here we come a-thomasing

The plump Russian doctor peered at me over the top of her laptop and pronounced cheerfully in her broken English that I had fractured a bone in my foot.  I hopped out of her surgery feeling less like a character in a wintry Solzhinitsyn novel and somewhat a little happier.

I had woken on Monday morning with a painful left foot which I believed I had somehow bruised or "strained" - a term my mother used to use for any unexplained pain.  That or what she called "growing pains".  I'm fairly sure I've stopped growing, although I suppose "growing old pains" could be the reason. We had ordered a load of seasoned wood which was delivered on Sunday.  As we have no back entrance to our property, it was dumped unceremoniously on the street about 9:30am and I had to wheel it around in a wheel barrow whilst Mrs Dave put the said logs into the new log store.  This is when I assumed I had "sprained" my foot, possibly by pushing the barrow too heavily up a small ramp.  I definitely didn't drop anything on my foot, nor did I kick anything.

Meanwhile, back at Monday.  We had to do some dreaded shopping for the current seasonal reasons on Monday afternoon and my aching foot got worse.  By yesterday it was agony at times.  So after a night out in Ipswich last night with some friends, where the general consensus of opinion worryingly confirmed my own suspicions, I decided I had better go to see a quack and get it diagnosed.  Hence the visit to Dr Olga.  Our usual doctor was on holiday, which he seems to have a remarkable amount of.  That's rich coming from a teacher, I know.

Still, I was lighter on my (one good) foot after leaving the surgery.  Although doubtful, Mrs Dave guessed why immediately. When I texted one of the aforesaid friends to inform him that it was good news as I had only fractured a small bone in my foot, he replied, "and that's good news?"

"Well a fracture is only for Christmas, not for life. Unlike Gout."

Yes, all my friends and Mrs Dave all assured me that I had gout.  A life-changing infliction I am assured.  However, it appears to be a mere fracture which the sawbones seemed to think was something  you can do just by walking.  I spent my whole childhood avoiding fractures and breaks only to start breaking things in my fifties.  A double shoulder break about four years ago and now a fractured bone in my foot.  Great.  Still, it could have been worse.  It could have been the dreaded gout. 

Cheers.

The night out in Ipswich was excellent.  A real drinker's pub, The Fat Cat was the scene.  Not only do they brew their own beer but they supply cutlery and plates and takeaway menus.  They wash up, all you have to do is turn up and drink loads of beer.  Which we did. Beer and a very decent Indian takeaway and a lift there and back too by a sober friend.  A good evening all round. 

Proof that Jesus may not have been totally confident in
walking on water - notice life ring attatched to his head.

As I'm sure every one knows, today is both the Winter Solstice and St Thomas's Day.  It was traditional to go Thomasing, or Gooding, and was recorded in my home county of Hertfordshire by Thomas Grey in the 1870s.  Essentially this was a form of begging by poor women for charity around their local village where a dole was expected. During the 1870s in parts of England, many farmers started to get together to stop the begging and began to send money to the Town Halls to allow charity to be shared out to the genuine needy. St Thomas was the doubter, the last Apostle to believe that JC had risen from the dead and needed to stick his fingers into Christ's wounds.  Evidently he was  a builder. You can imagine him sucking air through his teeth saying, "yeah, but anyone can cut themselves like that.  Go on, tell me something only Jesus would know about me."

"Er, you've got gout because of all that red wine."
"Okay, you're Jesus."

I hope you all enjoyed St Thomas's Day and did something charitable.

a whiter shade of pale

Over recent years many students have been diagnosed with Scotopic Sensitivty or Irlen Syndrome as it now seems to be called.  This seems to be a perceptual disorder where readers have problems with tracking their reading. The white paper we've used in education for the last century and more, books, newspapers, magazines etc cause no end of distress to many people. It's a kind of dyslexia, evidently. This has meant that an empire has risen within education to help sufferers - evidently 12-15% of the population.

