It seems to have been ages since I last put pen to paper. And this isn't changing that as, I'm sure you'll be well aware,I currently have no paper and brandish no pen. But it's an expression, and I'm going with it. Brilliantly, despite at least a month having passed since my last entry, I have noticed that I have no subscribers. This, then, is merely a way for me to talk to myself. Time to oil the inner monologue, then, and see what I can come up with. Whether this is merely the manifestation of some kind of burgeoning psychosis, therefore, remains to be seen. All I know is, it's better than attending to the growing pile of dishes in the kitchen sink. So...
Scarily, it is now basically Christmas. Where the hell did that come from? Honestly, it seems all of five minutes ago that I was clearing up the wrapping paper and pine needles from last year. And it does make me wonder: does time really pass quicker the older you get? Personally, I believe it gets quicker the bigger you get. Just look at how quickly tiny things, like ants, move. There's no way they are actually going that quickly - it's just a matter of perspective. To them, they're probably going for a brisk stroll, at best. Admittedly, there is a serious flaw to my argument here; a pretty fundamental one, at that. I stopped growing at about fifteen, and have remained not very tall since then. But time has definitely sped up, so I am completely undermining my own argument now. Balls. Anyway, I digress. To sum up, since I last spoke, things have improved immeasurably. I can't help but notice that I came across a tad, well... upset, in the last entry. Bitter, perhaps. But not twisted, I draw the line at that. A really good indicator of my improving fortunes lay next to me on the bed as I speak. No, I have not left for 'pastures new', or become a Mormon. It's not quite that exciting. But it is our cat; a fine Abyssinian by the name of Mimi. She moved in last month, having spent the last two years being tended to at Louise's Mum's. We are so chuffed to have her with us, finally, and she brings a smile to my face every day with her various schemes for more food, or just mischief. She's just aces. Additionally, I may have a job starting soon with a big local company. I just have one more phase of the application process to go, so am very hopeful and very excited. It's like the Apprentice, or at least that's what I'm telling myself. I really think I'm over the whole 'failed teacher' thing. I had a moment the other day when watching Kindergarten Cop - when the kids all hug Arnold Schwarzenegger (don't laugh) - and I thought; 'Damn, I could have been a teacher everyone loved!' Reality took a while to hit in and, when it did, I realised that my kids would never have loved me at that school. They probably would never love anything. Maybe a flamethrower, but then... you never know. Other than one or two of these moments, however, I have been pretty good about it all. It just wasn't meant to be but, in the future, who knows? Maybe I'll get there and, if I do, it will be because I wanted to and the time was right.
My mind, right now, is 100% set on Christmas. And that's Christmas. Not Xmas, or any other amalgamation. It's all about the big man this year, and I can't wait for my family to arrive for me to host for the very first time. Now, before you all start thinking I've gone mad and have become a devout 'man of the cloth', do not fear. I'm not going to tell you all that there's one being who we should all bow down to and so on. I don't believe that, myself. Rather, I want to celebrate what I do believe in, and that's those who are closest to me - my family and friends. I want this year - a year where I have lost a lot - to be about rejoicing in what we still have, not what we have lost. I have my health (just - and a few jars will see to that, anyhow), I have my family and also my Louise, who will shortly be in my family, too. So I want Christmas to be about them - about what I believe in - and spending time with them. Be that walks, big dinners or carol services. I have said I want this year to be about the big man and, in a really big way, these people are my God. They have shaped me and continue to guide me in all that I do so, if that's what religion is, then sign me up. People have become very hung up on the commercial side of Christmas; I think that's where the 'X' has come from, as in; 'Sign next to the cross please, sir'. My advice to you, spend the money on a wicked joint - of meat (what else??) and be merry and happy with those that you love. Because there is no time to waste on being upset or angry. You have already spent 6 billion years effectively dead before now, and once you're gone that's it for at least another 6 billion, after which the universe will explode and all will be lost. So enjoy it while it lasts.
Happy Christmas everyone (which is just me, as already discussed) and see you in the New Year.
Who am I talking to??
Mike
Tuesday, 21 December 2010
Thursday, 25 November 2010
Rising from the Ashes...
