https://www.online-literature.com/forums/blog.php?61576-Paulclem The largest classic literature discussion forum on the Internet. Read Write Teach Share. en Thu, 04 Jun 2026 15:58:10 GMT vBulletin 10 https://www.online-literature.com/forums/images/misc/rss.jpg https://www.online-literature.com/forums/blog.php?61576-Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?13445-Holiday-in-Seville Mon, 11 Aug 2014 17:26:00 GMT It's the first holiday abroad in a number of years and I'm here in Seville with my son who is 22 in order to reinvigorate his interest in Spanish and open the possibility to him of working in this culture as an option.

I think it has worked. He loves the city and often takes off wandering around the place for hours. (My irritating company might also provoke this too, but I remain upbeat).

I like the city too. We went on a river cruise today past the Moorish Gold Tower - so named because the gold from the Americas was stored there - and looked at the lovely riverside apartments that line parts of the bank. (Gold from the Americas - how evocative is that!).

Whilst here I have discovered a skill for getting lost around the winding streets, and that my attempts at geographical approximation are nil. I have frequently gone in the opposite direction. When my lad texted me to ask where I was recently, I had to confess to not knowing at all. By some fortune I did manage to find my way back to a mutually known point - Starbucks in this case- though I didn't expect to emerge from the city so easily.

I really like European cafe culture. I can wander and sit outside a cafe on the Almeda De Hercules and watch children play football, groups of dogs socialising and not feel as if I am invading a youth club where it's all a bit edgy and aggressive. There are also some good bars here, one of which played Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones and JJ Cale albums back to back. My son likes a nearby Jazz Bar. I don't particularly get Jazz - I prefer rock and pop - but I like the fact that you can go to live performances of it 6 days a week.

I have not really increased my linguistic abilities whilst I have been here. The usual thing happens; I go in with a confident phrase - Una cafe con leches por favor - and then they say something back and I revert to clipped English and mime. As a result I left Burger King without a meal and ended up with a tuna salad. I'm a veggie, but not a picky soapbox one, so I just got on with the salad-y bit.

All in all it's been a good trip. As usual I lamented my lack of linguistic preparation, but I have enjoyed the pace of days where everyone retires from the blaze of the Sun for a few hours before resuming in the civilised cool of the evening.

So thanks Seville for being so civil. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?13445-Holiday-in-Seville https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11902-Drama-on-the-Green Sat, 27 Aug 2011 00:19:35 GMT About three weeks ago I was walking my Jack Russell as usual on the Green near our house and I noticed a crow hopping about the field. There had been... About three weeks ago I was walking my Jack Russell as usual on the Green near our house and I noticed a crow hopping about the field. There had been quite a few crows about the field this year, with at least two couples producing offspring.

This crow stood out as it appeared to have no tail feathers. I proceeded to watch it from a distance, and it became clear that it couldn’t fly. I continued to see the crow, and usually another pair with it or nearby. I presumed they were its parents.

I don’t know about you, but I always want the underdog to win, or survive or get on in life. The crow seemed to develop a good strategy for avoiding the dogs and their owners on the field, and hung around two poplar trees which are near our local brook. It used the reeds next to the brook, but could also flutter for a distance. Other walkers noticed it too.

There were inevitably threats around. A little, but incredibly aggressive tabby cat called Evil Eddy lives just over the brook. Foxes live around the area, and of course there are other cats and dogs about. Anyway, after a couple of weeks, the crow disappeared.

So once again I was walking my dog around the Green a couple of days ago. Near the road, we cross a road bridge and usually walk on the other side of the brook where the crow lived. We were just walking past some terraced house ends when a reddish dog appeared from nowhere and raced after Dorje, my dog.

I had not seen this dog before. Mine, being a terrier, is often aggressive to other dogs, and I always have him on a lead. This time, there had been no such provocation, and this unknown dog was after him.

I quickly picked Dorje up and swung him away from the dog; he has a harness which goes under his chest which makes this easy and not painful for him. The attacking dog missed, and came again. By this time I was shouting at the other dog to no effect. He was running around me, jumping and biting. I began to kick it in the ribs, all the time shouting at it and looking round for an owner. There was none.

By this time I had shifted Dorje under my arm and was fighting this dog off. Luckily for me, it was completely intent upon Dorje. It managed to bite his tail and back legs which were dangling as it ran around and jumped up. I was having hardly any effect on this dog despite trying to kick it as hard as I could. It merely deflected it whilst it continued to run around me and jump. I resorted to punching it in the face as well, but this also had no effect. I was getting tired pretty quickly, but it was clear that if this dog got hold of Dorje, it wouldn’t let go and would kill him.

I was getting a bit desperate by this time.
I managed to get into the brook, as I was at a shallow part, and climb onto the other bank next to a tree so that it couldn’t run around me and leap up. I thought the brambles I was standing in would perhaps keep it off. It seemed to take a bit of a breather, but it wasn’t going, and was still trying to lunge at Dorje.

Again, fortunately, another bloke had been walking on the other side of the brook. He managed to distract it for a while, and, for a few moments, I thought it would go with him, and we would be able to get away. I re-crossed the brook again to the other side, but it soon turned and came running back. I’ve never seen such persistence in a dog before. The bloke – I’ve never seen him before – came back too, and was shouting at the dog.

My arms were getting tired, and I looked around for something to hit the dog with, as I was having no effect at all. Then there it was. I picked up a stick from the grass – perhaps some kids had been playing and left it there. I just hoped it was strong enough. The dog came at us again, and I hit it right across the face. The twiggy end snapped in its face, and for a moment I thought the stick wouldn’t hold, but the rest of it proved to be more flexible, and I hit it across the face again.

The dog looked at me in a kind of surprise, and I noticed what a handsome dog it was, and seeming without any of the snarly aggression towards me that you would expect. It then turned round and disappeared from the way it had come.

Mightily relieved, we crossed the brook once again onto our side and walked for a short while with the bloke who had tried to help. I hope I see him again so that I can thank him once more. I put Dorje on the ground, and he was walking ok, so there were no breaks of too much damage. He had five bites though, which were bleeding, and when I got him home, my daughter helped me to clean up the wounds.

