That was the year that was: December 2007

December is ushered in to a wail of "I'll never get it done in time!" I enjoy my French course and I enjoy my job, but it would be nice to have time to do other things: maybe I could enjoy a relaxed conversation with Mr TLC or even chill out with a glass of wine. I started the course purely for personal interest, but I seem to be drowning in work. Again. I am only trying to complete half as much work in a year that a full time university student would do, but I am trying to do this during a couple of evenings of lectures and a few hours study at the weekend (when I can spare the time from school work); it's not working. Urgent action is required. I drop the course. I think I'll still do a French module next term, but it's time to stop doing everything at 100 miles per hour. I feel incredibly guilty as I e-mail my tutors to inform them of my drop-out status, but also incredibly relieved.

Term grinds on to the bitter end, about as late before Christmas as we can get. Then suddenly it's time to feast on TV, Christmas dinner, more TV and generally chill out. It's also time to catch the annual Christmas cold. Bah humbug. We have a family wedding to attend this week, so it's the ideal time to acquire a nose that is redder than Rudolph's.

I look back in amazement, another year gone. Where does all the time go?

That was the year that was: November 2007

November and winter arrive pretty much at the same time. We see our first snow of the season, but happily it doesn't last long. We celebrate bonfire night with friends and visit the continental market. I finish the Christmas shopping early and become unbearably smug about it. Mr TLC shows no signs at all that he is missing work, in fact I suspect him of enjoying himself, chilling out and playing guitar. I start to drown in work again and recall that I was going to cut back this year.

That was the year that was: October 2007

October is a busy month with lots of birthdays, socialising, sculpture in the garden at Chatsworth and two performances of Cirque de Soleil's Delirium at Sheffield Arena. Oh dear, I'm singing Alegria again.

October also means back to college. I have managed to forget how much work was involved last year and have signed up for the same amount this year. The original plan was to enjoy learning French, but I seem to have lost sight of this, I'm just working flat out to get the minimum done to pass each module. Mr TLC also starts an IT course and I have to fight him to get to use what I previously thought of as my computer.

Just as I return to college, Mr TLC is finally made redundant. I am feeling quite worried about him by this stage, but he seems to be very cheerful. In fact, now that he doesn't have to spend five days a week doing nothing and waiting to be laid off, he is suddenly very relaxed and is back to his normal self. Friends ask him if he has found another job and he alternates between telling them he is a house husband or a butler.

The son of TLC arrives with the news that Mr TLC will be a grandfather next year. I should add that we are a modern family, so that doesn't mean I will be a grandmother.

That was the year that was: September 2007

September is back to school time for me. Mr TLC still has no work to do, but is waiting for the outcome of the 'consultation' about the proposed redundancies. Given that the machines have been sold and it is obvious who is going to be made redundant, you wouldn't think that this would take long, but it drags on and on and on.

I try to keep up morale by feeding Mr TLC his favourite food and arranging evenings out, but I can see that he is starting to feel really down. Day after day of hanging about at work, when there is absolutely no work to do, is clearly not doing him any good. Why doesn't the company just send them home early? Then he decides to learn to drive. And applies for a provisional licence. Things must have got really serious, he has been thoroughly unenthusiastic about any suggestion that he should learn to drive in the past.

That was the year that was: August 2007

We got home from France and suddenly it was August. Mr TLC went back to work, but of course there was still no work to do. The factory grapevine brought the news that the machines were being sold to China, so there obviously wasn't going to be any more work. He went to work every morning, read more books, listened to more CDs, got increasingly fed up.

I was still enjoying my school holidays and wondering which of various interesting projects to start first. "What's that noise?" I wondered to myself. It was the sound of the last remaining original ceiling in our 100ish year old house starting to fall down. I spent many happy days pulling down the rest of it and doing acrobatics over the stairwell armed with pieces of plasterboard.

Mr TLC's employers finally announced that there would be redundancies.

That was the year that was: July 2007

July arrives. Mr TLC soon has no work to do. The mud has been shovelled into an seemingly endlessly set of skips. The insurance company has sent in a team to clean the machines. There is no sign of production restarting. Mr TLC spends his days at work reading books and listening to CDs. He is bored out of his mind and getting a tad tetchy. He starts to book a few odd days leave from work.

***

The Tour de France arrives in London. So do we. Our hotel is filled with journalists from L'Equipe, some people from Team Rabobank and us. We attempt to spot cyclists among the Rabobank contingent in the hotel but conclude that they are either in hiding or lodging elsewhere. His Royal Ken-ness has evidently booked glorious summer sunshine for the event and we bask in it. I am remarkably over excited about this event, after years of watching Le Tour "a la television", this year we will see four stages from the side of the road. Normally this is not possible because the Tour usually finishes on the same weekend that my summer holiday begins. This year, not only there is there a week of overlap so we can see it in France, but Le Tour has also obligingly come to visit us in Blighty. Brilliant.

