Thingies that happen to Steve in his other job

[SteveHopwood]

Another happy afternoon in school. Alice could easily be the subject of another disaster story but for now she is doing unexpectedly brilliantly and I was able to send her away floating on a cloud. I will tell you about her soon. Just for now, let's just say that I made a wonderful teen feel really good about herself despite her former attempts at self-destruction. On its own, that would have made my day but it was about to get even better.

Gracie appeared her usual ten minutes early, half way through Nikki's lesson. "Ehup Gracie. Wonderful to see you. You are 10 minutes early. Sit down and shut up or I will: blue form you; give you a detention; send you back to your class."

"Awwwwe".

<malevolent glare> "Yes sir."

Am I getting better at disruptive teen control? Doubt it.

Moving on, she was as mildly disruptive as a 14 year old pain in the arse can possibly be, so the rest of Nikki's lesson passed with only minor disruption.

Just at the end of Nikki's lesson, in strode Lauren. I gave Nikki my usual heart-felt mantra of: have a great week; stay safe; come back to me safe and sound next week, and sent her on her way. In fact, next week is half-term so I really meant all this over a fortnight, but you get my drift.

"OK angels," I announced to the other two, "one of us has got the timing wrong." I genuinely meant, "One of us." The blasted timetable confuses the hell out of me. I could easily have given the girls the wrong times. Mind, I suspect they know this and use it to their own advantage. Which teen would not?

Lauren chimed in with, "I do not mind waiting for my lesson, Sir." Well spotted Lauren; coming to the end of the day and extra time out of a not-enjoyed lesson.

"Thanks Lauren. Very kind of you. Your turn Gracie."

Came the reply, "But what if it is really Lauren's turn? Shouldn't I wait my turn?"

"No" I replied as sternly as I could. "You already turned up 10 minutes early so I am denoting it as your turn."

"Awwwwe."

"SIT. PLAY. NOW."

"Yes sir."

Her lesson passed smoothly, with only minor incidences of Gracie Lunacy. I sent her on her way with My Usual Mantra. I mean my mantra. I find unbearable the idea that any child I teach might not: have a great week; stay safe; return in one piece to me next week. I teach these kids one on one; they become very precious to me. This sums up my life.

As Gracie exited the room with her usual clumsiness, colliding with every bit of furniture it was possible to collide with, I turned to Lauren and asked, "Do you realise that a minor miracle has just occurred?"

"What?"

"Gracie just concentrated for 20 minutes with only minor lapses."

"She must be feeling poorly."

[SteveHopwood]

Happily for what is left of my sanity, not all of my time is spent teaching insane teens in school. I have spent a lifetime building a monumental repertoire of music; the prospect of playing much of it would terrify most people. I coach piano teachers for their professional diploma exams - that is how good I am. Unsurprisingly, these are all private students. Much as I adore them, the kids in school starting at the age of 13 and having maybe 30 x 20 minute lessons a year are unlikely to reach these dizzy heights.

A potential diploma candidate came for a lesson today and gave a scintillating performance of the whole of Haydn's 'English' sonata -15 minutes or so of music all performed from memory. She still has a long way to go in terms of preparing for a professional diploma because her playing is too textually inaccurate and she would not get away with her misreadings. In terms of sparkle, it was wonderful and I loved every second. Given the choice between supremely accurate but dull or inaccurate and sparkling, the latter wins every time.

She came to me a couple of years ago for 'polishing' for her Grade 8 exam - the highest amateur performance exam available in the UK. Few are able to progress beyond it. Frankly, she was not very good at the time.

After she played the Haydn today I said to her, "Do you remember the young lady who turned up here a couple of years ago, armed with three poxy grade 8 exam pieces full of misreadings and lacking anything remotely resembling musical understanding? Have you transformed yourself, or what?"

She grinned and replied, "Yes."

Then I growled, "Still full of misreadings mind. Learn to read music properly and you will progress further. Professionals do not misread the score." Actually, we do but we are quite good at correcting them and I was not allowing her any excuses.

She giggled and replied, "I know. I will get there eventually."