My wife soon returned too, and it was clear that Dorje had to go to the vet to get cleaned up and have an examination. I’d had shorts on as usual, so after clearing up the bramble scratches, we went in a taxi to the local vet.

The veterinary nurses know us, as they live quite near, and they came straight over to see Dorje as soon as my wife had explained what had happened. It seems that they knew of this dog, a pitbull, and the reddish one I mentioned in particular. It is owned by a young lad, who clearly uses it as a “I’m hard me” dog, but he never has it on the lead. There have been complaints before, and our neighbourhood wardens know the family, and have visited this pitbull before.

http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?q=pit...45&tx=82&ty=80

They asked us to report it, which we have done, and we talked for quite a while. It was clear to me that the dog, whilst not a direct threat to humans, could easily overbalance some of the old folks who walk their dogs around here. Then again, in the rough and tumble of an attack, it could easily bite an owner. It was also a clear threat to any small dog it encountered.

I was also sad to hear that the dog, and its sister, had attacked and killed the flightless crow on the field a few weeks before. So that little mystery was cleared up. That’s “Nature red in tooth and claw”, though it would not have happened if the dogs had been on leads. Sad really.

Since then, Dorje has been fine. He wore his head trumpet for a night before managing to shake it off. He’s very good though, and hasn’t disturbed the bandages on his tail and legs. We’ve even been out, but now I carry a stout stick with me in case the dog shows again. It is unlikely as we’ve never seen it before, but you never know.

I also heard that the lad in question often takes this particular dog – with no lead - over to the bookies near our shops. I’ve been wondering what I’ll say to him if and when I see him. I’ll definitely mention the vet bill. The thing is, it is hard to be angry with the dog. His owner should have it under control, and as such, it is completely the lad’s fault. I read the following passage on Wikipedia:

Temperament (From Wikipedia)
The APBT is a breed that is loyal to friends and family, and is generally friendly towards strangers. Many have strong instincts to chase and seize cats and other fleeing creatures, including deer and livestock (prey drive).[7] As with any dog breed, proper training and socialization at an early age is a must. According to the UKC, "aggressive behavior toward humans is uncharacteristic of the breed and highly undesirable."[8]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pit_Bull_Terrier

It seems to confirm what I was thinking during the attack. Dorje was a small dog it saw and chased as part of an impulse. It didn’t even growl at me, even though I was kicking and punching it. It would be terrible if this animal were to attack another dog and kill it – as it easily could. There are a number of small dogs around with elderly owners. It hardly bears thinking about. It would also be terrible if, what could be a good dog, if controlled properly, were to be put down because of an irresponsible owner.

The attack was potentially traumatic. I could easily have fallen over in the brambles, or dropped Dorje, or been knocked over. I’m fortunate in that I have been in minor aggressive situations before, and they haven’t affected me, or left any longstanding anxiety. The trick is not to speculate upon the “what could have happened”, and to focus upon managing to get away. I have seen people in the past seeming to suffer extra because they go over what might have been, and it’s almost as if they are going through that pain too. It might be human nature to do that, but I’m quite sure it doesn’t help. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11902-Drama-on-the-Green https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11891-Maths-Again Sun, 21 Aug 2011 19:14:59 GMT A few weeks ago, my Boss came and asked me if I would like to change my role in the organisation. I’ve been a Literacy Programme Manager for a few... A few weeks ago, my Boss came and asked me if I would like to change my role in the organisation. I’ve been a Literacy Programme Manager for a few years, but recently, with the insecurity in the Public Sector, I have studied Maths in order to give myself another iron in the fire.

So, as I did the L3 exam through my organisation, this has been noted.
As an incentive I was offered the chance this year to study for a L5 Maths Subject Specific Qualification at Warwick University. It’s a one year course of distance learning and attending the university once a month.

I jumped at the chance, and said yes immediately, though she did give me the opportunity to think about it. It didn’t take any thinking about though. It would mean that I’d be double qualified to teach both Literacy and Numeracy, both with adults and in schools.

The job is very similar to what I’ve been doing – managing programmes in venues across the city, managing a team of Tutors, having an input into strategy, managing a venue, developing ICT and liaising between Tutors and the Senior Managers. The only real difference is that I’d have input into the delivery of the Maths curriculum rather than the literacy, and I would teach a couple of numeracy sessions a week.

I duly applied for the Numeracy L5, and found out I’d have to do an assessment at the centre. I’d have to get my revision notes out again for it. I was a bit anxious that this assessment required a 60% pass rate, whereas the L3 required 20%. It had to be done though. This included an unmarked written piece of 500 words which was designed for the candidate to demonstrate their literacy skills.

So I went along to the Lifelong Learning Centre for the assessment. I know the staff there as I took the L5 Literacy a number of years ago. They are very friendly, but I was somewhat worried about the assessment. Failing is not so bad if you don’t know the people, but I had got to know and like them well.

Fortunately for me, the assessment included error analysis of some learner’s answers to questions. My task was to evaluate were they had gone wrong and suggest a way of teaching them the relevant skills. I’ve taught maths before, and so this was fine. I still managed to miss out a couple of questions – I think the general consensus is that it is difficult to complete within the hour and three quarters you are given. I went back to work, and waited for the results of my exam and this course assessment.

Luckily for me I passed my L3 exam and my assessment for Warwick. I’m really looking forward to the course, and I’m excited to be working in a new area of the organisation. I’ll get lots of ideas from the course, and be able to test out ideas for the course on my two classes.

I am fortunate to have this opportunity. It will give me options for the future and broaden my management skills. Warwick is a good university too. The grounds are brilliant, and, though it is called Warwick University through some historical oddness, it is actually on the outskirts of Coventry – a mere 15 mins bike ride from my house. Superb.