London is crowded and full of a mixture of cycling fans and those who have turned up for the hell of it, but it is all very good natured. The Caravane du Tour includes a Green Line bus showing Romford (my Mum's original hometown) as its destination. For no real reason at all, this makes me feel ridiculously happy.

We choose a spot on Constitution Hill for the prologue time trail, I'll never forget the noise and the atmosphere when David Millar was approaching from one direction whilst Bradley Wiggins went in the other. A cycling know-it-all stands next to us and gives the crowd the benefit of his opinions; his friends laugh, joke and take the mick slightly. We are all somewhat amused when another spectator asks Mr Know-It-All which team Bradley Wiggins rides for and he is unable to answer. We are all somewhat irked when Mr Know-It-All's prediction about the winning time is exactly right.

At this stage I'm feeling good about Le Tour, hoping that Vino does well and looking forward to seeing it again in France.

***

"Erm are you busy tomorrow?"
"No, why?"
"Would you be available to come to Paris?"

Oh yes! One of my colleagues was unfortunately taken ill, just before the school trip to Disneyland and Paris set off. For me, this meant an unexpected two days in France. Not good for my unfortunate colleague but a treat for me! Strangely, everyone kept thanking me for stepping in at such short notice; I was just pleased to be asked.

I followed the Tour de France via the papers in France and even caught a bit on French TV. I was disappointed to discover Vino had fallen off his bike and injured himself, but I was getting ridiculously excited about my next roadside view of Le Tour.

***

July ended with a trip to Angouleme. According to a couple we met it was the worst summer for 15 years, only 30 degrees... Which was still more than hot enough for me. We watched two stages of the Tour de Farce France. By the time we arrived, riders (including Vino) were being thrown off the race so fast it was hard to keep up with it all.

We were astounded at the spectators' reactions to the publicity caravan; lineouts and scrums formed over everything that was thrown to the crowd; you can see that the French love their rugby. Since everything on offer was just promotional tat, I could understand kids being desperate to get their hands on it, but I was mystified by the reactions of the adults. Anyway, we made one small boy from the family standing next to us very happy by handing over a giant green hand, a cheap biro, a Bart Simpson mask and various other bits and pieces; he was clutching his new possessions as if they were treasure.

I still don't know what to think about all the controversy surrounding this year's Tour, but fortunately the two stages we saw were really competitive and it was worth going for that alone. Add in the friendly people, medieval town, Comics Museum and murals and we had a great holiday. I even managed to talk to people in French and have conversations that I actually understood - a great achievement for me!

That was the year that was: June 2007

June arrives and I'm still drowning in work, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. It's still raining so I don't feel I'm missing out on much - normally I'd want to be spending time outside at this time of year. Some areas in South Yorkshire have flooded, we feel some sympathy when we see this on the local news, we fail to realise how real this will become in a few days time.

It keeps raining. Everything is saturated. School is littered with buckets and bins catching the water in the many places where the roof leaks. Even I've passed my rain threshold. Make it stop. It doesn't.

My school is at one of the highest points in Sheffield, but during a meeting I look out of the window and notice that our field is saturated, the rain is lying on the surface because there is nowhere else for it to go. This should have made me realise that things were not good. Before I leave someone tells me the roads are flooded. Damn. I plan a route home that sticks to high ground as far as possible, but I still end up unexpectedly fording the River Sheaf.

My journey seems quite bad at the time (an hour compared to the usual 25 minutes), but it is nothing compared to what has happened to other people. I watch the news and am amazed to see familiar streets under water, people being airlifted from buildings and hear that someone has drowned crossing the road.

My Mother rings up, understandably worried. I answer the phone making bubbling noises and pretend to be under water. She is not amused.

Mr TLC tells me he has had an exciting day at work. They spent most of it watching the river rise steadily up from its normal level 3 metres below the factory, then into the factory. At first Mr TLC and his co-workers were given brushes and mops and required to brush the water away! No one, apart from the managers who decided they should do this, was surprised when this didn't work. Eventually the water started to reach knee height and everyone was sent home. As it turned out, this was a lucky escape; a torrent of water several feet deep swept through the factory shortly afterwards, wrecking everything in its path. People in nearby buildings are marooned on upper floors.

The following day there are scenes of devastation: rippled mud covers the roads, there are dead fish on the pavement, abandoned cars have tide marks showing just how bad things got. Mr TLC leaves the post of engineer and takes up the post of mud shoveller.

Back at school there are mixed feelings: some students are disgusted that we aren't closed (despite the fact that we weren't flooded); some are excited at being at the centre of a major news event; many students are upset at the death of Ryan Parry, a local boy who was a student at a nearby school, who drowned tragically on his way home yesterday.

Mr TLC turns 50 and we clear off to Eskdale in Cumbria for the weekend. We drive there through more torrential rain and are alarmed at the improbable looking clouds that resemble a special effect from an episode of Dr Who. On Saturday, the weather is fine, a little overcast, but dry. We walk, sit in pubs, ride on La'al Ratty, take a few photos and generally make the most of it. As we get in the car to return home on Sunday it starts to rain again. How lucky was that?

