Welcome! You have found the home of 'Being Me', Fran Hill's blog. If you like what you read, you will enjoy my new book 'Miss, What Does Incomprehensible Mean?' to be published by SPCK Publishing on 21 May 2020. My website is at www.franhill.co.uk. Come and visit for more Fran info!
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Reasons why I want to be a Samoan
Samoa is jumping forward a day and I'm thinking, 'Hey, I want some of that'. Join my 'Why-Should-Samoa-get-all-the-Luck?' campaign and read my campaign statement here on Poetry 24
'Hey, Dad. This is fab. Not many of the other little boy pandas can claim to be going on 28 dates!'
Ben Cottam (@TheCottam) posted this statement on Twitter today: 'When you're growing up, no one ever tells you how much of your adult life will be spent pushing tumbling Tupperware into cupboards.'
I know, right? Why does no one say?
And what else does no one tell you about adult life, particularly later adult life?
I have made a list.
1. That one day you will say, 'They'll freeze, dressed like that,' and 'Let's go home. It's nearly 10pm,' and think nothing of it.
2. That a summer will come when you will start the days dressed in cardigan and socks and only take them off when it's warm enough to leave the kitchen door open.
3. That police officers, teachers and nurses, rather than getting older, get younger, birthday by birthday, and that one day you will be burgled and then visited by a seven year old with a notebook and a helmet.
4. That the music in pubs and clubs becomes louder, brasher and more sweary, year on year, so that one evening you…
I watched a wasp die on the bus yesterday morning.
I know, as an opener, it's not the same as 'Hey, did you see the latest episode of Game of Thrones? but it's all I have to offer.
I'm nervous about wasps. I'm sure, if they could talk, they'd say they were nervous about me too. But all I have in my armoury is a rolled-up newspaper and a bad aim. They have a stinger. And, close up, they're pretty scary.
A wasp in a field, I can cope with. A wasp in the garden, just about.
But a wasp on the bus is a cross wasp. (Move along, Dr Seuss.)
I saw it progressing along a window two seats in front of me. It was crawling my way.
I don't mean, crawling in the way I'd crawl, as in 'Oof, oof, my knees, and how will I ever get up from this position?' I mean, crawling towards me.
I expected a confrontation. I picked up the copy of the Metro I'd collected when I got on the bus and began rolling.
Happy New Year to you all! Yes, I know it's the 8th already, but saying Happy New Year only at New Year is so Last Year.
I thought I'd kick off 2020's blog posts with a story from the classroom about two boys called Scott and Randall. It's fictional but not fictional .... there are Scotts and Randalls in every school and I've taught many of them. People like Scott and Randall are what make teaching both extraordinarily joyful and extraordinarily maddening.
Imagine yourself in a secondary school classroom on a rainy Thursday.
The pupils are hard at work delighted when there's an 'incident'.
Scott and Randall provide a welcome 'incident'
Within two minutes of entering the classroom, Scott had to be ejected.
d'you do that for?' Randall had swung round, clasping his shoulder, to face Scott.
managed three words of my introduction to the lesson's activities. ('First, I'd