She will because she has both the talent and the desire. If playing the piano were easy then everybody would do it; it isn't, so they don't.

Much as I adore them, it makes a pleasant change from intoning to Gracie et al, "No darling. Middle C is in the middle of the piano, not the top end. That is how it got its name." Actually, it isn't but the real reason is all to do with the Great Stave and would confuse the living daylights out of her.

[SteveHopwood]

For those of you with no idea of musical notation, 'flats' are the black notes on a piano. There are specific signs on the music that tell us to play them, so no sign means we hit a white key.

15 year old Nikki is learning that she can tease me. We started on a duet for the ensemble bit of her GCSE music performance today. She has not played a piece in flats for months. For reasons known only to her deepest, darkest inner psyche she insisted on playing every B as a Bb.

I asked, "Nikki, you have not had a piece with flats in it for weeks, yet you insist on hitting B flat instead of B natural. Why?"

Came the reply, "Because it is there and I cannot resist it," followed by that beautiful Nikki giggle.

I held the Now Monumentally Blunt Pencil (must consult Gracie on Thursday) threateningly and growled, "Try again."

There followed a perfect rendition. It was accompanied by a couple of slightly apprehensive glances at The Useless Weapon so I asked at the end, "Darling, you do know that there is no power on this earth that would make me actually stab you, don't you?"

Came the reply, "Oh yes Sir, but the threat concentrated my mind wonderfully. Maybe we should make it a permanent threat?"

Not a chance, so I replied instead, "Nope Nikki, I have a much worse threat."

"What?" she breathed in awe.

"The 'how many marks do I get left with game' " I replied.

I have probably described this before, but just in case not then here it is. The idea is to encourage the student to avoid the crime he/she is repeatedly committing. Students starts with x marks of their choice. They lose one mark every time they commit the crime. There is an easy variant and a hard one and the student picks the variant; it is amazing how often they pick the hard one, but it is only a game after all. There is no punishment for failure nor reward for success apart from loads of praise from me.

Actually, there is a self-inflicted reward for success. I have yet to play this game with any student of any age who did not want to emerge from it with 100% of the marks they started with. They suddenly start to take the point I am making very seriously.

Back to Nikki. "What is that," she asked?

It is hard for on a child when they lose marks in any kind of 'test'. They do not regard, for example, 70% as gaining 70%; they regard it as losing 30%. From experiences in adult life, I know how they feel. A slightly panic-stricken Nikki gasped, "NO. Not The Game. The Pencil please, The Pencil."

I had gained my revenge for the B flats, so I explained. The above exchange took a long time to write, but happened in real time in about the same time you took to read it. We continued the lesson - without the B flats.

[SteveHopwood]

I have told you about Billy; he is the brilliant 13 year old guitar player I talked about during the school musical a few months ago. He is not just musically brilliant, but has a brain the size of Jupiter as well. Allied with a wonderful sense of humour and a smile to die for, these qualities make him utterly adorable.

He is taking a guitar exam in a few weeks time and a part of it includes some Aural tests, so I offered to coach him for them after school.

Guitar teacher Paul runs a guitar group; Billy is the leading member. Paul and I were chatting after school when Billy wandered in. Paul asked him to look out a few of his favourite pieces for the guitar group - this kid plays everything.

"They need to be light and airy. Imagine someone dancing." Paul is in his mid-fifties and about as fit as the captain of the Mr Unfit Team and with a build to match.

Billy grinned to himself, so I said, "Paul and I both know what you are thinking." "Yes," came Paul, "You are imagining me dancing."

Billy grinned again - oh boy but I wish I could bottle that grin - and replied, "Yes. In a tutu." :lol

Turns out is is not just me who detects a certain lack of awe and trembling in the presence of a teacher.

[SteveHopwood]

It is hard for me to express this post, so I suggest that members outside England do not bother with it. It incorporates a dialect that you will probably not understand - i.e. broad Yorkshire. In fact many UK residents might not understand it.

A lovely incident from yesterday.