Best of all though is the opportunity to go on the course and learn. If there’s one thing that teaching has taught me is that you can’t stop learning. Today’s world is fast moving. Who knows what will happen over the next few years. It’s a good job I enjoy learning stuff. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11891-Maths-Again https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11863-A-Tale-of-Two-Franks Wed, 10 Aug 2011 00:33:52 GMT When we moved into our house, we discovered to our delight that the close – a dead end road with no through traffic - had quite a community of old... When we moved into our house, we discovered to our delight that the close – a dead end road with no through traffic - had quite a community of old folks living in it. It was very friendly, and, as my wife and I don’t drive, we would regularly see the other residents wandering round to the shops or walking the dogs. We soon got to know all of them, in particular Old Frank who lived over the road.

He was an irascible, bluff character who had served in the Fleet Air Arm in WW2. He would often regale me with tales from the war, or his years in the local tool making industry afterwards. He often repeated himself, but I didn’t mind.

He lived with his son whom he referred to as ”The Kid”, though by this time he was in his middle fifties. Old Frank’s wife had sadly died twenty years before, and I think this must have brought on depression because the house they kept was in such a bad condition.

We sometimes had to go over to help Old Frank with something, and because they had two undisciplined spaniels and a poor or non-existent cleaning routine, there was a very strong smell and sticky carpets.

So one day I got back from work, and our doddery next door neighbour caught me at the gate to tell me that the two Franks had both had to go into hospital with heart problems. He added that they had asked him to look after the dogs.

As nice and willing as he is, our neighbour was clearly in no condition to look after two difficult spaniels, so my wife and I agreed to do it instead. We were also used to their home, and just made sure that we cleaned the soles of our wellies when we got back from feeding them.

My wife, with her usual determination, then began to try to do some cleaning in the kitchen and downstairs bathroom whilst they were in hospital, and I tended to the dogs.

All went well for a couple of days, and I went with another neighbour to see them. The two Franks were in with some heart problems, and expected to be a few days at least. They were cheerful enough. Just as I was leaving, Old frank told me where to find the tablets I was to give to the older dog Blackie. He too had heart problems, and they were for that. I said I’d give them to him that night, and we went home. I visited the dogs when I got back. I found the tablets and gave them to Blackie in some food.

The next morning Lucky, Old Frank’s other dog who was blind and a bit deaf, (it’s true), was sitting in Blackie’s spot. I thought it odd, Blackie being so dominant, but then I found Blackie under a chair and as stiff as a board. He must have died in the night and Lucky had claimed his spot. It was a sad moment.

Normally I would have told the two Franks then and there, but we found ourselves in a bit of a dilemma. They were in with heart problems of an unspecified nature. Would the bad news adversely affect them and their recovery? We didn’t know, and so we decided not to tell them until we had been given the ok by the nursing staff.

I asked our doddery neighbour to drive Blackie’s corpse up to the vet, and when I went to see them, I didn’t mention his demise. It was of course typical that he should die whilst we were looking after him.

My wife and I discussed various schemes such as blu-tacking the corpse the window as they arrived home from hospital and then claiming he had died of excitement, but we didn’t think we’d get away with it.

So after a couple of days I checked with the nurse who said they were coming out in a few days and that it would be ok to tell them. I told them both and left them to their grief at the hospital. It was all very sad, and, I thought, the end of the matter.

The next day my wife got a phone call from Old Frank in the hospital. “We’re having Blackie back!” he shouted. (He was a bit loud and deaf). At first my wife couldn’t understand what he was on about, but it transpired that Old Frank had phoned the vet and arranged for the dead dog to be taken out of cold storage the next day – when they were coming home. Blackie was to be buried in the garden, which was right and proper.

There was of course another problem: neither of them was allowed to dig the hole. I volunteered, and it duly threw it down with rain. I was working that day, and promised to come after work to bury the dog. At work I had visions of not digging the hole wide enough and having to stand on the still frozen corpse to make it go in, or the hole filling up with water and the corpse floating to the top and having to be pierced with the fork to make it sink.

I got home and went over to their house to dig the pit. Luckily, I judged it right, and we placed Blackie, wrapped in a tartan blanket, in the very soggy hole. It didn’t fill with water and make the corpse float all over the place as I imagined, but just lay there, wetly, as I filled it in.

That night we laughed about the gruesome aspects of the whole thing, (well what can you do?), but at least, we said, it would be easier for Old Fred to walk just one dog.

A few weeks later, Old Frank caught my wife at the gate. We’re having two new spaniel pups at the weekend, he said. Lucky will train them up.
“Lucky?” I said later, as my wife described the conversation. “He’s deaf and blind!” So it was that the two Franks bought their next two spaniel pups. Of course Lucky did not train them up. They tormented him by pulling his long ears, but perhaps he liked the company. He lasted six more months.

Old Frank died a few years later, leaving “The Kid” with his two spaniels whom he walks every day on The Green. The spaniels are quite bonkers. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11863-A-Tale-of-Two-Franks https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11842-Retiring-Colleagues Sat, 30 Jul 2011 00:16:23 GMT The ones coming to the end of their careers I mean. Not the quiet ones that we all have to watch. Yes it was a funny day today – I won’t say... The ones coming to the end of their careers I mean. Not the quiet ones that we all have to watch.

Yes it was a funny day today – I won’t say weird as it didn’t have any supernatural content, in the strictest sense of the word. It was funny watching the unfolding of a last day after watching the unfolding of the last six months.

It happened that my colleague, who sat opposite me all year, decided to take voluntary redundancy in order to enjoy her horse riding and all the things we dream of doing when we work full time.

A number of other colleagues were also retiring, or leaving this year, but today gave me occasion to reflect upon it all. I was completing an assessment to get on a course this morning, and then I rushed back to my office to take part in a rather muted tea and cakes lunch. Colleagues who had worked with the Lady who sat opposite me turned out for the do. Someone provided a tablecloth. We had scones, jam, cream, a cake and a spiced tea. It was all appropriately English.

The cake lunch ended. Co-workers drifted off over the afternoon on leave for the summer until finally my retiring colleague and I were left. It was strange watching 30 years work come to an end. She seemed to be finding things to do right up until 4.30, and I suppose I can understand the reluctance to end a phase that has been a great part of a life. It was something about the emptiness of the building, the muted light filtering through the clouds, the deflation one feels at the end of the last day before the holiday. The finality.

