Thingies that happen to Steve in his other job

[SteveHopwood]

Nothing much to report this week. It has been an abortion.

Our UK government fucked up big time yet again by letting into our country a variant from India of the virus that took instant hold and is running rampant.

This was after they took the decision that all classes in schools should be a 'bubble' and that the instant a single member of the bubble was proven positive, then the whole bubble should be sent home to isolate for what appears to be the rest of their lives.

Do I really need to describe what happened next? I will elucidate further down.

Tonight is Thursday 8th July as I write.

Monday was the 5th. I arrived at school in time for extra lessons for Ethan at 12.10 and Layla at 12.30. 20 minute break to eat some lunch, all timetabled at my personal expense so no problem there. I add extra lessons because I can and because I am trying to help kids make up for time they have missed over the last 16 months.

Then Gwenyth pitched up for the lesson that her mum actually pays for. Everything else I do with this fantastic child I do because she is a fantastic child.

Try to imagine this impeccably mannered and shy young lady. Her response to a question requiring an affirmative is a near imperceptible nod of the head and the teensiest, "Yes please". A negative is the same, but in the opposite.

We finished G's lesson and my next victim was missing. "What lesson should you be going back to darling?"

"Tutor."

I have yet to meet a student who enjoys these 'tutor' sessions unless they are in Miss' tutor group.

"Would you rather stay here than go back to your tutor group? Your choice."

"Yes please."

So we did.

And that was me done for about two hours, waiting for G's after school extra lesson plus maltesers. In a school that is stupidly hot during winter and would provoke Hades into giving itself a stern talking to and resolving to do better during the summer. I believe I might have mentioned this before? Hey ho. We had a good after school session.

Back in on Tuesday afternoon to record Brooke's grade 3 Music Theatre exam for submission to the Board.

Brooke is a 14 year old drama queen - fitting given the exam performance we were recording.

Oh boy, but she was a pain in the arse. Nothing was right. She was scared. She could not remember the words...............................

All of which is familiar to Miss and me, for quite a long time. We understood. We were sympathetic. Thingy is, these recorded submissions take the place of the previous face to face exams. They are a double edged sword.

Recorded submissions: there can be a number of attempts at recording the performance. This can go on for hours.

Face to face exams: do it NOW or fail.

Trust me folks, students benefit from either approach depending on their personality.

Miss found the perfect balance. One more week until the end of term. 10 minutes before the final bell of the day then umpteen tannoy announcements that would make any further attempts to record her performance impossible.

Miss announced with her usual joy, "Brooke, we will take one more attempt to record. If that fails, we will try again next week. If that fails, we will try again in September but the school will bill your mum for the time. You said you wanted to take this exam, after all."

Followed by a near perfect performance that raised goosebumps on me. Fantastic.

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Back to today and the elucidation I promised at the top of this post. School was like the deck of the Marie Celeste. Our government has a lot to answer for and I hope that the upcoming enquiry into its' performance justifiably wrecks the reputations of a lot of its ministers. Top of the list is Boris Johnston. And I was a lifelong Conservative. Once.

Miss looked at my list of victims still in school. It was Ethan.

I gave him a lesson and came home.

Before coming home I gave Ethan a boost. He has been doing fabulously well recently. I said to him, "Ethan, you have become a total joy to teach."

You should have seen his face.

[SteveHopwood]

I am venting tonight because I am starting to shake. I have spoken elsewhere in this board about how my reactions to an event creep up on me even though I initially dismissed it. This is happening to me right now.

I do not know how any of us would live with taking the life of a child, even when said taking was not our fault. The, "What if I had only.........?" would go to our graves with us.

So picture the scene. I am driving to give G a piano lesson. I am doing my usual crawl through the back lanes of his village because there is no telling what might be waiting for me around the next bend.

I am coming to a T junction where I turn right onto G's lane. What is coming from the left is blind to me. I could easily approach the junction about 5 miles an hour quicker and still have plenty of time to break and stop. On another day I might have been - it would not have felt excessive. Never again.

Happily, I had just passed very slowly by a lady with some daft and only just under nominal control doggies and so was travelling even more slowly than usual.

Even so, I had barely enough time to stop when two little girls, soon to be two very shocked little girls, on bikes screamed around the blind corner from the left. Another 5 miles an hour and I would have hit them. I would have hurt and possibly killed them.

They only just missed me. Clearly terrified, they sped off. After all, little girl hitting damn great car = pain for little girl. Best to be elsewhere.