I learned the expression, "Ehup" when I first moved into the village over 18 years ago and was exposed to this expression in my local CoOp, "Ehup, duck".

Many of you have received pm's from me starting with, "Ehup". It means, "Hello".

I have heard it spoken, "Ehoup", so the second syllable rhymes with 'soup' but not quite so sharp. Imagine it pronounced somewhere between 'soup' and 'up'. I am probably failing to describe it but this is the best I can do.

I came towards two girls in a narrow corridor yesterday - aged 13 or so I would guess from their build and speech tones and patterns. I smiled at them. One of them intoned, "Hello Sir."

"Ehoup" I returned. This made her giggle. It was intended to. As we separated, I heard her passing along the corridor and giggling, "Ehoup, ehoup, ehoup."

There is no more pleasure in my life than making a teen giggle. It is the best sound in the world.

[SteveHopwood]

I was describing to Nikki, how important it is to keep going through a performance even when things are going badly. I said to her, "I am going to play you the first page of a piece I have not played in a while. There will be wrong notes, but watch how I ignore them and keep going."

I played her the first page of Brahms' G minor Rhapsodie. There were fist-fulls of wrong notes. "Yes Nikki," I confirmed at the end, "fist-fulls of wrong notes, but didn't I keep going well? Did you hear some of the ropey moments?"

Nikki giggled evilly and replied, "I could hardly miss them, could I?" She thought for a couple of seconds and then continued, "But you did keep going manfully."

[SteveHopwood]

I had the woodwind exams on Wednesday. Charlotte and Jo played out of their skins and gave wonderful performances at their level. Kids can only play like that with a sympathetic accompanist, so it always makes me proud when they play so well because it is in good part because of my skill.

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Back home and my weekly hour with Gar. He announced that lots of his classmates were off on school trips that day, so the remainder had spend a maths class doing 'riddles'.

"Try this one," he said. "A wedding ring falls into a coffee cup but does not get wet. How?"

"Because there was no water poured onto the coffee."

"Awwwe. It took us ages to work that out. Try this one instead. There is a man on the street. He has no jacket, coat, umbrella or anything else to cover his head. There is a violent rain shower and he has no time to find shelter, yet not a hair on his head gets wet. How?"

"He is bald."

"Awwwe. You know these riddles."

"No I didn't Gar. Nor did I need to. I am no superbrain yet it took me about two seconds to work out the answers. You guys are studying at a selective grammar school and should be representing the finest brains of your generation. You should be ashamed of yourselves if it took you more than a handful of seconds to work out the answers."

"Awwwe."

"So try this one - and no need to feel ashamed when you do not find the answer. I did not when it was first put to me, and few have ever since. Here goes: there is a guy building a house with four south-facing walls; there is an intrigued bear sat in a deck chair, watching the house build; what colour is the bear?"

I shall leave a lot of space before providing the answer, so you can try it for yourselves. Scroll down for the answer.......




































Want a clue? You are probably focussing on the fact that the bear is sitting in a deck chair. This is merely a humorous red-herring. Focus on the house. Answer coming next.......................






















The bear is white. The only place to build a house with four south-facing walls is the North Pole, so the bear has to be a Polar bear.

"Wonderful," enthused Gar. "I shall try that on my maths teacher."

---------------------------

A lovely story from yesterday(Thursday) in school. You recall I had arranged to cover the Aural part of Billy's G5 guitar exam after school on Thursdays? He failed to turn up last week. No problem; kids forget stuff and it meant I could go home earlier.

Trouble is, I cannot resist a wind-up. On our way out of the building I said to guitar teacher Paul, "Tell Billy that I am absolutely furious. Livid. I shall put him into detention for the rest of his school days and refuse to help any further if he does this to me again."

Paul grinned and replied, "Yep. I can't wait to see his face."

Then I thought about it for a few more seconds. Kids rapidly come to understand that, the more outlandish are my threats then the further away from ever possibly happening they are. The time to burst into floods of tears is when I mutter, "Wasn't very good, was it angel?" Having done a show and a Christmas concert with him, I have probably spent more time with Billy than I have with my regular, 20 minutes a week pupils. He has a brain the size of Mars and had me summed up pretty quickly.

