I've missed it. I assumed it was in February. Last year, wasn't it in February?
This year the date was January 23rd and enter the Year of the Dragon. I'm a horse myself. A wooden horse, no less.
It gave me the shivers when I realised that I might have been the Trojan horse itself. A gift boldly given that contains nasty stuff that you don't expect. Sometimes life is like that. You think you have it figured out. You might have psychic friends who tell you what to expect - warn you of the worst or the best... Then it springs. Or, at least, you wheel it in and it delivers exactly what you don't want.
You take a strange byway. Your life might even double back on itself and you find yourself facing that aspect of yourself that you thought you'd done away with years ago. Or that you'd sorted. That dreaded truth. However, you hadn't dealt with it. You'd just buried it and hoped it was dead. And now it's struggled its way out of the earth and is lumbering after you, eyes glittering, and reaching its purple fingers towards your frantically thudding and terrified heart. Yes, like a zombie. Little wonder those films are terrifying...
We're always being tested, always learning.
No wonder I feel comfortable as a home educating facilitator.
It's closer now. Lumbering more loudly. Scraping its misshapen feet along the ground. Moaning and - oh, dear - is it crying?
That leaden feeling that you have made a mistake somewhere. That you've committed yourself to a course of action that has brought you to the moment. The moment when...
the zombie grabs you, cracks open your breast bone and yanks your heart from your palpitating chest...
Have you made a mistake so big? Have you condemned your children to misery because they haven't passed millions of exams and fought the good fight in school?
You yank your heart back, stuff it into its rightful place, seal up the gaping wound and stare the zomb down.
Have I done the wrong thing? you ask yourself.
Nah, you reply.
It's all good.
Brains for tea anyone?
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Friday, 13 January 2012
Er hem, happy new year
Lower case: happy new year. I am a bit late. Well, I'm a lot late. Hope it was, is and will be a good one for you.
But it doesn't mean much, does it really? It's a convention. The new year could start in October or February (as in the Chinese New Year) or 6:14 on August 12th. Or never. All years could be just one big and very long year. It would do marvels for our counting skills!
Anyway, I've had a stressful morning what with Talktalk (a bit ironic that name) deciding that we no longer deserved our broadband connection and - oh, dear me - we shouldn't have our landline either, ducks. Even though what we'd done to pay for it was what we had always done, and we had paid (as we thought) for it as usual. But they said no. What a palaver... Little wonder they get rather uncomplimentary comments for their customer services. Dear me, yes.
So I am on the hunt for a new package. Take note Talktalk people: shortly I will not need your talkietalkie. I will have new talk abilities. You will be all talked out in my house, and I wish you goodbye. In fact, I never signed up to your service. The service I contracted for was provided by Pipex some years ago until they were swallowed up by talktalk.
Anyway, it won't be long now before I am free from your incomprehensible letters and your non-attempts to use a long-defunct email address. Thanks but no thanks.
The Spartacus effect
I was just reading Mum6kids' blog. What a lady Mum6kids is, and such a sterling writer. I do enjoy her blog and I'd like you to enjoy it too.
It's here:
http://mum6kids.wordpress.com/2012/01/13/the-spartacus-report-as-the-government-tries-to-get-the-sick-and-disabled-to-pay-for-the-bankers-crisis/#comment-5111
And here is the despicable government's attempt to let us, the poor and sick people who are already so many strikes down in the game of life, take the kicks from the boot of dodgy capitalism and greedy bankers.
http://www.benefitsandwork.co.uk/news/latest-news/1510-12-january-newsletter?utm_source=iContact&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Benefits+and+Work&utm_content=esa+victory
As you know if you read my blog we look after my mother. She fell in August and broke her leg which was duly fortified by a metal spike through it. They couldn't, however, replenish the normality of her brain which has been failing for many years.
It's subtle, perhaps, her mental decay. You might not catch it and, when we tell you she is not competent to make her own decisions; you might say there is nothing wrong with her as some of the hospital staff tried to do.
My mother says every day that she wants just a cheese sandwich for lunch. Every day. It doesn't sound much, does it? Quite reasonable a request, but she makes it every day. Every day. Despite the fact that she always gets something much more nourishing. And, if we say we're making her a cup of tea, it's the 'Only half a cup of tea, with a little bit of milk'. There are, of course, many other signs that my dear old dear is demented. She doesn't have a huge memory loss which counted against us when we told the hospital that she is off her trolley. Did they care? No. Did social care care? No, they were just interested in how much money she had tucked in her fleecy socks. The social care guy told me it takes £400 to keep my mother in a hospital bed. We get about £54 a week for looking after her.
