye? You need a camera to pick up the wavelengths.' (This was a much more detailed and scientific reply, which I am sparing you in case your head also explodes.) 

I laughed.

So, Mum went all the way to Norway to see the Northern Lights, saw them and was so unimpressed she didn't even take a photo and if she had it could have looked like Facebook did this morning? Well, that's quite a sixth anniversary message.

Not Northern Lights

Here we go - Eurovision (Live-ish Blog)

 The cheese is ready, the score sheet prepared and we are ready and we are off to Malmo. The only thing we are waiting for is the rest of the family to arrive, so the TV is on pause and we will be a little behind.

Sweden - Marcus & Martinus - Unforgettable

Forgettable twins in a grid of flashing lights and numbers. Dance music. It's meant to be great staging but  too flashy for me. In fact the whole thing is making me a bit twitchy tonight 

Ukraine - Jerry Heil - Teresa & Maria

Fire and water. Gladiator in a bandage, climbing a rock from the water with fire. Oh I like this rapper. She's a Japanese warrior. 

Germany - Isaak - Always on the Run

I hope he's got some marshmallows. That's quite a fire. Quite a catchy tune. I love the lighted farts of Eurovision. I'm glad to see  the tradition hasn't stopped. Boring costume but he has nice painted nails. 

We still miss Terry. Sorry Graham but you are not Terry.

Luxembourg - Tali - Fighter

This was the year 6 French class choice I believe. More lighted farts and workout clothes. Great plaits. Look at those killer pussy cats! It has an Egyptian feel too. Very 90s classic Eurovision. We like this too. You want chocolate now. I'd go for a fighter bar.

Netherlands - Joost Klein - Europapa

Disqualified for hitting someone backstage because they dissed his Euro Papa

Israel - Eden Golan - Hurricane

Controversial to include Israel anyway but this is boring on every level. Bandages are very 2024. Boring wails. Not a fan.

Lithuania - Silvester Beslt - Luktelk

 I like his costume and the nose jewellery. E17 vibes.  His name is popular in this house. 

Now we've caught up we can concentrate on the presenters. A goodie and a baddie. Black and white. We are loving the boob slash. I'm 92 but not deaf - I'm going to adopt that as a catchphrase.

Spain - Nebulossa - Aorra

Reclaim the foxes! A year younger than Kylie. I'm sorry Graham but that is old!  Look! Little keyboard guitars. We always give extra points for instruments. This is a proper throwback.  She looks a lot older than Kylie. This is very popular in the auditorium. Oh wow! Bottoms. The LSH is wondering when Eurovision got so gay. Shush. Don't tell him. OOOH. Splits. Go Mary. That is a Eurovision classic. That gets 10 from me in the Eurovision vibe section of my score sheet. 

Estonia - Smiinustx Puuluup - Narkootikumidest

This makes me want to dance. I like the traditional instruments. Full admiration to the sunglasses indoors. Break out those dancefit moves. Look at the big boys in the background is the quote in the room. Bon Jovi and Simon Pegg.

Ireland - Bambi Thug - Doomsday Blue

Pagan witch. Great name. Goth witch has a lovely sweet tone to her voice. Maleficent vibes. She must be a ballet dancer. Freaky teeth. A Bucks Fizz costume whip off. Blink and you miss it. That could have gone horribly wrong. I want to pass her some cheese. That's quite a scream. Crown the witch or not. Grunge isn't for us.

Latvia - Dons - Hollow

Jasper Carrot in a blue fake muscle top. This is the Bond entry. He has a nice ring. We are chatting through this but I like the tree. Harlow. A proper Essex entry. 

Greece - Marina Satti - Zari

We usually like Greece but the purple nappy and TikTok live vibe isn't doing it for me. Chunky dancers. Floating above finished buildings that's less Greek than you'd imagine. Pass the feta and olives.

United Kingdom - Olly Alexander - Dizzy

I thought he was an actor but he was a singer first. I really like him but this is not good. He doesn't have the voice for a stadium of this size. The crowd are not listening. Are we heading for another nul points? That was a much better job than he did in the semi finals. Oh Graham. You are delusional. We all know how it will do. It will bomb.

