Showing posts with label DiaryR. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DiaryR. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Work experience
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| View of staff fridge, unlimited coke available |
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| Ripping of low security confidential waste |
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| View of personal computer screen from personal desk |
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| Employee selfie on comfy office chair |
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| Empty office |
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| Staff member in front of drinks machine |
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| Basement archives |
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| Files pending - is this what happened to my letter to the mayor? |
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| Mayor's desk, empty as always |
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
School Shock
School report day. I should have been prepared, R told me that this year he is 'listening in class' because 'the work is more interesting'. I felt like a street urchin who had been invited into a top luxury hotel, this is how the other half lives. As I braced myself for the usual barrage of clichés and criticism, the teacher ran his finger up and down the list of marks and said he couldn't find anything to say, the marks were all good, nor had he any 'remarks' from any of his colleagues. Silence fell. I didn't know what to say. The teacher didn't know what to say. I started to make comments about the picture of Aristotle on the wall. I underwent a kind of revelation; French teachers work so hard to find something to criticise, because if they can find nothing to criticise, the student have nothing to learn, and the teacher, therefore, has nothing to teach. The whole process grinds to a halt. R's teacher gave me a final sort of smile, so I went home.
When R received news of his report and scanned the marks and comments, he did a victory dance unrivalled even by Gollum when he got the ring. I AM THE BOSS he said, and went off laughing (he currently sounds like Marg Simpson).
When R received news of his report and scanned the marks and comments, he did a victory dance unrivalled even by Gollum when he got the ring. I AM THE BOSS he said, and went off laughing (he currently sounds like Marg Simpson).
Monday, August 4, 2014
Swedish Pilgrimage
We made a pilgrimage to Sweden to be with Yeshayahu Ben Aharon and some Nordic members of his Global Event School ,
First, we took some time to visit Gothenburg (in Swedish: Göteborg, pronounced [jœtəˈbɔrj], I have heard this pronounced, and it sounds much as it looks, so we'll stick with Gothenburg.
First, we took some time to visit Gothenburg (in Swedish: Göteborg, pronounced [jœtəˈbɔrj], I have heard this pronounced, and it sounds much as it looks, so we'll stick with Gothenburg.
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| Totally Touroidistical, JC stands on one of Gothenburg's canal bridges, a lock behind him |
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| Merchant city, warehouses, trams to the left, as the ground is too marshy to build underground trains, and a Padden boat, flat enough to get under the low bridges, so you can take a tour of the city's canal's and its sheltered sea port. |
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| Time for a quick read before we cast off |
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| JC kneels before me, to make sure his head does not hit the 'Cheesegrater' - Gothenburg's lowest bridge. Strangely the woman in front of him his half French and half Swedish, note the unlikely combination of profile and tattoo |
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| Ducking under the rusty Cheesegrater |
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| Gothenburg's dockside development and floating ship museum, delightfully not over done |
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| This Danish ship has tall masts which cannot be lowered. A short time after it docked here the Swedish built a really low bridge between it and the sea, so here it stays. |
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| The St Erik with storm descending |
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| Storm inevitable, the Padden boat owners put up a sort of windbreak... |
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| ...and sell us yellow rain ponchos...shortly afterwards the storm strikes and I am forced to put my camera away for its own safety |
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| Please note wet bottom - JC scampers for shelter |
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| And finds solace in a lovely cafe...where he can once more read |
Saturday, June 28, 2014
End of Year Summary
In a grand finale of stereotypical generalised negativity, the French school year draws to a close and the lovely long French holidays begin.
I read that the 'educational team' at R's school had much pleasure in working with his class which was "joyfully and cheerfully lacking in concentration' although the class 'made some effort' it nonetheless 'lacked regular progression, the learning was shallow, the work 'too scolarly' and the class must make 'great and serious effort' next year. All this confuses me as 'the class' doesn't really mean anything, and it will not even exist next year, as they insist of mixing up the classes every year, under the 'divide and rule' policy. I asked JC what 'scolarly' was and he said giving the answers expected of you. How extraordinary; they have trained children to give the answers expected of them, and punished them with degrading marks and summarising their work with the chilling words 'you did not do what I told you to do' and they are consequently obedient in the absolute, totally lacking in imagination and originality, and take care never to think for themselves - and now it seems all this was simply in order to complain about the end result of their own system! I tell you it's beyond me. English children thrive on enthousiasm, encouragement and praise, but French children need none of that, and instead truck along with anything on a scale from tepid indifference to a barrage of insults.
R's teacher, Mrs Essex-Facelift made a special end of term effort to 'summarise' (humiliate) each pupil in front of his/her peers, eg
'Well you can wipe the smile of your face, you won't even be able to pass your exams with your 5 out of 20 in maths and your 8 out of twenty in French, you'll have to do a professional bac'.
For R however, there is good news! There seems to be a system in place where pupils are judged and categorised (I've never been furnished with the details, it seems to be something everyone knows except me). Most pupils are 'white', which I take to mean are hiding in a sort of white fog, unnoticed for their good or bad qualities, and deeply grateful not to be one level lower in the dark hell region of 'in difficulty' which offers no hope and from which there is no escape. This year R has apparently emerged from the fog and entered the realm of 'encouragement', although the accolade was VERY grudgingly given by Mrs Essex-Facelift, and I quote "Adequate work but no more than that, he is working regularly but his work lacks care and attention to detail and he must try harder next year'. I believe there are more elivated titles above 'encouragement', terminating in the unheard of 'congratulations', which entitles you to a school prize. (The class 'intello' ((intellectual)) got 50 Euros every year until this year when a policy change meant he received a maths book, which did not go down well and has made him into a classic candidate for 'breaking bad' but I'm not at liberty to discuss that). However, some teachers even wrote 'bravo' on R's report, the highest (and most meaningless) of school praise, and his final summary, which seems to have been doled out by some sort of committee is;
"Some efforts have paid off it must be followed up by seeking more precision and rigour in written work. The term is globally satisfactory, ENCOURAGEMENT. May pass into 3rd class'.
You will note that the word 'ENCOURAGEMENT' is a kind of score/label, but is not actually delivered, however, for a Frenchy, all this is high praise and we are all very pleased (relieved).
I read that the 'educational team' at R's school had much pleasure in working with his class which was "joyfully and cheerfully lacking in concentration' although the class 'made some effort' it nonetheless 'lacked regular progression, the learning was shallow, the work 'too scolarly' and the class must make 'great and serious effort' next year. All this confuses me as 'the class' doesn't really mean anything, and it will not even exist next year, as they insist of mixing up the classes every year, under the 'divide and rule' policy. I asked JC what 'scolarly' was and he said giving the answers expected of you. How extraordinary; they have trained children to give the answers expected of them, and punished them with degrading marks and summarising their work with the chilling words 'you did not do what I told you to do' and they are consequently obedient in the absolute, totally lacking in imagination and originality, and take care never to think for themselves - and now it seems all this was simply in order to complain about the end result of their own system! I tell you it's beyond me. English children thrive on enthousiasm, encouragement and praise, but French children need none of that, and instead truck along with anything on a scale from tepid indifference to a barrage of insults.
R's teacher, Mrs Essex-Facelift made a special end of term effort to 'summarise' (humiliate) each pupil in front of his/her peers, eg
'Well you can wipe the smile of your face, you won't even be able to pass your exams with your 5 out of 20 in maths and your 8 out of twenty in French, you'll have to do a professional bac'.