We all know that I am not always quick on the uptake. I gave myself a few seconds to recover some composure and then put the car into gear and prepared to set off. I was too slow to think, "What if there are more."

Just as two little boys came screaming around the blind bend on scooters.

My limited brain cells do leap into life eventually and I thought to myself, "Those kids are roughly 6-8 years old. There must be parents coming along soon, surely?"

And there were, two mums. Not until a 5th child - another little girl on a scooter - had come screaming around the corner. Eventually Two Moronic Mums appeared around the corner. I mean, how cretinous do you need to be to allow teensy tots to go hurtling out of control up a road along which not all drivers are thoughtful? Or maybe they were applying Darwinism to the development of their offspring.

What I should have done was leap out of the car and scream at these deviant misfits. Instead, I wound down the window and asked pleasantly, "Can I go now, please?"

"Sorry," one of them beamed happily at me. To be honest, I was so relieved not to have small children smeared all over my bumper that all I said was, "Not half as sorry as you would have been had I been going any quicker. Then you would have been talking tiny caskets and visits from unsympathetic child protection officers," and drove off.

I hope those two demented dimwits gave some thought to this. The upcoming funerals will be agony unless they do.

My usual sign off feels inappropriate here. Let us just give thanks that little girls are still on the planet who came within inches of disaster because there mums are idiots, and yet survived. For sure, I bloody well am.

[SteveHopwood]

Back to school today, although more of that later.

For now, let us go back to the beginning of August and I was due to play at Miss' wedding. We are not talking difficult stuff here. Zadok for the procession up the isle; a couple of hymns; a Chopin waltz during the signing ceremony; the Wedding March during the exit from the chapel.

Nothing major in terms of playing the notes and I am quite good at playing this sort of stuff beautifully. Absolutely major in terms of being there for the ceremony.

The wedding was to take place in a chapel attached to a castle in Yorkshire. A google of the venue showed it up beautifully. No problem.

Do you remember folks, before satnav, trying to find somewhere? Especially in a city, where the roads on the ground bore no relationship whatsoever to those on the map? Or like me these days, when the satnav will take you to the rough general location and then leave you with three hours to find the exact spot that you need?

So, there I was on the Thursday before the Sunday that the wedding would happen, sitting at home. I suddenly came over all insecure. What if the satnav would lead me into a ditch somewhere? Or take me to Edinburgh? It is fairly recent technology after all, and can go wrong. Let's test it out.

So, I fed the venue into the satnav and set off on the 65 mile journey. Satnav lead me unerringly to the venue. Not a hint of a problem. The venue is a castle in huge grounds that welcomes visitors to the grounds.

I followed the signs to the visitors' car park and exited said car park. Not even the merest hint of a problem.

Until I saw the gazeebo-style building that looked like the perfect wedding venue. And the sign pointing right that announced, "Wedding". And heard the unmistakable sounds of a wedding party.

We are not talking open trails here folks. We are talking narrow trails through deeply wooded grounds. By the time I got there, deserted deeply wooded grounds.

The sounds of the wedding party receded behind me. I turned around. Wrongly. I found myself lost in deeply wooded grounds. I was not worried. It was still only about 5.00 pm and there was a lot of daylight left. It was not raining. It was not cold. Someone would have found my still just alive body by the morning.

I stumbled across the visitors car park after a couple of hours. Mine was not the only car left, so I would never have been totally alone. Maybe someone would have thought, "Hmnnnnnnnnnnn. Abandoned car? Deeply forested woodlands? Maybe some dimwit got lost?" and come to find me.

I had had enough. I resolved to drive home and phone Miss for directions from the visitors' car park to the chapel. I did.It turned out that Miss and co were having a wedding rehearsal on the Saturday, which I agreed to attend. She gave me directions to the Chapel, which started with turning left instead of right out of the car park.

Mind, whilst the chapel was only a few hundred metres (yards to those of us who still speak English) from the visitors' car park, the directions would have confused the developers of an inner city A-Z guide (1980's thingy). Happily, I pitched up at the car park just as did Miss, so she was able to lead me by the nose to the blasted chapel.

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So, had I not come over all insecure on that Thursday, I would have missed the wedding. I would probably still be wandering around the grounds, living on whatever I could forage and killing myself on poisonous mushrooms.

As it turned out, the ceremony was beautiful. Miss looked gorgeous and yet again, I would cheerfully adopt her as my grand daughter.

I blub at weddings. Cannot help it. I just do.