By empire, I mean that there are many 'specialists' in Special Needs Departments that test students and then devote a lot of time getting coloured overlays and special lenses in glasses. It would appear that The Promethean Trust based in Norwich are the main source of such lenses and overlays. The glasses cost around £90 which seems to me an awful lot of money.  Many of the sufferers are in the poorer sections of society,so nearly a ton for some glasses with plastic lenses in is presumably out of many people's reach.

There is, however, an alternative.  For reading a plastic filter is useful but when it comes to writing, that's obviously more difficult.  Bring on the coloured paper! We now have what seems like hundreds of different coloured paper booklets being sent around to the different departments for these kids to use.  These are sheets of coloured paper put through the photocopier to print lines onto. It's a bit like having a Dulux paint chart.  We've got Royal Blue, Cardinal Yellow or is that red? The problem now, though is that some of us poor old teachers who have to mark these booklets - and exams - can't actually read them very well.  I mean, dark red certainly isn't an easy colour to read scruffy writing on.  Every few days some new booklets come through into our pigeon holes (trays) and this week was no exception.  One of our pupils has been diagnosed as needing white paper.

That's right.  White paper.  Er, actually, isn't it white paper that causes the problem? Aren't all the normal exercise books we have actually white paper? Hmmm . . . something not quite right here.

There is, however, an alternative to all this.  Firstly, as a teacher I think it would be far better if students all had lenses in their glasses so that they can read on their prescription colour - and interactive whiteboards wouldn't need changing, either.  I mean, if three students are all in the same class and all need different coloured screens and non-Irlen students (the other 27 kids in the class) prefer white anyway, wouldn't lenses be the best solution?  Also they would then write into normal exercise books which would make our jobs easier for marking. It all seems so obvious.  However, it's the cost that seems to be the sticking point.

Now, as these prescription filters and lenses are only different coloured plastic sheets, I'm not fully sure why they are so expensive (empire building/making a killing on other people's suffering?) but here's my alternative.  Why don't we just use cardboard glasses with plastic lenses - just like the 3D ones people are being hoodwinked into wearing* now? I had about thirty sets last year when they were given away free by Sainsburys to tie in with some Royal celebration or other.  They put some programme on tv about Brenda in 3D.  I wish I'd kept them now.  I only got them because I was going to screen Coraline in 3D for my classes at Christmas until I discovered that not all 3D is the same.  They were useless so I threw them away.  Just think, I could replace the red and green lenses and glue in some different coloured ones.  Job done.

I wouldn't charge £90 each for them, I'd do them altruistically.

Ah well, I'm off to Hitchin Folk Club to see John Tams.  I know it's a two hundred mile round trip but if Spielberg's War Horse is as big a success as his normal films, I don't think Tam will need to work again too much.  He only needs a couple of songs in it and he'll earn a fortune, and I know that Spielberg is going to use some of them from the National Theatre production that Tam wrote the songs for.

* The only reason that so much money and hype has been put into 3D is because they can't can't pirate 3D films.  Yet. Read Mark Kermode's The Good, The Bad & The Multiplex. Well worth a read and very funny.

the deserter

walking round in circles, holding up the sky
falling amongst thieves, laughing till I cry

It seems a long time ago now but about five years ago I broke my shoulder in two places. That's two breaks on my shoulder, I don't mean I carelessly broke it in Austria and then again when I got back to Blighty.  Yes, an argument with a small hump in the snow lead me to falling rather spectacularly in front of a beginner's group of skiers the very first time they were being brought down a "blue run", which was probably quite disconcerting for them.  They all managed to get down unscathed unlike the trip organiser, yours truly.

Anyway, whilst sitting around at home with a (possible) month off but unable to do much but watch tv, I decided that I was fed up with the appalling service the East Coast was getting from the various broadcasters. Freeserve, or whatever it was called,  wasn't an option then (still isn't). The only way, it seemed, to get a fairly decent reception was to get a satellite dish.  So, we had to take Murdoch's shilling.

We'd been looking into it and noticed that there was an offer for about £70 to have it all fitted etc. So, one day sitting watching some awful daytime rubbish as though through a snow storm, I called Sky.  Interestingly, when I phoned them they told me that it would be fitted free.  Free?  Blimey.