That was the year that was: May 2007

May brings quite a lot of rain. Friends are colleagues are a bit grumpy about this, but I remain determinedly upbeat and extol the virtues of the English summer with its sunshine and showers.


I am back in Deadlinesville. I have essays to write for college, work to do for school and appear to have taken on rather more work than I can handle. I resolve to cut back next term.

It keeps on raining.

That was the year that was: April 2007

April flies past alarmingly quickly. S & P get married and we have a great time at their big day relaxing and catching up with old friends. This is a big occasion for another reason: we also finally get to hear P play the sax; it was worth waiting for, he's excellent. I spend the first half of the Easter holiday from school intending to do many great and interesting things and the second half wondering where all the time went. Maybe I was more stressed out by Ofsted than I thought, because I certainly seemed to spend the holidays in a state of limbo. Back at school, I seem to spend every waking moment in a colleague's office as we moderate/remark coursework.

I finally manage to book a hotel for our planned trip to Angouleme to watch the Tour de France. I've been trying to do this since the route was announced in September. The hotel doesn't look that great, but it is certainly cheap and represents a step up from the take a tent/sleep in the car plan.

That was the year that was: March 2007

In March a lunar eclipse occurs. I make a total arse of myself by telling Mr TLC about a previous eclipse and how I bought special film (it was a long time ago), borrowed a tripod, blah, blah, blah, before falling asleep and missing the eclipse altogether. Mr TLC suggests I photograph this one. Whilst I turn into a photography bore (not that I am actually much of photographer) and waffle on about exposure times and the general lack of suitability of my current camera, he sticks his mobile phone out of the window and takes a pretty good picture. Bugger, I feel stupid.

The news this month is dominated by much talk about slavery and apologies, or the lack of them.

My school receives the splendid news that the good ladies and gentlemen of Ofsted have invited themselves to visit us. The school is thrown open for the weekend to enable us to prepare. I scoff at the very thought. Of course I end up being there all day on Saturday.

Having been at four different schools over the last 14 years, this will be my fourth inspection. I am totally confident that it will be as inaccurate as all the others have been; how can such a brief snapshot possibly capture an accurate image of a dynamic and complex community? I also suspect that the report, based upon our published results, will have been largely written (or at least planned) before the inspectors arrive. I know I work at a good school and that I work with a lot of talented and dedicated teachers. Why worry? Unsurprisingly, stressed colleagues don't share this view.

Of course it was fine, there were no nasty surprises and we all breathed a sigh of relief once it was over. After Ofsted leave everyone is knackered and I notice that several colleagues appear to be suffering from some kind of post traumatic stress. Never mind, it's nearly the holidays.

"We've put you down for the sponges Miss."
"What sponges?"
"It's for Comic Relief."
"WHAT SPONGES?"
"We're throwing wet sponges at the teachers. At break. We said you'd do it."
Sometimes I love my form group. Sometimes they make me feel so proud. This wasn't one of those times.
"It's pouring with rain, I have a stinking cold and I do not have any spare clothes to change into."
"Does that mean no?"
"Yes."

That was the year that was: February 2007

February brings the snow, makes the toes and fingers glow. First decent snowfall in bloody ages and it happens on the weekend we've arranged to go away. I rush home from work to collect Mr TLC, but by the time we've loaded the car, there is so much snow that we can't make it to the end of the road, never mind to London. We dodge the snowballs and wait hopefully for the gritter's arrival, but eventually we give up and ring the hotel to tell them we won't be there that night. The receptionist tells us they've had lots of snow too. Snow in Southwark! I'd never even seen snow until my family moved to the Frozen North. Amazingly, we set a record time for our fastest ever Sheffield-London trip the following morning. Southwark is not even damp, let alone snowy.

We have a great weekend in Londinium, highlights include:

1. Jump at the Peacock Theatre

2. Seeing Babbage's Difference Engine and the Klein bottles at the Science Museum

3. Being location junkies and visiting "Whitehaven Mansions" in Charterhouse Square. We photograph it carefully to avoid including the giveaway sight of the Barbican in the background.

4. My Dad turning up unfashionably late for lunch. Fortunately Nice Restaurant is not too busy and the staff there are very understanding. They suggest we have a drink in the bar while we wait. By the time my Dad arrivesh, Mishter TLC and I are vehhry shlightly pished. My Dad then produces my Granddad's scary looking sharpening steel with a flourish in the middle of the Nice Restaurant along with the words "I found this and thought you'd like it". I panic slightly and try to hide said offensive weapon from alarmed looking fellow diners. (When we return to Nice Restaurant later in the year, I book under Mr TLC's name in case anyone remembers us)

5. Cirque de Soleil performing Alegria at the Royal Albert Hall. I drive Mr TLC slightly mad in the following weeks by watching the Alegria DVD repeatedly and singing the songs enthusiastically but rather off-key.

