Thingies that happen to Steve in his other job

[SteveHopwood]

Final round of exams today. I confess I am glad they are over. This has been the easiest session for a long time. No major slip-ups or traumas. Ok, so these are only tiny graded exams intended to encourage amateurs to make progress, but they are a Big Deal at the time to the kids taking them. Accompanying them is high octane stuff; children performing can go off the rails at any point. They can come in early or late after a piano interlude; they can miss out whole lines; they can go back and repeat whole lines; they can forget to breathe, run out of breath, stop playing then restart at a randomly selected point in the score, and I have to find them.

It takes ferocious concentration, does this activity. I am knackered.

Happy highlights:

Laura managed to insert our Little Ussian Man into her Aural section answers. At least, she claims to have done. Not entirely sure I believe her. One thing is certain in that she achieved an individual triumph. She had been unable to open the door out of the exam room on previous occasions, and had to be released by the examiner - to her great embarrassment. She managed the release mechanism today, so it was high fives all around. Glad to know that a gawky 13 year old is finally developing some muscular coordination.

Watching Emma go for high notes on her flute. She stands on tiptoe every time she goes for a high note. Really cute. During our conversation it emerged that she is a really keen competitive swimmer - one of those kids to gets up at 4.30 am every morning to go and train. Wow.

Janet is petite apart from her huge, trusting and loving eyes; they are vast and swallow you up. Her response to me saying, "Bad news poppet. The examiner is a horror and clearly hates kids" was to look up at me out of those huge trusting and loving eyes and reply, "No he doesn't." She was the final candidate, and so had clearly picked up the vibes. "You are dead right sweetheart. He is one of the kindest........." etc Those huge trusting and loving eyes never left mine for a second during all this; another adult chalked up as wrapped around her little finger, and glad to be so.

Sophie is 26 or so - a top grade (8) flute candidate from yesterday. It breaks my heart to see how her sight has deteriorated since I first met her a few years ago. There is nothing I can do about that, so I do what I can do for her and be the best pianist I can be when she needs me. She now has a guide dog - a wonderful creature who attracts permanent attention from everyone she comes into contact with. I was waiting outside the exam room for her, to make sure she exited the building in one piece. The door is half glass. I saw t'judge step out from behind his desk into the centre of the room then disappear from sight. I knew the sight that would greet me when I opened the door. Yep. Doggie lying on back enjoying tummy tickles from a very happy judge.

[SteveHopwood]

One I forgot from yesterday.

The exam steward had taken Laura and I to the exam room and we were waiting outside. The steward likes to open the door and announce, "This is xxxxxxxxx", so she always made a final check that she had the correct name. "You are Laura, yes?"

I intervened with, "You have to announce that 'This is not very nice Laura'".

Those of us who are either parents of teen girls or are otherwise associated with them, know the power of The Eyes. They are especially potent when trying to part a dad from his cash.

So Laura turned The Eyes on me.

"Ok sweetheart. You know I cannot fight The Eyes. I love you very much, ok?"

Self-satisfied smirk from Laura. Exasperated sigh from steward who fixed me with a steely glare, opened the door and announced, "This is Laura." Not even a hint of, "This is n...." Damn.

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One from today. Mel is an absolute sweetie. Ridiculously clever 12 year old with a fantastic sense of humour - very good at the self-deprecating stuff. Molly is a good friend.

I was teaching Molly in the Shame of the Black Hole of Calcutta today when we became aware of Mel hovering outside the open door.

"Come in and join the party, poppet" I intoned, so she did. Molly finished off playing the piece we were working on, and very well for someone starting something new.

"Magic Molly, fantastic try. All it takes is mega-intelligence and epic talent and it is easy. Shame the young lady sat next to you lacks these attributes." I offered.

Kids tend to stand up for someone being unjustly treated, so Molly chimed in with, "Actually, Mel is quite clever. She came top of our year last year." (That is a year of about 300 kids - Mel is very clever)

"Ok" I replied, "but I still don't like her and so subject her to abuse as much as possible."

Molly subjected her friend to the sort of dismissive look employed by The Folder Owner's Sister and replied, "Fair enough" then returned to her class.