At last we exited the building, and it was a privilege to wave her off from the car park, though perhaps one of her more long standing colleagues should rightly have been there.

We all said the usual things like “you’ll have to come and see us next year” and we talked of the upcoming works dos that we will be having before Christmas. But you know how it is; the pervading feeling that things are irrevocably changed when colleagues leave that they must pick up and feel quietly left out.

It was rather poignant at the last managers meeting earlier in the week. All the usual stuff was discussed about the teaching programme next year. Then we came to the allocation of jobs for the forthcoming terms. I didn’t look up, but I could feel a kind of forlorn realisation of the impending end of a career. Someone had nothing to prepare, nothing to bear in mind, no tasks to consider before September.

I can’t begin to describe the feeling of taking part in it all. At least I’ve seen something of what awaits. I’ve still got 18 years until they kick me out though. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11842-Retiring-Colleagues https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11770-A-Kestrel-for-a-Knave-by-Barry-Hines Fri, 01 Jul 2011 21:00:14 GMT A Kestrel for a Knave by Barry Hines I posted this in the book review section, but on re-reading it, I though it was perhaps as much about my... A Kestrel for a Knave by Barry Hines

I posted this in the book review section, but on re-reading it, I though it was perhaps as much about my experience as the book and film. It is cetainly relevant to an Uncle of mine.

A Kestrel for a Knave was written by Barry Hines; a writer who originates from a South Yorkshire mining village. It is based upon the stories and events that Hines came across through his childhood in the 1950s and 60s.

Billy Caspar is a lad in his last year at the local Secondary Modern that serves the rough estate he lives on. Hines uses flashback from a particularly rough day to show us how Billy has taken and trained the kestrel of the title.

At home Billy is constantly challenged by his half brother Jud, who has left school and works down the local pit. He spends his money on drinking in the local pub and clubs, and the betting shop.

Billy’s mother is unwilling to deal emotionally with Billy. She is portrayed as picking up the local men in the bar where she goes at the weekend, and it becomes clear that she has a string of failed relationships behind her.

At school, Billy is beset by vengeful teachers who fail to understand and, in most cases, care about his predicaments. What is particularly jarring nowadays is how the Teachers speak to the kids. I remember it well, but had forgotten how harsh it was. He is picked out by schoolboy bullies, though he does not accept the victim’s label. He fights back and also acts the clown for the benefit of his peers.

The evocation of the school and the characterisation of the teachers brings my own education back to me. It was not so far from this, and I was there in the assembly hall when Billy is picked out for sleeping. I saw similar things hundreds of times, and I well remember the ritual coughing at the beginning of assembly, and the very real chance that you could be randomly picked out to see the head at the end of assembly. It all added to the authenticity of the book.

The scene outside and in Headmaster Gryce’s office with the smoker’s union is both funny and poignant. Gryce laments the poor qualities of the kids in his school but it is clear that it is the school that is failing the kids.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gZB0i0NzOe0
Link to the film version with assembly and Mr Gryce’s office. (The film is very close to the book, and very effective in its portrayal. Lots of the dialogue is virtually word for word. Here’s the clip from Gryce’s office.)

The scene during the PE lesson is similarly funny and poignant. The wannabe sports Teacher bullying the kids in an inadequate attempt to reclaim youth and football status is a classic. I knew PE teachers like him. One PE Teacher would do the selfsame things; tackling kids and pushing them out of the way. I even remember one kid I used to know swearing at the teacher when he had been pushed off the ball, and being punished for it - just like the film.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3cayRMnVb8
Link to the film version of the PE lesson. (This scene is also very well done, and very funny.)

The story is grim, the situations rough and the people hard. Out of this comes Billy, having, against all the odds, trained a young kestrel. His endeavour in keeping and training it is impressive and it certainly makes an impression on the one Teacher who takes any notice of him. From his endeavour, you get the impression that Billy will succeed at something, despite the downbeat ending.

The book took me back to those late 1960s, early 70s days at school when their aim was to churn out kids for manual work. All the inequality and presumptuous labelling by the Teachers is skilfully explored. It is only 30 years ago that they were funnels to a world of hard graft and unpromising work.

I also liked to hear my own accent – or rather a closer accent than normal – on the screen. My cousins, who live in an ex-mining village in south Yorkshire near Barnsley, still sound like this. Reading this book I was back there among the crowds of lads in the playground in familiar rough, territory with the laughs and the ever present threat of sudden violence occurring at any time. A good read and a good film.

I don't suppose there were many people who kept birds of prey. You needed a special licence for a start, else it was illegal. My uncle did though, and I must say I was very surprised when I was taken into his shed as a young teen and saw owls and kestrels on perches.

This was because my Uncle was a difficult character to like. He was a tearaway when young and drank when he was older. He may have been violent with the drink too.

I last saw him in the 1980's organising a works do for his mates. (The organising involved certain female entertainment which I won't go into).

It made me wonder recently, when I read the book though and watched a few clips. Billy is a difficult kid from deprived circumstances. My uncle was difficult and from deprived circumstances too, and yet there was a great talent there which I saw when he showed me notebooks of sketches and drawings he had done of the birds in the shed.

And why didn't he go to art school, get work with naturalists or become a recognised authority on birds of prey? Because he went to some no hope school in the early 1960's, and ended up working down the pit. He had no connections, no appreciation of the possibilities and no suppot for what he was really good at.

A kestrel for a Knave took me right back to those times, and also expressed something about the expectations of people from the working class. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11770-A-Kestrel-for-a-Knave-by-Barry-Hines https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11727-Returning-To-Maths Mon, 13 Jun 2011 22:03:00 GMT It is 31 years since I failed, retook and passed my O’Level Maths as a bemused 16 year old who had little idea, beyond the narrow calculations of my... It is 31 years since I failed, retook and passed my O’Level Maths as a bemused 16 year old who had little idea, beyond the narrow calculations of my experience, about the world and its machinations. I did as little Maths as possible at the time, avoiding it at home, and dreading double maths on a Thursday afternoon. As a young teen I little appreciated that it takes effort to improve in anything worthwhile.