Small wonder, then, that they don't want her. Small wonder that she's been assessed as fine. No wonder that our lives are on hold, our family members live apart, that we are running two houses in tandem, that every day - every day - H or I listen to the same comments about the same things, over and over, ad nauseum and ad infinitem.
If she lives another ten years I doubt I'll be here. I'll be pushing up the daisies or rounding Cape Hope in an old tyre because you just can't do it, hour in hour out, day in day out year in year out without something going pop in you. Something to do with self. Self-determination. Time for self. Life for self in a self that ain't getting any younger.
So Mr Cameron with your army of helpers and your large juicy, fruity salary, do you think you could listen to just a cheese sandwich for lunch just a cheese sandwich for lunch just a cheese sandwich for lunch only half a cup of tea with a little milk only half a cup of tea with a little milk just a cheese sandwich for lunch only half a cup of tea with a little milk only half a cheese sandwich with a little cup of milk for very long and how long would it be before your brain curdles...
All for about 54 quid a week. And that doesn't even pay for half of our combined food shop for a week.
But, by all means, squeeze the poor and the sick out of the pittance they get from our loving and caring society. Make them all pay for being poor and sick because, for sure, the big clever bankers and those suited, shouting, share-dealing abdabs in the city of London should not pay.
Thanks to the House of Lords for trying to stem the bloodletting that sees money flowing upwards (A MIRACLE) from the poor to the rich in this society, courtesy of the already rich.
Cheese sandwich anyone?
But it doesn't mean much, does it really? It's a convention. The new year could start in October or February (as in the Chinese New Year) or 6:14 on August 12th. Or never. All years could be just one big and very long year. It would do marvels for our counting skills!
Anyway, I've had a stressful morning what with Talktalk (a bit ironic that name) deciding that we no longer deserved our broadband connection and - oh, dear me - we shouldn't have our landline either, ducks. Even though what we'd done to pay for it was what we had always done, and we had paid (as we thought) for it as usual. But they said no. What a palaver... Little wonder they get rather uncomplimentary comments for their customer services. Dear me, yes.
So I am on the hunt for a new package. Take note Talktalk people: shortly I will not need your talkietalkie. I will have new talk abilities. You will be all talked out in my house, and I wish you goodbye. In fact, I never signed up to your service. The service I contracted for was provided by Pipex some years ago until they were swallowed up by talktalk.
Anyway, it won't be long now before I am free from your incomprehensible letters and your non-attempts to use a long-defunct email address. Thanks but no thanks.
The Spartacus effect
I was just reading Mum6kids' blog. What a lady Mum6kids is, and such a sterling writer. I do enjoy her blog and I'd like you to enjoy it too.
It's here:
http://mum6kids.wordpress.com/2012/01/13/the-spartacus-report-as-the-government-tries-to-get-the-sick-and-disabled-to-pay-for-the-bankers-crisis/#comment-5111
And here is the despicable government's attempt to let us, the poor and sick people who are already so many strikes down in the game of life, take the kicks from the boot of dodgy capitalism and greedy bankers.
http://www.benefitsandwork.co.uk/news/latest-news/1510-12-january-newsletter?utm_source=iContact&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Benefits+and+Work&utm_content=esa+victory
As you know if you read my blog we look after my mother. She fell in August and broke her leg which was duly fortified by a metal spike through it. They couldn't, however, replenish the normality of her brain which has been failing for many years.
It's subtle, perhaps, her mental decay. You might not catch it and, when we tell you she is not competent to make her own decisions; you might say there is nothing wrong with her as some of the hospital staff tried to do.
My mother says every day that she wants just a cheese sandwich for lunch. Every day. It doesn't sound much, does it? Quite reasonable a request, but she makes it every day. Every day. Despite the fact that she always gets something much more nourishing. And, if we say we're making her a cup of tea, it's the 'Only half a cup of tea, with a little bit of milk'. There are, of course, many other signs that my dear old dear is demented. She doesn't have a huge memory loss which counted against us when we told the hospital that she is off her trolley. Did they care? No. Did social care care? No, they were just interested in how much money she had tucked in her fleecy socks. The social care guy told me it takes £400 to keep my mother in a hospital bed. We get about £54 a week for looking after her.