[SteveHopwood]

My music room is a total tip.

A few years ago, 13 year old Callum remarked, "You know Steve, there are things on the floor here that were on the floor when I started having lessons?" He started aged 7.

I have the occasional blitz. I clear the top of the piano and pick up stuff from the floor - I even vac occasionally. The acquired state of cleanliness and tidiness never lasts.

Here in the UK, we have a description for the wardrobe of teens who simply dump everything on their bedroom floors - clean clothes, dirty clothes, books - you name it. We describe it as a 'floordrobe'. I can see it from their point of view; if everything is on the floor, then you know where to find it.

I have lots of shelves covered by lots of sheet music. What I lack is any kind of cupboard space for everything else, which ends up on the floor.

I somehow found myself discussing this with 17 year old Alex on Friday night - cannot remember how. We established that he had a floordrobe.

I pointed out that all my sheet music had a home but that everything else lacked cupboard space and so ended up on the floor, and asked him for a description of my floor.

He thought for a few seconds, then replied, "A Fluboard."

[SteveHopwood]

Teaching Ben yesterday. He became hopelessly confused about the least confusing thingy in the entire book. He blamed the book. I pointed out that he was being dim and that the writer of the book was being perfectly clear if only he would take a few seconds to read the stuff properly. Which he did, and was immediately unconfused.

"Writers of books for beginner pianists do not try to confuse their readers." I pointed out and continued, "They would succeed if they tried, trust me." Ben agreed solemnly.

A few minutes later, I had thoroughly confused him. Once I had sorted this out, I said, "See Ben. I do not need a book to confuse you. I can do that myself."

He thought for a few seconds, then replied, "Yes. You are very good at it."

This was right at the end of our session. I pointed to the Roses and said sternly, "Get your therapies and go now."

[SteveHopwood]

Another Ben story.

Imagine the scenario. I have led a child through a new piece so he can play through it - badly granted, but he can still play through from beginning to end.

So far as most kids are concerned that is it; job done.

I want him to play through a couple more times just to make sure he knows what he is doing when I am no longer sat next to him, but he thinks the job is done and is unlikely to be receptive.

This is where the, "How many marks do I get left with?" game comes in. There are three levels:

• L1 is the Easy version: start with 10 marks and lose a mark only for making a mistake and not noticing and correcting it.
• L2 is the Difficult version: start with 10 marks; make a mistake and lose a mark. No mercy. Well, not much anyhow.
• L3 is the Really Hard version: start with as many marks as the kid wants; lose a mark for hesitating before playing a note; no mercy. Well, the kids imagine there will be no mercy, but this is me we are talking about here.

I play this game with adults as well.

Now, everyone knows it is a game. There are no consequences for doing badly. There might even be extra therapy for doing well.

Fact is though, every single individual who has ever played it has been desperate for 100%

I always offer kids the choice of L1 or L2. Guess how many opt for L2? Ben was no exception and achieved 100% with ease.

It turns out that he is up for a challenge, and instantly demanded to try the Difficult version. You should have seen the ferocious concentration on his face as he placed every single note with utter determination to play them correctly.

100%. No problem. Ok, so the occasional slight bloop but this is a game, after all.

Few kids even know that there is a third level. Most of them are worn out by L2. Ben was happy as Larry so I said, "There is a Really Hard level. You up for it?"

He was, and insisted on only starting with 15 marks, unlike the manically high figure usually selected by The Chosen Few to reach L3.

He ended with 14 and demanded to know where the mark had been lost, so I pointed to the spot where small ice ages could have come and gone.

"Hesitation?" "You call that a hesitation?" he intoned.

I replied, "Well, it was quite a long time before you played the next bit. What would you call it?"

"You being harsh."

I suspect Ben is going to go a long way.

[SteveHopwood]

Another Molly and Mel story, this one from last week.

Molly was playing towards the end of her lesson, when Mel sidled into The Shame of the Black Hole of Calcutta.

I leaned across to Molly and stage-whispered, "Look out sweetheart, something horrible has appeared behind you."

Stage-whisper back, "I know. I sensed it."