So I offered, "Nope. Absolutely no chance of him believing that. Tell him this instead. Say that I was a bit grumpy, muttered stuff like 'why should I bother when the kid can't even turn up?' and that he has a slightly frosty reception awaiting him next week." I knew that would not put him off turning up as I knew he would feel instantly guilty when Paul pointed out his crime on the following Monday.

The final bell went on Thursday and a slightly apprehensive Billy appeared at the door almost immediately. I think he must have explained the situation to a sympathetic class teacher - and you would have to be some sort of monster not to be sympathetic towards this little boy - and obtained an early release in order to turn up on time to me.

It is a long way from the door to the piano. I glared at Billy and snarled, "So where were you last week?"

The poor thing stopped dead in his tracks and muttered, "Um. I might have forgotten." Then he stopped. He will have seen a lot of his more outrageous fellow students proving the truth of the saying, "When you are in a hole, stop digging," to understand the concept and just wait for the axe to fall.

Billy has a very expressive face; I hope he never tries playing Poker. His face betrayed that he didn't really believe I was cross because I am Steve and do not do cross with kids, but the look on my face said something entirely different.

"Come here young man. I have some stern words to say to you," I demanded.

Kids in the UK know that a teacher will not hurt them. Never mind that physical punishment became illegal many years ago. No teacher would even have nightmares about hurting kids, so the kids grow up in an environment they know is safe from deliberately inflicted physical pain by their teachers.

Even so, being in trouble with a teacher is like being in trouble with mum. All will be friends again in 30 minutes or less, but the approaching storm is unlikely to be comfortable to ride out. We were all 13 once; remember the feeling?

So Billy approached very slowly, face full of doubt. I allowed no more than 10 seconds to pass - I am not a fan of torturing cute 13 year olds, however gently.

I grinned and said, "Sorry Billy. I am only teasing. I was not really cross. The day I really get cross with the likes of you is the day I know the time has come to retire."

He bounced the rest of the way and sat down. I asked, "Just out of curiosity, do you think you really were in trouble?"

His reply was pure class. "I didn't think so at first - you are Steve, after all. But then I saw your face and thought, 'Oops' ".

I promised never to try that stunt with him again, even if he gives me the opportunity.

Another reply full of class. "No point. I won't believe you."

The whole exercise Made A Point. I would be prepared to bet quite a large chunk of my live trading account that Billy never again lets down someone going out of his/her way to help him. It also brought us closer together, which can only be a good thing.

[SteveHopwood]

A charming episode this afternoon. Remember Ben-who-turned-out-to-be-Carl? Said nothing for ages until we got into the exam waiting room, where he suddenly started talking and has not stopped ever since?

He is taking G4 Saxophone this time. I arranged the usual two rehearsals in school but dad phoned to ask if he could have another couple of sessions here at my home.

Here is one of the biggest benefits that trading Forex has brought me; I make enough money to live without needing to teach every hour that is available. This last brings two further benefits: I love teaching ever more; I have plenty of time to devote to the likes of Ben-who-turned-out-to-be-Carl.

So we arranged a couple of at-home sessions last Sunday and this. Last week, Dad asked how much he owed. I replied with the info that the fee he pays me for accompanying the exam covers all rehearsal time - however much that entails. One of the thingies that age has taught me is this; the more time I spend with the kids, the happier we both are entering the exam room.

Dad wasn't happy with this and wanted to pay.

I refused to accept.

He must have noticed the bottle of single malt that I had accidentally left in the corner of the room and asked, "What is your favourite tipple?"

Despite appearances to the contrary, I am not a complete idiot. I love single malt whisky. Here in the UK, blended whiskies are in the £14-£18 price bracket. We may as well drink rat poison. Single malts start at £20 and I buy those in the £20-£25 price range because there is always one on 'offer' at my local CoOp. Glenfiddich is my favourite, but unless I am lucky with an offer, this brand is in the next price range up of £30 - £40. I am not there comfortably yet; give Slopey Peaky Bob 12 months and I will be.