That was the year that was: January 2007

January is a fairly quiet month in the TLC household. We eat out, drink and are generally merry. January is also a month of writing essays for my French course, assessing my own students' work and racing to meet deadlines. A very busy, but not always very exciting time!

Black Cat, White Christmas

Black Cat

White Christmas

No snow? Why not make your own? Either make an animated snowflake or make and send a snowflake. (Thanks to Ms Caven's blog for the links)

Biscuit Aisle

A new phrase has entered the vocabulary of the Three Legged Cat household. Biscuit Aisle.

We went to the supermarket on Friday, expecting it to be packed with people (like us) doing the last of the pre-Christmas shopping. It was pretty busy, but not too bad, until we reached the biscuit aisle. Then we got stuck in some kind of gridlock as we became instantly wedged in by dozens of elderly ladies, who were saying "Ooh" and "Mmm" whilst they dithered endlessly about which biscuits to buy. We were well and truly hemmed in, we couldn't reverse because the crush behind us was unbelievable, so we had to inch forwards, moving painfully slowly along with all the other baffled looking people who were stuck there with us. When we finally escaped at the other end, everything seemed normal in the rest of the store. Bizarre. Why had everyone converged on that one aisle? Who knows. Do elderly ladies indulge in biscuit related Flashmobs? (Mr TLC has just reminded me that elderly people do often live on a diet of tea and biscuits, in fact I think my Granddad lived for years on little else, perhaps that explains it.)

The smug "We're ready for Christmas" feeling evaporated later when we realised that we had forgotten to buy onions. Mr TLC set off for the local greengrocers this morning. Time passed. More time passed. I was on the point of sending out a search party when he returned. "What happened?" I asked. "BISCUIT AISLE!" shouted Mr TLC. "BISCUIT AISLE, BLOODY BISCUIT AISLE!" I knew exactly what he meant.

Why I love Christmas

I know that not everyone likes Christmas, I know that some people positively detest it, but for me it's one of my favourite times of year. It has nothing to do with the religious festival (I have no belief in a benign god who wishes us to celebrate his birthday). It has nothing to do with the FOTCR™* (although I have caused some cash registers to feast!)

It has everything to do with having time off from work at the same time as most of my family and friends and being able to relax and spend time with people whose company I enjoy. I'm also a bit of a sucker for many of the trappings of Christmas: Christmas trees (real ones of course), giving gifts (although I prefer this to receiving them, is this a bit odd?), baking Christmas cakes and mince pies, hearing Noddy Holder and Roy Wood wishing us a Merry Christmas.

Anders Hanson put all this much better than I can:

"After my last posting about being an atheist, you would probably expect me to be fairly ambivalent about Christmas. But I am not at all, I love it, and it’s all down to some intangible nice feeling that I get because of all the trappings that come with the time of year.

I like Christmas carols, (as long as they are being played at Christmas and not weeks beforehand in shops), I like turkey dinners, I like Christmas pudding, I like Christmas presents (it’s not just because it’s a gift, although that is nice, it’s the excitement of opening the wrapping paper to discover what’s inside), I like Christmas trees (proper ones, that have come from a real forest and smell as a Christmas tree should and not of plastic), and other decorations, and I even like nativity scenes. I suppose much of what I’ve described is not particularly about religion, but I even like some of the religious side of it. You can’t really object, it is a religious festival after all, but just because I am a non-believer it doesn’t stop me from just liking the atmosphere and the Christian tradition that we celebrate at this time of year. I suppose it is because, to use Richard Dawkins’ now infamous phrase, I am a cultural Christian. I grew up in a Christian country, in a generally Christian family, and so I like much of the tradition that comes with that."

Of course Christmas does have less appealing aspects: the CD of utterly depressing Christmas songs that seems to be popular in my local pub this year, houses that are smothered in flashing lights and hideous decorations and writing all those of Christmas cards (I feel I ought to enjoy this - after all, I do like writing to friends, but sending a mass of cards all at once feels like a chore).

I think what I enjoy most is preparing for Christmas: choosing presents, baking, decorating the tree. The big day itself is a day for Mr TLC and me to relax - I'm quite lucky that I don't have a demanding family - so we're looking forward to our chill-out day.

Merry Christmas!

* Since my attempts to link to this particular post have failed, I'll just copy it:
FOTCR™ : Feast Of The Cash Register: Christmas, in all its over-commercialised glory, first used by Blue Witch in the run up to Christmas 2004, and believed to derive from a Dave Allen (comedian) sketch from the 1970s.

Two Recipes

A Lazy Sunday

Ingredients
2 relaxed cats
1 interesting book
1 splendid breakfast
1 pair of comfortable shoes
1 splendid dinner
2 pints of Mr John Hull's excellent beer
1 pub quiz
tea and coffee

Method
1. Relax, have a lie in and read the interesting book whilst listening to the relaxed cats purring.
2. Cook and eat a splendid breakfast, linger over tea and coffee.
3. Laze around for a while.
4. Put on comfortable shoes, go out for a walk stroll amble. Enjoy the sunshine, but wear warm clothes in the frosty weather. Avert your eyes from any Temples of Tat with giant animatronic Santas, inflatable snowmen, 8 ft tall wooden soldiers or gigantic illuminated sleighs.
5. Visit family to deliver Christmas presents, chill out, chat and drink more coffee.
6. Cook and eat a splendid dinner.
7. Garnish with a couple of pints and a pub quiz.