Lesson ended. Ok, so I know the kids know that I adore them. Even so, Mel is only 12 and so it is better to be safe than sorry.

"Just checking Mel. You do know that I think you are one of the most fantastic kids I have ever met, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Just checking. Don't want to risk giving you a complex. I shall turn to abusing Molly now, and will save it up big time for next week."

Disparaging look from Mel to Molly. "Yep. Let's give her a complex instead."

[SteveHopwood]

Back in school today, I came across our guitar teacher saying to Jo, "Now, you remember what you have to do for next week?" <list of requirements>

"Yes I do" replied Jo. <recitation of list of requirements>.

"Do you know what will happen to you if you fail to meet any of these requirements?" I asked Jo.

"What?" came the response.

"Your guitar teacher will send you to me. I will rip your arm off and hit you with the soggy end."

Huge grin. "My Grandad does that to me." as he scuttled off.

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End of 13 year old Alice's lesson. "Time to go back to your class, poppet. I will have a fresh victim any second now. Which lesson are you going back to?" I asked.

"Science."

"Do you like science?"

"Yes. I am not very good at it, but I do enjoy it."

Time for encouragement, I thought, and so replied, "Enjoying something helps a lot. You can always get better at something you enjoy."

"Yes, and I have to get good at it because I want to be a surgeon."

Me and blood are not close friends. We are talking passing out here. "Yurggghhhh. I cannot stand blood."

Alice's face brightened. "I love blood. I really love blood and gore. The more gore the better. I am going to do GCSE History because it is full of gore."

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

[SteveHopwood]

Laura was all over the place. "The piano is moving around a lot today." I remarked. She looked at me with blank incomprehension.

"Sorry sweetheart. Have I never explained how pianos move around as we are trying to play them? That is why we appear to play wrong notes. Actually, it is the piano not us."

"No it doesn't" replied Laura. "We cannot blame the piano for our own shortcomings." Clearly a child who has never had to give a piano recital on the piano equivalent to Empty4 in surroundings the equivalent to Crapdows8.1. There are times when we really, really can blame the heap we are playing on. I gave one on a piano whose middle C was not sounding once. Really. It was not fun. I former victim of mine now a player of immense skill once gave a recital on a piano where the black keys disappeared below the surface of the white ones when depressed - and had to go that far in order to produce a sound. But I digress. Back to Laura.

We ding-donged this back and forth. Nothing I could way would convince her that the wrong notes she was playing were not her fault. I even tried pulling rank - "Listen up poppet, who is the teacher around here?" Guess how successful that was. I gave up.

Daisy had her lesson later on. She and Laura are close friends. I told her about my exchange with Laura.

Daisy was aghast. "You mean, you gave here every excuse for playing like a drain again and she refused to take it?"

Brief pause for thought.

"The girl is sick."

[SteveHopwood]

I was stood outside my teaching room, awaiting my Next Victim. Fresh Meat Holly was walking along a very long corridor to my room. We are talking one of those nightmare film corridors, the ones where you can walk for hours without making any progress.

Here in the UK,kids take public exams known as GCSE at the age of 16 and study for them for two years in most schools, or three as in this one.

The school music teacher was passing and said to me, "I want Holly to take GCSE music. Is her piano performance up to it?"

It sure is, so I said, "Yep. Leave persuading her up to me." I was new to the school had been hiding my true personality. Time to introduce myself properly.

So, I did the Child Demand Thing. Hold hand in front of face and do the finger beckoning motion along with, "COME HERE, YOUNG LADY."

Kids are great. They know when they are in trouble for some discovered crime. They know when Sir/Miss is about to pull a stunt. The result is always the same in the latter case. They present themselves to attention but with an excited little wiggle of their torso and an expression of anticipation. It is a joy to behold.

In 1960's B movie gangster style, I grabbed Holly's blazer by the lapels,dragged her face (ok, so gently, we were playing) to mine and intoned, "You are going to take GCSE music, aren't you?"

"Yes Sir."

"Should you change your mind, I will rip your arm off and beat you senseless with the soggy end. Go away."

