School started again last Monday. I was dreading the swift transition from freedom and autonomy to the serfdom of employment, and it reminded me of Geoffrey Willans' wry comments on the return to school. The teachers and support staff came in for two days of time-wasting pep talks, the uplifting effects of which which were nullified by the news that our lunch duties, which I have hitherto used to supplement my lowly pay, are now to be unpaid - no, wait, we are to get a 'free' lunch in return. Shocked by this news, I blocked out the drone of the speakers, whose statistics on GCSE results sent the ICT teacher to sleep.
On Wednesday the shiny, squeaky 7s came in. They're taller than average this year. In fact, had the 11s of last year still been with us, they would have had a nasty realisation that their bully-boy behaviour was going to cut no ice with these lanky kids, up whose noses they would have to squint as they demanded their lunch-money/phone/ipod. (Not that that happens at my school, I hasten to add… since the expulsion of Fat-Fabio-who-had-unfeasibly-small-feet, we have had no student-on-student muggings).
The 7s dropped things all round school. 'Miss, I've dropped my pencil.' 'So you have! Pick it up then.' They got confused and lost. 'Everything okay?' I asked of at least five separate kids, whose sweaty brows and panicky faces gave them away. They twitched and fiddled in the effort of concentrating on the two days of talks, from the head, the deputy heads, the head of year, form tutors and eventually teachers.
I relish these early days. The headmaster reminds them that they have the opportunity to leave behind their old persona. Their primary-school self can be ditched in favour of a new, 'good' self. A clean slate, he says. It isn't that easy, of course, as any fule kno. The problems, whether at school or home, are often still present despite the move from little to big school. It takes a while for the dust to settle in a move like this. It's very easy to be kind to them. I don't know what they are really like yet. I
have few clues as to which of them is spoilt beyond redemption, which
neglected, or charming, confident or lonely. Most of them are sweet, eager to please, to settle in, to be liked, noticed and approved of. I'm hoping the best for all of them. The least likely can turn everything around in the course of the next five to seven years.
I am losing P, and gaining E. Also vision-impaired, there is a sharp contrast between him and my student of last year. But that's for another post.
Showing posts with label UK school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label UK school. Show all posts
Saturday, 7 September 2013
Friday, 8 June 2012
The Periodic Table
Yesterday I met my old designer friend for a catch up. I hadn't seen her for over 2 years although we have kept in touch. She and I had suffered similar fates during the early recession days, and had been able to compare notes, her
chirpy, quirky, wry humour acting as an antidote to any sense of
disappointment when the cupboard was bare, and she has just ended a maternity cover gig at a major publishing house, which I was able to pass on to her because of school. Very satisfying, because she has passed work to me on many occasions.
We met at the Royal Institution in the middle of town. I hadn't been there before, and was surprised at the quiet ambiance. Imagine the Science Museum, or the V&A, sans visitors. The enormous marble entrance hall was empty, except for me, and the receptionist seemed surprised to have any visitors at all. We ate in the quiet, comfortable cafe, well-attended to by the waitress and the maitre de, who restrained themselves from over-enthusiasm remarkably well. The food was lovely. Above us the rain splashed onto the glass ceiling, and we caught up on news.
My friend offered the Chief Executive of another major publishing house her business card at a party, but he declined, explaining aloofly that he doesn't get involved in that sort of thing. He was commenting on the computer skills in India, which have become so fine they match those of designers in UK or USA. Consequently, there has been little work for us to do. She told him that his decision to outsource to Asia had spelt the death of many small businesses here. The Chief Executive made some glib comment about it and she got quite cross with him, she said. At the end of the evening, though, he asked her for her card after all.
After lunch my friend took me downstairs where an enormous electronic wall was laid out with the periodic table. To a recording of Gilbert and Sullivans' 'Major General' song the object is to touch the element as it is named. Impossible unless you are an octopus. I'd like to see someone who knows the song well have a go.
My friend was right, and brave to argue so energetically with someone who might (or might not) influence future offers of work. But as technology advances and the accompanying skill sets across the ever-shrinking globe compete, some people will benefit and others lose out. UK typesetters were thrown to the wolves with the adoption of computer technology as a layout tool, and printers had to adapt very quickly or go under. Asians have long been exploited as cheap labour. At least it will be cleaner and more comfortable in a design house than it would be in more traditional sweat-shop type labour. That is how business works.
And I ended up with a job I genuinely love. I still flex my design muscles in all sorts of unexpected ways which I would never have investigated had my design work not become so scarce. I'm currently thinking of enamel-work. I'd like to try that somehow, without having to out-lay huge amounts of non-existent capitol. Any ideas, anyone?
We met at the Royal Institution in the middle of town. I hadn't been there before, and was surprised at the quiet ambiance. Imagine the Science Museum, or the V&A, sans visitors. The enormous marble entrance hall was empty, except for me, and the receptionist seemed surprised to have any visitors at all. We ate in the quiet, comfortable cafe, well-attended to by the waitress and the maitre de, who restrained themselves from over-enthusiasm remarkably well. The food was lovely. Above us the rain splashed onto the glass ceiling, and we caught up on news.
My friend offered the Chief Executive of another major publishing house her business card at a party, but he declined, explaining aloofly that he doesn't get involved in that sort of thing. He was commenting on the computer skills in India, which have become so fine they match those of designers in UK or USA. Consequently, there has been little work for us to do. She told him that his decision to outsource to Asia had spelt the death of many small businesses here. The Chief Executive made some glib comment about it and she got quite cross with him, she said. At the end of the evening, though, he asked her for her card after all.
After lunch my friend took me downstairs where an enormous electronic wall was laid out with the periodic table. To a recording of Gilbert and Sullivans' 'Major General' song the object is to touch the element as it is named. Impossible unless you are an octopus. I'd like to see someone who knows the song well have a go.
My friend was right, and brave to argue so energetically with someone who might (or might not) influence future offers of work. But as technology advances and the accompanying skill sets across the ever-shrinking globe compete, some people will benefit and others lose out. UK typesetters were thrown to the wolves with the adoption of computer technology as a layout tool, and printers had to adapt very quickly or go under. Asians have long been exploited as cheap labour. At least it will be cleaner and more comfortable in a design house than it would be in more traditional sweat-shop type labour. That is how business works.
And I ended up with a job I genuinely love. I still flex my design muscles in all sorts of unexpected ways which I would never have investigated had my design work not become so scarce. I'm currently thinking of enamel-work. I'd like to try that somehow, without having to out-lay huge amounts of non-existent capitol. Any ideas, anyone?
Thursday, 31 May 2012
That'll teach me…
Well I was showing off, wasn't I. In the playground, swinging my Primark brolly by the handle so that it shot out of 'telescopic contraction mode' into 'full-handle' mode, and back again. I was really enjoying it too. And then the brolly bit shot out - and kept going, and plopped onto the tarmac, separate from its handle. A group of concerned Yr 7 boys gathered round, and a couple kindly tried to fix it back on. One was semi-successful (clever boy, must give him a house point). But hey, it was from Primarni, and cost a pound, so…
As I said, that'll teach me. (It won't). Better not rain tomorrow.
As I said, that'll teach me. (It won't). Better not rain tomorrow.
Saturday, 31 March 2012
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