Thursday, November 25, 2010.
I have just arrived back from my trial (unpaid) at the local chip shop. I served builders and OAP's greasy food for the last two and a half hours, and then tidied up at the end - and didn't get paid a penny. It was exactly what I needed. Unbelievably, I started last week as a trainee teacher - a whole world of marking and shouting at kids whilst planning lesson after lesson was opening up to me. And then the door closed - firmly. After weeks of trying to catch up, in vain, whilst under the tutelage of a truly woeful teacher, I decided I'd had enough. It just wasn't for me, at least not in the environment that I was exposed to. It took me exactly, oh, two minutes and thirty-seven seconds into my first observed lesson to realise I was observing a scene more akin to something from the quill of Dante. I think that, when a child throws a doorstop at a teacher, they're probably crossing a line. I don't think that stepping outside for two minutes so that they can 'cool off' is exactly a fitting punishment, and I don't think another student telling my fellow trainee to 'Fuck off' is particularly appropriate language for a 14 year old, either. Especially not when they go on to screw up that lesson's work and declare that 'All I want to do is kill people.' When you get back to the staffroom and the other teachers just shrug off the incidents with a smile, saying, 'Oh, that's just what they're like - they are a lively bunch.' No, I don't think that's a particularly good first impression to have of the school that, very shortly, you will be teaching in. Additionally, for the record, my understanding of 'lively' is that a child will be a bit excitable, a little bit chatty, maybe a bit agitated in class. Not some emotionally and morally bereft chasm of an individual who, should it still exist, would probably reside in Borstall. No, they were not just 'lively', and I think that's a pretty pathetic way of justifying their behaviour, quite frankly. What scared me most of all, and lead to my ultimate decision of leaving the profession, is quite how little training you get in order to stand in front of a group of 14 year-olds before attempting to teach them. Seriously. I did six weeks of theory (all of which was on 'Safeguarding' - how many different ways do you have to explain to someone that you are not a paedophile?) and then one week of observation in a school, and that was it! Where was the role-playing with other students, just to get used to being stood at the front of the class, talking? Nope, it was much better to listen to over eight hours of total drivel on how to best protect the little upstarts from any manner of peril, than actually learn how to become a TEACHER. You hear so much on protection that, by the time you reach school, you are amazed to see that all the students managed to dress themselves and remember not to set themselves on fire on their way in that morning. By rights, with the amount we got taught on how vulnerable they are, they should have all arrived horizontally, wheeled in on skateboards, as the effect of gravity on their perpendicular frames would surely have been too much for their weak little bodies to take. Jesus, get real. Basically, the modern teacher training course has jack all to do with teaching. Actually, I'm going to extend that concept: the modern teaching PROFESSION has jack all to do with teaching. Seriously, I have witnessed teachers being stretched to breaking point over the last few months but, in the majority of cases, it is not the teaching itself that is the problem. Is it not right for today's youth to just be taught in a way that is just interesting or stimulating? Teachers have so much, frankly, horseshit, paperwork and assements to fill in, that the actual art of teaching is becoming lost; snowed under beneath so much bureaucracy. I have so much respect for teachers, now, because I really don't feel they are even given a chance to fulfil their potential as excellent imparters of knowledge. It's like asking a painter and decorator to furnish a hallway through the letterbox. It's impossible; if he wanted to do that, in any case, he'd have become a gynaecologist. It then royally takes the piss when, in trying to do the job with your hands completely tied, Ofsted come out (like they did this week) to say that lessons aren't interesting enough for their liking. Seriously, point me in the direction of someone who has become the teacher they always wanted to be, and I will point you to a superhero. And that, is really sad. After all of that then, and still wiping grease from out of my hair (what's left of it - thanks, Dad), is it any wonder that I'm smiling? I learnt along time ago, and to my great cost, that nothing is more important than the happiness of yourself and those closest to you, and right now I can see many doors opening up to me. One of them may even lead me back into a classroom, but it won't be for a little while yet. For those of my course who are still pursuing their dream, you have all my best wishes, and admiration. Just don't sacrifice everything you are.