Small wonder, then, that they don't want her. Small wonder that she's been assessed as fine. No wonder that our lives are on hold, our family members live apart, that we are running two houses in tandem, that every day - every day - H or I listen to the same comments about the same things, over and over, ad nauseum and ad infinitem.
If she lives another ten years I doubt I'll be here. I'll be pushing up the daisies or rounding Cape Hope in an old tyre because you just can't do it, hour in hour out, day in day out year in year out without something going pop in you. Something to do with self. Self-determination. Time for self. Life for self in a self that ain't getting any younger.
So Mr Cameron with your army of helpers and your large juicy, fruity salary, do you think you could listen to just a cheese sandwich for lunch just a cheese sandwich for lunch just a cheese sandwich for lunch only half a cup of tea with a little milk only half a cup of tea with a little milk just a cheese sandwich for lunch only half a cup of tea with a little milk only half a cheese sandwich with a little cup of milk for very long and how long would it be before your brain curdles...
All for about 54 quid a week. And that doesn't even pay for half of our combined food shop for a week.
But, by all means, squeeze the poor and the sick out of the pittance they get from our loving and caring society. Make them all pay for being poor and sick because, for sure, the big clever bankers and those suited, shouting, share-dealing abdabs in the city of London should not pay.
Thanks to the House of Lords for trying to stem the bloodletting that sees money flowing upwards (A MIRACLE) from the poor to the rich in this society, courtesy of the already rich.
Cheese sandwich anyone?
Friday, 30 December 2011
Nice to see you
Well, I'm back. I've been away from you but I've missed you.
I've travelled far and wide and I've never left my location.
I've ridden on the beams of light called thought and struggled to understand that singularly fascinating subject called Quantum Physics.
I've visited a thousand new ideas and marvelled at a million stars.
I've watched films that made me think about life, the universe and everything, and those that haven't made me think at all.
I've seen the end of the sensational series about a wizard called Harry Potter and his friends (and enemies) and chewed over the fact that my children - now grown - have had the boy who lived as their companion for many years.
My life has changed little, and changed completely.
My thoughts are roving yet revolve around certain subjects and people.
This last couple of months I pushed my comfort zone a bit by learning a few hours worth of Russian.
I promise to stretch myself even more in 2012 by reading Y's Christmas gift to me, a book called Russian for Dummies. And I look forward to ever more happy hours reading, learning, thinking and growing.
Now off to relax with The Nutty Professor (a film, not a person!)
I've travelled far and wide and I've never left my location.
I've ridden on the beams of light called thought and struggled to understand that singularly fascinating subject called Quantum Physics.
I've visited a thousand new ideas and marvelled at a million stars.
I've watched films that made me think about life, the universe and everything, and those that haven't made me think at all.
I've seen the end of the sensational series about a wizard called Harry Potter and his friends (and enemies) and chewed over the fact that my children - now grown - have had the boy who lived as their companion for many years.
My life has changed little, and changed completely.
My thoughts are roving yet revolve around certain subjects and people.
This last couple of months I pushed my comfort zone a bit by learning a few hours worth of Russian.
I promise to stretch myself even more in 2012 by reading Y's Christmas gift to me, a book called Russian for Dummies. And I look forward to ever more happy hours reading, learning, thinking and growing.
Now off to relax with The Nutty Professor (a film, not a person!)
Tuesday, 29 November 2011
Should we use the 'p' word
Oh, politics. Shouldn't be talking about it because it's not home education, is it? It isn't even rocket science which you could, at least, argue is of interest to educators.
But I console myself with the fact that, of my two children, one is vastly interested in politics and even pauses in her day to day life to debate political issues with me.
Everything, in fact, is grist to the home educating mill. Everything is educational. Everything.
What a glorious thought.
But I console myself with the fact that, of my two children, one is vastly interested in politics and even pauses in her day to day life to debate political issues with me.
Everything, in fact, is grist to the home educating mill. Everything is educational. Everything.
What a glorious thought.
Sunday, 20 November 2011
Remember, remember
I think that one channel - I can't remember which - played the film 'V for Vendetta' on November 5th this year. Although the last few years we have faced dangers from the forces of the mighty governmental machine to grind home educators into the dust of history at the moment it's all pretty quiet. Or is it?