For R however, there is good news! There seems to be a system in place where pupils are judged and categorised (I've never been furnished with the details, it seems to be something everyone knows except me). Most pupils are 'white', which I take to mean are hiding in a sort of white fog, unnoticed for their good or bad qualities, and deeply grateful not to be one level lower in the dark hell region of 'in difficulty' which offers no hope and from which there is no escape. This year R has apparently emerged from the fog and entered the realm of 'encouragement', although the accolade was VERY grudgingly given by Mrs Essex-Facelift, and I quote "Adequate work but no more than that, he is working regularly but his work lacks care and attention to detail and he must try harder next year'. I believe there are more elivated titles above 'encouragement', terminating in the unheard of 'congratulations', which entitles you to a school prize. (The class 'intello' ((intellectual)) got 50 Euros every year until this year when a policy change meant he received a maths book, which did not go down well and has made him into a classic candidate for 'breaking bad' but I'm not at liberty to discuss that). However, some teachers even wrote 'bravo' on R's report, the highest (and most meaningless) of school praise, and his final summary, which seems to have been doled out by some sort of committee is;
"Some efforts have paid off it must be followed up by seeking more precision and rigour in written work. The term is globally satisfactory, ENCOURAGEMENT. May pass into 3rd class'.
You will note that the word 'ENCOURAGEMENT' is a kind of score/label, but is not actually delivered, however, for a Frenchy, all this is high praise and we are all very pleased (relieved).
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Nuclear Drill at R's School
As far as I am aware the advice in the event of nuclear attack is: take shelter under desk and kiss your ass goodbye, but maybe I'm out of date.
We did have a nuclear attack preparation at my school in the 1970s, but even then the teachers exposed it for what it was by simple addition of logic to facts. Mrs Williams and Mr Abbott, once they had given lip-service to the obligatory bits, drew out their guitars and gave us a hard-strumming rendition of the anti nuclear protest song 'Before we had the War', which was much more sensible. God I loved the 70s.
However, R has been recalled on Wednesday afternoon for a 'What to do in the event of a Nuclear Attack' session, where the class will learn to tape up the windows and take shelter under the desk. The class teacher Mrs Essex-Facelift has let it be known that she is Not Happy about this as she is not being paid for the extra hours. Good to know we can rely on the French teaching profession in an emergency.
R hopes that once the windows are safely taped up they will be able to play cards and board games, but suspects Mrs Essex-Facelift will vent her spleen by making them WORK.
When R came home after the nuclear drill he was in a sweat and could only mutter 'torture, torture' so I had to drag this out of him.
The Headmistress Mrs Scruton opened the proceedings by shouting
"NUCLEAR ATTACK NUCLEAR ATTACK'
over the tannoy, which was broadcast in every classroom, Big Brother style. Then she shouted something like:
'ASSUME HIGH SECURITY POSITION' but no-one was sure as her voice had become distorted beyond recognition by the excessive shouting and poor quality of the PA system.
At this point a mysterious man in black entered the classroom, opened his black attache case and withdrew one bottle of water, a handful of plastic cups, a pair of scissors and some rolls of sticky tape.
'Who was he?' I asked, aghast
'Um, 'chief of zone B' or something...nobody knows.' (his identity will have to remain mysterious).
Mrs Essex-Facelift was in a bad mood about it all but this did not stop her making sure the job was done in every absurd detail. Every window, keyhole and air vent was taped up. Clothes from Lost Property were employed to cover the internal door.
'Did you recognise any of your lost clothes?' I said excitedly.
'No' replied R, with an air of detachment.
'I have another question. How do you know you will have sufficient sticky tape should the terrible day arrive?' I asked, but R could only continue with the story.
It then became very hot indeed in the classroom, and of course airless. When someone complained there was only one bottle of water between 30, Mrs Essex-Facelift shouted 'I HAVE TO STAND UP AND TEACH YOU FOR TWO HOURS AND DO YOU EVER SEE ME DRINKING?' and she set about banning pupils from fanning themselves and wiping water on their faces and other survival initiatives. 'AND STOP FIDGETING, YOU'RE WASTING OXYGEN' she added.
R later found out that the other classes had an appropriate number of bottles of water and plastic cups but Mrs Essex-Facelift had apparently decided to make the nuclear survival process just that little bit more challenging. I think she would benefit from some counselling. They shared out the water, one cup between four.
'What about the spread of infectious diseases?' I asked.
Bets were on that Mrs Essex-Facelift would force the class to do extra French, but she appeared to have been banned from doing this by the Minister of Education (or perhaps in this case the Minister of Defence) so she had to resort to forcing them to watch Alfred Hitchcock 'The Birds', a puzzling choice. R complained that it was an 'old film from the 70s' and 'very badly done' with 'random birds and blood everywhere.'. (Yes we did have the discussion about the old days when there were no computers simulations etc). After one hour and a half of suffocating heat, oxygen deprivation and bird terror, the pupils were released, their physical and mental health shattered.
I asked R if he had learned anything about nuclear explosions, or if he knew why they were taping up the windows but he did not reply.
We did have a nuclear attack preparation at my school in the 1970s, but even then the teachers exposed it for what it was by simple addition of logic to facts. Mrs Williams and Mr Abbott, once they had given lip-service to the obligatory bits, drew out their guitars and gave us a hard-strumming rendition of the anti nuclear protest song 'Before we had the War', which was much more sensible. God I loved the 70s.
However, R has been recalled on Wednesday afternoon for a 'What to do in the event of a Nuclear Attack' session, where the class will learn to tape up the windows and take shelter under the desk. The class teacher Mrs Essex-Facelift has let it be known that she is Not Happy about this as she is not being paid for the extra hours. Good to know we can rely on the French teaching profession in an emergency.
R hopes that once the windows are safely taped up they will be able to play cards and board games, but suspects Mrs Essex-Facelift will vent her spleen by making them WORK.
When R came home after the nuclear drill he was in a sweat and could only mutter 'torture, torture' so I had to drag this out of him.
The Headmistress Mrs Scruton opened the proceedings by shouting
"NUCLEAR ATTACK NUCLEAR ATTACK'
over the tannoy, which was broadcast in every classroom, Big Brother style. Then she shouted something like:
'ASSUME HIGH SECURITY POSITION' but no-one was sure as her voice had become distorted beyond recognition by the excessive shouting and poor quality of the PA system.
At this point a mysterious man in black entered the classroom, opened his black attache case and withdrew one bottle of water, a handful of plastic cups, a pair of scissors and some rolls of sticky tape.
'Who was he?' I asked, aghast
'Um, 'chief of zone B' or something...nobody knows.' (his identity will have to remain mysterious).
Mrs Essex-Facelift was in a bad mood about it all but this did not stop her making sure the job was done in every absurd detail. Every window, keyhole and air vent was taped up. Clothes from Lost Property were employed to cover the internal door.
'Did you recognise any of your lost clothes?' I said excitedly.
'No' replied R, with an air of detachment.
'I have another question. How do you know you will have sufficient sticky tape should the terrible day arrive?' I asked, but R could only continue with the story.
It then became very hot indeed in the classroom, and of course airless. When someone complained there was only one bottle of water between 30, Mrs Essex-Facelift shouted 'I HAVE TO STAND UP AND TEACH YOU FOR TWO HOURS AND DO YOU EVER SEE ME DRINKING?' and she set about banning pupils from fanning themselves and wiping water on their faces and other survival initiatives. 'AND STOP FIDGETING, YOU'RE WASTING OXYGEN' she added.
R later found out that the other classes had an appropriate number of bottles of water and plastic cups but Mrs Essex-Facelift had apparently decided to make the nuclear survival process just that little bit more challenging. I think she would benefit from some counselling. They shared out the water, one cup between four.
'What about the spread of infectious diseases?' I asked.