A few days later the men arrived.  Now, gentle readers, some of you may be aware that I live in a three story town house with a gap of about a rizla paper between our house and next door's. "Sorry, mate, we can't get the cable over the house.  We'll have to get the heavy mob in."

Ah, here we go . . . the catch.  "So, er, how much is this going to cost?" I enquired fearing the worst.

"Oh no, it won't cost any more because it's our problem.  See you next week." Off they went. No such thing as a free lunch, I thought.  Bound to be a wind-up.

Anyhow, the following week they came back with the "heavy mob" - or three men with a longer ladder as I perceived it.  And it was all fitted and off they went and I spent the last week in my incapacitated state watching Sky - lovely pictrure blah, blah, blah.  Except it was Sky.  Murdoch and all that.  We've put enough money his way with even the basic monthly package we have.

I've always been uncomfortable about it and especially recently with all the News of the World shennanigans going on. So, a change was needed.  Not being one to do things in too much of a hurry (my motto is why put off until tomorrow what you could put off until the next day?) I finally got around to contacting our local tv chappie.  He came round today to fit our spanking new Freesat+ box in (plus new satellite dish and double cable etc) and so, we have finally shed our allegiance to Murdoch's insidious empire. Mrs D is watching Strictly Come Dancing and we're now able to record programmes and series if we want to - don't ask about dvd recording.  It's a long sad story.  By now you'll have guessed that me a digital things are only on nodding terms.  Still, it all seems okay. Nice clear pictures and the smug feeling that RM isn't going to get any more money from me.

zombie womb music

An interesting and rather busy week.  A half term break often lends itself to some late morning lie-ins and possibly a trip away.  However, this week seems to have been a very busy one.

We started the week - I'm using the term loosely here, I mean since last Friday when we broke up - with the Songwriter Circle mentioned previously.  Saturday was a lazy-ish day with some vague shopping and a quiet night. On Sunday we took the aforesaid wardrobe down to Southampton.  We had a great couple of days down that neck of the woods including a visit to the National Motor Museum.  I honestly don't think I've ever been there before.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I have a (very) vague notion that I may have visited it in my youth but it is obviously a different place now to whatever it was like all those years ago. And I have nobody to ask if that was the case.  It probably wasn't that expensive then, either. Why is Heritage Britain so damned expensive?

Nowadays there are the Top Gear and James Bond, er, "Experiences" to enjoy - or is that "enjoy"? The few Bond cars were okay but disappointing and the TG stuff was quite amusing but actually, seeing Bluebird was far more exciting.  Learning about the AA (no not that one) was educational too.  I hadn't realised that they were set up to alert drivers to police speed traps and if they DIDN'T salute, there was a speed trap ahead.  Probably everyone else knew that already but it seems to have passed me by.

This reminds me of a story about the first visit to Britain by Carl Perkins, he of the blue suede footwear. Evidentally an increasingly agitated CP began to hassle everyone about the AA as in, "do you actually have the AA here in this little country?" Eventually someone told him to stop worrying as anytime there was a problem or he got into difficulties, the AA could be contacted via roadside phone boxes and they would appear as soon as possible to help out.  "Boy," CP exclaimed, "you sure know how to look after your alcoholics over here."

Anyway, after we'd been around the pleasures of the National Car Museum, we thought a quick trip on the monorail would be fun.  We queued up and eventually entered the little green overhead train - as there were four of us, we seemed to be left to take over the whole compartment. As we passed over the estate I became aware of a strange noise which I assumed to be an attempt at playing a soundtrack to the trip - a simulation of a steam train perhaps? Why, I couldn't fathom as we were thirty feet in the air.  But no, it wasn't that.  All I could hazard a guess at is a sort of what I referred to at the time as "zombie womb music" - I really have no idea why they would play such a weird soundtrack.  It was a sort of scratchy low screaming with occasional, well, monkey noises thrown in. If there's anyone out there who could enlighten me as to what it may have been (or been for) I would be mildly interested.