Knowing this, I had done a lot of practise on the material I was required to play. I have prepared full length 90 minute recitals with less practise. Good job too, as I could only just barely read the score I was playing from.

More good stuff to come this week folks.

[SteveHopwood]

Yesterday was Monday and my first day back at school. Oh boy, but I missed the kids.

UK amateur performing exams have three levels of pass: Pass; Merit; Distinction.

The exam boards employ examiners who will bend over backwards to award a pass to candidates, especially at the lower levels. These exams start at grade 1 (most basic) and conclude at grade 8. A child who achieves G8 commonly does this around about the age of 17/18 i.e. coming to the end of her formal schooling.

Pre G5, a kid has to be dreadful to fail. Once the examiner has managed to pass a child, said examiner is under no obligation to award extra marks. Merit and Distinction passes are earned in blood.

We recorded Gwenyth's G2 submission just before the school closed early at the end of last term. I had to wait until meeting her again yesterday to discover the result. Yep, it was the expected Distinction. Not a huge achievement on the face of it, but this is a kid who has been learning to play for a mere few weeks.

Granted this was my first day back but even so, I had Gone Armed. I asked of G, "Darling, I have Maltesers in my case. Are we doing our usual after school session?"

Her tiny, sweet, shy little voice said, "Yes please.". Her face shouted, "Of course you moron. What else would I be doing?"

Come the end of our after-school session and we had achieved much but I wanted to fit her in on Thursday in a gap in my timetable. I forget the gap time and so will make it up. Who cares? Let us say 2.00 pm.

I said, "You can have a lesson at 2.00. What class would you otherwise be partially missing?"

G dug out her timetable and replied, "Textiles."

You folks have already read that Textiles is G's passion. Pulling her out of that lesson is a total no-no. Plus a few more no's on the end of the no-no. Quite a lot of no's, in fact.

There was only one solution, and that was for me to pitch up at school 50 minutes early on Thursday. This leaves a 20 minute gap at the end of G's last morning class and before her lunch break - and there is no way I am cutting into that, whatever the circumstances. Kids need feeding or they turn an interesting colour and fall over.

I suggested this solution as I really want G to have the extra time this week. We looked at her timetable. The extra lesson would come out of the last 20 minutes of a Geography class. I asked G if she would like the extra piano lesson or felt she should stay for the end of her GCSE class.

Piano lesson please.

Those of you who have been doing the arithmetic will have noted that this leaves me with a 30 minute gap in an environment I find hideously uncomfortably hot most of the time. I might just hover outside 146 and lasso an unsuspecting child for an unexpected piano lesson.

Now, much as I love the time I spend with this glorious child, I will go to great length over the coming weeks to make sure that she knows that she only has to take the time whilst she wants to. She can stop any time she wants to. Let us hope she continues to want the time for all our sakes.

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I had finished Harli's lesson in 146. His next class was GCSE music in 149. We were floating around outside 146 awaiting his classmates when a teensy tot turned up. I had this feeling that I knew her but could not 'place' her and so assumed she was one of the smaller members of Harli's music group that I had met briefly before.

Teensy Tot asked, "Where shall I go?"

I pointed down the corridor and replied, "Miss is teaching down there, so go and wait for her."

A clearly, and as it turned out, understandably confused TT came back with, "But I am here for a piano lesson with you."

The enormity of my mistake hit me. I was talking to Jasmine, aka Miss Cute of the Decade. For crying out loud, how could I have failed to recognise her?

I said, "Jas, I am am sorry. I just didn't recognise you."

Happily, kids are forgiving creatures and she immediately forgave me. Doesn't stop me being A Monster, mind. I did a lot of grovelling.

It occurred to me at one point to ask if is was OK for me to address Jasmine as, "Jas", something that both Miss and I do.

I asked, "Is it OK for me to call you Jas?"

"Yes," came the prompt reply.

Jas' personality has been emerging beautifully of late. She thought for a few seconds then adopted a 'prim and proper' expression and announced, "But only you. Nobody else." I felt suitably privileged.

My timetable has gaps in it. I looked at mine and discovered a gap at the end of Jas' lesson. I told her to look up where she should be. She did not need to look it up: "Maths".

I will not pull G out of textiles. I will give a kid the choice of not pulling out of a GCSE class such as music or geography that only happen twice a week. Maths and English, I am ruthless. Our ridiculous so-called 'education system' insists that kids have one hour each of maths and English 5 days a week, yet still releases onto society kids who are functionally illiterate and innumerate after a minimum of 11 years in school. I will keep a bright, literate and numerate kid like Jas out of any number of those classes.

