"He needs to learn that charm is no substitute for hard graft" says the boy's latest school report. Yes, quite right...but actually (and don't tell him) there's many a person who's managed to carve a successful career out of charm and not hard work. They don't deserve it, but such is the world that charmers go places.
However, as 'good father' I've issued stern warnings, and backed that up by showing immense interest in his revision this holiday. Actually I'd rather not see some of it, as a reminder of the days I spent slogging away at knowledge that was quickly forgotten once the exam was finished.
And of course I don't want in any way to discourage his easy going, confident charm...it will serve him well. And since everyone around thinks he's a good looking lad who carries a guitar, he'll devastate the female population. So long as he never falls into the trap of thinking he's God's gift.
The poor fella is spending his days at home alone, and I feel for him immeasurably, as it can't be much fun, when all you've got to look forward to his a few hours swotting up on trigonometry. He has the option of coming into the office, but that doesn't appeal, given that it's an hour and a half on the sweaty tube. And his computer is now set so that it will only work for an hour a day.
Kind soul that I am, I think he can have four days off over Easter
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
Sunday, 5 April 2009
The Spooky omnibus edition
The boy has returned from Sorrento. Veni, Vidi, Vici. I think. After seeing all those ancient remains, it's a real shame he's got to give up classics - his school restricts the number of subjects he can do, the the 11th choice was Latin, and that's one too many. But at least the trip was fun, and he's come back feeling very naughty as he drank a bottle of limoncello (?) which I suspect is an italian alcopop. But then sensibly had lots of water.....
...it is wonderful to have him back and the house feels complete with him cluttering up the place. Curiously my own sense of order had gone to pieces in his absence...so there were dirty dishes piled to the ceiling, unclean laundry fair bursting out everywhere, and a general mess of everything all over the place. Thursday evening was spent restoring some form of order, safe in the knowledge he would turn the place into a shambles on Friday evening, allowing me to have a gentle parental moan. How fair and just is that!
Equally my diet returned to student days, consisting mostly of sausages and baked beans and sausages. Scarcely a vegetable passed my lips all week. So thank heaven's the boy has returned to restore my health as well.
I managed to restore some credibility to my social life in the boy's absence - three evenings spent gallivanting. Of most note was a splendid evening in rather desolate Milton Keynes to meet with a lovely blogger friend. MK was half way between the two of us so a sensible choice....but neither of us knew the place, so the cullinery highlight was an American Hot with olives in the shopping centre. I hope Milton Keynesians have other places to go because much as I love Pizza Express, and I really do, it isn't the same as a smokey old pub. Hopefully my companion for the evening won't feel the need to mention that finding my car after the pizza was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Ho hum.
So in between the mess and the going out a jolly week was had by all.
Highlight of Friday was Bermondsey street being full of burly men and police. No not a belated G20 riot, but the filming of an episode of Spooks. They requisitioned my local coffee shop, so thank heavens I'm on my caffeine free diet at the moment. Try as I did, I couldn't seem to attract enough attention to get roped in as an extra...you know 'man passing in the street'would have done. Expect it's because I don't have an equity card....
Low light was leaving the office early to make sure I was back for the boy, cycling as far as the Rotherhithe tunnel to discover it was closed, meaning I had to retrace my steps. Making me 40 minutes late...fortunately the boy's coach was even later. So apologies to the other parents who had to put up with a very sweaty me whilst they made charming conversation.
And on Saturday, more police and TV cameras, as THE funeral took place. Most of the roads were blocked off, and there were an awful lot of sarf Lunden accents to be heard, which makes a change from Essex dialect. And the concentration of perma tans was seriously depleted. Our local garage and foodstore had been counting his blessings, and expected to make a massive profit on extra sales today. Hopefully that'll mean he lowers the cost of a gallon of petrol on Monday. Some hope.
We however escaped to try and find a new car as the current one needs to be replaced. Foolishly we traipsed thirty miles there and another thirty back to look at a car that wasn't even in stock. Evidently as soon as they arrive, they're sold. Who said we're in a recession and the car industry is broke?
