Wednesday, January 22, 2014
School Play
Here is the advert for B's school play, which I am proud to announce was drawn, designed and executed by B using self-taught art design and computer skills. Opening night tomorrow...
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
Sunday, December 1, 2013
International Cafe at Christmas
It is time for the International Cafe which I put on with a friend H just before Christmas each year, and where dishes from around the world are prepared and donated by parents from around the world and I surreptitiously display a picture of the Queen, Elizabeth 2.
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| At the start: with three young, slim, radiant exchange students from America, Belgium and Germany who came to help us out |
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| Nanja from Holland plays the harp, oh divine! |
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| Parental quartet, klezmer and ragtime, totally blissed out |
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| Impromtu German carol singing |
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
What's Cooking?
Autumn
Figs and walnuts, fig and walnut bread.
By the river
B by the river, taken with his camera
Me by the same river...
...where B took wonderful pictures in the sunset
The Suffering of Trees
In France trees are not left to grow to their full shape but are continually stumpified and uglified.
However, this tree, probably a walnut, has suffered more than most even by French standards. Each time I go past it, just when I think it has been pruned into oblivion, it has been pruned again. Why? A figure has emerged from this tortured tree, a face, arms, a defiance, a statement of its spirit.
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.
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