Thank God it's Friday

By | 8 October 2009

Something lovely about Thursday night – there seems to be a ‘Nearly there!’ party on the pavement outside every London pub, with young people in their 20s and early 30s knocking back enormous glasses of white wine – every glass a third of a bottle no doubt.  Long term damage of no account when it’s a warmish autumn evening and there’s only a day of the weekly grind to go.
Tonight, for me, an actual embassy party – up a couple of steps from a London street and you are in a foreign land, with people jabbering in a foreign language and a rather fierce lady complaining about the loos to 4 men –  to see the launch of a teacher’s pack all about their country for use in schools.  The pack seemed to  do everything on its own – teacher input?  perhaps they don’t anymore.  One Pupil Task – the pack even set the homeworks –  was “Define the word ‘sustainable’ ” and you think, ‘How long could that possibly take?  Long enough to be a task?’
Met a primary teacher who told me in her school there was no class with more than 30 pupils because of the ‘cast iron contract between the authority and the NUT.’  Is that how such things are decided?  Asked about admissions and appeals – her school doesn’t have such things, ‘We’re full.  And we’re always full because we’ve had two outstanding judgements from Ofsted.’  So why no clamour at the gates, with pupils being turned away and parents appealing?  ‘Because we’re full.’  Right.
Yesterday to the HMC conference in Liverpool, and a glimpse of Roger McGough, and his so-true poem, ‘The Wrong Bed.’  Worth the trip for that needle-sharp comment on us all – ‘Life is like a hospital ward and we are always in the wrong bed.’  And a line that said something like, ‘Soul would always be happier anywhere rather than here.’  And, ‘We did not make our beds, and we do lie in them.’  Still wondering if he intended a pun there.
Trip blighted by leaving coat on train.  And lo! they found it, but it will cost me a trip to Euston and £5 to reclaim it.  If I don’t, in 90 days they will burn it.  Why not give it to a charity shop?  How wasteful of them.  And stupid of me.
Sadly, discovered when I realised not wearing the coat that I wasn’t even wearing a suit – in the dark, or the haste, or the new glasses being less strong than I thought – that I had, to coin a phrase, put on the wrong trousers..
There’s probably a story there.

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