After all that excitement we came home to spend a few days sorting out what we laughingly refer to as the spare room.  Given no-one has been able to get in there (certainly not to sleep) for many years, it's certainly a bit of a misnomer.  Well, after a few trips to the tip and charity shops, we seem to have made a lot of headway there.  Well, you can get into the room now.

During this I finally managed to tackle a large box of cds that I have been meaning to deal with for a few years now.  You know the stuff, cds by artists you'd be too embarrassed to tell anyone you owned and ones you look at and think, "what the hell did I buy that for?"  I spent a pleasurable hour typing the barcodes into the computer on a site called Music Magpie which I heartily recommend to you if you need to assuage your guilt over crap you've collected over the years and desperately need to get rid of. It's all free - they'll collect or it's freepost - and then they send you a cheque.  I should get one for about £112 believe it or not.  We'll see.  I am reminded of a Frankie Howard film where he's thrown into gaol and the prisoner next door (through a thick wall) asks him what he got for his dinner.  Frankie replies that he only got bread - the prisoner tells him that he had got gravy too.  Would he like it if he dipped Frankie's bread into the gravy?  Of course an excited Frankie says yes and just then a brick in the wall moves back.  Mr Howard puts his bread into the hole in high expectation and excitement only for the bread to disappear and the brick is put back in place . . .

Oh well, we'll see. They have been highly recommended as a website and I'm sure it'll be fine.

The Nutshell - evidently 102 people once crowded into it!

Several parties this weekend - a friend has just retired and we went to his sixtieth do and we had to go to a "wedding party" this afternoon.  Nothing exciting but at least we were able to talk to our neighbours which needs doing every so often.  However, Friday evening we went to the new Apex Theatre in Bury St Edmunds to see June Tabor and the Oysterband.  A sublime evening musically.  Interestingly, the first person I bumped into was the former head of the previous school I taught at some ten years ago.  We also bumped into one of our neighbours in a Tapas bar (don't ask).  What are the chances of that?  About the same as bumping into a former associate in the middle of nowhere, Utah.  We managed that too a few years ago.  Also we went into the self-styled "smallest pub in Britain" which was crowded.  About six of us I think.  The other pubs that contest this claim have outside seating.  As The Nutshell is in the centre of Bury St Edmunds, there's no outside seating - well, the pavement, I suppose.  Actually, the beer was a bit crap - Greene King IPA.  As it's brewed in the town I suppoose that makes sense.  They should get some Adnams in there.  Shake things up a bit.

I've just finished reading The Story of English by Philip Gooden which was an excellent (and easy) read.  I thought it was about time I knew a bit about what I teach.

So, back to the interactive whiteboard face tomorrow.  I would like to think it will be for a rest but somehow I think it'll be anything but that.  I have a feeling that the Academy is only just starting to flex its muscles . . . there may be trouble ahead . . .

Next weekend we'll be down in the Brecon Beacons for a bit of walking so it's all very exciting down here on the East coast.  I've decided that I need to get back to the music now that I've updated about how exciting my life is (cf irony). 

Something a bit more interesting than zombie womb music, though.

apocalypse when?

I woke up this morning . . . and the world was still turning.  Harold Campling's prediction was wrong, then.  Oh what a surprise. Still, "Welcome to the End of the World" was quite an opening to my first lesson of the day yesterday.  Unfortunately, the girl whose birthday it was didn't seem too impressed but seemed to take it stoically.

Actually, my year 8 class were great yesterday - imagine a class full of kids that couldn't give a flying one for English punctuation ended up totally engaged and arguing amongst themselves about how a totally un-punctuated paragraph should be re-written. Excellent. Blimey, I even had to teach them about the interrobang?! I also had a great lesson in the afternoon with my AS Film Studies group who got into an excellent discussion on Sliding Doors - a film that most of them probably would never have bothered to watch. By the time I got to the pub in the evening for a quick pint to end the half term with, I was feeling quite chipper.