Bets were on that Mrs Essex-Facelift would force the class to do extra French, but she appeared to have been banned from doing this by the Minister of Education (or perhaps in this case the Minister of Defence) so she had to resort to forcing them to watch Alfred Hitchcock 'The Birds', a puzzling choice. R complained that it was an 'old film from the 70s' and 'very badly done' with 'random birds and blood everywhere.'. (Yes we did have the discussion about the old days when there were no computers simulations etc). After one hour and a half of suffocating heat, oxygen deprivation and bird terror, the pupils were released, their physical and mental health shattered.
I asked R if he had learned anything about nuclear explosions, or if he knew why they were taping up the windows but he did not reply.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
The Wonderful Well-Attended Careers Day at R's School
I admit that I did have a glass of organic white Bordeaux (thin, dry) when I was told this tale, this may have influenced my extreme reaction; I laughed so much the muscles of my abdomen went into spasm and I couldn't see for crying.
Yesterday was Careers Day at the school. A school which makes no attempt to get into any kind of relationship with students or their families, demands that parents come in on a Saturday morning and woman/man a stand in order to talk about their career to pupils who couldn't give a damn. Anyway, no-one in France that I know of has actually chosen a 'career' or likes it. Needless to say, the parent-careerers were a bit thin on the ground.
Parent visitors and their offspring were however present in large numbers, why (oh why?). The parents were there because the headmistress, Mrs Scruton, had cunningly combined Careers Day with a Parents Meeting, I believe this is called a motivational technique or manipulation. I use the word 'meeting' loosely. The idea is you turn up and the teachers are behind desks at which there is a long and desultory queue, you join the queue, you reach the teacher, you hope you have not made a mistake and the guy is actually your offspring's teacher, the teacher hastily consults his notes because he has no idea who your offspring is.
As R predicted before the event; 'The teacher has no idea who the hell he is supposed to be talking about, he smiles, and sneakily eyes the list of scores for clues. If you got an average of 10 out of 20 he says 'dreadful, yes, doesn't concentrate, no good' and if you get 19 he says 'very good student'.'
The teacher that JC queued for did exactly as R predicted. JC and this teacher got into a conversation about the dangers of internet gaming. The teacher in question was very understanding about the problem of teenage online gaming addicts. ???? WOT, this does not happen, understanding, what's that?
'Oh yeah, he's really cool, he plays Black Ops 2' says R.
'What was the career day like?' I asked JC.
'There were only 2 stands' said JC 'and one of those was empty'.
'No Dad, one was the supervisor making sure we all turned up, because if not we get detention on Monday, and the other one was the police. The stands were INSIDE the dining room'. (we have to assume JC missed the careers day).
Well at least JC did manage to queue up to see one token teacher, we'll call him Black Ops, the one that gave R the worst marks, JC likes to maximise his efficiency. Then he queued up to see the class teacher who is also the French teacher and nobody likes her including me, see previous blog. She was there with her Essex Face-lift and protruding knees and unenviable dress sense because she is an ex-model married to a fashion stylist. JC and 2 other parents queued patiently and noticed that other people behind them in the queue were getting to see this teacher before them, to they interpolated her against her will and she said 'You can't see me unless you have an appointment'.
'But we didn't know' exclaimed the parents who didn't know. (Don't know how the other parents knew but they always do).
'You should have had a note in the 'carnet' ('communication' exercise book/prison id papers)' came the clipped reply.
'But we didn't - and anyway, the whole point of this is that we come to see the teachers and queue up, if we wanted an appointment, we could have rung up and asked to see you at a time convenient to us both. We are here to see you!
'Tough, that's how it is, I have 3 classes, I can't see everyone'. (my suspicion is that she is bombarded by so many irate parents that the has to manage the crowd as best she can).
JC found this so absurd, he laughed. The French teacher was so unaccustomed to hearing laughter that she also laughed - and went back to her appointments. The 3 parents who did not have appointments did not get to see the teacher, grumbled about it together and agreed that it was not in the spirit of the thing, and went home, duty done. Now the class teacher will probably call R's other parent 'stupid' in front of the class.
R was forced to go to this event by the motivational techniques of: one hour's detention if he didn't go, and having to fill in a questionnaire proving that he had dutifully done the rounds of each stand (if not filled in one further hour's detention). He planned to go, but stay for a maximum of 10 minutes.
'Perhaps it will be interesting?' I piped up 'you might find a career that would suit you'.
'It's not interesting, Mum, nobody wants to go and nobody is interested'
He left at 10am and was back by 10.10am. He had executed his plan with remarkable skill. First he went and got his form signed (detention avoided), then he persuaded the class 'intello' (intellectual) to let him copy his (excruciatingly dull) questionnaire.
'How did you persuade him to do that?' I ask
'I made him an offer he couldn't refuse'
'What?'
'er, I offered him a sweet'.
There was a stand which must have been manned/womanned by a very canny parent, because it featured a bowl of sweets for the visitors, I believe this is called a motivational technique or manipulation. This stand (along with the stand of the computer game programmer) actually had visitors. R has no idea what career the stand was talking about, all he could see was the bowl of sweets. He helped himself to a handful, used one to bribe the class intellectual to give him the answers, went home and ate the rest in front of the telly.
Now the Headmistress Mrs Scruton will be able to write a glowing report of her wonderful well-attended Careers Day, that's the main thing.
Yesterday was Careers Day at the school. A school which makes no attempt to get into any kind of relationship with students or their families, demands that parents come in on a Saturday morning and woman/man a stand in order to talk about their career to pupils who couldn't give a damn. Anyway, no-one in France that I know of has actually chosen a 'career' or likes it. Needless to say, the parent-careerers were a bit thin on the ground.
Parent visitors and their offspring were however present in large numbers, why (oh why?). The parents were there because the headmistress, Mrs Scruton, had cunningly combined Careers Day with a Parents Meeting, I believe this is called a motivational technique or manipulation. I use the word 'meeting' loosely. The idea is you turn up and the teachers are behind desks at which there is a long and desultory queue, you join the queue, you reach the teacher, you hope you have not made a mistake and the guy is actually your offspring's teacher, the teacher hastily consults his notes because he has no idea who your offspring is.
As R predicted before the event; 'The teacher has no idea who the hell he is supposed to be talking about, he smiles, and sneakily eyes the list of scores for clues. If you got an average of 10 out of 20 he says 'dreadful, yes, doesn't concentrate, no good' and if you get 19 he says 'very good student'.'
The teacher that JC queued for did exactly as R predicted. JC and this teacher got into a conversation about the dangers of internet gaming. The teacher in question was very understanding about the problem of teenage online gaming addicts. ???? WOT, this does not happen, understanding, what's that?
'Oh yeah, he's really cool, he plays Black Ops 2' says R.
'What was the career day like?' I asked JC.
'There were only 2 stands' said JC 'and one of those was empty'.
'No Dad, one was the supervisor making sure we all turned up, because if not we get detention on Monday, and the other one was the police. The stands were INSIDE the dining room'. (we have to assume JC missed the careers day).
Well at least JC did manage to queue up to see one token teacher, we'll call him Black Ops, the one that gave R the worst marks, JC likes to maximise his efficiency. Then he queued up to see the class teacher who is also the French teacher and nobody likes her including me, see previous blog. She was there with her Essex Face-lift and protruding knees and unenviable dress sense because she is an ex-model married to a fashion stylist. JC and 2 other parents queued patiently and noticed that other people behind them in the queue were getting to see this teacher before them, to they interpolated her against her will and she said 'You can't see me unless you have an appointment'.
'But we didn't know' exclaimed the parents who didn't know. (Don't know how the other parents knew but they always do).
'You should have had a note in the 'carnet' ('communication' exercise book/prison id papers)' came the clipped reply.
'But we didn't - and anyway, the whole point of this is that we come to see the teachers and queue up, if we wanted an appointment, we could have rung up and asked to see you at a time convenient to us both. We are here to see you!