Norway GAte - Ulveham

Instantly forgettable.

Italy - Angelina Mango - La Noia

I do like it when there are trees. She's scoring fairly high on how attractive she is with the men in the room but the women are less impressed with the ugly boots. More chunky dancers. Explosive farts. 

Serbia - Teya Dora - Ramonda

A flower. It's snowing. 2nd rock of the night. We are talking about other things.

Finland - Windows95Man - No Rules!

Graham has embraced the silly. I love silly. Not Lukas Graham or that horrible man that does through the keyhole - Keith Lemon. This is so brilliant. This would have won in 2001. Proper belly laughs her. It's a good song too. This is our winner. No contest. Even the jean dress is great. firework wires!! We love this so much. NO RULES. The jury vote will do badly but we love it. 

Portugal - Iolanda  - Grito 

Hospital vibes about this. We got bored and paused her to clear away the cheese. I like her make up. Dance group with heads completely covered - it's the shame.  That's a power note. Don't you hate it when the padding comes out of your bikini.

Amenia - Ladaviva - Jako

Miming trumpet player. What board game is this? Ludo? Fake lute - no strings. JESUS! We liked this. 

Cyprus - Silia Kapis - Liar

Australian Cypriot. Holly Vallance before she married a very rich man and became the most right wing person you can imagine. How did this get through? Tie dye lightshow is quite cool. The song is catchy. 

Switzerland - Nemo - The Code

I love the outfit. This is a great song. Chanelling their inner Mikka. Love a skort and feather jacket combo and the platform work is brilliant. This has to be the winner. Surely. Great core. Whoever found Nemo deserves all the prizes. 

Slovenia - Raiven - Veronika

The boys are initially impressesd but the the costume isn't going to get many points they might as well not have bothered. It's a whiny song. Snake tattoo. 

Graham? Are you OK? You aren't saying much this year.  Wail. 

Croatia - Baby Lasagne - Rim Tim Tagi Dim

Ramstein meets Adam and the Ants. Grapevine dancing. It's a drum beat - Rim Tim Tagi Dim. Explosive farts. We like this. There's no going back my anxiety attacks. We can relate to these lyrics. 

This was also a favourite of the French class. 

Georgia - Nutsia Baladze - Firefighter

This could grow on you if you listen to it enough. She has the power voice. She-ra.

France - Slimane - Mon Amour

I think he's got tummy ache. Gauze top. It took someone in this room a long time to get the word gauze. That is an incredible vocal. 

Austria - Kaleen - We will rave

She has demons in her hair. Do I spy a new Sparkle Club outfit? The cameraman had a stroke as she was chucked around. Catchy - we will rave.

My scores

Jury votes

Switzerland , France, Croatia, Italy top 4.

Zero points for the UK from the public.

Eurovision found Nemo!

 

Who needs a critical inner voice?

 I have a love-hate relationship with self help books. I've read them all. I can feel the fear and do it anyway, win friends and influence people or have seven habits. I can calm my monkey mind, I know where my cheese is and I can hold my clutter and ask if it sparks joy. I want to improve myself. It seems important but it's so irritating. So many sentences start with. "Ask yourself..." and if I had the answers I wouldn't be reading the books.

The books firmly warn about the critical inner voice but I wonder if it is there for a reason. If the little voice that puts you down is pointless then why is it so persistent? My current read, called 'You've got this' which I read in the voice of a 20 something black woman from South London (don't ask, I don't know) is very critical of my critical inner voice, so I've been trying.  

I was determined that I wasn't going to let my mind say anything negative about myself all day. One day had to be possible, surely?

Morning break. First warm day of the year. Children wildly overly excited, bringing woodlice to see me, licking their hands clean of satsuma juice before holding my hand to take me to show me where a bee is on the ground. Two girls, desperate to be chosen to ring the bell, barely leave my side. After 10 minutes one of them starts a conversation that isn't, 'Can I ring the bell?'

Girl: You've cut your hair,

Me: I've had it cut, yes,

Girl: Hmmm

Me: .......

