Being Me

Yesterday I made Florenjacks. Another name for them is Flapentines. It depends which way you look at it. They are the first biscuits in history with a duality of personality, a bit like Jekyll and Hyde, only baked on Gas Number 6 and containing flaked almonds. You've never heard of Florenjacks/Flapentines? Well, where have you been ? Forgive me. I am dissembling and making you feel bad about yourself for being out of the Florenjack/Flapentine loop. You were thinking, I know, 'How come I'm always last to hear about the latest baking fashions? Whaddya mean, no one cooks Madeira Sponges any more?' They call it FOMO, don't they? Fear Of Missing Out. Having brought up the FOMO issue, before I tell you about my duality biscuits,  I have a raging desire to tell you the difference between acronyms and initalisms. It wasn't until I trained to teach English that I discovered there was a difference, in the same way as, it wasn't until I trained to teach Engli...

Words are so totally, like, last YEAR. In case you missed the news, Oxford Dictionaries announced a new Word of the Year yesterday, except that what they've chosen is to the world of words what I am to the world of Paris catwalks, little black dresses and getting through train station barriers without turning a smidgen to the side. The 'word' they have chosen is this. It's the graphic that's been chosen. Ignore the word 'emoji' underneath it. (Why not just go ahead and ignore all words, every word, from now until you die? Everybody's doing it.) The graphic is called the 'Face with Tears of Joy' emoji. Here's a news article all about the winner and reasons for its choice. The piece also lists some of the words deemed not to deserve the title of 'Word of the Year'. One of them is 'refugee' but, golly, who's heard THAT recently? Another candidate is 'they' as in the kind of they used instead of he and s...

I found this snippet of writing in a notebook. I don't remember where I was when I wrote it or when. A writing class? It intrigued me, though, just playing on one word like this. The word 'abandon'. Three syllables. Oh, if only it were that simple. And yet, within the word, there is the thing itself. Ah yes, it begins with the vowel, hanging there in the air as though it were benign and could do no damage.  But then the 'b' - the 'ban' - the plosive threat of violence, of a door shutting, of isolation and the colour black.  And the fall. The 'don'. It is all finished. The decision to leave you behind has been made.  The last part of the word can be whispered by the guilty as a victory hiss, by those who depart, as they slide the bolts on all the doors, or turn the silver key in a lock. They take the 'don' with them.  It is the centre of the word that remains, the part that hurts the most. A bit depressing, though. Perhaps I was on ...

Sad news about Robin Williams.   Today I watched an episode of 'Whose Line is it Anyway?' to which he brings chaos and disorder and hilarity like an untrained puppy, refusing to follow the instructions given and appearing behind desks and in front of cameras at unplanned moments. Then I watched some clips of him ad-libbing in 'Good Morning Vietnam'.  How did he do that stuff? His brain was as quick as electricity and I don't know how his mouth kept up. Another clip, from 'The Dead Poets Society' has him, in the role of John Keating, ordering the students to tear out a page of 'excrement' from a book on poetry in which the editor rambles on about how to measure a poem using a graph.  'Rip it out!' he cries, and the boys fall to the task with abandon, apart from one who uses a ruler to make sure he does it in a straight line.  One senses that the poor boy is having trouble taking on these anarchic ideas. All this reminded me of somethin...

What if someone suggested a programme idea about education to the TV executives but it all went wrong because of a typo?  Imagine what we'd end up watching. Cough, Young Teachers - a blend of a contemporary programme about education with a costume drama sub-plot in which, one by one, each of six new teachers contracts consumption, beginning with tiny little coughs in Episode 1 and ending up with them all, in Episode 6, bed-ridden with yellow eyes, but still marking books into the small hours and planning lessons for the following day's observation from senior management. Despite a temperature of 120 degrees, the choice was 'go into school' or 'plan six lessons' worth of cover and organise someone to cover two duties'.    Touch Young Teachers - a cross between the Benny Hill Show and a programme about graduates on the TeachFirst programme.  Whatever happens in the actual programme is irrelevant, because it all ends with six teachers dashing r...