What is happening in those halls of power? I don't necessarily mean the Westminster ones. I mean the real halls of power referred to by Neil Tayor, one of the infinitely wise members of the home educating fraternity around the world. He speaks at a conference on Home Ed. and you can find his illuminating words here:
http://www.home-education.biz/blog/education/european-home-education-conference-2011-neil-taylor
Back to 'V for Vendetta'.
The character, V, has hacked into the communication system in London to give the country his views on the state of Britain. This is a quote from that film.
"Good evening, London. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of every day routine — the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration, whereby those important events of the past, usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, are celebrated with a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the 5th, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat.
There are of course those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression.
And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission.
How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.
I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic you turned to the now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent.
Last night I sought to end that silence. Last night I destroyed the Old Bailey, to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than 400 years ago a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words, they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you then I would suggest that you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked.
But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgot. "
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/V_for_Vendetta_(film)
If only we had a 'V' in our world.
What is happening in those halls of power? I don't necessarily mean the Westminster ones. I mean the real halls of power referred to by Neil Tayor, one of the infinitely wise members of the home educating fraternity around the world. He speaks at a conference on Home Ed. and you can find his illuminating words here:
http://www.home-education.biz/blog/education/european-home-education-conference-2011-neil-taylor
Back to 'V for Vendetta'.
The character, V, has hacked into the communication system in London to give the country his views on the state of Britain. This is a quote from that film.
"Good evening, London. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of every day routine — the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration, whereby those important events of the past, usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, are celebrated with a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the 5th, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat.
There are of course those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression.
And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission.
How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.
I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic you turned to the now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent.
Last night I sought to end that silence. Last night I destroyed the Old Bailey, to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than 400 years ago a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words, they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you then I would suggest that you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked.
But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgot. "
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/V_for_Vendetta_(film)
If only we had a 'V' in our world.
Sunday, 13 November 2011
Out of sight? Out of your mind!
Well, the dear old Times Educational Supplement has begun a new assault on home education with the load of complete old tennis balls being served up here:
http://www.tes.co.uk/article.aspx?storycode=6129600
It begins, charmingly, with this:
"As many as 100,000 children may be in home education; the true figure is not known. The vast majority are in the charge of loving and conscientious parents, but hundreds are at risk of abuse and neglect."
You can fetch the sick bag now.
As to the number of home educating children, you can probably easily find that out if you check the list of juveniles on the database of the local library. Most home educating children fetch books from said library. In fact, after my children began home educating, we took a little schooled friend of Y's along on one of our visits. You could've knocked me down with a toothpick when she told me that it was her first time there. I thought I had misheard her.
"You've forgotten your library card?" I asked S in all ignorance and disbelief.
"No, I haven't got one," said my daughter's friend.
"You mean it's at home?"
S started to look uncomfortable. "No, er, this is the first time I've been to the library..."
The child was eleven years old. She promised to demand that her parents help her to procure a library card as soon as she went home, and I'm pleased to say she got it. I felt as if I'd run a marathon and won it twice.
Hundreds are at risk of abuse and neglect. Hundreds out of a possible one hundred thousand.
Er, statistics? Where are they? Are you going to produce them? Eh?
Leaving aside the fact that countless professionals charged with children's welfare were informed and reinformed of the strange home situation that Khyra Ishaq was unfortunately subject to, little LA visitors are empowered to pass along information to social workers if they are alarmed about a child's welfare. The poor child would have been starved over a long period of time and during that time she was, supposedly, safe in a school.
The sensible comments following that piece of bog roll journalism are worth reading.
And, from Dr. Helen Lees, comes this follow-up letter:
'Having just been awarded a PhD for research on the discovery of elective home education (EHE), I can unequivocally report that your cover story "Out of school, out of sight" (4 November) is rubbish. Not only does the article rehearse old and dismissed arguments, but it also provides no new ones. It does not even offer an accurate and balanced portrayal of the Khyra Ishaq case as it relates to EHE, nor about the Badman review and the subsequent cross-party enquiry that found it had substantial failings. The article attempts to cover the complexity of the issue, but ends in a state of ideological bias against EHE as a valid educational choice.
You failed to consult academic or EHE organisational voices. Why? There are plenty of scholars and home educators who see things very differently from the article's single narrative of doom.