Boozy Mincemeat

Ingredients
500g/ 1lb 2oz washed currants
500g/ 1lb 2oz washed raisins
500g/ 1lb 2oz washed sultanas
500g/ 1lb 2oz Bramley apples, peeled, cored and chopped into small pieces
500g/ 1lb 2oz vegetable or beef suet
100g/ 4oz blanched almonds, coarsley chopped
350g/ 12oz demerera sugar
1 rounded tsp ground cinnamon
2 rounded tsps mixed spice
Grated zest and the juice of 1 large lemon
250g/ 9oz chopped mixed peel
125ml/ 4fl oz dark rum
125ml/ 4fl oz Amaretto di Saronno
175ml/ 6fl oz brandy

Method
1. Tip everything into a very large bowl. Mix very thoroughly.
2. Cover and leave for around 24 hours, stir the mixture from time to time.
3. Pack into sterilised jars, cover with a circle of waxed or greaseproof paper and seal the jars. Store in a cool, dark dry place.

Notes
Based on a recipe by Ruth Watson in Good Food Christmas Made Easy ed. Mary Cadogan
Don't hold back on the booze, it's what preserves the mincemeat.
The original recipe suggests using within 6 months, but it makes loads and I've just used the last from 3 years ago.

A Wizard Shop

"Wizard!" said Mr TLC on hearing the news. No, he hadn't been reading Enid Blyton, but he had just received a phone call to say that his new toy was awaiting collection. The long awaited Gordon-Smith Classic T (which for those of us who speak English, is a guitar) had arrived at Wizard Guitars.

Mr TLC has been lusting after a Gordon-Smith creation for ages and having seen him play one, I can see why. It's not just that he's been able to choose exactly what he wants, or that Gordon-Smith Guitars still set high store by old-fashioned values like quality materials and excellent workmanship. It's hard to describe, but Mr TLC's new guitar just seems to fit him and despite being a custom built piece, the new toy was rather cheaper than many similar mass-produced guitars.

While we were at the shop a mother and son acted out a cautionary tale for us. The teenage son had brought in the "guitar" that he had purchased via E-Bay. Apparently the seller had neglected to mention the fact that this particular guitar came in an "easy home assembly" form. The poor lad stood there holding the pieces of what used to be a guitar while Mr Evans of Wizard Guitars explained to him that it really was beyond repair. Chatting with Mr and Mrs Evans afterwards, they said that this isn't that uncommon.

I often use E-Bay, Amazon and other online stores, but I wouldn't use them to buy something like a guitar, that really needs to be tried out before you buy it, and I don't buy online if I can buy the same thing locally. We are lucky to have lots of small, independent shops like Wizard Guitars in this area. You have to use 'em or lose 'em.

I am Scrooge (apparently)

Apologies in advance to anyone who isn't, but as of this afternoon I am officially taking it easy for two weeks - and very splendid it is too. Relaxed smug mode has set in.

Actually, I'm quite relieved that this term has finished, it seems to have been more and more of an uphill struggle with some of my classes as Christmas approached.

"Are we doing something fun this lesson?"
"Yes, we're learning how to solve equations, what could be more fun than that?"
"Aw, Miiiiss..."

However, I have been (as described by my students) a total Scrooge. We continued normal lessons, right up to the bitter end; which in the case of my school was at morning break today.

"But it's our last lesson"
"Yes, that's right it's your last lesson, not the first day of your holiday."
"Aw, Miiiiss..."

After the morning break great silliness occurred in the form of pantomimes, parties and eating too much chocolate. (Healthy eating guidelines appear to have been overlooked where prizes and end of term parties are concerned.)

"Dave nicked my chocolate"
"Give it back please Dave."
"Aw, Miiiiss..."

We even got to leave school early at the end of it all!

It isn't that I go out of the way to annoy my students, by actually expecting them to learn stuff; but these are secondary school students, and it is the older ones that seem to do the most moaning. I'm not quite sure why so many students seem to think that normal service should be suspended for two or more weeks at the end of every term in order to play games and watch films that they've all seen dozens of times already.

Anyway, it's all over until January. I like my job. but I like my holidays a whole lot more! I now have 16 whole days of doing nothing stretching ahead. Bliss, bliss, bliss.

You must be crackers

I read today that Brits had been voting in a survey to find Britain's worst cracker joke. "Well no one asked me to vote," I thought, slightly huffily, until I discovered that the survey was conducted by Nuts magazine.