Girl: It doesn't look as bad as it did before.

Me: Oh.

Girl: I suppose.

Me: .....

Girl: Less knotty. It should be less knotty. Easier to brush.

I told my colleague and she said, 'Oh children. They have no filter. They just can't help telling the truth.'

Come back my own critical inner voice. I think I preferred you. You didn't care about my hair.

School Holidays

 Sometimes I write a blog to remove the splinters from my bum. If there's an issue that's doing the social media rounds and I find that I can't join either side then I'm on the fence and that's never a comfortable place to sit. So, I do a Boris Johnson and write about it to get some perspective. Obviously, whatever side I come down on I'm not going to write it on a bus and try to convince you to feel the same way and I urge you to ignore everything I write if you wish.

It is summer holiday booking season. A very stressful time. Especially, if, like me, you find making decisions impossible. This stress has pushed a barrage of social media posts about how children should be allowed to take a holiday in term time in front of my eyes and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

The pressure to take an annual trip abroad is huge and I remember when our children were young the financial burden was almost crippling.  Even if you opt for a break within the UK, during the school summer holidays the prices are 50% higher. Sometimes, companies charging so much more at these times feels criminal but it is a simple economic decision of supply and demand and the fact that the world is set up to benefit the rich and penalise the poor should never be a surprise.  The government has a petitions scheme, whereby if 100,000 people sign online they will 'consider the issue for debate.' There is currently a petition that has over 150,000 signatures with another 5 months to run. I think this means that the government will respond in a few days, rather than waiting until the petition closes.

Just because they have to respond does not mean that they have to debate it. There was a petition in 2015 and another in 2017 that got the required numbers quickly but it wasn't taken to a house of commons debate. The government, instead responded with details about why they wouldn’t change the policy, which included lost test cases at the Supreme Court.

Fining parents for poor school attendance isn’t new. I have been transcribing my local court records from 1901 this week and there are several parents brought to our courts by the school attendance officer, Mr Ainger. These parents were just as cross that they couldn’t keep their kids at home to help in the bakery or at the blacksmith shop, arguing that they were getting a better ‘education’ from that. They may have been right but a school education is supposed to widen the opportunities. 

The current argument is that a holiday is a widening opportunity, which could also be true. Seeing the pyramids close up, or kayaking down the Zambezi river might be an educational experience but if we are honest, for most kids, watching their parents get drunk round the pool on all inclusive pina coladas is probably less useful than a week in school when they are learning to tell the time.  

As I work in a school I am very aware of how much is packed into a curriculum. There is so much that children are supposed to ‘know’ by the time they leave primary school that there is not enough time to catch up those who have missed a week.  This is a problem in itself because without time for practice, knowledge can never fully embed into a small brain but that is probably an argument for another blog. 

The argument that missing two weeks of school is insignificant is not backed up by studies that show educational outcomes (ie exams passed) are lower the less someone is in school and that starts from the moment they begin. These studies also show that as little as a two week holiday appears to make a difference. This is why there is such a push for 100% attendance, making schools a Petri dish of live germs. (Again, a subject for another blog)

So far, it sounds as though I’m against holidays in term time and you are wondering why I needed a blog on the subject. However, there is more to children and families than exam results. If a  holiday in Ibiza is going to create a happier home life then that could have a greater impact on their ability to learn. 

From my lofty position of being able to afford a holiday in one of the 12 weeks we are not in school, I probably do think that children should take holidays during that time. Apart from anything else, it really breaks up that long 6 weeks. 

However, I’m not sure fines are the way to stop it.

A fine is such a blunt weapon. Does it ever change a person’s behaviour? Am I more likely to drive slower in residential areas because I’ve seen the advert where the creepy looking child dies or because I might get a fine? Wouldn’t it be best for the school to explain exactly what their child would be missing that won’t be repeated? Also, fines seem to me to always make a problem, caused by poverty, worse. 

I have seen several comments on the petition link where people are suggesting that this is just a money making exercise for schools or that teachers can take time off for strikes or non pupil days or close the school if the building falls down, so why is it worse for the parent to decide to keep their child out?