It is true that EHE is an issue, but it is one that highlights the failings of schooling and social services. Furthermore, it brings into relief the shortcomings of government bodies that operate without proper care or respect for practitioners and educational research. Educationally, EHE is one of the most innovative and exciting growing movements of the current time.
Alas, even the miserable black and white pictures are misleading and full of prejudice. Think on it TES, and think again.'
Dr Helen E Lees, Research fellow, School of Education, Stirling University.
Ah, Dr. Helen. I think I love you.
Now why did I just embolden a few sentences? The whole letter should be in bold... Where's my blue pencil?
http://www.tes.co.uk/article.aspx?storycode=6129600
It begins, charmingly, with this:
"As many as 100,000 children may be in home education; the true figure is not known. The vast majority are in the charge of loving and conscientious parents, but hundreds are at risk of abuse and neglect."
You can fetch the sick bag now.
As to the number of home educating children, you can probably easily find that out if you check the list of juveniles on the database of the local library. Most home educating children fetch books from said library. In fact, after my children began home educating, we took a little schooled friend of Y's along on one of our visits. You could've knocked me down with a toothpick when she told me that it was her first time there. I thought I had misheard her.
"You've forgotten your library card?" I asked S in all ignorance and disbelief.
"No, I haven't got one," said my daughter's friend.
"You mean it's at home?"
S started to look uncomfortable. "No, er, this is the first time I've been to the library..."
The child was eleven years old. She promised to demand that her parents help her to procure a library card as soon as she went home, and I'm pleased to say she got it. I felt as if I'd run a marathon and won it twice.
Hundreds are at risk of abuse and neglect. Hundreds out of a possible one hundred thousand.
Er, statistics? Where are they? Are you going to produce them? Eh?
Leaving aside the fact that countless professionals charged with children's welfare were informed and reinformed of the strange home situation that Khyra Ishaq was unfortunately subject to, little LA visitors are empowered to pass along information to social workers if they are alarmed about a child's welfare. The poor child would have been starved over a long period of time and during that time she was, supposedly, safe in a school.
The sensible comments following that piece of bog roll journalism are worth reading.
And, from Dr. Helen Lees, comes this follow-up letter:
'Having just been awarded a PhD for research on the discovery of elective home education (EHE), I can unequivocally report that your cover story "Out of school, out of sight" (4 November) is rubbish. Not only does the article rehearse old and dismissed arguments, but it also provides no new ones. It does not even offer an accurate and balanced portrayal of the Khyra Ishaq case as it relates to EHE, nor about the Badman review and the subsequent cross-party enquiry that found it had substantial failings. The article attempts to cover the complexity of the issue, but ends in a state of ideological bias against EHE as a valid educational choice.
You failed to consult academic or EHE organisational voices. Why? There are plenty of scholars and home educators who see things very differently from the article's single narrative of doom.
It is true that EHE is an issue, but it is one that highlights the failings of schooling and social services. Furthermore, it brings into relief the shortcomings of government bodies that operate without proper care or respect for practitioners and educational research. Educationally, EHE is one of the most innovative and exciting growing movements of the current time.
Alas, even the miserable black and white pictures are misleading and full of prejudice. Think on it TES, and think again.'
Dr Helen E Lees, Research fellow, School of Education, Stirling University.
Ah, Dr. Helen. I think I love you.
Now why did I just embolden a few sentences? The whole letter should be in bold... Where's my blue pencil?
Sunday, 30 October 2011
Thank you
Surely the measure of a writer is one you want to return to. One you want to re-read. One whose words echo in your soul. One who makes you think of them at odd times in your day.
One who enchants and caresses you. Who makes you feel good. Who challenges your day-to-day assumptions. Who lifts you up and keeps you uplifted.
I hope I'm one like that for you. I hope that, by reading my words, you are coming back, reading again, feeling better, remembering bits from my blog bytes and pondering the messages I leave you.
I hope you get as much from me as I do from you, my dear and gentle readers.
Thank you.
One who enchants and caresses you. Who makes you feel good. Who challenges your day-to-day assumptions. Who lifts you up and keeps you uplifted.
I hope I'm one like that for you. I hope that, by reading my words, you are coming back, reading again, feeling better, remembering bits from my blog bytes and pondering the messages I leave you.
I hope you get as much from me as I do from you, my dear and gentle readers.
Thank you.
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