I have not been keeping up my posts recently, so here is a distillation of events from the missing weeks.
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Remember Little Sweetie Sarah and my intention to go to school for the rock band rehearsal and help her out? And how much I was expecting to suffer? And how I missed the rehearsal because I am an idiot?
I made it this afternoon. I helped Sarah do the best she could to contribute. It was immediately obvious that she was not the only one throwing herself in at the deep end. There were other small children doing the best they could to keep up with the more experienced members of the group.
Ye Gods, but the din was horrendous. The noise was appalling. Singers could not sing, but no surprise there.
Various other members of the band could play their instruments but not at the same time as other members.
I loved every second. The older I get, the more special it becomes to watch children enjoying themselves, and those kids had a
wonderful time.
Glad I do not need to repeat the experience tomorrow, mind.
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First victim Charlie did not turn up, so I sat and did some practise. Second victim Lauren did not turn up either but she is in her GCSE year and I have told her not to come for a piano lesson whenever she does not want to miss her class.
Last victim Sarah turned up bang on time. A few seconds later came, "Boo" announcing the arrival of Charlie. "Bugger," I thought to myself, "Mucked up his lesson time again." I struggle with the timetable layout.
This time though, it was Charlie's fault. He took his lesson time from the timetable on the notice board and had read the wrong column. Given the number of times I get the damn thingy wrong, I could hardly criticise him and I am going twice next week so we set up his extra lesson for Tuesday.
Come Tuesday and having discovered on Thursday that it was Charlie who mucked up the timetable and not me, it was time for some sport.
Sarah wandered in at the end of Charlie's lesson, just as he did something daft. "Charlie is an idiot," I said to Sarah. "In his defence though, he is a friendly idiot whose company I enjoy greatly."
"Not everybody enjoys my company," stated Charlie. "I am often regarded as aggressive."
"So stop being aggressive with people and they will start to like you as I do."
Sarah chimed in with, "There is
never any need to be aggressive."
Charlie pointed to me and said, "He is often aggressive with me."
"How?" I asked?
"You threaten to stab me with the sharp end of your pencil," came the reply.
"Fair point," I conceded.
Sarah has not known me for long but has already summed me up. She asked confidently, "You wouldn't stab me with your pencil, would you?"
"Of course not darling. I like you." Pointing at Charlie, "I hate him."
Charlie just gave me
that smile and wandered off with a call of, "See you next week."
Later on and S made the same gormless mistake she had already made several times, so I snarled, "Do that again and I will give you a detention."
"No you won't," she replied complacently.
Honestly folks, there is so little of Sarah that I reckon that her friends have to hang onto her in a breeze, to stop her being blown away. You would think I could inspire some trembling and awe in something that size, but no. Hey ho.
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Guitar teacher Paul had asked me to prepare three of his exam pupils for the Aural section of their upcoming graded guitar exams. I had them booked into my first three slots. Both the main music rooms contained kids doing various thingies so I set up in The Dungeon instead.
First victim Hugh knows me as we have already done the business for a previous exam. Second victim Evie is doing her first exam and does not know me, so Paul brought her to me. He opened the door, pointed to a diminutive little cutie and said, “Here is Evie.”
I replied, “Ahhh. Fresh meat. Come on in, upcoming but still walking feast.” Paul laughed uproariously, gave Evie a gentle shove inside and shut the door behind him. I sat her on a chair next to me and explained what this section of the exam is all about. She had relaxed into my style of lunacy within 30 seconds.
Explanation over, it was time to try some of the tests. The Dungeon is very small and it is easy to see all possible combinations of the piano, the music on said piano and my hands – none of which information is available come the exam.
I said to Evie, “Make sure you do not look at either the piano, the music on the piano or my hands. You will not be able to do so in the exam, so I will regard it as cheating if you do look. Understand?”
“Yes Sir.”
“And you know that cheating is always punished when the cheater is caught.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Here in school, such punishment will be something innocent such as being shouted at or, at worst, a detention. Unless it is me catching the cheater. Then the punishment is horrible torture. Do you know what torture is?”