I was shocked at the venom that was being shot towards teachers, as if any of this was in their control.

The decision about whether to allow time off remains with the headteacher. They are ‘allowed’ to authorise time off for a holiday (in exceptional circumstances) but when Ofsted comes in, the school will be rated ‘inadequate’ and the head’s ability to make further decisions will be removed.  It is also the headteacher’s decision to refer the parent to the local authority who will then issue a ‘fixed penalty notice’ (fine). The school I work in rarely does this, as far as I’m aware, preferring to work with parents. Large academy trusts, however, are likely to have a system where the referral is automatically triggered by the code that, by law, has to be put on the register. Schools are now expected to run as businesses and for most schools the way to save money is to have all admin tasks done remotely and work in large groups, who can share costs. The personal, decision making touch is lost.

As far as I know, the school will see none of this fine money. All money from fines goes into the government’s ‘consolidated fund’ - their general bank account. 

The other problem that worries me is that this fine of £80 is encouraging some people to book a holiday in term time. People who can afford a vacation in the holiday period are working out that £80 is a small price to pay for the saving they get on their holiday. 

If you are the person that angrily wrote that your child’s school was closed due to crumbling concrete and you had to take time off work but then you aren’t allowed a holiday then I’m thinking you are angry at the wrong thing. Your child's teacher didn't make the decision that your child should stay at home. Schools shouldn’t be falling about around your children’s ears. Burst water pipes, broken heating, staff having nervous breakdowns  the lack of glue sticks are all due to chronic underfunding that has been going on since 2010. This is what deserves our attention and fury. 

I will keep watching the government website and if they do debate the issue and make any changes, I will let you know. However, I am reminded of the joke that is also doing the rounds on TeacherTok at the moment.

Genie appears and asks teacher what their one wish to make their job better would be. Teacher replies, "A dragon." The genie is confused. The teacher explains, "Yes, it could come out on playground duty, keep me warm, chase round the children who won't line up. The kids will love it. I could train it to do my marking and it's just cool." The genie says, "No, Seriously. I'm not giving you a dragon. What else would you like?" Teacher replies, "A class set of glue sticks that last all year."

The genie asks the teacher what colour dragon they'd like.

Arse-achingly grumpy

 I’m reading too many miserable books. I’ve come to realise that absolutely nobody is happy. I mean, how very dare people write about happiness, that’s so last century.

If you need an uplifting story then beware. Anything labelled as such will have someone dying of cancer who unbelievably has the energy to skydive in the day before their death. 

Want to read about a wedding then the husband to be will be having a secret affair. Babies. Babies are safe. Everyone loves a baby. Nope. Absolutely not. They cry and puke and wail. Mothers have PND, fathers are t carrying their share of the mental load and everyone is unhappy.

Bookshops are currently full of dystopia. What’s the worst thing you can imagine? Don’t worry there’s worse in your bookshop. Even books that are supposed to be funny with a sweary grandmother and a child excluded from school are thinly veiled references to child neglect and then, of course, the grandmother dies. 

Murder is the only genre that’s cosy at the moment. Unless you are reading murder by younger writers and then it’s filled with shame, bad dates and rape. 

All this reading is making me grumpy. So much so that I’ve developed a pain in my left hip that extends to my bum. 

I am, literally, arse-achingly grumpy and it’s the fault of literature. 

The myth

 'I won't buy any more books until I've made a good dent in the TBR collection on top of the bookshelf,' I promised.

'Except the book-club book,' he reminded me, winking.

'Of course. That goes without saying. Of course I'll buy the book-club book.'

'And anything that comes out that you can't live without?'

'Well, obviously.'

'What about the books that people have recommended?'

'No. I'm definitely going to hold back on those.'

I was doing well. Honestly! The pile might not have shrunk much but it wasn't growing. I was reading more than I was adding to the stack. Not buying recommended books but noting them on my phone meant that the mental load of books I might not live long enough to read was expanding but at least they weren't threatening to topple the bookshelf. Over the Easter holidays, I spent a good couple of hours putting all these lists into one place. Some books had been recommended several times and were on more than one list but one book appeared on eleven lists. 

