London Calling

As if in keeping with the ‘we haven’t seen each other for twenty years,’ theme, Jamie took me to a goth club
where a friend of his was playing a set. Just like twenty years ago, I don’t like the music and find it all
a bit depressing and miserable but it was worth it for the dress sense of the clientele who could best be
pigeonholed as somewhere between Spandau ballet and the Grim Reaper;

He spoke very good italien, he was italien

perhaps a bit harsh as I was hardly
the paragon of fashion in a pair of jeans and a Whitesnake T-shirt straining around my stomach. To be fair,
I didn’t hate the sounds and everyone was really friendly, so it almost felt like home, although twenty-one quid
for three whiskey and cokes is not something I’m ever going to get used to.

Have you got anything by Deep Purple?

I took the D50 with me, just to hide behind it and get some shots. It’s been a useful experience, as I am learning to
value the D700 more. I could get some reasonable shots but the autofocus and ISO performance are in a
lower league, although it is refreshing to be out with one camera and one 50mm lens; it’s bare bones
photography. The D50 metered really well that evening, although there is a tendency for over-
exposure by half a stop or so.

Mixing Glass

Back to Jamie’s flat for a drink and an extended version of putting the world to rights with Rich; I think
we decided on a bloodless coup but I’m a bit sketchy on the details – I’m to wait for a call from our
spiritual leader Jack Daniels. To bed, too late, too little sleep. Greasy spoon, hard work, sausage not
nice at all. Ride home; long; cold; miserable. Bath good.

I’m a family man now.

International summit on showing respect while having a row

It was a whirlwind romance and it was love and and now they are man and wife. Just like Disney but no wicked witches, poisoned apples or lengthy
spell induced sleeps.
I have been to a few weddings now but this was my favourite, not just because of the lead actors but because they kept to the best of all plans for any
weddings:

Organise it yourselves and make it true to yourselves.

If I was going to add tags to this wedding I would opt for: elegant,genuine, understated, classy, fun, romantic, loving, emotional and joyous;
that’s pretty good isn’t it?

Click for Video of the Highlights

I was delighted that Dirk asked me to be his best man but was disappointed that I was far more nervous than him, how ridiculous! All I had to do was
not lose the rings or my speech.

I like the civil marriage ceremony, it is short and powerful.

You feel as though something very special has happened. The registrar and her comedy sidekick were great. She was a calming influence and made
it seem as though it was the only marriage she had to perform that day. In truth, these places are the wedding world equivalent of battery farms but
the bride and groom were made to feel really special.

Amy was gorgeous in her wedding dress and she looked as though she felt gorgeous;

For better or for Vegemite, you either hate it or you hate it

After the ceremony, we all jumped on an old route master bus and sipped champagne; the highlight for me was to see all the guests upstairs craning to
see the views while maintaining all the excitement of schoolchildren.

The wedding party was very similar to a meeting of the United Nations, with the exclusion of perhaps Peru.

There were two staff manning the bus: one (clearly) to drive and one to stop random pedestrians from jumping on. He was kept busy.

A single to Eternity please

The Hempel was a great location for the reception, although I did slightly desert my duties by confidently leading a number of guests into the wrong room completely.

...and he said:'hi I'd like to marry your daughter and we have some exciting news.'

I enjoyed the speeches and the highlight for me was Bertil reminding us how passion might wane but love deepens;
a reminder that we are all on the same bumpy path.

You have 2 weeks to learn to pronounce the family name

For my part, I enjoyed recounting ‘how Dirk is a shrewd man but the only major miscalculation I can recollect was on account of his rivalry with me. He agreed to do the
London to Brighton bicycle ride with me for charity. Forget charity, this was war and the shadow boxing had already begun long before the event. At the time, I was a
regular cyclist and had cycled the route a few times; Dirk was still clinging to former glories and indulged in boastful reverie of the apparently epic 12 mile daily bike
rides to school, weighed down by books and a hat. He was certain that his actions as a schoolboy had carved him into an Olympic cyclist and that for him, fifty miles
was inconsequential. I on the other hand knew that he was not longer a school boy and crucially, that Holland was flat.’

The cheese course made me chuckle, as amongst the cheeses, was a soft, runny cheese with Dirk’s fingerprints all over it; it was as runny as treacle, with the odour of
a newborn’s nappy and was the cheese equivalent of Absinthe. Even I struggled with that one! ‘Please take it away!’ I heard one of the guests say to the waiter.