So I asked J, "We can have a double if you like.Would you like?"

Huge sigh of pleasure and, "Yes please."

So we did.

[SteveHopwood]

Last Thursday was my first Thursday back after the summer break. There was rich entertainment.

I started with an extra with Gwenyth.This was her last 20 minutes before lunch so it was essential that we finished on time. I had to teach her in The Dungeon and the refectory is seconds away, so all we needed to do was stop dead on the bell.

One minute to go and I said to her, "Darling, the instant the bell goes stand up, gather your stuff and leave for lunch. I will not think you rude. I do not think that you could be rude."

That won me her best hungry tiger-taming look.

The bell went. G did not stop. I said, "Go away."

G packed up. On her way out came the usual ultra-sweet, "Thank you Sir." I wish you could hear it folks. It is utterly gorgeous.

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Ethan, Julia and Bailey are at the same stage. They started learning at different times but Covid restrictions left them at the same point in development when the school closed a week early at the end of the summer term. Our government's ludicrous one-out-all-out school policy left the school with no pupils, so early closure was inevitable.

The problem for the three I named was this: they were all learning the same piece. Said piece has a lot of discords that sound fine when the piece is fluent but dreadful whilst being learned.

For those of you unfamiliar with the concepts in musical terms, 'concords' sound pleasant whilst 'discords' sound unpleasant. Next time you find yourself within hailing distance of any sort of keyboard try these: pick any two white notes next to one another and press them simultaneously - the resulting harsh sound is a 'discord'; separate the notes by one and try again - the resulting pleasant sound is a 'concord'.

Inexperienced ears do not cope easily with discords and the piece the three kids were learning is full of them. This means that what they are trying to play sounds wrong. From a child's perspective: this sounds wrong; I must be getting it wrong; it does not matter how much I try to work it out, it still sounds wrong.

Not a problem when the child has a lesson with a teacher able to reassure her that all that is needed is perseverance. It is one of the most popular pieces in the book - have a listen and you will know why https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z82z7JBs6U4 - not me playing as I am a tad more sensitive that that.

Now put yourself in the position of a 12 year old without a lesson in sight for weeks on end. The reactions were interesting.

Bailey had faith in her ability to learn by herself. It is fascinating and wonderful to watch her in a lesson, working out stuff without me needing to prompt her. She returned after the extended break with a fluent performance. To paraphrase what she said at the start, "I don't think this is right but I have done my best." Her best was magnificent and we could move on.

Ethan should have been a Monday victim but he takes gormlessness to whole new levels of expertise and usually fails to turn up for his lesson. We managed both to fit him in on Thursday and persuade him to turn up. Concurrences of these events might prove to be rare.

He said, "I tried really hard. I can play the right hand. I can play the left hand. They sounded wrong when I played them together." He was easy to sort out.

Then came Julia who explained, "Sorry Sir, but I have not done much practise. I was poorly for two weeks, then went on holiday to London for a week."

What with the previous term finishing a week early and us peri teachers not being required until the second week of the new academic year, that too care of three weeks of the intervening eight. I did not point this out.

Then she dug out the piece and announced, "We only looked at the right hand of the first half." This was clearly marked on the score. She added, "I tried the left hand but it sounded all wrong."

Yep, she could play both hands separately. Granted, the left was in completely the wrong octave but she had tried, after all. Who am I to criticise?

Now, there would be something wrong with someone who became seriously cross with Julia. Even were I such a monster, she redeemed herself within seconds. I said to her, "Angel, I remember. We only had a short lesson so I taught you the right hand. I was going to teach you the rest of the piece during the two lessons we had planned for the last week of term. Then the school closed and we missed the lessons."

I do not remember exactly what J said and that I posted a few weeks ago, but it was on the lines of, "I can be having a rubbish day, then I come for a piano lesson and the rest of the day is fine."

OK, so there is no such thingy as a 13 year old child that is not going to receive the best from me that I can possibly give, but that was exceptional. What J came up with next ensures that I will pay her way through university should she need it. "I know. I was so sad to mis those two lessons. I really wanted them."

I wish you could meet these kids folks, I really do.

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Lily only had a handful of lessons with me at the end of last term but she had me summed up within minutes.

She pitched up on Thursday and announced, "Sorry Sir, but I could not practise over the summer as my keyboard broke down and could not be replaced."