'Tough, that's how it is, I have 3 classes, I can't see everyone'. (my suspicion is that she is bombarded by so many irate parents that the has to manage the crowd as best she can).
JC found this so absurd, he laughed. The French teacher was so unaccustomed to hearing laughter that she also laughed - and went back to her appointments. The 3 parents who did not have appointments did not get to see the teacher, grumbled about it together and agreed that it was not in the spirit of the thing, and went home, duty done. Now the class teacher will probably call R's other parent 'stupid' in front of the class.
R was forced to go to this event by the motivational techniques of: one hour's detention if he didn't go, and having to fill in a questionnaire proving that he had dutifully done the rounds of each stand (if not filled in one further hour's detention). He planned to go, but stay for a maximum of 10 minutes.
'Perhaps it will be interesting?' I piped up 'you might find a career that would suit you'.
'It's not interesting, Mum, nobody wants to go and nobody is interested'
He left at 10am and was back by 10.10am. He had executed his plan with remarkable skill. First he went and got his form signed (detention avoided), then he persuaded the class 'intello' (intellectual) to let him copy his (excruciatingly dull) questionnaire.
'How did you persuade him to do that?' I ask
'I made him an offer he couldn't refuse'
'What?'
'er, I offered him a sweet'.
There was a stand which must have been manned/womanned by a very canny parent, because it featured a bowl of sweets for the visitors, I believe this is called a motivational technique or manipulation. This stand (along with the stand of the computer game programmer) actually had visitors. R has no idea what career the stand was talking about, all he could see was the bowl of sweets. He helped himself to a handful, used one to bribe the class intellectual to give him the answers, went home and ate the rest in front of the telly.
Now the Headmistress Mrs Scruton will be able to write a glowing report of her wonderful well-attended Careers Day, that's the main thing.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Computers and their games
Oh me oh my computers and their games and temptations, oh sigh - they have taken over the world of my teenagers, and therefore the world of my family, and indeed the whole world, and I've tried, I'm trying, but I can't do a thing about it, for computers have lead my teenagers away from me as surely as the Pied Piper of Hamelin.
It's beyond me this computer gaming, it truly is, it's beyond me over the hills and far away; nothing could be further away from my interest, my inclination and my ability than these ill-drawn and ill-conceived fast-moving ugly-sounding screen representations and their endless battles. But beyond me is exactly where my children are to be found (along with their excitement, enthousiasm, joy, determination, concentration, fun, friendship, achievements and new skills...).
All that I know is what's left behind; irritating clickings and noises, and the absences: of my children in my life, their helping hands around the home, their ideas and projects, the pleasure of their company and the fun they used to have with me.
So today I decided to go after my teenagers and find them where they are, and find out just what the temptation is, and I determined to find the positive. I can't, I just CAN'T play the games, so I decided to do an interview with B instead:
What skills and aptitudes are you developing from computer games?
It's beyond me this computer gaming, it truly is, it's beyond me over the hills and far away; nothing could be further away from my interest, my inclination and my ability than these ill-drawn and ill-conceived fast-moving ugly-sounding screen representations and their endless battles. But beyond me is exactly where my children are to be found (along with their excitement, enthousiasm, joy, determination, concentration, fun, friendship, achievements and new skills...).
All that I know is what's left behind; irritating clickings and noises, and the absences: of my children in my life, their helping hands around the home, their ideas and projects, the pleasure of their company and the fun they used to have with me.
So today I decided to go after my teenagers and find them where they are, and find out just what the temptation is, and I determined to find the positive. I can't, I just CAN'T play the games, so I decided to do an interview with B instead:
What skills and aptitudes are you developing from computer games?
- Ability to take in a 'wide range' view, multi-focus, the 'all at once' that is going on all around - a kind of mental agility of hopping instantaneously from one thing to the other to get the whole picture.
- Think strategically (research the game, observe the game, guess the game, strategy to win)
- Think and act quickly and well (or 'dead', lose)
- Be fully alive and attentive to the task on hand
- anticipate situations (to get help, avoid danger)
- quick and good analysis of situation (to get help, avoid danger, win)
- Team cooperation of thinking, strategies, action (need the other to win, of other fails, all fail)
- Automated hand response rather like playing a musical instrument
- Perseverence, concentration (on the game) (by the way not on much else...mother comment)
- Working with the unknown, in a mad (bad dangerous) world, and carrying on
Why always war, always attack and destroy?
I was trying to see the positive, perhaps this kind of situation brings you alive, makes your fully concentrated and present, to stay alive. B's reply surprised me. "Not always war" he said, and he described a game called Portal.
Playing the Fable
Who are you, where are you, why are you here?
The game designers write a modern fable, a tale for our time. Instead of reading it, or hearing it told, you play it. You are dropped into the fable, you 'wake up' on a hotel bed, you don't know who you are, where you are in time or space, or why you are here.
The game designers write a modern fable, a tale for our time. Instead of reading it, or hearing it told, you play it. You are dropped into the fable, you 'wake up' on a hotel bed, you don't know who you are, where you are in time or space, or why you are here.
and where here do you think you're going...?
What motivates B is the challenge, the intrigue, the discovery, the hunger for knowledge, to know what's at the heart of it - like a mystery story or a detective story. He also appreciates the jokes, the absurd, the comments on the dreadful aspects of our society, the just-like-life mind-twisters; "where do you think you're going? Because I don't think you're going where you think you're going"
What motivates B is the challenge, the intrigue, the discovery, the hunger for knowledge, to know what's at the heart of it - like a mystery story or a detective story. He also appreciates the jokes, the absurd, the comments on the dreadful aspects of our society, the just-like-life mind-twisters; "where do you think you're going? Because I don't think you're going where you think you're going"
In this fable, you gradually discover you are a 'test subject' - at first your only guidance and option is intoned by a robotic (female) voice which gives you instructions. You pass from room to room, in each room is a puzzle to solve before moving to the next, the way into another room is opened by a 'portal gun' which shoots a blue oval portal onto the surface it's pointed at. The player goes into a blue oval, comes out of an orange one into another unknown challenge.
He meets a robot who follows him on a type of monorail. This robot seems to dodge the perfectly controlled mechanical world, he makes cock-ups and does unexpected and unexplained things, such as helping the player, and saying 'if you take me off the monorail I die', and when you take him off, he doesn't die. With the help of this robot, who is called Wheatley, you break out of the test area, and gradually learn (if you play it right) that you were a test subject, controlled by an immense Artificial Intelligence called Glados, who has wiped out her creators with neurotoxins and taken over the lab, where she tests for the sake of testing and for no other reason, because that is her created nature.
You find yourself enslaved in a senseless mechanical world, and you just carry on...and of course eventually you learn your fate, and escape.
The more I heard of the fable, and applied it to our life condition, our modern times, the stage in our human evolution, the more amazed I was...and the more I realised what the generations coming and to come are after. They are training for it mechanically. At some point, they will have to live it.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Channelling Muttley
R has developed a laugh like Muttley, for much the same reasons. In fact he is rather like Muttley all round, uncomplicated, faithful, always willing to help out, sees the funny side of others' misfortunes, grumbles if he doesn't get what he wants and says gimmegimmegimme gimme and yehyehyehyehyeh to get what he what he wants.
I decided to show R an episode of Dick Dastardly and Muttley in Their Flying Machines (Catch the pigeon). R said, in a humourless voice; I don't laugh like Muttley. Then he said 'do they ever catch the pigeon?' and then he said 'is this all that happens?'. I was laughing too hard to reply. Especially the bit where Dick Dastardly's boss shouts at him as he is falling from a plane and the boss's hand comes out of the phone and takes Dick Dastardly's medal off. I was also appreciating for the first time the Romanian background music and the quality of the painted backdrop.
R wandered off, bored.