I did get a big clue about learning in those years. A friend, who was pretty good at Maths, once told me that it was playing around with numbers. I didn’t have the mindset to see it like that. It was work and effort. I preferred reading and writing and playing with words. I focused upon writing poetry and understanding literature instead. I thought I was good at that.

It was as a trainee teacher that I first found myself coming back to Maths. It caused me a little anxiety, as, by then, I had not thought about schoolroom Maths for 10 years or so, but I found the lecturer to be an interesting bloke committed to the subject. He would regale us with stories of teaching kids called Wayne or Elvis in the North East of England, as he presented us with interesting methods and ways of thinking about and teaching the subject. It was him, as much as the Maths, that got me interested. So I did my training and tried a few things and found I enjoyed teaching Maths to the kids I taught, and then to the Adults I came across later.

I see Maths as essentially a problem of language. How do I explain, in a variety of simple ways with understandable illustrations, what is a very logical system of numbers? How do I explain the logical to the illogical – which we can all be at times. How do I create an environment of learning that will inculcate that feeling of play, alongside the importance, that my friend had indicated years ago?

Anyway, by a fluke of administrative ineptitude, or something like that, last year I found myself entered for a L3 qualification in Maths. I had an O’Level, but needed to qualify to a level above that to be able to teach it, and to put myself forward as a competent teacher of Maths in schools should my own job with the local authority go belly up.

I got the same kinds of fears – I’m rubbish at Maths, I’m not a natural mathematician etc, etc. All the old excuses came rolling back. The difference this time was that I knew it was all lies. Things might be difficult, but any average Joe, like myself, can learn things with effort. I couldn’t escape the conclusion of years of teaching reluctant children and adults that, yes, you can learn something if you put in the time and have a bit of fun.

So today I took my first Maths exam in 31 years. I did prepare, as I have a professional reputation to keep up. Of course, it wouldn’t be a real qualification without there being the strong possibility of a fail dropping onto the mat in August. Still rubbish at Maths? Possibly.
:biggrin5: ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11727-Returning-To-Maths https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11664-In-The-Library Mon, 16 May 2011 22:59:00 GMT Our library in town has a sepia look. I don’t know if this betokens some future consignment to history, like some photo relic of past times, but it... Our library in town has a sepia look. I don’t know if this betokens some future consignment to history, like some photo relic of past times, but it is certainly the pervading colour, and libraries may well radically change in this digital age. Who can tell?

The light brown carpet, and light brown walls certainly conspire to a kind of tan calm of visual deprivation. I suppose you don’t really want a vibrant jazz for fear of waking the sleeping odd people that hang around these warm public buildings.

I’m sitting in here reading a bit about Thomas Cromwell; a commoner who rose through Tudor ranks to become Henry VIII’s fixer, but who fell foul of the vagaries of court and a lack of connection. This place is far from anything like power. Little cluster of old guys from different countries are sitting in corners. Their conversation, being in another language, is like the hum of an old heater, as no words get through to disturb or distract you.

The younger ones tend to be up on the balcony with the computers, and far away from the books and librarians. There is chatter, if you care to listen, but the idiosyncratic acoustics of this former nightclub seem to dissipate the noise into a tawny fuzz. I don’t care to tune in, but instead I focus upon the virtually silent borrowers who creep about between the shelves like cats stalking a good title. On reflection, stalking seems too martial a word; it’s too lusty for the timid pattering that is occurring.

The loudest corner has the newspapers. The drone of the old guys is punctuated with the rustle of broadsheets being wrestled into manageable rectangles. It will go quieter for a few minutes until the rectangle has given up it’s secrets, and the process begins again. I am unrustled.

There are few librarians loitering. They gather in a small pack near the entrance to lament the demise of their powerful checking in BIG DESK by the self service computers that bleep your books in and out. I miss the BIG DESK and the self important bloke who would grudgingly answer my queries. There’s no denying the self service is quicker though. Less fuss. I like less fuss.

With the sepia vista and the brown noise, it all seems to merge into a comfortable space where you can chill out for a bit, though I suspect they encourage the old guys to come in to talk and keep the heating bills down with their breath. It certainly doesn’t have that cheerful, off-putting embrace you would find in a modern establishment like Tescos, but instead holds onto a faded charm like an old cap you forget you’re wearing. A brown one, of course, to merge in. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11664-In-The-Library https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11623-Turn-on-Tune-in-and-Drop-Off Sat, 07 May 2011 23:44:30 GMT ...as Timothy Leary almost said, yet today I just hoped that the old Auntie would be able to do just that. The Old Auntie, who claims she is 82,... ...as Timothy Leary almost said, yet today I just hoped that the old Auntie would be able to do just that.

The Old Auntie, who claims she is 82, had to give me her date of birth today when I was phoning up the Digital Switchover people to confirm when the engineer was coming to fit the new free Freeview digital box. (People over 75 get a free box and free fitting as the country goes completely digital). “1922” she said. I made no comment on that, but was able to confirm that the engineer would indeed be arriving between 12 and 4pm, not the 8 to 12 slot she had told me about earlier in the week. The letter had unhelpfully arrived that morning.

I informed the Old Auntie that I would pop home and return in time to greet the engineer, and be available to show her how the box works. So, instead of walking back and getting soaked, I took the bus, and an hour later I arrived home to a cooked breakfast. Super.

Later that morning, I set off with my wife to town. She was going shopping, and I was going to see an Auntie about a TV. We got a call. The engineer had arrived and was fitting the new box. It was 11.20am.

I proceeded on the 55 min journey this time, and arrived to find the engineer gone. There was a new Freeview Box sitting on the old Video Recorder that we bought her and the Old Uncle 10 years ago, but which they were never able to master. Shuffling such thoughts to the back of my mind, I had a quick go with the new controller.

So then the tutorial began.

1. Turn on the TV first.

2. Turn on the box.

3. Choose the number of the channel.

4. Enjoy.

Forty minutes later I think she was just about there. To be fair, the buttons on the new controller were a bit stiff, but she was getting it.