We were talking today in the department office at school about the suffix 'ish' and how some are beginning to use it on the end of any word, or even as a word in itself, as in ... 'How was your day?  Good?' [Pause.]  'Ish.' Then we started talking about the word 'meh' and how popular that is now as a way of saying, 'Well, so-so.   Not good.  Not bad.' This kind of linguistic exploration is what English teachers do at the end of the day.  It's either that, or the apostrophe debate.  We know how to party. You might have seen this going around.  It's my favourite cartoon \at the moment. Anyway, then my colleagues and I moved on to musing on songs which use 'meh'.  And I want to suggest a few, perhaps to sing when you're feeling a bit oh-you-know-how-it-is or not-too-bad or things-can-only-get-better ... Nina Simone - Feeling Meh Stevie Wonder - I Just Called to Say 'Meh' The Beach Boys - Meh Vibrations ...

I've found myself talking about drugs twice in the last couple of days. Only one of the incidents was intentional, and that wasn't the one that happened yesterday, when I innocently informed a class of sixth formers that 'I once won a typing competition on speed .'  They dissolved into laughter, leaving me as red as Karl Marx. If you're a friend of mine on Facebook, you'll already have heard that story.  If you follow me on Twitter too you'll have heard it twice.  If you follow me down the street, you'll perhaps do what an old lady did in my Granny's care home the other day and comment loudly on the size of my bottom.  As Miranda Hart would say .... (Fran was pleased to find this picture at last, especially as googling 'Rude' had resulted in some images she hadn't expected.) Anyway, back to my sixth form class, which has a slightly more supportive atmosphere than the care home, but not much.  I tried to turn the mega-gaffe i...

My last post was about hair.  You're probably wanting something different now. Okay, so I'll give you something different.  Here's a picture of a duck-billed platypus. I found that picture on Google and was just about to type, 'What a strange looking creature!  Is it a particularly furry one?' and then I realised the caption said, ' Stuffed toy duck-billed platypus'.  No wonder.  Now, I will find a picture of a real one, just in case, in the light of the above picture, you take against the poor creatures and become a duck-billed platypusist. What the hell is this?  SURELY there's not a cartoon starring a duck-billed platypus?!  Someone tell me it isn't true.  And why does it have a lacrosse racquet for a tail?  And why is it bright blue?  SO many questions! Right, still looking for a real DBP.  I got distracted a bit there.  Give me a minute. 'Oh, darling!  New slippers for my birthday! ...

Here are some musings inspired by the sofa which I am sitting on on which I am sitting never-end-a-sentence-with-a-preposition-call-yourself-an-English-teacher? You could probably do without these musings, but if you, like me, are trying to avoid getting on with the real business of the day, you may find some random thoughts on a piece of furniture intensely fascinating.  Put it this way, do you want to stay with me, or do you want to go and iron those tricky pairs of jeans or make that awkward phone call to your Aunty Pat about the family party you are shunning, ostensibly because of a prior arrangement you have yet to invent, but primarily because you can't stand Uncle Frank? I rest my case. Unnecessary subtitle: My sofa . Unnecessary picture of a sofa like mine: I was intending to tell you a story about my sofa.  I may well yet do so.  The day is young.  But, before that, I want to know.  Why is a sofa called a sofa?  I'm going to look it ...

I saw this sign in a pub the other day. 'Oh, shucks,' says a stressed mummy.  'Just as I was going to hook little Billy up there and find a way to have him pinned in one place for more than 5 minutes so I can have a bit of peace and quiet.  Now what do I do?' Right.  I've posted the picture .... er ...what was I going to do then  ....?   I didn't think this through. I know!  I'm going to rearrange the words to make different meanings.  Just because I can.  I wonder how many different combinations I can get out of this?....... Children no allowed on board Dart - a notice devised by a foreigner who hasn't quite got the idea about how to form negatives, posted near a ramp leading up to an adults-only pleasure yacht named Dart.  On board Dart, things happen which children are not permitted to view.  The yacht is called Dart because when it goes, it goes, and if you're caught doing adults-only things when it starts off, you w...