"Glenfiddich," I replied instantly. "Done," Dad replied and took Ben-who-turned-out-to-be-Carl home.

Come today and up turned Ben-who-turned-out-to-be-Carl and Dad carrying a bottle of Glenfiddich for me. Honour satisfied on both sides. It is always good to feel valued.

Dad fell in love with the village last week when he went for a walk whilst Ben-who-turned-out-to-be-Carl and I did our thingy. We did not know that he was sat outside in the car waiting for his son, so we chatted once we had finished.

Ben-who-turned-out-to-be-Carl explained that he cannot talk to people he does not know - hence why he was so quiet when we first met. I know exactly how he feels; SHF members would be astonished to learn how shy I am.

Aged 14, he then enthused about his love of computer programming. Instant engagement there. He downloaded onto his phone a shot of a game he is programming; pretty basic as games go but far, far more than I could do.

He explained in great detail how he was doing the programming. This went as far over my head as does some of the work at SHF go above the heads of the dimwits. Or Rene's above mine. I nodded with what I hoped was intelligent understanding and laughed at what seemed to be appropriate moments. It occurred to us after about 20 minutes to look outside at the car, only to find dad waiting patiently for his son. I had gone by then from feeling a tad on the thick side of life to feeling like I belonged in the primeval ooze.

Wonderful thingies teens.

[SteveHopwood]

I know how much you guys like a laugh at my expense, so here are a couple of incidents to tickle you.

The first concerns Gareth, whom you have met in my SPB thread if not before. He is finally marrying his childhood sweetheart on Saturday. It is 10 years since his mum and I watched them walking towards my car hand-in-hand, his mum and I looked at each other and both intoned, "Awwwwwwe. How sweet." More details in earlier parts of this thread should you care to read it - not vital but good fun if you have ever run a teenager.

Thingy is, I am painfully, pitifully shy. I have learned to act over this in the soon-to-be 67 years of my existence, but I still find meeting strangers horrendous. I have not attended a wedding reception for a long, long time.

You can perhaps imagine if you have been following me for a while, that there have been a lot of young people over the years wanting me to be at their weddings. I always come to the same deal and those that 'get' me instantly understand. I will attend the ceremony but will then slip quietly away. Yes, I want to see them get hitched and will blub. Trust me, I will blub. Can't stop myself.

So 25 year old Gareth arrived for his usual trumpet/piano session - the last before his wedding on Saturday. Knowing that I see him every week and that I did not need a formal invitation, he had not sent me one. Here is how the conversation went, starting with me:

"Just checking the details of your wedding, OK?"

"Yes."

"It is at Clumber Park Hotel at 3.00 pm?"

He dissolved into fits of laughter.

"No, it is at Hirst Priory at 12.30."

Thingy is, Hirst Priory is 10 minutes from home and 40 miles in the opposite direction to Clumber Park Hotel. CPH host a lot of weddings at this time of year. Gareth was in fits of laughter at the thought of me turning up to the wrong wedding.

------------------------------

This next is nothing to do with teaching and is merely giving you guys a giggle at my expense.

I smashed my cafetiere. I decided to buy a new one whilst combining a trip to the nearest large supermarket in Gainsborough, about 6 miles away. I made a list of all the other thingies I needed, omitting the cafetiere thinking, "I will not forget it. It is the reason I am going, after all."

Yep. Those of you who know me guessed it.

I ordered the damn thing from Amazon instead.

It arrived the following day.

Hey ho.

[SteveHopwood]

Just so you guys know, I blubbed at Gareth and Sarah's wedding.

I have yet to un-blub at the wedding of a former victim.

I held it together well until it came to exchanging the vows.

These damn thingies always get me right in the heart. No idea why. They just do.

I got away with wiping the odd surreptitious tear under the pretence of cleaning my glasses. I probably didn't get away without being entirely noticed, but nobody put their arms around me and intoned, "There there Steve. This is a happy event."

It was absolutely wonderful to see Gareth and Sarah take their vows. hope I have a few more blubs left in me yet.