The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet - Aristotle

My son, who for the purposes of the blog wishes to be known as Will, went off to university a few weeks ago. He seemed concerned that there would be a tearful parting when we left him to settle in to his new halls, but I'm an old hand at this now, his older sisters thrived at university and I am sure that Will will do the same. He seemed a little disappointed when I reassured him that there would be no tears, just a hug and pleasant thoughts of a tidier house! 

The week before he went to university was busy uneventful - at at least that was the case until the Wednesday evening. We'd had a very nice family meal at the Chinese restaurant, to say goodbye to Will. I ate too much and by the time we got home I was starting to regret it but it had been a lovely evening and I felt happy and contented when we got home. 

I should have known it was too good to be true! Will vanished soon after we got home from the meal, he said goodnight, took his things and went upstairs leaving Robbie and me in the lounge. I thought no more about it until later on when I decided to go to bed. I'd been putting off going to the the loo until that point so I needed to go quite badly. I went upstairs with some degree of urgency and straight into the bathroom without putting the light on. As soon as I sat down I realised that the seat was sticky and I jumped up wondering what on earth it could be. When I turned on the light I saw what looked like the aftermath of a bad case of dysentery! On closer inspection I saw the tell tale signs that Will had dyed his hair, box sticking out of bin, container still on sink and dark brown marks everywhere! The white toilet seat was marked with abstract streaks reminiscent of zebra stripes and to my horror I realised that a mirror image of the design was imprinted on my rear end!! I tried my best to restore my skin to its usual colour but without success (it looked like a henna tattoo but it vanished after about a week) vanish very soon. I got Will out of bed to restore order in the bathroom. He had the good sense to be very apologetic so I managed not to harm him but it was a close call!

Will spent a large chunk of the next morning in the bathroom scrubbing, the marks clung stubbornly to the toilet seat, floor, walls and door. I had to deal with it myself, but it did me good to see Will scrubbing the floor!

Apparently these were essential supplies for uni! 

The remainder of the week passed in a blur. I ironed 13 shirts, 14 pairs of chinos, and countless t-shirts and sundry items. I replaced missing buttons, altered jeans, sewed decorative patches on his onesie, collected his suit and coats from the dry cleaners and folded and sorted all his clothes ready for packing. By the time the car was packed with food, cleaning stuff, iron, assorted gadgets and their chargers, books, stationary, bedding, clothes and random clutter I was exhausted. There were no tears as we drove away from the halls just a huge sigh of relief and a feeling that like Will, Robbie and I are also starting on a new chapter of our lives. 

“One thing only I know, and that is that I know nothing.” – Socrates.

Being the parent of a teenager certainly keeps you 'real'. There was a time in my 20s and 30s when I thought  that I was reasonably intelligent with a fairly wide general knowledge. There was a time when my children were little that they looked up to me and trusted me to answer all their questions, but now they treat me as if I know nothing. My son is always keen to share his 'vast knowledge of life' accumulated over 17 years! To be fair he does have a wide general knowledge, but like most young people he only sees things in black and white, he will need to notch up a few more years before he starts to see shades of grey and then he will gradually realise how much he doesn't know. Until then he is content to tease me abort my astounding ignorance. I am not very good at sitting still and I have never been terribly interested in films and television and with one or two notable exceptions I have no interest whatsoever in sport so it is hardly surprising that I do not know the names of actors or sports personalities. Not so long ago my son decided to test me to find out exactly how challenged I am when it comes to knowing who does what. The whole family roared with laughter when I though that George Clooney could be a golfer, apparently he is an actor. I don't mind the teasing, after all if we did a similar test on history, poetry, literature or various other things I am fairly sure that I would know more than them!

Recently I encountered a woman who told me that she intended to return the game that she had bought for £32.99 the previous day because it was not fit for purpose. I asked what was wrong with it and she said that the questions were much to hard (the game was age 12 to adult). I must have looked a bit sceptical because she told me what some of the questions were.

- Who was Nebuchadnezzar

- What is an archipelago

- Who was Samuel Pepys

I was able to answer all the questions so she posed a few more which I also answered correctly. It was probably just luck that she chose questions that I was able to answer, but I was deeply offended when she told me that I only knew the answers because I am old! I thought (but didn't say) that old or not, I would not wish to publicise my ignorance by returning a game because it was too difficult! Maybe I am old, but I like to think that I could answer the questions because I have a wide general knowledge and I had a good education.

These little episodes along with the start of an annual recruitment phase at the company I work for has led me to realise that it takes all sorts to make a world - and it takes all sorts to make a good workforce. A group of people with different and complementary skills (and personalities) will make a stronger and more competent workforce. Only a fool appoints in his/her own image.

Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire - William Butler Yeats

The other day I was looking back at old pieces of writing and I found a one day diary for 17th October 2006, I wrote it for a writing project that I was involved in. There was a paragraph about our chaotic morning routine

"Then my day kicked into a higher gear.  I had just five minutes to shower and vacate the bathroom.  I would love to wallow in the warm water, but time demands otherwise.  At 7am I wake my three children aged 17, 15 and 11, after a lull for a few minutes while they wake up suddenly there is chaos.  Everyone wants the bathroom at the same time, someone needs a button sewn on, daughter wants me to sign a slip for school, son can’t find an exercise book, older daughter wants money for a music book. Where have all the socks gone? Why hasn’t my rugby shirt been washed? The demands continue, son get sent back to do his teeth properly and at 7.55, only 5 minutes late, I leave with son packed into the passenger seat."