I have noticed frustrated colleagues on telephones trying to describe the place and times of appointments to second language speakers, and their voices rising just a semi-tone higher, as the stress clutched at their weary throats. Of course I wasn’t like that at all.

I left hoping that she would be able to turn on and tune in. (Dropping off is completely optional). I did call her this afternoon, and she said she had had it on. But then if pride makes you say you are 82, when in fact you are 89... ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11623-Turn-on-Tune-in-and-Drop-Off https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11620-My-Gadget-Autobiography Thu, 05 May 2011 23:23:01 GMT I was trying to think of an interesting activity the other day for an English class, and I came up with a Gadget Autobiography. I could see what the... I was trying to think of an interesting activity the other day for an English class, and I came up with a Gadget Autobiography. I could see what the shape of it would be; less then and more now, but once I got going I found I had a short anecdote to go with each thing. I also kept thinking of more as I went along. There will be more no doubt.

1960’s

Black and White TV, Radio

I remember watching the TV and being scared by the credits on Dr. Who – a popular Sci Fi TV series that has had a revival over the past few years. I must have been 3 or so. My mum, in her twenties, always had Radio 1 on for all the pop songs.

1970’s

Black and White TV with a Radio Dial, Colour TV, Pong

I can remember my dad turning the radio on the TV on before he went to work. The TV wasn’t broadcasting until later in the morning. In those days many people rented their TVs. Now no-one rents their TVs now. All those shops went out of business about ten or so years ago.

In the early seventies we saw our old neighbour’s colour TV. It fair glowed as the character had on a red lumberjack shirt. I can clearly remember going round with some other kids for a look.

We got Pong in the late 70s. It had those two paddles that knocked the ball back and forth to play tennis. It was so basic, but I remember thinking whoa! How does this work? (I still don’t know).

1980’s

Video Recorder, Atari TV Console, Games Arcades, Pac Man in Pubs, Sky TV

My friend’s mum bought a video recorder, and we went round one afternoon to watch The Blues Brothers. It opened a great two decades of video watching.

My brother got an Atari TV Console with Pac Man on it. It was pretty good, but the controllers were a bit flimsy.

At that time they opened games arcades where my mates would play Asteroids and Defender. I was rubbish, and didn’t have the cash to play and get any good. My brother was one of those kids who would use a piece of plastic to rack up lots of goes on the slots where he would win loads of tokens.

When I was at uni, the landlord lived with four of us students. He was a good bloke who was just a bit older, and who wanted a student life out of work time. He got the Sky in and we all paid £1.50 a week to watch endless movies when we were drunk. I saw Predator and Nosferatu and many others while I was there.

1990’s

BBC and Acorn Computers in School, First PC, Computer Games, Microsoft Office, Sega Megadrive, Playstation 1

The school I worked at had quickly bought Acorn and BBC computers in the 90s and they were rubbish. Little did we realise that they would involve constant upgrading, maintenance, software etc. I don’t think we knew that the pace of change had already gathered and that change was going to be an almost annual necessity.

My brother gave me a Sega Megadrive, which my wife particularly liked. It was Alex Kidd we used to play - a side scrolling platform game which was very frustrating but that has a catchy tune.

My first PC cost a fortune and only had 2MB Ram. The computer games were great. One I used to play was Lands of Lore done by Westwood, who went on to the Command and Conquer series.

Towards the end of the decade I got a Playstation 1. It was on this that I really got into Final Fantasy 7 with Cloud and Aeris. What a brilliant game it was. I’d read about it months before, and it opened up the possibility of how games could go beyond just a simple blaster to an interesting narrative.

2000

DVD Player, Playstation 2, X-Box, Mobile Phones, Camera Phones, Touchscreen Phones, Internet Enabled Phones, Flatscreen TVs, Laptops, Netbook, More PCs, The Internet

Wasn’t the Playstation 2 fantastic! Grand Theft Auto Vice City and San Andreas! Single player sandbox narratives. Superb.

I did buy one of the early X Boxes. The first one I had to take back as I got the Red Rings of Death, ( on the console – not a scabies related affliction). The second lasted just over a year and died – just as I was about to buy Mass Effect! I was gutted.

We’ve now got four computers in the house including the PC and Netbook. The biggest computing development for me has been my internet use which has overtaken my watching TV. I’d rather surf than passively watch, though I still watch the football, films and Game of Thrones recently. I don’t know about you, but I find the interaction makes all the difference.

The other biggie for this decade has been mobiles of course. I’m not very au fait with them. I can photograph, text and call, but I’m not into the mobile surfing yet. It’s coming though. It has definitely been driven by the kids. Who knows. In a few years perhaps we’ll just surf on cheaper mobiles rather than lashing out for bigger computers.

2010

Still the same at the moment, but I can’t see this staying the same for long. It’s early in the decade. It’ll be interesting to look back in ten years and fill in the gaps. 3d TV is already here. Whoa! How does that work then? ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11620-My-Gadget-Autobiography https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11608-Rock-in-Spades Mon, 02 May 2011 20:38:52 GMT I’ve been down to the allotment today, and I took my wife’s portable DAB radio. It’s great, though it doesn’t work at our house as it’s a signal dead zone. (So my wife can’t use it!). It works everywhere else though, so I duly tuned in to Planet Rock.

I like rock music, though I was never a rocker, have never ridden a motorbike, I’ve never been wanted nor have I worn black leather. (I did once have a brown leather jacket that a friend gave me when I was a student – it looked like a failed lion tamer’s jacket, but I wasn’t choosy). The thing with rock music is that it sometimes throws up some ridiculous lyrics. Thin Lizzy – a great band – were on and were singing:
“Tonight there’s going to be a jailbreak somewhere in this town”
Er, that would be the police station then, or perhaps the prison. (I’ll have to start a thread on daft lyrics in popular songs. I think it could be fertile).

Anyway, as Alice Cooper was on, I was thinking back to when my radio illusions were shattered last year. I was doing the washing up – rock music’s great for working, be that washing up or digging – and there was a chronology mistake which had Alice repeating the same things he had just said. So then it dawned on me – Alice wasn’t sat at some big desk fading in the music, but was at home by his pool, perhaps listening to his own show with a critical ear. I think my radio illusion was a throwback to the 1980’s when you could ring up the station, (though I never did – I never had change in the 1980s), and speak to the celebrity DJ.