The Younger Daughter was reminding me about how, when she's just accidentally burned herself and is hopping up and down in the kitchen, my instant response is 'Careful, that's hot!'  Or when she's just tripped up a step, that's the time I choose to say, 'Watch yourself!' That's me.  Eager to be helpful.  Caring Parent of the Year. But it's instinctive, isn't it, to say something completely inadequate in the face of crisis?  It's a strange feature of the way we communicate sympathy.  What about the following situations ... When someone's fallen over and is lying flat on their face, we say: 'Oh, no, are you o kay ?' When someone's just set off down the road to the shops, then lets themselves back in five minutes later, cursing and stomping, we say: 'Did you forget something?' When we come across someone sobbing their hearts out .... ..... we say things like, 'Is something the matter?' To the...

Yesterday, I competed in a local poetry slam in Leamington.  I reached the semi-finals, but didn't win. S.L.A.M = She. Lost. And. Mourned. The winner was another local poet, Craig Lambert, and I liked this poem he performed so much I asked him if I could post it here.  He said no, so I hit him with my handbag, poured a drink over his head, then pulled his chair away just as he was going to sit in it so that he landed on the floor in a heap.  Then he gave in.     The poem's about how contradictory so many proverbs and sayings are in terms of the advice they give.  I like its linguistic angle on daily life and its humour.  Thanks, Craig, for giving in, and I'm sorry about the bruises. Wise Words You can't teach an old dog new tricks, but it's never to late to learn; so while your neighbour turns the other cheek, as his incontinent spaniel craps on your lawn; tell him you're simply adhering to the principle of an eye for an eye as y...

What would some classic books have been like had the writers got a bit fed up of the main characters and just edited them out?  To be honest, I quite like the sound of some of these plot lines. In 1930s America, mice and rabbits get on with their lives in peace. Voldemort wears a puzzled expression. Boat for sale, suitable for three or more men, and dog (optional), unused. Sancho Panza finds himself the unexpected star of various adventures. Various corpses get to keep their body parts. Rochester stares moodily into the fire a lot more. Ishmael ends up fishing for skipjack tuna. In the absence of a crazed doctor to use them for transformational purposes, someone uses the salts for their chips. A rye field lies undisturbed. A late 19th century portrait painter, without a cocky young rake to paint, embarks on a still life of some fruit. Women in Whitby find other uses for garlic. Various horses find their own way to Canterbury, un-entertained by lewd stories...

Oh.  My.  Word.  I have just found my ideal man, and if I wasn't already married, I would be googling him and inviting him round so that we could read the dictionary together ... and maybe more, as they say in the small ads. You HAVE to watch him, and find out why.  My heart was actually thumping as he talked.   Watch Fran's ideal man in action, and think once again, should she be allowed out?

The class was faffing about, taking its time, so I said, in my best Bored Teacher Monotone, 'Right, then.  One needs to PICK up one's pen, then one needs to OPEN one's book, then one needs to WRITE the title.' In future, I'll just say it like it is.  One kid put her hand up.  'Are you talking in Shakespeare?' Ever get the feeling the world has moved on, leaving you far, far behind? Fran had always thought the girl in the front row with the screwed-up face had just had wind.  It turned out that she hadn't understood a word Fran had said since 2009. I told another class this week that a character in a novel was being 'duplicitous'.  I did explain the meaning and was pleased that I was expanding their vocabularies.  But one of the students asked me whether I could just learn some slang at the weekends so that they could understand me better. 'But,' I said, 'my professional duty is to extend your individualised lexicon, not...