I know I could have forensically dissected that apology but I know nothing of Lily's family circumstances. There are a frighteningly huge number of families subsisting, just, on Universal Credit, so I was never going to. Plus, Lily is a GCSE music student at the school and my job is to help her along. Plus-plus, the school will lend her a keyboard so she can practise at home. Plus, she summed me up very quickly last term.

So I glared at her and snarled, "Go away and never darken my doorstep again."

Lily stood and smiled at me.

I pointed to the distant door and growled, "The door is that way."

She stood and smiled at me.

I said, "You know that the school will lend you a keyboard?"

Came the reply, "Yes, I am picking one up tomorrow."

So we started again on what I had already taught her at the end of last year. She was a bit stuck at one point and I was teasing her mercilessly, something she appeared to be enjoying. It is always best to check though, so I offered, "Shall I stop being mean to you?"

The reply was, "No. I can take it. I am hard."

I stopped teasing her even so, just in case. It never fails to be sure where kids are concerned.

[SteveHopwood]

Jas excelled herself today.

We were working through a passage. She was useless. She announced, "That was dreadful."

I replied, "Yes darling I know.Look on the bright side though. It gave me lots of giggles."

The savegary of this teensy tot's sarcastic reply of,"Great. Hilarious," was something to hear.

Time to make her laugh, so I did. She stopped and announced, "I cannot keep going. I am laughing too much."

I replied, "Wonderful. Laughing happily is how we like our Jasmines. Not sad and sorry."

"Quite," she giggled back.

There was a gap at the end of her lesson so we continued. Her lesson should have ended at 2.00 pm. We were at 2.05 pm and I was about to ask her what she wanted to do when the following exchange happened, starting with Jas.

"What time does my lesson end?"

A curious question for a usually very keen child to take up as much time as possible. "It should have ended at 2.00. It is now 2.05. Do you need to go back to your class? Do you need me to add extra time to your music pass?"

"No to going back to my maths class but I really need a pee. Can you put this lesson as ending at 2.10 so I can go and pee, please?" She explained that she had a headache during her lunch break and so had drunk lots of water to make sure she was well hydrated. This might have been rubbish, but the kid needed a pee and when you have to go........................

We quickly established that going to the loo outside of break periods is severely frowned upon and that Jas' maths teacher is one of those 'scary' teachers who allow nothing, and kids of Jas' age can usually be relied on not to produce a puddle despite the attendant agony.

I know what I would say to someone trying to stop me going to the loo when I need to go. OK, so I can see it from the teacher's point of view; imagine the disruption when half of a class of 30 decide they need a wee.

I can also see it from the child's point of view. Take this scenario. Child puts up hand and asks, "Can I go to the toilet please, MIss/Sir?" The snarled reply comes back, "No. You should have gone during one of your break periods."

I imagine that the first time a child in a class replied, "But Miss/Sir, I didn't need to go during my breaks. I need to go NOW," was the last time any member of that class tried said reply. Especially when the teacher was one of the 'scary' ones.

I do not enjoy the picture of a child in pain, so I edited Jas' pass so that it reflected her lesson finishing at 2.15. She said, "This means I can go downstairs and then come back up to join the end of the class." Off she went.

I needed a visit but there is a staff loo on the same floor as the performing arts department, so I bumped into Jas on our ways back to our respective places. I looked at my watch and said, "There is still 4 minutes to go until the time I wrote as the end of your lesson. Walk back v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-ly, OK?"

Out came one of the sweetest every, "Thank you Sir" as she made her way as though she had been a student of Dominic.

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In came Ethan. I called across, "Ehup Ethan. How are you doing?"

"Very well Sir, thank you."

I snarled, "I will soon do something about that. I have already reduced one child to tears this afternoon. Perhaps you can be my second?"

As Ethan trotted happily towards the piano I could see him thinking, "Yeah. Right. Of course you did."

I really must do something about this lack of trembling and awe in my presence.

[SteveHopwood]

Go back to this post folks and read about Masie: viewtopic.php?p=169550#p169550

Actually, there is much entertainment to glean from all my posts about the musical, but the one I quote is special.

We had no way of knowing at the time of the disaster befalling us. I always hoped to bump into Masie and praise her for her fantastic performance. This never happened and we were all shut down within about a fortnight.

I finally got my chance earlier today. I have elected to stay and accompany the senior choir after school. OK, so 'choir' is a bit of a misdescription but these are keen kids that Miss and I are never going to discourage with any kind of negativism about small numbers - they will grow.