A good guy has married a lovely lady and they go together like vegemite and marmite…ok, like brie and crackers.

Morris dancing but not as we know it

So England meets New Zealand and Holland in West London and makes a mini-Australian Dutch English New Zealander with love.

There has to be a film in there somewhere.

I have never loved heights and felt that I should. My father loved them
and would be up a ladder like a rabbit; to be fair I have never seen a
rabbit up a ladder but neither have I seen a rabbit with vertigo, so that
proves precisely nothing.

They have erected 12 floors of scaffolding at school to replace brickwork
and terracotta. I was invited to take photos of the view. As I stood
at the foot of the scaffolding gazing upwards, I was regretting my
bravado. I used to work in Ark in Hammersmith; a fantastic building
designed by Ralph Erskine but crucially for me, a building that would
suddenly present you with sheer drops of 50 or 100 feet onto cold
marble. It regularly made me feel sick and my friend and then
colleague Dirk would try to help my vertigo by leading me to the biggest
drops and then telling me that I wasn’t going to die – I know he enjoyed
that.

Anyway, this time I was in less forgiving company and was trying very
hard to control my fear. I did not look down, I really cannot emphasise
that enough but with a fixed expression, part determination part panic,
I climbed gingerly up the first couple of ladders. My knuckles were white,
gripping each pole with all the strength I had. I tested each ladder, as
though my life depended on it – well it did really.

For the first 9 floors, there was sheeting preventing you from realising
that just to your right was oblivion, the drop off and certain death. One
of the builders told me ‘I don’t like heights neither,’ that’s like a teacher
not liking children, so I guess it could work. For the last three floors, the
sheeting was missing, they waited until I was at the top before telling me
that the wind had taken it down. I took some photos, not great ones but
I did the assignment, camera shake was a problem, on account of my
frayed nerves. Although for one brief moment, I was so involved in my job
that I forgot where I was and took the camera away from my face only
to realise in horror that I was not holding onto at least three things.

Out of guilt I bought Snow White on DVD for the kids; I had to work on
Saturday, so I promised them a treat. Bad parenting, that’s the scientific
name. It was however worth the money, purely for the diverse reactions
in my children. Francesca cowered next to her mum solemnly awaiting
the scary bit, Molly chuckled all the way through it and even laughed
when Snow White dropped down dead, ‘they’re crying,’ she cheerfully
declared of the Dwarves. Benjamin danced solidly through all the
musical numbers giving an impression of a drunken lop sided gibbon.

I know it had a happy ending but demanding a princess’s heart in a box
is a bit more Hannibal Lecter than Walt Disney.

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The outing was watertight: fast food at an evil multinational headed by a clown
and a fireworks display. Not exactly an Apollo mission to the moon, so nothing
could go wrong. We didn’t even have to rely on public transport.

Just as the PTP (poorly timed poo) can destroy a timetable in one verbal
transaction. I was completely undone by a missing sock. I had put the
bloody things on his feet not one hour before but the little angel had
hidden them somewhere under the floorboards. For all the tea in China
I was not able to find a single sock in the entire house;
my little pony -yes, the fire truck whose siren I turned on repeatedly – yes,
the same item of clothing 5 times – yes but no sodding sock.

In my growing rage, I was tempted to either cut off his feet or make him
go barefoot but moved on.

Socks are like crash helmets, boring but necessary, like the heat
shielding tiles on the space shuttle but less expensive and more comfortable.

Anyway, having dressed Ben in not just odd socks but bisexual socks, we were
finally ready to go. Anne was selling bags of baby clothes at a baby clothes
selling place, so I did my final checks to make sure nothing vital had
been forgotten: three small humans – check, a bag containing bottom incident
material – check, not locking myself out of the house – check, money – check,
finnish student – check, pram – check, Waterproofs – check, phone – check.

Blimey, ten years ago the checklist was: Keys, money, cigarettes and as long as
you had the first two, anything was possible.

I can only blame human hard drive error, the human version of the blue screen
of death. I thought the burger joint near the fireworks display was an evil clown
fast food restaurant and had promised the kids exactly that. There is a rather
uncomfortable irony in me taking the kids there. As a 13 year old it was my
favourite place to eat; as an 19 year old, I would walk in with waist length
hair, a committed vegetarian and shout ‘ Stop eating dead animals,’ it only
occurred to me later on that the ‘dead,’ was probably a tautology, of course
the animals were fucking dead. We don’t often go there, so I hope that that
is taken into account in the court of political correctness.