“Ummm. Sort of.” <I am always glad when a cute 12 year old does not appear to fully understand torture>
“I means horrible, unbearable pain. If I catch you cheating then I will torture you slowly to death. Fair enough?”
“Ermmmmmmmmmm yeeeessssss......”
A few minutes later and the ease with which Evie could tackle the tests had emerged so she was totally relaxed. Time for some more entertainment.
I asked, “Did Mr Piercy explain to you before bringing you here, that he was dumping you at the mercy of a lunatic?”
<giggle> “No sir.”
“In that case, at the end of this lesson you need to go and shout at him for not warning you.”
<giggle> "Yes sir".
Come the end of the session I said, “Ok darling. When you get home you can tell mum that you were thrown into the clutches of a certifiable maniac who should not be allowed even in the same country as children. Now go and shout at Mr Piercy.”
<evil grin> “Should I?”
“Absolutely. Right now.”
Going to shout at Paul would have involved turning left out of the door. Evie immediately turned right. “Ha,” I called after her. Knew you wouldn't. Wimp.”
Another giggle and off up the corridor she skipped.
I wandered along to fill Paul in on the successful progress so far. Paul teaches in a room not much bigger than The Dungeon, so talking to him involves hanging in the doorway and talking over the head of his attendant pupil – in this case another diminutive little cutie who knows me from previous episodes and who settled down to enjoy the entertainment.
I explained the instructions I had issued to Evie, finishing with the one to tell her mum. Diminutive Little Girl no 2 said, “She won't do it. She will forget.”
“Ah Lottie,” said Paul to DLC2 i.e. Lottie, “you know her, don't you?”
“We are best friends.” Lottie grinned at me evilly, and said, “I will bully her until she does.”
“Tell you what Lottie, let's gang up on her?”
“Oh yes. Please. Pleeeeaaaassssseeee lets.”
Not sure what we are going to gang up on her for but as I have remarked before, besties like nothing better than dropping their pal in the poo. Besides, the conversations had long since lost any semblance of sanity.
We do
teach the kids something at the school occasionally, I promise.
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The school had what was billed as an Autumn Concert this evening. The rock band was included. Little Sweetie Sarah came for her piano lesson.
Sarah could match me blow for blow when it comes to lack-of-organisational-skills. "Are you playing with the rock band tonight?" I asked.
"I don't know. Nobody has told me" came the wonderful reply.
Here at SHF, what goes through my head in moments of contributor lunacy tends to spill out onto the page in an excess of splenetic outrage that amuses many people. I try to entertain.
I could no more do that to an innocent 11 year old girl than I could have a sex change and become the queen of a newly-monarchist China. Even so, what went through my head at that moment was, "Of course you have been told you lunatic. You just couldn't be arsed to listen."
What came out of my mouth was, "Tell you what sweetheart, let's go next door and check with Mr Piercy."
So we trooped next door and hung in the doorway. Now, the natural instinct of any normal adult when confined is a small space with a small child is to wrap the arms around said child. My arms did as they would naturally be expected to do, so LSS stared out at the world from inside her cocoon blissfully trusting that the adults in her life would sort everything out for her. Which we did,
obviously. Who wouldn't?
"Hi Mr Piercy. Sorry to bother you. The technically bonkers but undeniable cute little scrap of humanity peering out at you from underneath me is not sure that she is playing with the rock band tonight."
Paul beamed at her. "Of course you are Sarah. The concert rehearsal is straight after school. Everything is arranged. Absolutely everything. All you have to do is turn up in the hall straight after school."
Nothing in the least out of the ordinary can happen to a child in a UK school without the written consent of a parent/guardian. Mum even
works at the school, so the chances of her not knowing what is going on are -1,000,000.
So, my brain was screaming, "You would know all this you little idiot if you had taken the slightest bit of notice of
anything that
anybody has been telling you
for weeks. Including your mum. This morning."
My gob said, as I beamed lovingly down at her, "Ok sweetheart? Happy now?"
"Yes sir."