According to 200 of their 'readers' (if I may use that description here), the top 10 worst jokes are:

1) What is Santa's favourite pizza? One that's deep pan, crisp and even
2) On which side do chickens have most feathers? On the outside
3) What kind of paper likes music? (W)rapping paper
4) What's white and goes up? A confused snowflake
5) What do you call a woman who stands between two goal posts? Annette
6) Did you hear about the man who bought a paper shop? It blew away.
7) What's furry and minty? A polo bear
8) How do snowmen get around? They ride an icicle
9) Who hides in the bakery at Christmas? A mince spy!
10) What do you call a penguin in the Sahara desert? Lost

To most people, I imagine that getting these jokes is not too much of a challenge, but just in case you are struggling to find the mirth in the top joke, Andrew Linn, who is a Professor of Linguistics at the University of Sheffield, is available for comment:

"The essence of a fine joke is clever and original use of language, often exploiting some sort of ambiguity. This joke has been voted the worst Christmas cracker joke because it is almost too clever. It uses ambiguity in how the words are put together (deep (p)an') as well as contextual ambiguity (pizzas and a Christmas carol). In short, once you get it, it's a real groaner!"

Once you get it? How long does he think it takes to work it out? Professor Linn is clearly no joker, but I think he might be crackers...

Boxing Mismatch

An enormous box arrives.

How exciting, I wonder what it could be...

I'm not expecting any enormous boxes.

Perhaps it's a Christmas present?

It must be something really big.

It can't just be that new mouse I ordered can it?

Oh, obviously it can.

One week to go

Humbug

Ginger Cat does not like Christmas. Ginger Cat does not like change. Someone has put a great big tree in the corner of the front room and Ginger Cat doesn't like it at all.

When Ginger Cat was Ginger Kitten he liked Christmas trees. He could climb them and imitate a koala bear whilst hanging from the trunk. He could see the toy potential in all the decorations. He could wake us up in the middle of the night by pulling all the decorations off the tree and chasing the nice shiny baubles around the house.

Then suddenly Ginger Kitten grew up and turned into Mr Set In His Ways. A tree in the house isn't exciting any more, it's a bit scary.

Like Mog, Ginger Cat does not like things to be exciting, Ginger Cat likes things to stay the same.

Santa Claws

Black Cat loves Christmas. Christmas is when he gets dozens of extra toys. We don't go in for the buying presents for our cats thing, but we do put temptation in their way. We have a Christmas tree.

I spent yesterday in a race with Black Cat, I was trying to decorate the tree, whilst he was having a wonderful time un-decorating it. String of shiny beads? Thank you very much, ideal for jumping on or running off with. Shiny bauble, dangling from a branch? Perfect for grabbing, bashing about until it falls off and then pursuing it around the floor. A whole tree full of dangly beads and shiny baubles? Not for long! Black Cat thinks he is in heaven. Black Cat loves Christmas.

Wrong again

"How much?"
"£1.95 million."
"That's almost unbelievable. No child will ever get near that book will they?"

I was so confident in this prediction. I calmly assumed that some investor had bought J.K.Rowling's hand written book The Tales of Beedle the Bard and that it was heading for a future locked in a vault, unseen and unread.

Wrong again. So what exactly are Amazon going to do with their new purchase? The £1.95 million may have gone to charity, but I imagine a business like Amazon will want some kind of return on such a big payout. I think it is rather unlikely that The Tales of Beedle the Bard will be sold by the books department. They can't publish it, but they can write detailed reviews that just happen to include the actual plot (now that's more cunning than Baldrick) and they can display photos of it. Some very fine marketing and promotional opportunities loom large.

Will this particular children's book ever get near an actual child? Bit too early to say, although a book tour is a possibility. However it is nice to get a look at it, even if it is via the net, which is a definite improvement on the book being in some anonymous investor's vault.

A traditional school

I didn't realise what a traditional school I worked in until today.

We have recently required some nice shiny new bicycle sheds. Standing behind them at lunchtime were a load of students and what looked suspiciously like a plume of smoke.

Old traditions linger don't they?

Your very good elf

It's been a highly productive day. One of my colleagues found elfyourself.com and then we all got a bit competitive making each other into elves.

In between elfing ourselves we did manage some teaching. And we made up good elf-y puns.

Winter Garden

The Winter Garden may be one of Sheffield's newer buildings, but it is certainly one the best loved.

When the plans for a giant greenhouse in the heart of the city were first published, they didn't create much of a stir, possibly because the local population were still suffering from development fatigue after the less than joyous experiences of building for the Student Games and then the Supertram. Of course, once the incredibly beautiful arched structure started to take shape, everyone simply fell in love with it. People stopped to stare as the giant wooden skeleton was gradually transformed into a stunning building.

Since then the Winter Garden has been planted, has matured and has become a much loved part of the city centre. The finished building is around 70 metres long and 22 metres high and holds around 2500 plants. It's a place to walk through, to sit and watch the world go by, to visit temporary exhibitions, to enjoy a cup of coffee or even (if you are really lucky) to attend an exclusive event with a select few. Despite the name, the building is open for 364 days a year and is popular all year round. A Winter Garden is for life, but not for Christmas.

The Winter Garden is now officially five years old. Many Happy Returns!