...it is wonderful to have him back and the house feels complete with him cluttering up the place. Curiously my own sense of order had gone to pieces in his absence...so there were dirty dishes piled to the ceiling, unclean laundry fair bursting out everywhere, and a general mess of everything all over the place. Thursday evening was spent restoring some form of order, safe in the knowledge he would turn the place into a shambles on Friday evening, allowing me to have a gentle parental moan. How fair and just is that!
Equally my diet returned to student days, consisting mostly of sausages and baked beans and sausages. Scarcely a vegetable passed my lips all week. So thank heaven's the boy has returned to restore my health as well.
I managed to restore some credibility to my social life in the boy's absence - three evenings spent gallivanting. Of most note was a splendid evening in rather desolate Milton Keynes to meet with a lovely blogger friend. MK was half way between the two of us so a sensible choice....but neither of us knew the place, so the cullinery highlight was an American Hot with olives in the shopping centre. I hope Milton Keynesians have other places to go because much as I love Pizza Express, and I really do, it isn't the same as a smokey old pub. Hopefully my companion for the evening won't feel the need to mention that finding my car after the pizza was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Ho hum.
So in between the mess and the going out a jolly week was had by all.
Highlight of Friday was Bermondsey street being full of burly men and police. No not a belated G20 riot, but the filming of an episode of Spooks. They requisitioned my local coffee shop, so thank heavens I'm on my caffeine free diet at the moment. Try as I did, I couldn't seem to attract enough attention to get roped in as an extra...you know 'man passing in the street'would have done. Expect it's because I don't have an equity card....
Low light was leaving the office early to make sure I was back for the boy, cycling as far as the Rotherhithe tunnel to discover it was closed, meaning I had to retrace my steps. Making me 40 minutes late...fortunately the boy's coach was even later. So apologies to the other parents who had to put up with a very sweaty me whilst they made charming conversation.
And on Saturday, more police and TV cameras, as THE funeral took place. Most of the roads were blocked off, and there were an awful lot of sarf Lunden accents to be heard, which makes a change from Essex dialect. And the concentration of perma tans was seriously depleted. Our local garage and foodstore had been counting his blessings, and expected to make a massive profit on extra sales today. Hopefully that'll mean he lowers the cost of a gallon of petrol on Monday. Some hope.
We however escaped to try and find a new car as the current one needs to be replaced. Foolishly we traipsed thirty miles there and another thirty back to look at a car that wasn't even in stock. Evidently as soon as they arrive, they're sold. Who said we're in a recession and the car industry is broke?
Thursday, 2 April 2009
Mr Pourgourides
Mr Pourgourides was never destined for fame and fortune. When I knew him he was already well into his forties, had lost most of the hair on his head, and his belly was bulging comfortably over the top of his trousers. His sense of dress is best described as modest - a light grey sports jacket, pale shirt and non-descript tie with black trousers. All had seen better days, but still had a few years of limp life left in them. As I remember he was affable enough...good humoured most of the time, but with a grumpiness provoked by a classroom full of teenagers determined to see how far they could push him before he snapped. In less pc times, his thick mediteranean accent encouraged us to claim we couldn't understand half of what he said.
Mr Pourgourides did succeed in getting me a grade A in maths at 'o' level. Something I'm still pleased with as numbers are not something that much inspire me. So he was clearly a good teacher judging by the results. And if his name ever crops up when I'm with old school friends, he is remembered and talked about affectionately.
Mr Pourgourides has surprisingly had his fifteen minutes of fame.
This week's Horizon on the BBC featured the overrated (in my opinion - although he did once have a decent routine about Dad Pants) comic actor Alan Davies attempting to be re-inspired about maths, having found the subject too much to bare at school. To make his point, he returned to Bancroft's - a place that as far as I know he has never had a good word to say about - why the school let him back in, I have no idea. And indeed he didn't this time either, making the point that he remembers being excellent at sums at primary school. Personally I can't remember much about anything that I did at primary school other than enjoying British Bulldog in the playground. So the problem with Alan's maths seems to have started with Bancrofts and more particularly under the tutelage of Mr Pourgourides, whose name he brings up on a number of occasions.
So if you've got five minutes, catch up with Horizon on iplayer...you only have to watch the first five minutes to see Bancroft's, but in truth the whole programme is worth a viewing. But keep in mind, that if put to a vote, I suspect Mr Pourgourides would achieve favourable recognition as a maths teacher of note.