We were waiting for Miss to appear - the rock band also started up again today and she was helping get them started. A little dab with pigtails was bestowing a huge smile upon me. It took me a few seconds but then I recognised the pigtails and vast smile.

I wandered over to Masie and said, "Darling, I hoped to bump into you after your stunning performance in Blood Brothers."

Masie beamed back at me confidently - it is what she does, after all.

I continued, "I looked at you in the wings, waiting to come on, script in hand and thought to myself, 'Good luck poppet. Nobody will blame you for what is about to happen.' In fact, you owned the stage. I have never seen anything like it. Script in hand and reading from it and yet it was as though you had been delivering the lines all of your life."

The beam broadened. Any electrical cutouts were caused by the National Grid being unable to cope with the serge in generation. Sorry about that.

A bit more along the same lines and I left her alone. I heard the girl next to her whisper as I left, "I told you so. Now do you believe me?"

Lots of you will sympathise with Masie's apparent under confidence. Just because we are good at something does not mean we believe we are good at it.

I look forward to reporting about Masie's pigtails and vast smile for some time to come.

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Two from yesterday. Gwenyth was finishing just as Jas was arriving. They always give each other a cheerful wave. A bit later on I remembered that J and G are cousins, so I said to J, "I just remembered sweetheart, that you and Gwenyth are cousins. Would you like me to insult her hugely, especially when you are here?"

Came the response and the nearest to a malevolent yet innocent facial expression it is possible to get, "Oh yes. Please. Please please please."

The second includes Jas and Ethan.

We finished Jas' session but I had a gap after her, so I asked, "Do you want to stay here or go back to your class."

Silly question, so we continued. With a couple of minutes to go until Ethan arrived and just out of curiosity I asked, "Which class are you using me as an excuse to skive?"

Broad grin. "Don't care."

OK, so flattering but I was curious and replied, "Have a look at your timetable." There was a sigh and several grumbles followed by much grunging around in J's bag followed by dragging out her Daily Planner. She whinged, "We used to have our timetables on a single sheet that we could fold up and keep in our pockets so they were easy to get at. Instead these days, they are on the first page of our planner. Such a faff to get to."

I can see this from the school's point of view. Demand of a child, "Show me your timetable," can often result in, "Lost it." when it is merely a piece of paper but soooooo tiresome for the staff. Lose the Daily Planner and the consequences are severe. Agencies are called in - Police, MI6, MI5, SAS. Parents are called in. Humble staffer teachers can leave the resulting chaos to Senior Management to sort out.

Back to J and her thingy. Having grumbled her way to finding her timetable on the first page of her planner, she announced,"French".

I said, "That was a lot of work to go through to answer a simple question. How about we go to the photocopier and I make you a single page copy of your timetable?"

I leave her response to your imagination, so off we trotted.

To find the damn thingy turned off. I pressed the 'On' button and said to J, "You do remember that this thing hates me, don't you?"

"Yes, you have told me this every time you have needed to use it."

Ye Gods folks, but the noise the damn thing made starting up would have had you calling the emergency services. The grinding, grating, crunching sounds were astonishing. Jas stepped a long way back to avoid the impending explosion. You would have gotten some sort of PC doctor in had your machine been making the same noise.

The grinding, grating, crunching sounds continued for several minutes so I took a chance. I offered up the page of J's planner for copying. By some miracle, the copy worked and we escaped with our lives to 146.

Where poor Ethan was waiting patiently. Ethan, Jas and Bailey are in the same tutor group - all similarly bright. All similarly hating having to rifle though their copiously filled bags to locate their planners whenever required. J skipped past E, showing him her copied timetable and singing smugly, "Ha. I have one for my pocket."

Jas is only 12 and has yet to truly grasp that actions now have consequences in the future. I am sure that Ethan will gain his revenge.

Ethan was my last appointment of the day, with a blank following so he got his full lesson plus some extra time. He will never go short on my watch.

[SteveHopwood]

Go back to this post to read about my life in the age of innocence before Covid really kicked in here in the UK: viewtopic.php?p=169684#p169684

We are trying again for a similar concert in two days time - booked as an, "Advanced musicians concert".

"Advanced musician" is a relative term in a bog standard UK secondary school. Soon-to-be astounding concert artists they are not.

Absolutely gorgeous they are and they deserve the best that all of us in the department can give them.