He likes watching the only thing more boring than Cricket on Radio 4 longwave; commentated video games, eg Ah, here we go, ooo, crash bang explode, oh yes, well, I'm not sure he should have done that explode bang whizzz...now the thing about this is...ooo, ah well...
DRAT AND DOUBLE DRAT CURSES AND SOME MORE DRAT THAT DOES IT MY FINE FEATHERED ENEMY!
Just think, in the 70s we thought it was rubbish, now we realise it is ART
I decided to show R an episode of Dick Dastardly and Muttley in Their Flying Machines (Catch the pigeon). R said, in a humourless voice; I don't laugh like Muttley. Then he said 'do they ever catch the pigeon?' and then he said 'is this all that happens?'. I was laughing too hard to reply. Especially the bit where Dick Dastardly's boss shouts at him as he is falling from a plane and the boss's hand comes out of the phone and takes Dick Dastardly's medal off. I was also appreciating for the first time the Romanian background music and the quality of the painted backdrop.
R wandered off, bored.
He likes watching the only thing more boring than Cricket on Radio 4 longwave; commentated video games, eg Ah, here we go, ooo, crash bang explode, oh yes, well, I'm not sure he should have done that explode bang whizzz...now the thing about this is...ooo, ah well...
DRAT AND DOUBLE DRAT CURSES AND SOME MORE DRAT THAT DOES IT MY FINE FEATHERED ENEMY!
Just think, in the 70s we thought it was rubbish, now we realise it is ART
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Back to school blues
'September is the Monday of the year' says B sadly.
Sadness descends upon France, another summer stopped in its prime, another miserable return to the grindstone, the insults, the threats, the scolding, the pressure...
R began his return to school by enduring an hour long lecture by the Headmistress Mrs Scruton; all 6 classes in his year assembled in a hall fitted with four microphones, so that when Mrs Scruton shouted 'TAISEZ-VOUS' it caused the children to clutch their ears in pain. She then went through the same kinds of threats as last year, including repeating the chewing gum rule to make sure it sticks and then she added three pages of new rules, which as R points out, are mostly as a result of the success of last year's pupils in getting round the old ones.
The hour long threats and rules session finished by reading out the class lists, surname, forename, class number...you had to listen to all the names until you spotted your name and made a mental note of the class.
'Did you lose yourself in your thoughts once you had your class?' I asked R
'I couldn't, because the microphones were booming too loudly' he replied. 'It was BORING'.
Our young neighbour T was in high dudgeon because she was in the last class to be read out; also she was separated from all her friends and put in a class with people she did not like with a notorious teacher. When she came round to our place her resounding shouts and squeals made me think she was arguing savagely with R and I intervened to avoid the drawing of blood, but apparently she was just talking 'normally' ie venting. Everyone has been split up into different classes with a totally new set of teachers, which has made most of them rather miserable and disorientated.
The final fact of the first day, which thankfully only lasted 2.5 hours, was that they went to their classes where the new class teachers told them what books they needed and what forms to fill in and Mrs Scruton and her 'team' came round to each class to issue further threats; all to no avail as everyone is bored stiff with threats and know that once the tiresome chest beating is over normal school life will resume.
I couldn't help noticing that R and his friends are all shouting and short tempered today as a result of all the shouting-at that they received on the first day and will continue to receive on a regular basis. R's friend M was locked down for 2 hours after school because on the first day, his mother had not furnished him with a regulation passport photo on his ID book. He was beside himself. They would not let him phone his mum. Eventually his mum phoned the school, she beside herself and shouted them all down, quite right too, it's outrageous.
R always laughs when he recounts his tales, he is a born survivor, but... sigh sigh sigh of frustration, there IS another way...counting days to next hols.
Meanwhile bombarded with 20 books to cover in plastic film, a job which causes grown mothers to weep, unless they buy Le Bon Eleve Crystal system with self-stick corners. Any entrepreneurs out there, if you invent plastic covered exercise and text books, you will clean up in France and drastically reduce the national consumption of tranquilisers.
Sadness descends upon France, another summer stopped in its prime, another miserable return to the grindstone, the insults, the threats, the scolding, the pressure...
R began his return to school by enduring an hour long lecture by the Headmistress Mrs Scruton; all 6 classes in his year assembled in a hall fitted with four microphones, so that when Mrs Scruton shouted 'TAISEZ-VOUS' it caused the children to clutch their ears in pain. She then went through the same kinds of threats as last year, including repeating the chewing gum rule to make sure it sticks and then she added three pages of new rules, which as R points out, are mostly as a result of the success of last year's pupils in getting round the old ones.
- Now all pupils must have their ID papers to get into the school on pain of immediate sanction (it was previously possible to borrow someone's ID to get out of school if you had forgotten yours, no longer...)
- The sanction for arriving without ID will be written in a special Book with a P-E-N (not on computer as Some Pupil has hacked into it and not in ID book as you have forgotten it).
- No teacher may take the ID book of any pupil for any reason and so there is No Excuse for not having it on you (I wonder how long it will be before they microchip the pupils?)
- Anyone in the corridor during class time must have a special coupon signed by a teacher giving permission, reason and duration of stay, on pain of immediate sanction.
- No pupil is to fall ill during the class and ask to see the nurse (unless demonstrably vomiting or pooing pants) they must wait until break and make sure they miss break time to see the school nurse and will not be admitted at the end of break-time only at the beginning.
- No food (complaints that pupils were stealing one another's food, so ban food and end complaints).
- No showers, as pupils turn showers on dressed colleagues, fling open doors to expose colleagues, have water fights and all the other things males in groups do...
- No spray deodorants
- No magnifying glasses...or thick spectacles...and all the flints have been removed from the prison yard...leaving only a handful of sticks to be frenetically rubbed together.
- No earplugs (I jest you not)
The hour long threats and rules session finished by reading out the class lists, surname, forename, class number...you had to listen to all the names until you spotted your name and made a mental note of the class.
'Did you lose yourself in your thoughts once you had your class?' I asked R
'I couldn't, because the microphones were booming too loudly' he replied. 'It was BORING'.
Our young neighbour T was in high dudgeon because she was in the last class to be read out; also she was separated from all her friends and put in a class with people she did not like with a notorious teacher. When she came round to our place her resounding shouts and squeals made me think she was arguing savagely with R and I intervened to avoid the drawing of blood, but apparently she was just talking 'normally' ie venting. Everyone has been split up into different classes with a totally new set of teachers, which has made most of them rather miserable and disorientated.
The final fact of the first day, which thankfully only lasted 2.5 hours, was that they went to their classes where the new class teachers told them what books they needed and what forms to fill in and Mrs Scruton and her 'team' came round to each class to issue further threats; all to no avail as everyone is bored stiff with threats and know that once the tiresome chest beating is over normal school life will resume.
I couldn't help noticing that R and his friends are all shouting and short tempered today as a result of all the shouting-at that they received on the first day and will continue to receive on a regular basis. R's friend M was locked down for 2 hours after school because on the first day, his mother had not furnished him with a regulation passport photo on his ID book. He was beside himself. They would not let him phone his mum. Eventually his mum phoned the school, she beside herself and shouted them all down, quite right too, it's outrageous.
R always laughs when he recounts his tales, he is a born survivor, but... sigh sigh sigh of frustration, there IS another way...counting days to next hols.
Meanwhile bombarded with 20 books to cover in plastic film, a job which causes grown mothers to weep, unless they buy Le Bon Eleve Crystal system with self-stick corners. Any entrepreneurs out there, if you invent plastic covered exercise and text books, you will clean up in France and drastically reduce the national consumption of tranquilisers.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Three School Tales
Story One
Yesterday some pupils in R's class dared to put their hands up and ask 'Sir, what is the point?' of some exercise or other, and the teacher, racking his brains, came up with:
"Le savoir c'est le pouvoir"; Knowledge is Power. (You have to remember that education is one-pointed in France. You aquire knowledge by being miserable over a long period of time but at the end of it you can become a Big Boss and enjoy using your power to make everyone under you miserable).