Ryan Adams: elegantly wasted

After a decent Indian takeaway and a glass or two of wine, I was ready to fall asleep in front of BBC4.  However, the Songwriter Circle was pretty damned good. Although I'm not a fan of Janis Ian, she played quite well, but it was the matching of Neil Finn and Ryan Adams that kept me interested. Mrs Dave even spontaneously applauded Finn's version of Don't Dream It's Over out loud, which goes to show the quality of this programme. Actually, I remember she did that for Justin Currie last year too. Anyway, over the years since Adams' first solo album in 2000 he has displayed a quixotic attitude to his music.  I saw him live once - we wondered whether or not he'd still be alive by the end of the gig.  Exceedingly over-refreshed, he clambered up on top of a huge set of speakers to perform.  Didn't stay up there too long.

The new Ryan Adams album Ashes and Fire really is excellent and he seems back on form - evidently he's in love and straightened himself out a bit recently.  Possibly he's taking the Royal College of Physician's advice on alcohol-free days.  I must admit I am thinking quite seriously about this. Still, this would come out on the first day of the half term break, wouldn't it?  Fancy telling a teacher to have a few days off.  In all seriousness it's advice we know is sensible and definitely something we intend to  do. 

After the half term break, of course.

Right, I need to go and take a wardrobe to pieces and drive it down to Southampton, as you do.  We know how to celebrate 29 years of married bliss.

living is a gamble, loving's much the same

I can't let the sad loss last week of someone who changed the World go by without making some sort of comment.

There are lots of people who are called a 'genius' - only occasionally is it really true.  We seem to have many people around who 'change our lives' with various technical devices that are said to make our lives easier.  I talk to young people every day and many of them do not understand how one can grow up without phones, computers, video games or your whole music collection in a box the size of a fag packet.  Whether or not we actually need these things or not is debatable, and I'm not sure that my life is easier for having them - it's just different.

When these geniuses shuffle off this mortal coil their work is held up to scrutiny and often there is a sudden rush to buy products related to them - we could call it the Amy Whitehouse effect, I guess. I'm sure that magic black boxes are flying off the shelves from impulse buys this week for obvious reasons.  I'm not sure if Bert Jansch cds are flying off the shelves.  I guess not.  His passing was quiet and dignified, much like the way he lived his life.

However, Bert's death came as a bit of a shock - the news was over-shadowed by the death of soemone far better known.  In his own way, Bert Jansch changed the World and to some he had as much impact as Steve Jobs.  If you doubt that, ask Neil Young, Jimmy Page, Donovan, Johnny Marr, Beth Orton and listen to Nick Drake's legacy.  The term 'genius' has been used in several obituaries and reports.  I'm not really sure if he was a genius or not but he sure as hell was one of the most influential acoustic musicians these shores have produced.

Bert was born on 3rd November 1943 in Glasgow.  By the time he released his first album in1965, he was a wanderer, journeyman and one of the most accomplished guitarists and songwriters of the folk boom.  I'm not going to write out a history but try reading Colin Harper's excellent book Dazzling Stranger: Bert Jansch and the British Folk and Blues Revival (Bloomsbury Books, 2000). Harper's book really is a great read.  Unlike many such scribblings, Harper enjoyed many interviews with the quiet man himself. This meant that there is an honesty to the book - it's not cobbled together from old NME and Melody Maker interviews.

I saw Bert live a couple of times.  He really was amazing at Colchester Arts Theatre a few years ago but the first time I saw him  was at the Fleadh festival in London a while back.  A friend commented last night that the sound was awful - interestingly, I don't remember that.  All I remember is that I had finally managed to see this master musician live.  His vocal delivery was often mumbled but not in the same way John Martyn used his voice as an instrument, and his guitar playing was masterful. It's easy to say such things - my comments about the easy bandying around of the word 'genius' stands - but Jansch was in a class of his own.  The very free flowing style he used is beyond bedroom strummers like me but he was incredibly influential.  The Neil Young album On The Beach was very influenced by Jansch, especially the track Ambulance Blues and, of course, Young would never have written Needle and the Damage Done if it wasn't for Jansch's Needle of Death.