I told myself that it was a sign and that if I saw it in a bookshop I would buy it. For some people that might take a long time but as a bookshop is my safe haven; the place I go to breathe when I'm out and world is overwhelming, I was expecting it to be a day or two. The scent of books and a gentle caress of their perfect spines brings me back to a place I can cope with. Obviously, if I'm having a really bad day, the angst of there not being enough time to read all the books can make even a bookshop feel unsafe but this is rare. So, as I go into a book shop most days I didn't think it would be long before the most recommended on my list was in my grubby little mitts but it was never there.

On Thursday, I started a book from the pile. one I had bought in 2019 when it was on the Women's prize list. Circe. It was one I had picked up and put down more times than seemed reasonable. The feminist retelling of Greek myths is a relatively new genre that has excited the book world. It is something I should have been interested in but I held back. 

Greek myths push my buttons for two reasons.

The first is that they are inherently misogynistic. They are written to keep women in their place. Cautionary tales about what happens to you if you tell the truth, talk about anything or dare to be more intelligent than the men. They are designed to make women fearful. The idea that we can embrace these stories to make feminist literature grates.

My second problem comes from posh people. Don’t they wang on about Greek myths? The way they talk, you’d think they believe they were actually real, rather than stories about the most dysfunctional families you can imagine. And then they laugh at you if you mispronounce the names, which often are a collection of random vowels.  

It all started when I was skipping PE lessons to hide in the library. I was flicking through the Beano, which is true literary genius but I felt the guilt. If I wasn’t going to run round a field and have my shins bashed in by a vindictive hockey teacher then at least I should be using my brain, so I picked up the Iliad and I quite liked it. As a war story it wasn’t quite as good as Sharpe, which I’d borrowed from my dad but it did have some bonkers gods and the poetic nature of it was something I enjoyed. The bloody gore of eye gouging on the battlefield was worse than any X-rated film that I was still banned from watching. However, it did start with a woman being sold into sex slavery and after a plague caused her to be swapped for another woman, we were supposed to believe that that one (that I called Brian’s - because pronunciation) liked it. The pages and pages of names were also a bit of a turn-off.  

Armed with my new knowledge I went to play (and by play, I mean, to lie on a bed and sing into a hairbrush while OMD played in the background) with a friend who I had met through playing the flute. They had a huge house and bookshelves to die for. It wasn’t quite the stack of Reader’s Digest we had in our bathroom and they had a whole set of the Encyclopaedia Brittanica. I read along the spines. 

The Feud of Diomedes and Aphrodite jumped out at me. 

‘The fee-ud of Deeo-meds and A- fro-dight, I read about that in the Iliad,’ I said excitedly.

The family erupted. The dad snorted his tea through his nose. The mum placed three dainty fingers to her lips and hiccoughed. My friend’s brother said, ‘Don’t they teach you anything at that school?’ My friend, quietly whispered the correct pronunciation but the damage was done. I felt stupid; put in my place. So, I decided that Greek myths weren’t for me. 

Recently, however, I listened to Natalie Hayne’s Stoneblind on audio at the same time as I read the proof copy I had been given but never read. I thought it was brilliant and having the audio at the same time helped me not worry about the names. It was the first time I didn’t feel that someone who liked Greek myths was ‘up-themselves’.

Circe, Seer-say not circle with the l missing, was not as enjoyable, even with audio help. I spent the whole time wondering if I could stop. I was reminded of braying poshos and wondered why the ‘tele’ is said differently for Telegonus and Telemachus. It hasn’t cured me of my dislike of Greek mythology. 

I fell into the bookshop, feeling the panic of a book I hadn’t enjoyed. The panic of knowing I was too stupid, too poor, too uneducated to understand these ‘very important’ works. The myth that a bookshop would comfort me was the only one that mattered.

It is the only myth that is true. They had the recommended book that was on eleven lists. Of course I bought it. It was meant to be. My reward for slogging all the way to the end.