I am aware that there is an absurdity in Rock Music. (Luckily I like absurdity). Lots of the songs are about being an outsider, poor, rejected, fighting, never giving up, fighting until the end, casual sex but at the same time not needing anyone, not being understood etc etc which I suppose feeds the imaginations of teenage boys sitting in their rooms and dreaming of being outsiders, fighting, never giving up, not needing anyone etc etc. The biggest absurdity is that the songs are often written and performed by middle aged men who wouldn’t qualify for any of these, being rich and successful, and probably never did. It’s a dreamer’s genre, or should that be fantasist?

It being an absurd genre I am aware of the absurdity of my walking back from digging a vegetable bed with a carrier of freshly picked purple sprouting broccoli for tea and singing “I’m a rock and roll outlaw and I’m on the run. I’m a rock and roll outlaw. I’ve never needed anyone”. Absurd dreaming. I just hope no-one heard me.

Earlier I had been singing along while I was digging today, and yes I have to admit that I did occasionally play the air guitar with whatever tool I was holding at the time, (gardening tool I assure you). I strummed along to Money For Nothing with my rake, and blasted some chords to Motorhead singing Motorhead. Perhaps I should have saved it for The Ace Of Spades. On reflection, maybe I should re-name this blog Rocking Spades. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11608-Rock-in-Spades https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11602-Why-you’ll-find-my-old-clothes-in-a-charity-shop-over-my-dead-body Sat, 30 Apr 2011 20:31:22 GMT I was in some charity shops today – those shops where people donate their old or unused stuff to be sold by the charity for a small profit – as my... I was in some charity shops today – those shops where people donate their old or unused stuff to be sold by the charity for a small profit – as my wife and I like browsing in them. I bought three books for a quid – actually they came to 50p as it was an “Everything Half Price” day.

I bought Hammond Innes The Strange Land – mainly because it is a 1966 copy, and I find the cover alluring. I got a Len Deighton – Hope which is the second in his Faith, Hope and Charity trilogy. They didn’t have the first one – Faith - which would have been better. Frustratingly they also had the second two of another trilogy of his. The third book I bought was Kahlil Gilbran’s The Prophet mainly because I had seen references to it on this forum.

They do serve a good purpose these shops. They raise a good amount of money and provide lots of people with the opportunity to gain some work experience. I know a chap who works in one who used to live in the Salvation Army Hostel. He’s now got his own place and works there. He also volunteers with the St. John’s ambulance. It’s nice to see people moving on from difficult circumstances.

It also means you can get kitted out – if you need to – pretty cheaply, though I wouldn’t buy my pants from there. The thing is, you just know that the clothes will probably be from a clearance of some poor old bloke’s wardrobe when he died. Most of them look like they are. I don’t usually find any clothes in them, though I have bought items from them in the past. I’m not squeamish in that way, but they tend to be old guy’s type stuff, (or should I say older guy’s stuff?). But I was wondering why there aren’t more men’s clothes in a younger type range, and perhaps it’s because blokes wear stuff differently to women. (There are always loads of ladies clothes).

It might be just me, but I tend to wear stuff into the ground. If I buy something, I wear it come rain or shine until it is unsuitable for human wearing again, and my wife surreptitiously throws it out. Is this other bloke’s experiences? We don’t tend to talk about clothes and so I have no idea what other blokes do either. What leads me to think that it might be true of other blokes is that there aren’t usually any good selections of clothes in charity shops for men.

My shirts wear out along with my shoes, my jumpers shrink or stretch, my trousers usually go on the seat due to my cycling, and my t-shirts tend to disintegrate and fade. This all goes to show that it is only when I’m dead that you’ll be able to buy my clothes in the charity shop – they’ll not be worn out like I finally will be. :lol: ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11602-Why-you’ll-find-my-old-clothes-in-a-charity-shop-over-my-dead-body https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11576-The-Allotment-AGM Wed, 20 Apr 2011 21:18:01 GMT Last week I decided to take the plunge. I’ve had an allotment for about three years now, (allotments were developed and leased annually during WW2 by... Last week I decided to take the plunge. I’ve had an allotment for about three years now, (allotments were developed and leased annually during WW2 by local authorities to encourage the population to grow their own food to supplement food rationing, and still continue), but I hadn’t been to an AGM yet. My wife refused point blank last year, and this year was no different. So I decided to go to the Allotment Association Annual General Meeting ... alone.

I’ve not been to an Annual General Meeting before. I had a vague expectation of a room full of aged people who talked about the intricacies of the local allotment association constitution, and other dry committee matters. I expected some small irrelevant disputes to break out spontaneously, and for a few irascible people to question everything and annoy the majority of the people there. To my complete surprise, that’s exactly what happened.

To be fair, the new Committee Chairman did try to lighten the atmosphere by putting on a blue hard hat when he rose to speak. A ripple of laughter went round the room when he did this, but it ebbed somewhat on subsequent repetitions. He was brave in the face of adversity – his very election was questioned, and the due democratic process was invoked. It was all for naught though, as he is elected by the committee, but this rather pointless merry-go-round took a good half hour to elucidate.

It became clear that the “aging troublemakers”, who were haranguing the committee, all came from another site to the one I attend, (there are three sites in the west of Coventry). They did manage to agitate the audience; there was an audible increase in sighs and the tapping of pint pots. Finally someone pointed out that they had a wife, child and a job, and wanted to get home this decade. Their site does seem to have a surfeit of opinions. Perhaps it’s not as peaceful as ours.

One chap did try to raise the issue of having a website so that there could be easier communication. His manner was rather sarcastic, and, as I gather happened last year, they managed to ignore him which rather explained his attitude.

The evening was topped off with, (GASP!), accusations of over-use of the water, and (SHOCK, HORROR!), the watering of plants with a hose pipe. We are supposed to fill butts and water with cans from them, but no conclusive evidence was presented. Accusations and denials went to and fro, though no fists were shaken or sticks waved. I thought this had possibilities for livening up the evening, but the committee took the opportunity to quickly call the last few votes and wrap up this year’s AGM without anything changing very much.