Mr Pourgourides did succeed in getting me a grade A in maths at 'o' level. Something I'm still pleased with as numbers are not something that much inspire me. So he was clearly a good teacher judging by the results. And if his name ever crops up when I'm with old school friends, he is remembered and talked about affectionately.
Mr Pourgourides has surprisingly had his fifteen minutes of fame.
This week's Horizon on the BBC featured the overrated (in my opinion - although he did once have a decent routine about Dad Pants) comic actor Alan Davies attempting to be re-inspired about maths, having found the subject too much to bare at school. To make his point, he returned to Bancroft's - a place that as far as I know he has never had a good word to say about - why the school let him back in, I have no idea. And indeed he didn't this time either, making the point that he remembers being excellent at sums at primary school. Personally I can't remember much about anything that I did at primary school other than enjoying British Bulldog in the playground. So the problem with Alan's maths seems to have started with Bancrofts and more particularly under the tutelage of Mr Pourgourides, whose name he brings up on a number of occasions.
So if you've got five minutes, catch up with Horizon on iplayer...you only have to watch the first five minutes to see Bancroft's, but in truth the whole programme is worth a viewing. But keep in mind, that if put to a vote, I suspect Mr Pourgourides would achieve favourable recognition as a maths teacher of note.
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
From hero to zero
I've got a bad habit. One I'm ashamed of. I'd like to give it up but I can't. I started it knowing I could handle it, but now I'm just obsessed.
I'm refering to the little site meter perched somewhere in the nether regions of the sidebar. I put it there because I wanted to know where my vistors were from...and even who they might be. And I'm delighted to have had vistors from every corner of the globe - Australia, Japan, Korea, Saudi Arabia, Chile, The Philipines, Obamaland, Canada and so on. Some come because they're looking for my blog, some arrive but dint of an erroneous Google search. An early example was the search for men and boys, then there was a few drawn by my mention of jingle bells, and last week someone searching for a cure for panic attacks. And that's all nice and I'm delighted to welcome anyone even if tey don't stay very long.
But the problem is, the meter creates a big chart of how many visitors have been and gone. Now, I'm not competitive in any way shape or form, but I do run a business, and whilst I don't know much, I do know that when a chart goes up that's good, and when it goes down, that's bad. And so I check the chart on a daily basis, just to see the month's progress. I don't want to, I just can't help it. It's especially bad because I started Don't Panic RTFM just for me so I don't forget things that I inevitably will as time goes by....and that is still very much the case. But, I can't help wanting to see the chart grow and grow. Of course today, the 1st of the month is as bad as it can get...as the monthly bar starts at 0 on the stroke of midnight.
I've given up tea and coffee for Lent - perhaps I shoud've given up my Sitemeter. Perhaps I should delete it, but then I'd never know who my foreigh visitors are Perhaps I should go to Sitemeter Addicts Anonymous.
I'm refering to the little site meter perched somewhere in the nether regions of the sidebar. I put it there because I wanted to know where my vistors were from...and even who they might be. And I'm delighted to have had vistors from every corner of the globe - Australia, Japan, Korea, Saudi Arabia, Chile, The Philipines, Obamaland, Canada and so on. Some come because they're looking for my blog, some arrive but dint of an erroneous Google search. An early example was the search for men and boys, then there was a few drawn by my mention of jingle bells, and last week someone searching for a cure for panic attacks. And that's all nice and I'm delighted to welcome anyone even if tey don't stay very long.
But the problem is, the meter creates a big chart of how many visitors have been and gone. Now, I'm not competitive in any way shape or form, but I do run a business, and whilst I don't know much, I do know that when a chart goes up that's good, and when it goes down, that's bad. And so I check the chart on a daily basis, just to see the month's progress. I don't want to, I just can't help it. It's especially bad because I started Don't Panic RTFM just for me so I don't forget things that I inevitably will as time goes by....and that is still very much the case. But, I can't help wanting to see the chart grow and grow. Of course today, the 1st of the month is as bad as it can get...as the monthly bar starts at 0 on the stroke of midnight.
I've given up tea and coffee for Lent - perhaps I shoud've given up my Sitemeter. Perhaps I should delete it, but then I'd never know who my foreigh visitors are Perhaps I should go to Sitemeter Addicts Anonymous.
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