Anyway, it was a Burger King and I knew that I was in trouble. I announced that
we were going to try a new experience and that this place might be even better
than the clammy clown. There was a brief stony silence from the back of the
car followed by ‘I want to go to McDonald,.’from Frankie. Molly listened
patiently to my detailed explanation of the importance of trying new things
before declaring’I'm not going to eat it,’ in a voice bereft of human emotion.

When we arrived outside, I was asked ‘is this it?’
I prayed that they had chicken nuggets or the equivalent.

In the event, the kids loved it, I was in luck. They had mayonnaise, so
Frankie didn’t care and they had a plastic monkey toy, so Molly would
eat her own body weight in a place with plastic monkeys. Quite
reasonable I’m sure you will agree.

We made our way to the fireworks display with our spirits intact and waited
patiently for the fun to start. Light sabres and glow in the dark bracelets
were bought. After the opening volley, Molly turned through
180 degrees and refused to look at the fireworks. Francesca turned through
90 degrees and would only look through the corner of her eyes and even then
with a finger placed firmly inside her ear. Ben repeated the words mum, mum,
mum in a Harry Krishna type trance for five minutes and then decided to enjoy
it.

On the way home in the car, Anne was breaking it to Frankie gently that the
telly before bed would be Strictly come dancing and not Monsters v Aliens, the
only thing to have made the evening more perfect would have been an outbreak
of ebola but we were spared that. Molly raised her glowing bracelet in the air and
said ‘Get this fireworks display off my arm!’ At least I took some good shots of
the fireworks but on balance, burning Guy Fawkes once a year will do me just fine.

Frankie looked at my motorcycle parked in the garage and said:

‘it isn’t working.’

In light of my ham-fisted and ultimately doomed attempts to explain the difference between working
and turned on; I decided that she was right and cleverer than me.

I asked Molly what she would like on her toast:

‘A monkey.’

The ball was in my court and I had no comeback.

Today as we bustled past the West Pier in thick fog, Frankie said:

‘The pier has gone.’

And it had.

I must check it is still there tomorrow but does that mean it was there tonight?

I caught a few shots of some chaps jumping over bins
with their skateboards;

I see a Brighton pattern: bins
as jumps, bins as bins and bins as drums. I wonder what it means?

I will ask Frankie.

My head hurts, I’m going to bed.

Two ways to spot that particular lie:

1. The unnecessary offer of information, I had made no enquiries.

2. The emphasis on the word have.

One minute they smile at you sweetly, the next they would have the shirt

off your back. Well that’s a bit dramatic but there is a moment in time

when we realise that telling the truth is only one of the options available to us.

Molly has just made this leap and is having a really good rummage around

in her newly found treasure chest. It has also become apparent to her that she

can use this newly acquired skill to her own benefit but that it is not a strategy

without risk.

We have a lovely student from Finland staying with us; she is great with the kids

and Molly decided to use her to attempt her greatest lie to date.

‘Daddy said you could take my eye patch off.’

This was an impressive and audacious untruth to unleash on the world.

It was both credible and very much to her advantage: covering up her one

good eye with an eye patch to encourage the idle one to wake up, is about

as popular as rattlesnake in a lucky dip with Molly and on the face of it,

to her we probably seem a bit Talibanish (fancy banning kites..the bastards).

Anyway back to the cunning masterplan; well, I say cunning…schoolboy oversights

were as follows:

1. To make the lie within my earshot.

2. To assume that the facts would not be checked.

She had to go away and think about that one afterwards, it was so nearly

perfect but like so many things in life, just ended in being found out and

a bollocking.

Sticking an eyepatch over the other eye as well would have

been a bit harsh and clearly I am a bad person for even allowing it to

cross my mind.

Kids lie, not always but they do. They are not alone, adults do it all the time.

This scene has been played out in a million classrooms:

‘Joe stop talking.’

‘I wasn’t talking’

The word ‘talking’ is interchangeable with multiple activities:

Picking your nose, beating your sister with my little pony,

eating stickers or painting the bathroom with the toilet brush.

It’s all about training. In my classes, the kids have now been exposed

to my ‘actions on,’ when confronted by a snap lie:

‘Why would I have asked you stop talking if you were not talking?

Is it because I was imagining the whole thing, perhaps I have a

vendetta against you and your family, perhaps I just wanted some

attention, maybe your name is Morpheus and we are all living inside

the matrix.