Links:

Take a 360 degree tour of the Winter Garden, inside and out

In a tangle

Today I was given a little gadget that might just transform some of my lessons. It's a tangle. Made from 18 plastic 90 degree arcs that swivel where they join, you pick it up and you can't help but twist it, bend it and generally fiddle about with it. I'd heard of these, but today was the first time I'd actually seen one.

So what use is that? Potentially quite a lot if you have students with so called ADHD (Attention Defficit Hyperactive Disorder). I say so called, because it's one of those labels that a lot of people seem to be in an awful rush to slap onto an increasing number of children, I don't doubt that it's a genuine condition, but it does seem to be "diagnosis of the month". Frighteningly, the first line of treatment often seems to be very powerful drugs, drugs that may not even be effective in the long term. I'm not claiming to know better than the doctors that treat these children, but I do feel very, very uneasy about the upsurge in the numbers of children taking these drugs. I'm sure there are children with perfectly genuine problems, but other factors sometimes get overlooked, for example I've seen some children with ADHD who seem to eat a diet awash with additives, and of course parenting issues may also be a factor in some cases. Unfortunately these are factors that as a classroom teacher I can't control, but I do have to deal with an increasing number of unsettled children that seem completely incapable of concentrating for any length of time. This means finding strategies that will work for these children.

So how does the tangle help? I gave it to four different students in different lessons, all of whom are basically nice kids but normally drive me round the twist, and let them play around with it while I was explaining work to the class. The results were astounding: no interuptions from any of them, apart from when one boy shouted out a sensible and relevant question - which hardly counts as an interuption really.

The great thing about the tangle is that unlike other things I've tried, it really is mindless and doesn't distract the student using it or those around them. They fiddle about with it, but they did seem to be listening and certainly took in what I was saying; their "nervous energy" found an outlet in a non-disruptive way. A big improvment on "Sit still and listen" (they don't), stress balls (which seem to end up flying across the room), elastic bands (which seem to end up flying across the room) and even blu-tak (which seems to end up - oh you get the idea).

Will it keep working once the novelty wears off? Will it end up flying across the room? I don't know yet, but I'll keep you posted.

Links:
The tangle may be a great little gadget, but I think their site is pretty terrible. Not really a classic piece of Web design. I haven't been able to find anything that backs up their charitable claims, so don't take this as a ringing endorsement!
http://www.mytangle.co.uk/
Buying tangles (same site, cunningly hidden link)

Finally within my compass

Finally, we made it to see The Golden Compass. The film was going to have to be fairly amazing to live up to my highly elevated expectations and by and large it delivered.

The book is long, has many characters and a complex plot, so some changes and omissions were inevitable. The film rattles along at a cracking pace, moving from Oxford to London before setting out northward to Norroway, Svalbard and Bolvanger. The effects and design of Lyra's universe are beautiful, and you can have a bit of fun location spotting, although there have been a few additions to the famous London skyline in this parallel world.

Sam Eliot's version of Lee Scorsby is an old fashioned cowboy, and we get treated to a good old fashioned western style stand off in the process of rescuing Iorek Byrnison. The fight scenes provide the real climax to the film, the duelling armoured bears are magnificent and the flying witches are elegant and contribute to an impressive battle scene.

Did the film live up to the hype? Yes it did. Highly recommended.

Souvenirs de mes vacances

When Mr TLC and I go anywhere there are certain things that I just cannot resist. I drive him mad by taking zillions of photos and buying far too many postcards. However, he is keener when I start buying local produce, although of course this can be a bit unpredictable. There have been triumphs, such as the school ski trip to Bormio, Italy - I returned with amaretti biscuits, arborio rice, balsamic and wine vinegars and (on the recommendation of two wine loving colleagues) a mixed case of the local wine, which was amazingly cheap but wonderful to drink. Of course there have been less successful purchases, I will never forget the appalling taste of the worst vodka I have ever encountered, which I purchased with great care, but apparently no expertise, in Moscow.

This year, having finally given up on flying (why did it take me so long?), we ventured to France by car and ferry. Mr TLC was a little bemused by my determination to get up early and go to the supermarket on our last day there, but I had planned this like a military campaign: paper to wrap bottles, a cool box that would run off the car's cigarette lighter, bag of frozen stuff to keep the contents cold on the ferry, large plastic bags and klippits for bread. We came back with bread, cheeses, croissants (which have provided months of weekend breakfasts via the freezer), wine, cider, beer, Calvados and, because we had been staying in the region, Cognac and Pineau des Charentes.

The Pineau was a bit of a risky purchase, because I'd never got around to trying it while we there, but we brought back so much stuff that I have to admit I forgot all about it. I found it today whilst rummaging around looking for the assorted booze that goes into homemade mincemeat. So I finally got around to trying it, expecting something that tastes pretty similar to Cognac. Pineau is made from unfermented grape must and Cognac brandy and it tastes amazing. You can really taste the grapes along with the rich flavour of the brandy. It's very sweet, but not cloying. I'm not usually keen on sweet drinks, but this was gorgeous. Why did I only buy one bottle? I guess that's the excuse I needed - back to France as soon as possible.