So I found myself rehearsing with some singers this afternoon. I gave them time to settle down and get used to me. It turned out that two of them had enjoyed that previous afternoon and so settled in more quickly than the others - which encouraged those who had not met me before.

Sho is one of those who knows me. All the girls had been singing rather softly so I said, "Angels, you need to start singing out and project your voices. You will be singing in a hall. You will not be microphoned to amplifiers; what the audience hears is what you give them."

Not wanting to terrify them, I went into the audience-will-love-you-and-applaud-wildly-whatever-you-do stuff. They all experienced this when they took part in Blood Brothers but that was 18 months ago; 18 months is a loooonnnnngggggg time in a child's life.

Sho stood up for her turn and I intoned, "Now, project your voice darling. Imagine there is an audience of 300 listening to you."

Faith also knows me and chimed in with, "Imagine they are all pineapples. Pineapples never criticise anyone for anything."

I came in with, "Yep. Pineapples are great. Just hope that the audience is not joined by oranges. They are lethally critical."

Sho sang and we all agreed that the pineapples were blissfully happy.

Faith stood up. I intoned darkly, "Sorry poppet, but the audience has just been enlarged by some oranges. Good luck."

It just so happened that I had taken in with me, an orange highlighter in case I needed to highlight anything. Faith's song, "One Thousand Years" is quite long. I called out at one point, "I can see the oranges darling. They look really happy."

The piano was across from the girls. Sho suddenly stood up and disappeared from my view. There was a brief clattering from my right and a short splutter of laughter from Faith. We finished and I turned to see that Sho had pinched my highlighter and set it up on a chair next to her.

"See," she explained, "One very happy and appreciative orange."

Next from Sho,"I shall sit very close to the stage whilst you are singing and hold up a very kind orange for encouragement."

Faith thought for a couple of seconds and then replied, "Let's reserve the front row for oranges. We can put signs on all the seats."

"What about the pineapples?" I asked.

"They can have the second row reserved," chimed in Sophie.

[SteveHopwood]

The concert happened. It was wonderful. The kids were brilliant and all gave of their best.

Most performers are the same. We want to perform. Thingy is, the nerves kick in as we are being announced to the audience and we inevitably think to ourselves, "What the Hell am I doing here? Why do I inflict this upon myself?" Then we take a deep breath and go out to do our thingy.

I have the experience of countless successful live performances of all kinds behind me. Aged 13 -16, the teens do not have this benefit. Waiting to go on is frightening for them and none of us enjoys the sight of a scared child.

There were a wide variety of performers; I was concerned only with the four singers. First up was 13 year old Faith. Beautiful voice; smile to die for; wonderful personality when it comes out; shy. She stood next to me shaking as she was being announced. "Sing to the pineapples darling, and remember not to look terrified. Give them the benefit of the best smile in the school," I muttered to her. She was still giggling as she reached the stage. She sang beautifully.

Next up, for me, was Sho. Sho has a wonderful voice and at 16 has developed it more than the younger ones. She could also captain the Talking-Nonsense-For-The-Universe team against the next universe on, then train up younger members of the side as her nattering skills start to wain. She stood next to me shaking as she was being announced. "Ignore the oranges. Sing over their heads to the pineapples. Insult the oranges," I muttered to her. She was still giggling as she reached the stage. Her singing was something special.

Mid teen kids can find it difficult to cope with scenarios they have not experienced often. Boys become monosyllabic and distant. Girls retreat right back into themselves and look as though they are in a 'sulk'. Many of us have experienced this and know how to deal with it. Sophie stood next to me as she was being announced, trembling and with a face like thunder.

Singers have a terrible problem and it is this: nerves go straight to their throats. Start getting nervous about performing a week before the actual performance guarantees a throat infection. Real or psychosomatic does not matter; the effect is the same.

Sophie had already set the scene at our first rehearsal, two days ago. "I have this terrible sore throat. I might not be able to reach the high notes but will go for them."

The high notes in her song were not particularly high - we are not talking Queen of the Night here - but that is not the point. For those of you to whom it means anything, the song was, "When I was Your Man". Don't bother Youtubing it if you have any musical taste. Happily, the piano part had me playing the tune all the way through so I said, "Worry not princess. Just leave the high parts out and it will sound like a piano interlude."

Worked perfectly.

Come the day of the concert and I put my piano teaching off until next week so that I could spend the afternoon with the girls. Sophie announced mournfully, "I have tonsillitis. I have no chance of reaching the high notes but will try." Same discussion ensued.