I left after three pints of shandy and a few notes I had taken on the memo function of my phone. It was a pretty dreary meeting in all, but there were a few light moments such as when I went into the bar to get another drink. Some of the allotmenteers seem to be such an argumentative bunch. The next “event” is the highly competitive “Earlsdon Flower Show” where we can all enter our produce against growers from other sites. My wife refused to go point blank last year, but I can’t wait. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11576-The-Allotment-AGM https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11570-Getting-to-know-the-hospital Wed, 13 Apr 2011 23:08:47 GMT I recently had reason to spend quite a bit of time at the hospital – though not for myself. I’ve always disliked them on the grounds that they mean... I recently had reason to spend quite a bit of time at the hospital – though not for myself. I’ve always disliked them on the grounds that they mean someone is in pain and is suffering, such as my wife when she was having the kids, and the elderly relatives and parents when they were ill and dying. This is still true, and was true this time, but I’ve come to see it in a somewhat different shade as well.

My wife loves the hospital, as she sees it as a place of healing and helping. She is a staff nurse, though she hasn’t worked as such for a while. It’s not a place I previously would have liked to be. I’m not the squeamish type; the operations on TV that my wife likes to watch, with all the uplifting commentary and true life stories, don’t bother me and just don’t interest me much. I have the same attitude to them as I do the hospital: only watch or be there when you really have to.

Yet recently I had to get to know the hospital a bit more. I had a few rides in ambulances to accompany someone, and went visiting the wards. I had to fit into the bewildering routine and watch as the hospital staff did their stuff. Gradually it all became, over a few months, a more or less every other daily experience. The hospital certainly is a place of healing for many, and the staff generally do a good job, much much more than just a good job in some cases.

I now have more confidence in the staff than I previously did, and I’ve come round more to my wife’s view of hospitals. That’s not the point I’m making though. We’ve got to get to know them. That bewilderment that people experience on being taken into hospital, and the fear they will experience can be mitigated by a bit of insight. I’m not advocating hospital tourism, which is rather a morbid idea, but taking the opportunity to visit when necessary and getting to know the place a bit. We’ve got to get to know them for ourselves, and to be better prepared for others around us. Well, you know, we’ll all be going there sometime. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11570-Getting-to-know-the-hospital https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11515-Tolstoy-on-the-Bus Fri, 11 Mar 2011 00:32:58 GMT I usually ride my bike to work, but sometimes I fancy a leisurely bus ride. I work late on Wednesday nights teaching, and so it’s nice to go in a bit... I usually ride my bike to work, but sometimes I fancy a leisurely bus ride. I work late on Wednesday nights teaching, and so it’s nice to go in a bit later and read a book on the bus. Today it’s Tolstoy on the bus.

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My rather battered book on the bus this morning.

The bus services are too unreliable to use every day, and I would miss biking. Today though I will spend about an hour and a half waiting for, and riding on buses, and so I can devote a bit of time to War and Peace. I’ll arrive at work relaxed. I’ll be later than if I used a car, but there will be no stress.

I began War and Peace last year, and I read past the battle of Austerlitz before I left it for a while and read a few different books. I like a wide range and generally read as the fancy takes me unless I’m having to study a book for something specific. After such an interlude, I find I can pick up a book and I’m back in the story again. I have a number that I am currently reading that are of the longer type. I’m reading Wolf Hall, Ulysses and Midnight’s Children, though not right at this moment. I’m quite happy to leave a book if I don’t like it. There are too many great books to bother with the ones you don’t get on with. Yes, some may reward ploughing on, but there are plenty of old and new books that will reward me more with enjoyment as well.

I’m at a critical part in War and Peace. Anatole Kuragin has determined to seduce Natasha, who is betrothed to Prince Andrew. Anatole is about to whisk Natasha away, have a sham marriage ceremony performed and leave Russia. He’s been driven by his irresponsible, but exciting driver, Balaga. Anatole has taken his leave of Dholokov, who has fixed up the arrangements for him, and the rest of his friends which include some Gypsy ladies. I’m primarily interested in the war aspect of War and Peace, but Tolstoy is a brilliant writer who has ramped up the tension in this episode masterfully.

The sensible Sonya has so far been unable to dissuade Natasha from her rash course, and Prince Andrew is nowhere to be seen. Prince Andrew’s Father and his sister have made such an unfavourable impression on her that she feels no loyalty to her betrothed’s family. Anatole has been portrayed as a captivating young man, both a joy and a scourge.

Tolstoy’s views are evident in the book. His portrayal of the opera through the experience of Natasha demonstrates his view of sophistication, especially French. Natasha is an archetype of the Russian woman. She can dance to Uncle’s guitar with the fire of a Russian peasant whilst charming the Russian aristocracy in society. Yet she finds the experience of the opera as bewildering. Tolstoy portrays it as a phenomena artificial to the Russian spirit, and it comes to represent the decadence of France. Here at the opera she meets the charming Anatole Kuragin. She is charmed by this rake, as the Russian aristocracy were charmed by French culture.

Tolstoy’s observation of people and their moods is often insightful. Anna Karenina’s depressed mood before her suicide is extended through her eyes to the wider environment. The opposite is true of Levin, after his engagement, as he sees everyone as loving one another. The observation is also evident in War and Peace and is a characteristic of the song lyric – “When you’re smiling, the whole world smiles with you.” Both Prince Andrew and Natasha experience both aspect of this, and Tolstoy seems to regard this honesty of the emotions as being a part of a character’s integrity.

There’s much to ponder. I’ll catch my next bus soon after I have finished writing this piece and my coffee in a town cafe. Will Anatole be successful and leave us with another victim of insincere society, or will Prince Andrew return in time? I’ll leave with the reflection that Tolstoy would also have appreciated the bus. His final moments before he died were spent in a train station having left his wife of many years again. Perhaps it was a case of Russian passion on public transport. ]]> Paulclem https://www.online-literature.com/forums/entry.php?11515-Tolstoy-on-the-Bus