God bless,
Chupes
I have just arrived back from my trial (unpaid) at the local chip shop. I served builders and OAP's greasy food for the last two and a half hours, and then tidied up at the end - and didn't get paid a penny. It was exactly what I needed. Unbelievably, I started last week as a trainee teacher - a whole world of marking and shouting at kids whilst planning lesson after lesson was opening up to me. And then the door closed - firmly. After weeks of trying to catch up, in vain, whilst under the tutelage of a truly woeful teacher, I decided I'd had enough. It just wasn't for me, at least not in the environment that I was exposed to. It took me exactly, oh, two minutes and thirty-seven seconds into my first observed lesson to realise I was observing a scene more akin to something from the quill of Dante. I think that, when a child throws a doorstop at a teacher, they're probably crossing a line. I don't think that stepping outside for two minutes so that they can 'cool off' is exactly a fitting punishment, and I don't think another student telling my fellow trainee to 'Fuck off' is particularly appropriate language for a 14 year old, either. Especially not when they go on to screw up that lesson's work and declare that 'All I want to do is kill people.' When you get back to the staffroom and the other teachers just shrug off the incidents with a smile, saying, 'Oh, that's just what they're like - they are a lively bunch.' No, I don't think that's a particularly good first impression to have of the school that, very shortly, you will be teaching in. Additionally, for the record, my understanding of 'lively' is that a child will be a bit excitable, a little bit chatty, maybe a bit agitated in class. Not some emotionally and morally bereft chasm of an individual who, should it still exist, would probably reside in Borstall. No, they were not just 'lively', and I think that's a pretty pathetic way of justifying their behaviour, quite frankly. What scared me most of all, and lead to my ultimate decision of leaving the profession, is quite how little training you get in order to stand in front of a group of 14 year-olds before attempting to teach them. Seriously. I did six weeks of theory (all of which was on 'Safeguarding' - how many different ways do you have to explain to someone that you are not a paedophile?) and then one week of observation in a school, and that was it! Where was the role-playing with other students, just to get used to being stood at the front of the class, talking? Nope, it was much better to listen to over eight hours of total drivel on how to best protect the little upstarts from any manner of peril, than actually learn how to become a TEACHER. You hear so much on protection that, by the time you reach school, you are amazed to see that all the students managed to dress themselves and remember not to set themselves on fire on their way in that morning. By rights, with the amount we got taught on how vulnerable they are, they should have all arrived horizontally, wheeled in on skateboards, as the effect of gravity on their perpendicular frames would surely have been too much for their weak little bodies to take. Jesus, get real. Basically, the modern teacher training course has jack all to do with teaching. Actually, I'm going to extend that concept: the modern teaching PROFESSION has jack all to do with teaching. Seriously, I have witnessed teachers being stretched to breaking point over the last few months but, in the majority of cases, it is not the teaching itself that is the problem. Is it not right for today's youth to just be taught in a way that is just interesting or stimulating? Teachers have so much, frankly, horseshit, paperwork and assements to fill in, that the actual art of teaching is becoming lost; snowed under beneath so much bureaucracy. I have so much respect for teachers, now, because I really don't feel they are even given a chance to fulfil their potential as excellent imparters of knowledge. It's like asking a painter and decorator to furnish a hallway through the letterbox. It's impossible; if he wanted to do that, in any case, he'd have become a gynaecologist. It then royally takes the piss when, in trying to do the job with your hands completely tied, Ofsted come out (like they did this week) to say that lessons aren't interesting enough for their liking. Seriously, point me in the direction of someone who has become the teacher they always wanted to be, and I will point you to a superhero. And that, is really sad. After all of that then, and still wiping grease from out of my hair (what's left of it - thanks, Dad), is it any wonder that I'm smiling? I learnt along time ago, and to my great cost, that nothing is more important than the happiness of yourself and those closest to you, and right now I can see many doors opening up to me. One of them may even lead me back into a classroom, but it won't be for a little while yet. For those of my course who are still pursuing their dream, you have all my best wishes, and admiration. Just don't sacrifice everything you are.
God bless,
Chupes
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