So, we were being announced and Sophie stood next to me trembling. <A quick aside folks. I know I joke about the marked lack of trembling and awe in my presence but the reality of a trembling teen stood beside me is not very nice. I try to stop the trembling.> Moving on.

In the spirit of stopping the trembling I muttered, "You have seen the audience react to everyone else so far. They will love you. Ignore the oranges and pineapples and sing over their heads to the actual people here. You will be a knockout." "I am going for it," came the reply as we walked on stage.

Sophie was a knockout. High notes - shmigh notes. Hit them every time.

Then came, for me, the humour highlight of the evening. 13 year old Joey had proven difficult to pin down for rehearsals. Singing, "Popular" from "Wicked", she was one of the girls to have performed in the original concert, cancelled because of the first lock down.

Outgoing, gorgeous, wonderful, talented, searingly bright is Joey. Also totally bonkers. I have met saner fruit cakes than her. It was far too late to do anything by the time we tracked her down on Tuesday - her class was PE and those can be anywhere.

Come the day of the concert and she was still a no-show for rehearsal, so we sent out an APB. Joey was located with just enough time to do a couple of run-throughs with a few minutes to go. I had accompanied her music theatre exam last term, so she eventually recognised me as a pet adult. No problems there.

That was the end of the school day and we all trooped down for a paired-down run through of the concert to make sure we all knew where we had to be and what to do. Lots and lots happened but here is what is salient to me.

I had forgotten that the last time Joey and I rehearsed, "Popular" that she followed me, and not the other way around. I assumed we were doing ok until Miss intervened. All we did at the post school rehearsal was try a couple of lines for various purposes.

Miss listened to Joey for about a page and then pointed out that she needed to take the lead andlet me follow - a shortened version of the actual dialogue. We redid the page. Joey did her thingy. I followed faithfully. All was well apart from a severe lack of rehearsal of what she was actually going to do.

Bear in mind that Joey would come up to my chest in her platform shoes. There is not a lot of her, so those of us with her become fiercely protective of what there is.

Come the evening and a trembling Joey leaned on me. Kids do not often ask for that level of support so I did not turn her away. Instead I muttered, "You are fantastic Joey. You own this part and I hope you play it in a musical one day. Do your own thing and let me follow you. Go out and knock them dead."

She did, and was stunning.

She also, "Did her own thing," to a magnificent degree. She led me a merry dance. The notes on the score were merely a basis for negotiation between her and her pianist, with Joey leading the negotiation and winning hands down. She brought the house down, and rightly so.

I have written this before folks and will undoubtedly write it again; you need a new career - give teaching a try. It will not be for all of you but will be for some. For those of you doubting it yet trying, come back here and read again for reassurance that you are doing the right thingy. Kids are great.

[SteveHopwood]

Jas' personality continues to emerge.

Ethan was my pre-Jas victim today. They share number of classes and so know each other; they are similarly talented so Miss and I hope they will both go on to take GCSE music.

I said to Ethan, "I have an idea. How about teasing Jas. What if I tell her to go away because I do not want her, as soon as she appears for her lesson?"

Ethan loved the idea, so I asked, "How do you think she will react."

"Not sure," came the reply, so I offered this, "I think she will ignore it and come right in anyway." These are large rooms with a fair few metres in between the door and the piano. Plenty of time to call her back if she did turn on her heels and flee.

I was correct in the 'come right in anyway' bit, just not the ignoring it bit.

Jas appeared. I glared at her and growled, "Go away. I don't want you."

Jas grinned happily at me, trotted over to the piano and replied, "Nope. I am staying."

Ethan finished and it was Jas' turn, last but one slot in my afternoon. My final slot was a blank and I had to stay behind for Gwenyth anyhow, so I asked Jas, "Do you want to stay for the rest of the afternoon or go back to your class."

"Stay, please. It is maths. I hate maths. I do not understand it."

I had a problem with maths at her age. It was crystal clear whilst the teacher was explaining it. My understanding evaporated the instant I left the classroom. I described this to Jas and she wailed, "That is exactly me. I can never remember how to do it."

She grizzled, "I got a rubbish mark in my latest test. I went round to Sophie's and we revised for it for hours. I thought I had 'got it' until I saw the result of the test."

I took the, "and we revised for it for hours" with several bucket loads of salt. I have seen teens when they get together to, "Study". There is a lot of giggling. Quite a lot of food. Not a lot of studying.

Even so, I sympathised. Sympathy is going to be in short supply if the likes of Jas cannot get it from the likes of me.