"Knowledge is Power? Oh no it isn't!" said the class, enjoying the pantomime and employing delaying tactics.
"Well you tell me who there is in power who doesn't have knowledge?" replied the teacher.
Up creaks R's hand;
"Hollande, Sir!".
Even the teacher laughed apparently
(In a reference to a hostage situation in Algeria in January of this year, in which 10 Japanese people were killed, Hollande expressed “the condolences of the French people to the Chinese people.”
The mistake was not corrected, and it could not have made his Japanese hosts happy to be mistaken for their most bitter rivals International Times).
Story Two
Last week the traditional and strict French teacher (Known as Confucius in our family) introduced a radical liberal touchy-feely method into the class. She asked each class member to mark the work of the person next door and add up the score.
 |
| The French Teacher "Madame Confucius" |
R had the presence of mind to find the teacher's unaccustomed liberalism suspicious, especially as it was blatently obvious that 'everybody' was cheating so he decided to mark his neighbour's work fairly. (The boy is Cunning and a Born Survivor, although not yet Honorable).
The teacher waited until the moment she collected the tests to announce that she would be taking off minus 2 points for every incorrect mark given to one's dear neighbour. R swears she was hiding a snigger behind her hand. R's eyes glazed in ecstasy for several days afterwards, as he remembered the panic-stricken scramble to scribble out the wrong marks before the teacher took in the work...
Story Three
"Today is National Music Day. You must all Enjoy Yourselves' said the English teacher in a strong French accent. She did not explain how this was to be achieved according to R.
'That's strange' I replied, 'Enjoying yourself has no place in the serious business of French education and is, au contraire, strongly discouraged'.
'It was a supply teacher, not the normal English teacher' said R, by way of explanation.
What puzzles me is how is she going to ensure her instructions are carried out ? Minus 20 points for being miserable, +10 for being happy I should imagine.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Latest Mark Debacle
R opened Pronote, the Mark-Obsessed Website, to gloat over his latest augmentations, when SHOCK HORROR
1
out
of
20
R paled, whimpered and scrambled for his school bag to check for all the things which he could possibly have been marked on - could he have undergone a test without his knowledge, had he filled in the wrong form, was it a score for having a crumb-free bag (fair)?
"I don't understand it, I don't understand it" he quavered.
"How will you check if it is a mistake if the teachers don't listen to you?" I asked.
"I WILL ask the history/geography teacher, I will go and see her after class"
"Ah, so that IS possible!"
The very next day R asked the history/geography teacher, and she did not apologize but blamed a bug in her computer for the score appearing as 1 out of 20 instead of 13. She also blamed a bug in her computer for the poor soul whose score was published on Pronote, the Mark Tracking Software, as 20 out of 20 when, alas, it was 2 out of 20. Then she used her computer to show them a film about the Middle Ages - and a First World War film appeared, at which point the history/geography teacher got a bit hot under the collar and said her computer was totally crapped out.
FAMILIES OF THE " PRONOTE VICTIMS" SUE FOR MENTAL AND PHYSICAL DISTRESS CAUSED BY DISASTROUS MARKING DEBACLE!
1
out
of
20
R paled, whimpered and scrambled for his school bag to check for all the things which he could possibly have been marked on - could he have undergone a test without his knowledge, had he filled in the wrong form, was it a score for having a crumb-free bag (fair)?
"I don't understand it, I don't understand it" he quavered.
"How will you check if it is a mistake if the teachers don't listen to you?" I asked.
"I WILL ask the history/geography teacher, I will go and see her after class"
"Ah, so that IS possible!"
The very next day R asked the history/geography teacher, and she did not apologize but blamed a bug in her computer for the score appearing as 1 out of 20 instead of 13. She also blamed a bug in her computer for the poor soul whose score was published on Pronote, the Mark Tracking Software, as 20 out of 20 when, alas, it was 2 out of 20. Then she used her computer to show them a film about the Middle Ages - and a First World War film appeared, at which point the history/geography teacher got a bit hot under the collar and said her computer was totally crapped out.
FAMILIES OF THE " PRONOTE VICTIMS" SUE FOR MENTAL AND PHYSICAL DISTRESS CAUSED BY DISASTROUS MARKING DEBACLE!
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Snowballs; the truth
R has just confessed that he was indeed one of the ones who snowballed the headmistress, Mrs Scruton, although 'somebody else' went for the 'head shot'.
I warned him that it could backfire if he is caught on the security camera.
R explained that when the Headmistress, Mrs Scruton, saw all the pupils having fun in the snow and charging the taped-off areas, so she came charging out of her office waving her Detention Book and shouting Detention Detention Detention, and it was at this point that she disappeared under a pile of snowballs, from which we learn that the Detention Book- form of discipline (mot dans le carnet) does not work for riots.
He also confessed that he was 'convoked' to see the 'Punishment Officer' because I had forgotten to fill in a ticket to say that he was ill, (careless careless careless, however I DID phone the school to say he was off sick, spoke to the teacher in person whilst collecting the school report, and spoke to her by phone the second day he was sick as she felt the need to check up on me even though I had warned her the day before he was likely to be off the following day and even after I thanked her profusely for her show of personal care and gave her a long description of his ills when all she wanted was to tick her box which gave me a slight frisson of sadistic pleasure, from this you will see can see trust and common sense are not on the agenda).
R thinks being called in front of the punishment officer is a wheeze and can do some amusing impersonations. The 'Punishment Officer' made all sorts of insinuations about R, such as had he not arranged to be off sick 'with his friends'?. I feel pretty certain that this has given R some ideas.
(Aside: had to change the title on this one, the original, snowballing the headmistress, has resulted in 38 view from the USA, is this some kind of fetish that I haven't heard of?)
I warned him that it could backfire if he is caught on the security camera.
R explained that when the Headmistress, Mrs Scruton, saw all the pupils having fun in the snow and charging the taped-off areas, so she came charging out of her office waving her Detention Book and shouting Detention Detention Detention, and it was at this point that she disappeared under a pile of snowballs, from which we learn that the Detention Book- form of discipline (mot dans le carnet) does not work for riots.
He also confessed that he was 'convoked' to see the 'Punishment Officer' because I had forgotten to fill in a ticket to say that he was ill, (careless careless careless, however I DID phone the school to say he was off sick, spoke to the teacher in person whilst collecting the school report, and spoke to her by phone the second day he was sick as she felt the need to check up on me even though I had warned her the day before he was likely to be off the following day and even after I thanked her profusely for her show of personal care and gave her a long description of his ills when all she wanted was to tick her box which gave me a slight frisson of sadistic pleasure, from this you will see can see trust and common sense are not on the agenda).
R thinks being called in front of the punishment officer is a wheeze and can do some amusing impersonations. The 'Punishment Officer' made all sorts of insinuations about R, such as had he not arranged to be off sick 'with his friends'?. I feel pretty certain that this has given R some ideas.
(Aside: had to change the title on this one, the original, snowballing the headmistress, has resulted in 38 view from the USA, is this some kind of fetish that I haven't heard of?)
School Report
I didn't get time to write this up in the Christmas rush, but here is the report on R's school report.
I dressed myself in a hat pulled down and a scarf pulled up and went to the school with trepidation in my heart and the words of R ringing in my ears: "Just agree with everything they say and don't say anything".
(I was forced to venture into the school and make cursory contact with a teacher because they do not let the pupils take home their own reports and must verify that the document in question has passed safely into the hands of the parent/guardian).
