1 o’clock, Monday. Having locked myself out of the classroom last week, this week I am locked in. Supervising an exam clash. I dutifully didn’t bring any marking or reading, even though it turns out that I am, in fact, supervising two A’ level mathematicians eating their sandwiches. I’m sure even the ever-vigilant exam board wouldn’t mind me taking a moment to blog in these circumstances. And it ensures that neither of them is using the internet connection to upload the morning’s questions. Surely the sort of thing that a mathematician could do in the blink of an eye. Though it would, of course, require imagination. And English departments jealously guard A’ level students with that sort of faculty.
Only a maths department could incorporate such a room as this one. It is at the top of four flights of stairs, is roughly 15’ square, and is painted in peeling institutional magnolia. The only few adornments to the walls are posters from the National Office of Statistics pointing out, amongst other things, that pupils are less than half as likely to list maths as a favourite subject at secondary level than they are at primary school. Go figure. There are three small windows providing a magnolia-framed prospect of the distant cricket pitches and the vertiginous drop to the gravelled car park. It is, perhaps, not surprising that the windows have bars on them. Jumping must often seem like quite a favourable option to any poor sods trying to achieve an education in here. Even the computer I am using places literacy far enough down its list of priorities that I had to install ‘Word’ when it started. I might write some poetry on it in a moment. The shock will probably finish the poor machine off.
Meanwhile, back at home, William’s various health professionals are holding a ‘multi-disciplinary meeting’. It is a sad reflection of the boy’s plight when he has been reduced to an agenda. However, in a glorious twist, it has proved impossible to get adequate childcare for William today, and so he will be making an unscheduled appearance at the meeting himself. It will certainly focus everyone’s minds, though not necessarily on the issues at hand. I suspect William’s own choice of agenda will focus largely around playing with Thomas on any flat surface he can find, and generally hogging any limelight going. I am pleased with his overall world view at the moment. First thing this morning, he was quite insistent that Mummy should change his nappy, and Daddy should give him a cuddle and read a story. These are parental roles I am quite happy to reinforce. William is still my hero.
Only a maths department could incorporate such a room as this one. It is at the top of four flights of stairs, is roughly 15’ square, and is painted in peeling institutional magnolia. The only few adornments to the walls are posters from the National Office of Statistics pointing out, amongst other things, that pupils are less than half as likely to list maths as a favourite subject at secondary level than they are at primary school. Go figure. There are three small windows providing a magnolia-framed prospect of the distant cricket pitches and the vertiginous drop to the gravelled car park. It is, perhaps, not surprising that the windows have bars on them. Jumping must often seem like quite a favourable option to any poor sods trying to achieve an education in here. Even the computer I am using places literacy far enough down its list of priorities that I had to install ‘Word’ when it started. I might write some poetry on it in a moment. The shock will probably finish the poor machine off.
Meanwhile, back at home, William’s various health professionals are holding a ‘multi-disciplinary meeting’. It is a sad reflection of the boy’s plight when he has been reduced to an agenda. However, in a glorious twist, it has proved impossible to get adequate childcare for William today, and so he will be making an unscheduled appearance at the meeting himself. It will certainly focus everyone’s minds, though not necessarily on the issues at hand. I suspect William’s own choice of agenda will focus largely around playing with Thomas on any flat surface he can find, and generally hogging any limelight going. I am pleased with his overall world view at the moment. First thing this morning, he was quite insistent that Mummy should change his nappy, and Daddy should give him a cuddle and read a story. These are parental roles I am quite happy to reinforce. William is still my hero.
2 comments:
Hi Paul,
I enjoy reading your amusing blog which despite your misfortune cheers up many an otherwise boring evening.
I thought that you may be interested in the alternative maritime uses that I have found for the crutches that you have apparently now abandoned in favour of the elegant stick.
As you know I am a small boat sailor using a single crutch to prolong an active sailing hobby whilst under threat of an impending NHS hip replacement operation.
Well, I have found that the crutch makes a fairly efficient boat hook and grappling aid and works equally well for fending off and passing lines. Its mere presence encourages people, spontaneously and without prompting, to insist on carrying your heavy water containers down steep and rusty ladders.
The life saving properties however, are quite remarkable. This is the scenario from last Monday.
At midnight, the local authority in a deserted French port switches off the street lamps at the critical moment just as you are about to enter your rubber dinghy. This sudden unaccustomed darkness results in your ending up in the water with the dinghy on top of you whilst the oars float rapidly away on the tide. You succeed in getting the dinghy the right way up and you into it - but you are up the creek, so to speak, without a paddle. However, the multi-purpose crutch comes to the rescue. Skillfully wielding the crutch (in upside down mode you understand) you paddle off into the blackness in mad pursuit of the oars and miraculously recover them before rowing back to your boat for a well earned night cap and change into dry clothes.
You see, whilst I realise that your pastimes differ from mine, you may never learn the full range of uses of the humble crutch.
Crumbs - and I'd just been using mine to hook down the screen in my classroom. If I'd have realised their full life saving potential, think of the good works I could have achieved!
Does Mum know about your near-death experience in a French Harbour? I'm sure I would have felt the disapproval from half way around the M25.
You know that one of the astonishing things about hip operations is that most victims are up walking the next day? I've seen it happen, and the look of disbelief that each patient gave their physiotherapist before they walked down the ward...
I'm thoroughly glad that the worst that the French could do to you was give you a cold bath. Two crutches await their inclusion in your bosun's locker!
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