The diary went on to record the rest of the day, it seemed as if I spent my whole day rushing around trying to do my best for everyone and to somehow fit everything around my work. It still feels like that sometimes, but I think things are a little bit easier now - or at least the stresses are different! 

Camera Shy - (centre) look at those heels!

On Thursday I went to daughter number two's graduation, the 15 year old from the diary entry is now 21 and, just like her older sister she has worked very hard and done extremely well with her education. I feel very proud of both of them, not just because of their academic achievements but because they are hard workers and they have become capable and sensible young women.   I was so proud to be present at my daughter's graduation on Thursday and I wish her every success at Leicester University next year.

Getting My Own Back

Thursday was my son's parents evening, an event that neither of us were looking forward to very much. I was just anxious about getting to each appointment on time but he was anxious about what they would say about him and even more anxious about what I might say. As we drove towards the school he began his lecture, I must not say anything embarrassing, I must not make comments about the teachers and I must not under any circumstances talk to any of his friends or their parents. I have never set out to be an embarrassment to my children, but it seems that it comes naturally!


As we got out of the car he cast a critical eye over my choice of clothing and suggested that I should leave my coat in the car! I assured him that there was nothing wrong with my coat and I suggested that he should pay more attention to his own clothes. We signed in and I noticed fascinated that the 'merekat effect' is still in evidence. As one of only a handful of boys at a girl's school it is not surprising that he turns heads. What is more surprising is that he seems completely oblivious of the rows of heads popping up following him with their eyes as he passes.


We sat in the library looking around and waiting for our turn to speak to his psychology teacher. The room was busy with teachers sitting at tables around the edge of the room, with chairs in the centre of the room for the people waiting for their turn to talk to a teacher. Most of the teachers were busy talking to parents and students, but one or two were sitting there all alone. I quietly asked my son who was the 'billy no mates' sitting opposite us looking miserable. I received a glare in reply and an instruction to stop being embarrassing. I couldn't resist teasing him just a bit, it's fun being an embarrassment to your offspring. I pointed out that judging by his glasses, the chap in question seemed to have been taking fashion advice from Brains on Thunderbirds. My son tried hard to keep a straight face, but failed miserably, then with a sly grin he announced that 'Billy no mates' really was called Bill. Then it was time for us to see the teacher and his smile vanished again.


I think it came as a surprise to my son that each of his subject teachers were very pleased with his progress and they had lots of good things to say about him. I was impressed with the change I could see in my son, he has always been bright, but this school has nurtured him as an individual and given him confidence to be himself rather than just being one of many. He was very lucky to get into this school, I know some people thought I was mad to let him change schools for the sixth form, but it was the best decision we ever made.    

All Dressed Up 07.11.07

Sam came home from school feeling deeply aggrieved. Apparently the much detested cross country running has been 'repackaged' and is now timetabled as 'run for fun'. Fun implies a degree of choice and enjoyment but 'run' most certainly does not! Sam confirmed that the new lesson was indistinguishable from cross country, in fact it was so bad that he almost collapsed. Some things never change! My school successfully inoculated me against sport, athletics, swimming, music and latin and now in these allegedly enlightened times Sam's school is doing exactly the same thing to him. Exercise is important, but you can't bully people to exercise, the only way is to encourage them and make it genuinely enjoyable

My schooldays began in the 1960's when times were changing fast - but my school clung to outdated rules and traditions. Our uniform was rigidly enforced, panama hat, blazer, white gloves and gingham dress in summer and Harris tweed coat, winter hat, navy gloves, blouse, tie, skirt and cardigan in winter. We had indoor shoes and outdoor shoes as well as plimsolls and dancing shoes, so much of our day was taken up with changing our shoes. Our regulation hanging purses provided ample opportunity to strangle ourselves, but if we survived until break time they often came undone as we ran around playground causing grazed knees. After break the classroom always smelled of TCP!

Rules were strongly enforced, hat, gloves and outdoor shoes were obligatory when outside, even on a hot summer day. At the end of the school day we had to be checked by a teacher before leaving to ensure that we had our hats and gloves on. We were not allowed to eat in the street under any circumstances, that was an unforgivable sin. We had to participate in a number of ceremonies and rituals each year, church service on Ascension Day, Speech Day, Harvest Festival, Sports Day and the Carol Service. That all sounds very innocent until you consider that we spent days learning how to walk and how to shake hands so that we would be able to accept a winners ribbon on sports day. Harvest Festival and Ascension Day required days of practice and the carol service required us to learn to sing in Latin! I detested all the fuss and those early school memories have inoculated me against all forms of pomp and circumstance. I like things plain, simple and unpretentious.

With that in mind I was very interested to read Jan's blog today. She wrote a fascinating entry about the state opening of parliament and all the ritual and custom involved. Jan quite rightly pointed out how special our traditions are. I found it quite thought provoking as I had never really considered it before, I would be sad to see our traditions lost, but on the other hand it seems a bit ridiculous. It all seems a bit 'Emperor's New Clothes' a lot of pomp and very little substance. I found myself feeling sorry for the Queen, I'm sure she would rather be at home with her feet up watching Judge Judy instead of meeting a load of weird old men wearing tights and fancy dress. She has to sit there and read a speech written by someone else about all the 'good' intentions of her government. This year it wasn't even news, the prime minister announced it all last month. The Queen must have seen so many failed ideas repackaged and dressed up to seem more acceptable to the public. On that subject I wonder why the European Constitution springs so readily to mind! In the end cross country running cannot be made more palatable just by giving it a new name, and schoolboys know when they are being conned - I suspect the British public know when they are being conned too!