Let’s be clear, I asked you stop talking because…wait for it..

you were talking..I’m not accusing you of war crimes or running a

protection racket but …talking. So what I’m asking for here is

perspective and the acceptance on your part that when I’m talking

I want you to listen. So let’s have another go: Were you talking?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Can we move on?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Next time, will you either not talk or just say your sorry?’

‘Yes sir.’

Spotting a lie is a lot easier than knowing how to respond to one.

Teaching kids when to lie and when to be honest is more tricky still.

I felt some kind of elation when I was on a bus with Frankie and she

whispered to me:

‘That man over there is fat and I didn’t say it out loud.’

The leaves decided to fall off the trees. No great surprise there, it’s called
Autumn or Fall if you like to leave nothing to the imagination.

It was last Tuesday, they just decided to fall off, they lost the will. This
has a special interest to me because once they fall, they get wet and then
they hang around on corners, just waiting to drop me on the ground.

Motorcyclists know a ridiculous amount about road surfaces, we have to.
It’s like a fisherman knowing where to hunt.

The road surface software runs each time I swing my leg over the
bike. Not just what is on the road: diesel, water, petrol, leaves, beading,
ice, mud but the road itself: age, wear, material and the likely slip ratio.
It’s not a topic for parties unless you enjoy your own company but it is part
and parcel of staying alive.

I know that now we have entered the graveyard shift. The roads are at their most
deadly for the next four months and the days of joy will be few and far between.
Without the dark now there is no light later, so it must be. Finland is far tougher.

I was warming up the Street Triple, while heading over to help, or not help at
all as it turned out, a friend. Suddenly I heard Police sirens behind me and a
blue flashing light. I pulled over to let him past but it turned out it was me.

I was relaxed; as whatever he had seen was in the past and there was not much
I could do about it now. Politeness and deference.

‘Do you know why I pulled you over.’
‘Yes, I didn’t see you, if I had, I would have been riding more slowly.’
‘You went through the village like a bat out of Hell. I had a bit of
trouble catching you actually.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Were you in a hurry to get somewhere or just enjoying yourself ?.’
‘No just enjoying a Sunday afternoon, sorry.’
‘Built up area, scraping motorcyclists off roads etc.’
‘Yes I appreciate that and I’m sorry.’
‘Do you have any points on your license?’
‘At this stage, no.’
‘Let’s try to keep it that way, I’m a motorcyclist..be careful.’
‘Thanks.’

I was lucky. I had not seen him at all, that is unusual; I was riding
casually fast and this new bike attracts more attention. I’m guessing that
he would have struggled to pin a speeding fine on me, as he was probably
sat on the side of the road, hence taking half a mile to catch me. Dangerous
driving would have been easy, so lucky it is. This coupled with the last time,
when the battery failed on the radar having clocked me. My nine lives are
certainly getting towards seven, maybe more. Both the coppers had one
key thing in common, they were nice guys.

I noticed a change in the copper’s voice halfway through his first sentence.
As I took my crash helmet off, he realised that he was talking to someone
older that himself, or someone who had done a particularly harsh paper
round.

Males are quite funny, they really cannot multi-task. He stopped mid-
sentence while staring at the bike, just taking in all the details and then
began again. He realised I think that he had bigger fish to fry.

‘These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.’

He ate all the Year 7 Children

The lesson plan was quite simple, or so I thought.
Ask a Year 7 class to create two accounts, one f
or the VLE and one for the course they will be doing.
I had prepared the visuals, I had explained in detail,
I mimed, I jumped up and down, I showed great
patience; I did all of those things but was rewarded
with fresh guff.

Sarcasm is not pretty and as a teacher you should
never use it but this can at times be challenging.

Let’s have an example:
‘You should type your e-Mail address into the box
marked: e-Mail’

Do you see any hidden meaning with this? Do you
spot any room for misunderstanding? Perhaps a
secret trap?

No, nor me.

How about: ‘here is a list of your usernames,
write down your username and then type it
into the username box.’

Straigtforward? Yes or No? It’s binary isn’t it?

Do you all understand? 28 heads nod impatiently
….I release their screens and…..19 hands go
into the air.

I suddenly had a new headache to replace
the old one and it hurt more.

They are too tired to be in a classroom after
lunch, especially 3 days before half term.
It’s not fair.

A nice story, a comfy carpet and some
beanbags, that should have been my lesson plan.

Next time it’s ‘The Tiger that came to tea.’
…but he never did.’