Junk email today: Sender: safiaf arkashaal baraasi Message: PLEASE DO CAREFULLY READ MY MAIL Do you know what, safiaf?  I don't think I will CAREFULLY READ your MAIL.  For these reasons. 1. There are no capital letters on your names.  If you don't think you're important enough for capitals, I don't see why I should have a sense of urgency about getting to know you either.  Or maybe you don't actually know that you need capitals.  In which case, I'm unlikely to give your MAIL much credence either.  Or maybe you were in so much of a hurry to con me that you forgot the capitals altogether.  Bad move.  If intending to con, do so at a measured pace.  No one believes a rusher. 2. You are worryingly inconsistent.  No capitals on the names.  Then a shouty message, all in capitals.  If there's one thing I hate, safiaf, it's inconsistency.  You see, if I were going to READ your MAIL and acquiesce to your demands, whatever t...

The Three Bears - a tragic tale of loss and regret in which a family of bears argue over porridge and muse on their boring lives.  Baby Bear says, 'If only a blonde girl would come and steal our breakfast, break one of our chairs and test out our beds, that would at least liven things up.'  Mummy Bear, who is narked because once again people are moaning about her cooking says, 'Well, that's not going to happen.'  She's right.  It doesn't.  And they find themselves, the day after that and the day after that, arguing over porridge all over again and thinking how like depressing modernist literature their lives are. Romeo - An Italian youth is infatuated with a girl called Rosaline.  His friend says to him, 'Look, mate. You're obsessed.  Come and gatecrash this party with me tonight and I promise you'll meet someone so stunning that you'll never think about Rosaline again.'  So Romeo gives in and goes to the party where he spends the whol...

I love this poem.  I don't know who originally wrote it, but I've kept it for years.  I've typed it out in big letters on a long piece of paper, and I roll up the paper into a scroll, then beat students around the head with it until they promise to check their spelling more carefully when they're typing up their work. Eye have a spelling chequer, It came with my Pea Sea. It plane lee marks four my revue Miss Steaks I can knot sea. Eye strike the quays and type a whirred And weight four it two say Weather eye am write oar wrong It tells me straight a weigh. Eye ran this poem threw it, Your shore real glad two no. Its vary polished in its weigh. My chequer tolled me sew. A chequer is a bless thing, It freeze yew lodes of thyme. It helps me right all stiles of righting, And aides me when eye rime. Each frays come posed up on my screen Eye trussed too bee a joule. The chequer pours o'er every word Two cheque sum spelling rule. A little moral tale ......

Yay!  250 followers.  That's three since I said I wouldn't be blogging much.  It obviously works.  So, let me say, here and now, that I am NEVER BLOGGING AGAIN.  NO, NEVER.  NOT EVER.  NOT EVER AGAIN..... But, while I'm here, I have a few thoughts about following instructions. 1.  On the toilet roll holder in a cubicle at work today, I saw that it said, 'If toilet roll has run out, turn clockwise for another roll'.  Well, the roll did run out, and what a rigmarole that is!  Standing up.  Pants round your knees.  Turning round a few times (I got it wrong at first and went anticlockwise - I didn't get my Spatial Awareness O'level).  And all that in a small cubicle only just bigger than me.  What's more, not even a SUGGESTION of a new toilet roll making its way down.  What a con that is.  Next time I'll take my own tissue.  Pff. 2. Last week, I bought this chocolate steamed pudding which came in a ti...

I love this BBC story about  how doctors slag off their patients without them knowing ...   I know it's from 2003 but I only just came across it. They don't call me the Zeitgeist Blogger for nothing, you know. I used to work as a medical secretary in the National Health Service in my pre-teacher days.   I remember one doctor telling me that, if he had an awkward patient, he would warn the next doctor to see that person by writing at the end of the patient's notes 'is suffering from serious proctalgia'.  As 'algia' means 'pain' and 'proct' means 'bottom', you can see that this wasn't exactly a compliment. Another source of medical misunderstandings - only this time not deliberate - was when we secretaries used to take doctors' letters down in shorthand before typing them up for signature.  When I was first a medical secretary and didn't yet know all the terms, one doctor dictated to me what I THOUGHT was ... 'I reco...