The teacher was young and charming and seemed perfectly pleased about R. She asked me if I had any questions. I said that the full set of scores was admirably presented on Pronote the marking website, thank you very much.
For the sake of balance, she pointed out that he was a bit "fragile" in French. Controlling myself admirably, I asked her what she meant by this. She meant that the calculation of his marks added up to an 'avarage' score of 9 out of 20. I asked her why this was. She did not know. I asked her what the French teacher had said about him. She said she had not spoken to the French teacher. So I gave her my interpretation and went a bit off track on the failings of the French Education System (shut up shut up shut up) and how hard it was for him to start at a school he had never been allowed to visit and with no-one to show him round (shut up shut up), predicted that R Will Do Better Next Time and that I counted on the school to let me know if there was a problem or anything else I should be doing. She agreed, and said that it was not noticeable that R was new to the school or the system. Which just goes to show what a trusty and hardy invididual R is.
I soon realised that R is quite right; they do not go in for individual attention or care at all. As long as the scores are adequate, sickness absence and bad behaviour are within the norms, the boxes are ticked and everything is generally ticking along tickety boo there won't be any trouble.
Left feeling quite relieved. R has a General Avarage of 16 out of 20, which is Jolly Good, our team effort has paid off.
I dressed myself in a hat pulled down and a scarf pulled up and went to the school with trepidation in my heart and the words of R ringing in my ears: "Just agree with everything they say and don't say anything".
(I was forced to venture into the school and make cursory contact with a teacher because they do not let the pupils take home their own reports and must verify that the document in question has passed safely into the hands of the parent/guardian).
The teacher was young and charming and seemed perfectly pleased about R. She asked me if I had any questions. I said that the full set of scores was admirably presented on Pronote the marking website, thank you very much.
For the sake of balance, she pointed out that he was a bit "fragile" in French. Controlling myself admirably, I asked her what she meant by this. She meant that the calculation of his marks added up to an 'avarage' score of 9 out of 20. I asked her why this was. She did not know. I asked her what the French teacher had said about him. She said she had not spoken to the French teacher. So I gave her my interpretation and went a bit off track on the failings of the French Education System (shut up shut up shut up) and how hard it was for him to start at a school he had never been allowed to visit and with no-one to show him round (shut up shut up), predicted that R Will Do Better Next Time and that I counted on the school to let me know if there was a problem or anything else I should be doing. She agreed, and said that it was not noticeable that R was new to the school or the system. Which just goes to show what a trusty and hardy invididual R is.
I soon realised that R is quite right; they do not go in for individual attention or care at all. As long as the scores are adequate, sickness absence and bad behaviour are within the norms, the boxes are ticked and everything is generally ticking along tickety boo there won't be any trouble.
Left feeling quite relieved. R has a General Avarage of 16 out of 20, which is Jolly Good, our team effort has paid off.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
School jinks
After overhearing a few heated phone conversations it has become clear to me that R has a homework scam going. One night it is his turn to do the homework, and transmit the results by phone to his friend, the next night the friend does the homework and transmits by phone to R. Sometimes the phone calls take place within minutes of leaving for school on the morning that the homework is due.
What are the moral issues? For the most part, the homework which is set could be done by a robot, contains no trace of individuality or originality, is an exercise in absolute obedience and a question of right or wrong one-pointed answers which is mind-numbingly tedious to do and doesn't teach you anything.
What are the moral issues? For the most part, the homework which is set could be done by a robot, contains no trace of individuality or originality, is an exercise in absolute obedience and a question of right or wrong one-pointed answers which is mind-numbingly tedious to do and doesn't teach you anything.
I've decided to think of this as a healthy display of native cunning in a mad world, a coping strategy, a prolongued trust exercise...learning to deal with stress.
However, the cooperative relationship is clearly tainted, yesterday morning (while he was putting on his coat) some pretty heavy blackmail was being applied by telephone (you only get the maths if I get the picture). He only just made it under the fence.
I asked R: "Don't you feel tired and stressed living this life of last minute deception?"
He huffed a bit, then he turned to me and smiled; "No, I like it, it makes the blood circulate".
Oh dear.
However, the cooperative relationship is clearly tainted, yesterday morning (while he was putting on his coat) some pretty heavy blackmail was being applied by telephone (you only get the maths if I get the picture). He only just made it under the fence.
I asked R: "Don't you feel tired and stressed living this life of last minute deception?"
He huffed a bit, then he turned to me and smiled; "No, I like it, it makes the blood circulate".
Oh dear.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Snow FrenchSchool-Style
Take one small prison yard, 600 pupils and 10 centimetres of snow, and what do you get?
Yesterday R came home from school, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright with past glories and an irrepressable small smile on his face:
"School was AWESOME..." (I hate this word but I report it as it was told).
"...There was the greatest ever snowball fight. They put up barriers and sprayed the area with salt and water and said we could not go there...the barriers were all smashed, Everyone went everywhere..."
I said: "What about the people who did not want to join in a snowball fight?"
"They all huddled together under a small shelter so they were an easy target. Even the headmistress got one in the face (wheezes with laughter). In the end they had to spray everything with salt and water..."
He lies back on the sofa, licks his lips, closes his eyes and grins in post-vent ecstacy.
Yesterday R came home from school, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright with past glories and an irrepressable small smile on his face:
"School was AWESOME..." (I hate this word but I report it as it was told).
"...There was the greatest ever snowball fight. They put up barriers and sprayed the area with salt and water and said we could not go there...the barriers were all smashed, Everyone went everywhere..."
I said: "What about the people who did not want to join in a snowball fight?"
"They all huddled together under a small shelter so they were an easy target. Even the headmistress got one in the face (wheezes with laughter). In the end they had to spray everything with salt and water..."
He lies back on the sofa, licks his lips, closes his eyes and grins in post-vent ecstacy.
Monday, December 10, 2012
LATE BANGED TO RIGHTS
R has transformed himself into an organised and on-time guy following his entry into the prison camp otherwise known in this country as 'a school'. He sleeps in his watch. He has an alarm set to warn him when to get ready and knows exactly what time he must leave to be nicely early.
Despite this some censored on the front gate, running on bad temper and a faulty watch, has decided he (and the usual crowd of miscreants who get caught on the capricious whim of the petty dictators who pass for teachers in this country) was LATE.
There is no questioning this judgement. The ticket is written out. She wrote 5 minutes late which cannot be true, I know what time he left, he left the same time as he has done every day for the last 3 months, he can only have arrived as the gate was closing (presumably early) not 5 minutes afterwards, and this is for 8.20 when classes start at 8.30, so no actual inconveniencing lateness actually took place.
Pupils are of course MARKED on a collection of statistics under the heading "Class Life" (in reality there is neither class nor life in any real sense of the word in this country's schools), arbitrary and subjective judgements are made with reference to tickets for: lateness, absence, detention etc, R got 18.5 out of 20 for 'Class Life', but there is no statistical evidence or references available for why he lost 1.5 marks. So he will suffer marks to be struck off for this affair which will go towards the final judgement of whether or not he is a Good Student (Bon eleve). Anglophone schools just don't think like this, thinking of our children as 'good' (or not) students. In the anglophone world we try to evaluate the progress of the child and we are unashamed to form a relationship with our children and to actually like them and want them to succeed.
Why do French teachers behave like this towards a child who is thoroughly respectful of the rules? What do they hope to achieve? What they achieve is at best indifference (shrug shoulders, "I don't care" ((about anything)), or hostility. Which is perhaps whey they need a police officer to supervise the inmates at hometime. By the way 'hometime' is not subjected to the same precision, they finish any time they want, tough if your child has an appointment at the dentist.
I don't have any recourse following this ticket injustice (or any other injustice), my option is to sign it. I wrote 'not possible' underneath it but I doubt if anyone will notice and then I called the offending person a very rude word in front of my son. He said I just shouldn't care. I wish I didn't.