"Yes Sir" as she skipped off to the piano room. Music Teacher marched off chortling.

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Towards the end of the lesson, Holly informed me that Alice might not make her lesson. These two are good friends. Alice was confused about her lesson time.

Even though it was straight after Holly's lesson. Alice missed the last lesson of last term. I missed the first lesson back because of building work at Castle Steve.

"Give Alice a message from me please. Remind her that for <reasons> she has not had a lesson for nearly two months and that following you should be the easiest thingy in the world to do. Should she fail to attend next week I will: hunt her down; take her somewhere dark, lonely and cold; torture her slowly to death."

Holly nodded, so I decided to check.

"What will I do?"

Came the response: "Hunt her down. Torture her slowly to death."

Two out of three was impressive. Given that the list of reasons before the consequent actions was quite long, in the same position I am not sure how much of the message I would have remembered. Less than Holly, I suspect.

Then she administered to coup de gras: "She totally deserves it. What a dweeb" and skipped off down the corridor.

[SteveHopwood]

Update on Holly and Alice.

Holly bounced into her lesson and announced that she had organised Alice, including passing on my bloodcurdling range of threats should the child not turn up. Remember that these two girls are good friends.

Alice came into my teaching Shame of the Black Hole of Calcutta towards the end of Holly's lesson. "Hey Holly, guess what?" I gasped. "The Idiot Alice has arrived."

"I know" replied Holly. "I smelled it."

"Good to know I am wanted" came from Alice.

"No you are not" we chorused. Pure luck that we both said it at the same time, but luck occasionally holds when two people are ganging up on a third that they are actually very fond of.

The lesson ended and Holly packed away her stuff. On her way out through the door, she turned to me and demanded, "Make her suffer, won't you?" and skipped off up the corridor.

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Carys is 12. She has bought into the Steve Warped Sense of Humour big time. She is very bright; the two are not necessarily connected although it probably helps.

She played like a drain two weeks ago. To be honest, a teacher cannot always tell when a child has practised because any number of thingies can come up to prevent a decent performance of the prepared work. I usually just sympathise on these occasions - I have been there often enough myself.

Having said that, dead give-aways for under prepared kids in the early stages of piano playing are: inability to find the correct starting hand positions for the piece; playing so halting that it is clear that they are working out each note as they go along.

I pointed out that lessons were a bit of a waste of her time, my time, and her mum's money if she does not touch the material in between lessons.

Carys started to argue, and she can be persistent and obstinate even when clearly in the wrong. I stopped her dead by telling her to stop arguing or I would eat her therapies. Slowly. Whilst forcing her to watch. Ok, so not a reasoned way to conclude the discussion, but lessons are 20 minutes not 20 hours.

Come her next lesson on Monday, she played like a drain again.

"Hmmmmmm. Remember our discussion about the need to practise in between lessons, poppet?"

"Yes. I was very poorly last week."

Here is the thing folks. I wear a totally different hat when teaching little girls to play the piano to the hat I wear when running SHF. The former has to be happy for the child; not much point in doing so else. Yes, I can gently insist on high standards, but the 'how' I do so is vital. Here at SHF we are playing with financial fire, and if someone is being a cretin, he/she/it needs to be told.

So, what I said to Carys was, "Poor thing. Never mind. Let's move on." What I thought was, "Yeah, right, of course you were."

A few minutes later it occurred to me that Carys was looking a tad on the pale side, so I inquired further. I explained what had gone through my head when she talked about being ill last week, had noticed that she was looking pale and asked if she really had been poorly last week and not just fabricating an excuse.

"Yes." she replied. "I really was poorly. Sicky. Yucky. The lot. I missed most of the week of school - you can check." The rest of the discussion starts with me:

"I am sorry sweetheart that I doubted you. I was wrong."

Sensing the chance to score a point: "Truth will out, you know."

Bear in mind that I worship this child and she knows it, but sensing the opportunity to win the point back:
"You don't want it to come out every time darling. If it did, you might find out what I really think of you."

Quick as a flash - not a hint of hesitation, "And you might find out what I really think of you too."

Point, set, match Carys. It called for a high five and an extra therapy at the end.