I'm listening to one of his live albums as I write and Blackwaterside has just come on - possibly one of Jansch's most famous songs.  I'm glad that I was able to see him perform it, and not just because I like the song but because it's a song that many people have recorded versions of.   The Oysterband, Sandy Denny and Richard Thompson have all recorded versions but there is something very special indeed about Bert Jansch's version from his 1966 album Jack Orion.  I love the sheer, er, Scottishness of his The Ornament Tree (1990).

However, if you think that's all just living in the past, his last album Black Swan was released in 2006.  He was still writing new songs and working with and influencing a new generation of guitar players.  The title song is an interesting science fiction story.  All this and he played Yamaha guitars, not flashy hand built expensive models by master craftsman.  Very down to Earth.

He will be sadly missed and his like will not be seen in these parts again.

shouldn't have gone to specsavers

Late Summer or early Autumn?  Today, as I stepped out of the house quite early to wander up to buy a newspaper, I felt quite uplifted and ready to take on the world with some humour.  A beautiful clear sunny sky made me feel that I could walk up to the local Spar in just a T-shirt.  Still, common sense prevailed and I thought, as it's a small town, I should wear a pair of jeans too.

However, £2.20 for a Sunday paper soon wiped the smile off my smug face.  £2.20? Daylight robbery, obviously.  I guess The Observer will have to support their sister paper through the coming months, so I suppose we'll take the brunt*.  I must admit, it's been a long time since I bought a paper so I should have checked.  I hardly read it - it was more about the walk up to the shop - what's that old adage about the journey rather than the destination?

It has been almost exactly a year ago to the day since Mrs Dave and I went foraging for wild food.  We couldn't find any wild cherry plums but it seems that we were lucky last year - a late harvest, perhaps? Still, we collected lots of blackberries and sloes.  The afternoon was taken up making jam and such-like.  We were quite lucky with the harvest from the garden this year, too.  We're still getting loads of tomatoes and runner beans.

Well, lots has happened over the Summer, and there have been lots of changes, too.  Obviously, I now work at an Academy although nothing is really noticeable yet as far as changes go - a few different people about, especially on the management front.  My timetable is half sixth form this year which is good - but across the two sites but that's hardly a problem. there are bigger changes than that to consider.

It would seem that it's been two years since I had my eyes tested, so I went to get that sorted out.  Evidently, Specsavers don't do round glasses as, presumably, "There's no call for them around here."  So I had to get some oblong-type ones which I'm not totally comfortable with.  A friend has pointed out that there's a shop in Ipswich which is "full of round glasses - loads of them!" So I may have to buy yet another pair.  I also bought a pair of  reading glasses for a laugh but now regret.  See the pictures for this post for a hint as to why that may be.

The biggest change, though, is to using an iPhone.  What a wonderful invention!  I'm totally sold.  Not only can I now have "instant text discussions" (and believe me, my previous phone certainly put paid to any such interactions) but I can play with all the apps available - a compass? GPS? Fantastic.  Even better, though, is the Amplitube Fender app - I now have access to a range of Fender amps, effects, a tuner, metronome and all sorts of other devices which can be accessed via headphones or a speaker (such as the kitchen Bose system).  All I have to do is attach a guitar to my iPhone and mess about to my heart's content.  If I'd have got one of these when I was 16, I'd never have come out of my bedroom. Not that I did very often unless it was to go down the pub. It probably wouldn't have made much difference in reality but kids just don't know they're born these days.  I can now dial in a 1960's Fender Princeton amp and get Richard Thompson's tone for the opening solo to Calvary Cross.  Just the tone, though, because I can't play it, obviously. 

Still, now I can stand in my kitchen and do three of my favourite things.  I can drink beer, cook and play guitar all at the same time.  Who said men can't multitask?

* Today's news included a story on how after last weekend's hurricane, the power companies paid over £1 million to stop producing power - but the cost will be passed on to us, gentle readers.