Despite this some censored on the front gate, running on bad temper and a faulty watch, has decided he (and the usual crowd of miscreants who get caught on the capricious whim of the petty dictators who pass for teachers in this country) was LATE.
There is no questioning this judgement. The ticket is written out. She wrote 5 minutes late which cannot be true, I know what time he left, he left the same time as he has done every day for the last 3 months, he can only have arrived as the gate was closing (presumably early) not 5 minutes afterwards, and this is for 8.20 when classes start at 8.30, so no actual inconveniencing lateness actually took place.
Pupils are of course MARKED on a collection of statistics under the heading "Class Life" (in reality there is neither class nor life in any real sense of the word in this country's schools), arbitrary and subjective judgements are made with reference to tickets for: lateness, absence, detention etc, R got 18.5 out of 20 for 'Class Life', but there is no statistical evidence or references available for why he lost 1.5 marks. So he will suffer marks to be struck off for this affair which will go towards the final judgement of whether or not he is a Good Student (Bon eleve). Anglophone schools just don't think like this, thinking of our children as 'good' (or not) students. In the anglophone world we try to evaluate the progress of the child and we are unashamed to form a relationship with our children and to actually like them and want them to succeed.
Why do French teachers behave like this towards a child who is thoroughly respectful of the rules? What do they hope to achieve? What they achieve is at best indifference (shrug shoulders, "I don't care" ((about anything)), or hostility. Which is perhaps whey they need a police officer to supervise the inmates at hometime. By the way 'hometime' is not subjected to the same precision, they finish any time they want, tough if your child has an appointment at the dentist.
I don't have any recourse following this ticket injustice (or any other injustice), my option is to sign it. I wrote 'not possible' underneath it but I doubt if anyone will notice and then I called the offending person a very rude word in front of my son. He said I just shouldn't care. I wish I didn't.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Why 0 out of 10?
Things were not so easy for R with Papa, who wanted to know how the 0 out of 10 was won. Here are some of R's responses:
- Because she wants me to be superman & work 24 hours a day
- I don't have the test with me
- There's nothing to see
- Strange Donald Duck noise
- Forget it
- I'm tired
- I'm too tired get up and go upstairs
- I don't need to talk about it the teacher talked about it for an hour and shouted at everyone and I've understood now.
- I feel WEAK
- EVERYONE got zero
- My friends got 5, 7 and 8 out of 20 (oh dear, the stoats and weasels are not performing)
- OKOKOK she wants us to put the title on one place and the number on each page and the subtitle underlined and the holes punched and the pictures stuck on and the sources listed.
- Strange Donald Duck noise
Papa finally located the evidence in R's bag. It would appear that the 0 out of 10 relates to file management, which R seems not to have concerned himself with for 3 months, considering it not important and making no sense and because the teacher issued instructions at the end of a long day just before the holidays and nobody was listening.
Finally the teacher's instructions for getting marks for subject of folder administration were uncovered (I translate):
Documentation in the Folder
- Number of documents: a minimum of three per theme
- Relevance of documents to the theme
- Neat and tidy work (cutting out, presentation)
- Title and source
- Personal remarks (at least one phrase to describe the document, make the link with the theme, and show why it is relevant)
Sapristi Knuckoes (this is of course my personal remark).
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Smuggling confectionary, Being Out of Bounds and Rumbles
R has finally met a reputedly wicked teacher and seen her in action; he has been telling exaggerated eye rolling tales about this woman for six weeks and it turns out he hasn't even seen her.
"But I've seen her now" says R, "She is really terrible"
"Why, what did she do?" I said, we were eating Saturday lunch (mince with rice and sweetcorn),
"She came running over shouting...and gave one of my friends a detention".
"What for?"
"Having a lollipop in the corridor. She said it won't do" (A lollipop, did I hear right?)
"Well, is it against the rules to have a lollipop in the corridor?"
"I don't know, we don't get shown the rules" (????)
He then told us he now knows why he got caught being in the wrong place, he was being watched on camera, which he says explains why the teacher came charging in so soon after their arrival shouting "Identity papers, detention!".
"What were you doing in this forbidden place?" asks Papa
"Nothing"
"Why were you there?"
"Don't know"
"So why did you go there?"
"Don't know"
"Did you know it was out of bounds?"
"No"
"Nobody showed you what was out of bounds?"
"No" (you will noticed that this conversation is reading like the transcript of a police interrogation)
"But do you know now?"
"Yes" he grins (presumably because he's been caught in all of them)
"Well, why is it out of bounds, there must be some reason?" continues Papa, doggedly.
"Because you can escape"
"Escape, escape from school?"
"Yes"
"How?"
"There is a staircase"
"Where does it lead?"
Shrugs "I don't know"
I intervene being the soft guy in the softly softly approach: "you mean your friends wanted to check out a possible escape route for a future date?"
"I don't know. No. In fact (the truth at last) it is a short cut for getting to the school gate without having to go right round the playground..." he muses "in the playground you can hear shouting and that means there is a fight. As soon as there's a fight everyone runs over and starts shouting "Baston Baston Baston" (fight rumble fight). But what I like doing is staying at the edge and looking back, because then you see the teachers come running over."
I can't help visualising the teachers in peaked caps with truncheons and handcuffs.
"How often is there a fight?" asks Papa
"Every day"
"Every day? NO"
"Yes"
I butt in "You won't hear about any of this from a GIRL, as far as they are concerned none of this happens..."
"And you enjoy it when there's a fight?
"Yes, it's fun." He grins to himself.
Well I suppose they have to do something to relieve the tedium in the exercise yard.
"But I've seen her now" says R, "She is really terrible"
"Why, what did she do?" I said, we were eating Saturday lunch (mince with rice and sweetcorn),
"She came running over shouting...and gave one of my friends a detention".
"What for?"
"Having a lollipop in the corridor. She said it won't do" (A lollipop, did I hear right?)
"Well, is it against the rules to have a lollipop in the corridor?"
"I don't know, we don't get shown the rules" (????)
He then told us he now knows why he got caught being in the wrong place, he was being watched on camera, which he says explains why the teacher came charging in so soon after their arrival shouting "Identity papers, detention!".
"What were you doing in this forbidden place?" asks Papa
"Nothing"
"Why were you there?"
"Don't know"
"So why did you go there?"
"Don't know"
"Did you know it was out of bounds?"
"No"
"Nobody showed you what was out of bounds?"
"No" (you will noticed that this conversation is reading like the transcript of a police interrogation)
"But do you know now?"
"Yes" he grins (presumably because he's been caught in all of them)
"Well, why is it out of bounds, there must be some reason?" continues Papa, doggedly.
"Because you can escape"
"Escape, escape from school?"
"Yes"
"How?"
"There is a staircase"
"Where does it lead?"
Shrugs "I don't know"
I intervene being the soft guy in the softly softly approach: "you mean your friends wanted to check out a possible escape route for a future date?"
"I don't know. No. In fact (the truth at last) it is a short cut for getting to the school gate without having to go right round the playground..." he muses "in the playground you can hear shouting and that means there is a fight. As soon as there's a fight everyone runs over and starts shouting "Baston Baston Baston" (fight rumble fight). But what I like doing is staying at the edge and looking back, because then you see the teachers come running over."
I can't help visualising the teachers in peaked caps with truncheons and handcuffs.
"How often is there a fight?" asks Papa
"Every day"
"Every day? NO"
"Yes"
I butt in "You won't hear about any of this from a GIRL, as far as they are concerned none of this happens..."
"And you enjoy it when there's a fight?
"Yes, it's fun." He grins to himself.
Well I suppose they have to do something to relieve the tedium in the exercise yard.
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