Too much to bear?

There seem to be a lot of bears around at the moment. Surely they are supposed to be hibearnating? Maybe it's an effect of global warming.

1. Badly Named Bear

So much has been written about this particular bear already, I'm not going to add to it. However I would like to point out that I was somewhat amused to see this little link at the bottom of the BBC's page "What can't be named Muhammad?", a page with lots of debate about what may or may not be offensive to followers of Islam and other religions.

2. Armoured Bears

There seem to be a lot of these around at the moment, looking down from billboards and intimidating passers-by. (We're off to see The Golden Compass tomorrow - the bear fight looks magnificent.)

3. I don't know much about bears, but I know what I like

It may have been State Britain that won the Turner Prize for Mark Wallinger, but it was his visit to a Berlin art gallery dressed as a bear that seemed to catch the attention of the world's media. Is it art? Who cares - it's a brilliant idea! I wish I'd thought of it.

4. Fishing Bear

It's not often that an ad brings joy into your life, particularly at this time of year, but the John West salmon-fishing comedy-fighting bear has managed it. Greeted with a rousing cheer in our house every time it appears, it is the only advert that makes us turn off the mute during the commercial breaks.

5. Birthday Bear

Another Berlin bear, one year old Knut, celebrated his birthday in the Zoologischer Garten with a fishy looking birthday treat. Altogether now - ahh! Isn't he cute?

Thought for the day

Education isn't everything. For a start, it isn't an elephant.

Spike Milligan

Down the pan, apparently

"When you had diarrhoea* this morning..."

Immodium TV advert

When they said. Not if, when. No benefit of the doubt. Apparently starting my day with a brisk jog to the bathroom is a foregone conclusion. Never fear, take these concrete tablets and all will be well.

Why do the makers of adverts assume that we are all in such a decrepit state? Every time I watch TV I'm astounded at the way I am bombarded with ads that offer help with euphemistically named conditions such as "over indulgence", "slow digestive transit" or "feminine bladder weakness".

Honestly, it's enough to put me off my unhealthy TV dinner.



*How do you spell diarrhoea?" I ask Mr TLC.
"S.H..."
Why thank you, very helpful.

Paradox

There I was in Staples, minding my own business, buying stuff (as you do), spending a small fortune on very little (as you do in these places), when I saw it.

A staple remover.

How bloody brilliant. What happens if you buy one?
Does the whole store disappear?
Does one of those science-fiction universe-ending paradoxes occur?

I didn't risk buying one. Just in case.

Multi-Tasking

Things I am supposed to be doing this evening:
Attending a meeting
Cooking dinner
Attending a French class
Preparing reports and information ready for a parents' day tomorrow
Fixing the problems with my laptop, which won't print the reports
Marking coursework
Having an early night (early start with those parents meetings tomorrow)

Things I have actually done this evening:
Attended a meeting
Cooked dinner
Decided there is no chance whatsoever of getting to my nice French class
Finished preparing reports and information ready for a parents' day tomorrow
Uttered many irate words about my laptop, which won't print the reports
Given up and used Mr TLC's PC instead
Written this whilst waiting for said reports to print. (A watched printer never finishes, or something like that)

How have I got into this pickle? I have attempted to be so organised this term, but I have still ended up being Disorganised of Disastersville. Yes, I should have prepared the reports earlier, but at the weekend I was drowning in/finishing a load of other work. Arrghh.

I'd love to be more ruthless about some of these things. I remember going on a training day where a young teacher in his second year was asked how he coped with admin and paperwork. His reply: "I throw it all away." Amazingly, this was true. His strategy was to simply put everything in the bin. If something was actually important, someone would chase him for it, at which point he said "Oh, I seem to have misplaced that, do you have another copy?"

I've always secretly admired this strategy, but somehow I'm disappointed to discover that I haven't quite got the nerve to use it myself.

Question Time

Any questions?

Then why not ask the incredible Caterpillar Oracle*? Inspired by the famous character from Alice in Wonderland, he claims to knows all the answers!

Designed to answer yes/no questions, he copes quite well with most enquiries, but be warned, his answers are not guaranteed to be the ones you would like to hear.

*requires Flash player

Tis the season

It's that time of year again. My local shops have been smothered in sparkly stuff for some time; the greengrocer is selling fir trees and a man dressed in a dodgy red and white outfit has been sighted in the area.

Tis the season to wind up children. The ones I teach are far too old and cynical to believe in Father Christmas, so last year I set out on a one-woman mission to change that. I asserted that Santa was real, argued in favour of his existence and kept a straight face when challenged. Eventually I managed to persuade two of my class of 11 year-olds that I really do believe in Father Christmas.

Can I improve on that this year? I ho, ho, hope so.

Thought for the Day

Don't keep up with the Joneses, drag them down to your level. It's cheaper.

Quentin Crisp