Here is the nub of a problem that is more of an entertainment than a problem. Children move from a primary school where
everything is laid out for them step-by-step with a teacher on hand every step of the way, to a secondary school where they are gradually expected to take more and more responsibility for themselves.
This causes confusion in the kids' minds. Suddenly day-to-day, they are expected to do such thingies as find their own way around a very large school. This becomes routine quickly but extras can throw them until they have experience them once.
Take this evening as an example. Just because a child has reached the magical age of 11 does not mean that they can be allowed to suddenly: disappear; go hungry; go thirsty; not know where to go; not know where to change etc. So there are adults on had to shove the kids in the right directions.
Which is fine, unless you are 11, have been at the school for about 7 weeks and have never experienced anything like the autumn concert and all that goes with it, before tonight. Tonight's concert involved a
lot of new children.
None of whom knew what was going on despite having been told many times what would happen (and yes, I promise you they were) and so congregated in the music block two floors away from where they needed to be. I found myself swept up in the melee, doing my best to answer the questions most frequently asked. Here are the most frequent questions separated by a colon from my and Paul's answers:
where do I go: downstairs to the hall.
where is the hall: bottom floor. Follow all the noise from the big room on the left.
where is the left: um, opposite to the right? Just follow the noise. You have gone wrong if you find yourself outside.
where do I get a drink: it is all laid on for you.
what about my tea: it is all laid on for you. There is pizza. <plus alternatives if needed>
am I taking part: <how should I know?> yes. Go to the hall.
I have a football match after the concert. Can I wear my footy kit: no. Besides, you will not have a football match. Not aged 11 and at around 8.00 pm on a freezing cold November night.(Actually that was a one off included for laughs).
does my mum know about all this: yes.
how do I get home afterwards: your mum will take you. <at least I assume she will. For sure, the school will not shut whilst there is a child on the premises.>
where is the toilet: same place as when you last used it.
Where do I change: not a clue. You will be told downstairs.
Should I change: you will do as you grow older. Try not to change too dramatically in the next hour or so, or your mum might not recognise you. ,<she stared at me in perfectly understandable blank incomprehension for a few seconds, then wandered off in search of an intelligent answer.>
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Two of Paul's kids are doing G5 guitar and so doing the same aural tests. They have wildly differing characters and Jeremy is a much more confident child than is Hugh.
The aural section is worth 10 marks. This has four questions, three of them split into two halves. This means that each individual question is worth one mark.
One of the questions is to supply the distance between two notes played consecutively. It takes a
lot of training before someone is able to provide a correct answer. Said training would detract from a
lot of learning elsewhere and would be a waste of time.
So I say to all children hopeless at this activity: "I have explained how little this question is worth, so don't worry about it even for a pico-second. Just....." then I shrug my shoulders dismissively.
All children have different approaches to stuff they are not happy with. Ridiculously sensitive Hugh looked nervous and said, "Ummmmmmmmm. Guess?" And then looked terrified. I have extra sessions booked in with him to remove the terror of losing one mark in an exam that is insignificant in the grand scheme of thingies. I will remove his fear, I promise.
Then came much more confident Jeremy. In response to my"I have explained how little this question is worth, so don't worry about it even for a pico-second. Just....."
Jeremy replied instantly, "Screw it."
Jeremy will go far.
And one final one. The English language is weird - and even 'weird' breaks the law of, "i before e except after c' which makes 'weird' totally misspelled.
Moving on, take this pair. The opposite of 'bad' is 'good'. Yet the opposite of 'badly' is not 'goodly'. It is 'well'.
Why is the opposite of 'badly' not 'goodly'? I haven't a clue.
On my way up the corridor in school last week I heard a little girl call out to her English teacher, "Sir, did you just say I am doing bad in English or doing good?"
Now, I could have explained to this little sweetie the difference between 'bad' and 'badly' etc but would have been helpless in the face of the dichotomy I just described, had she quizzed me about it.
I silently wished her English teacher the best of luck as I progressed up the corridor thankful that this problem had not landed in my lap.
