He who would cross the Bridge of Death...

We have a field at the back of our house, separated from our garden by a stream. The field seems to be the stamping ground for every neighbourhood cat. Almost every house along our row has a plank going from their garden to the field but, typically, the right cats never use the right bridges. There was obviously some cat function going on this morning. From my kitchen window, I could see five of them, secretly watching each other, then doing that slow walk which they think makes them invisible to other cats. Then one cat sat on the end of our bridge. Panic and confusion all round, as they all suddenly wanted to cross the bridge, but without getting beaten-up. I imagined a kind of cat Holy Grail situation: 'Tell me, young Scroggins, what is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?' 

Our biggest cat, Merlin, has recently started bringing home young rabbits from the field. The first one was alive; he was carrying it like a kitten and it hung from his jaws without protest until we persuaded Merlin to let it go. But the next two didn't fare so well. He brought them both home and dumped them by the back door. There's nothing that puts you off your breakfast as much as a cat ripping the innards out of a rabbit, I can tell you. 

A cat we had a few years ago used to be an expert rat-catcher. When my daughter was ill and drowsing on our sofa-bad, the cat came in and gently laid a dead rat next to her pillow. He really didn't understand the commotion it caused. Such a generous act, so cruelly scorned....

Looking for a picture for this post, I found the one above, which reminded me of when we moved a cupboard from our kitchen (someone had given us a big bookshelf, and no-one argues with me over bookshelves...). We recovered numerous biros, bits of screwed-up foil, pilfered Halloween sweets, a highlighter we'd been looking for for ages, a felt mouse and a pad of post-its. One Christmas, I'd been given some bits and pieces by the school-children, and I decided to save a Lindt chocolate teddy for the next day. When I came downstairs in the morning, it was lying on the floor with cat teeth-marks in it. Merlin didn't like chocolate, it was just sitting there and had to be destroyed. My fault for leaving it in the open, I know, but... grrrrrrr!

(This post was meant to be about honesty, but that'll have to wait for another day. Yet again, the cats have taken over something that was not meant to be theirs.)

Would you rather...?

Family crises, a school trip, a non-uniform day and a week that seemed to be a fortnight long - and no alcohol in the house. I may be British, but tea does not do the job. 

The Father-in-law, you may remember, had a serious stroke last June. After breaking into his house, we got him to hospital, but he made no improvement and so was moved to a nursing home in Lincoln (where The Sister-in-law lives). He's been unable to speak, eat or move much for nearly nine months; despite having been wonderfully cared for by the staff at the nursing home, he's in pain. Now things are finally coming to an end and I hope he's soon at peace. This is the second family member who has had to 'live' and suffer after a bad stroke; I hope the Assisted Dying Bill gets passed before long, as the thought of having no control over the end of my life is frightening. My children know my thoughts on the matter, and I think they're practical and caring enough to know when to pull the plug on me. 

At the same time the Father-in-law had his stroke, the Brother-in-law was having a scary time with hydrocephalus. He was falling over, walking miles at crazy hours of the night and was almost sectioned by an incompetent doctor who thought he was mentally ill. And now the problem's coming back. Thankfully, he's recognised the symptoms and is booked in at Addenbrookes hospital to have a shunt inserted in his brain. 

So that's the family stuff. But as if that wasn't enough to turn me into an alcoholic, we had a school trip this week. (Actually, having no alcohol in the house may be a good thing, but how the heck am I meant to get my assignment written?) It was only a half-day trip, to a child-safety... umm... thing. Held in a rather gorgeous manor house, which will be mine when I have written my best-seller, there were activities provided by the police, fire-services, St John ambulance etc. As ever, the worst part was the bus journey. I was asked by a girl without a partner if I would sit with her, which I did. Big mistake. After a bit of polite conversation, I found myself listening in to a game the children called 'Would you rather...?' It started off innocently enough. Would you rather go shopping with your mum or have extra homework? Then we got to would you rather eat a rat or lick a pig's nose? By the end of the journey, it was would you rather kiss a particular boy or jump off a high building? (To which the answer was, 'No offence, and I do like you, but I'd rather die.') Obviously, for the return journey, I elected to sit on my own and read a book. 

Today, everyone wore red to school, for Comic Relief. We started the day with a talent show (I use the word 'talent' very loosely here, although there were good moments). For the rest of the day, the children were sky-high, just like the staff stress-levels. Our last lesson was on creating blogs. The eldest class were given access to a 'behind the scenes' level on the school website, where they could start blogs on any subject that interested them. Last week, I'd shown them how I edit and generally mess about with the school book blog, and they thought of things they'd like to blog about. Cars, caring for rabbits, horse-riding and fashion were all popular. One boy wanted to write about how to get a girlfriend, but thankfully changed his mind and is now writing about Minecraft. A couple of children had to be told by Ms Fab, 'No, you can't write about that creepy computer game that you play even though you're nowhere near being 16.' 

All school staff have agreed - it's been a long week. 

So, tell me: would you rather take a coach-full of year 5s on a school trip or be cast into the pits of hell? Oh, hang on, that's kind of the same thing... 

A thank you

I work at a Church of England school, but we do have a couple of Jehovah's Witness children in the eldest class. They don't take part in our school assemblies, so the teaching assistants take turns in supervising them during these periods. 

The boys have started to have their own mini 'meetings' during these assembly times, complete with songs, Bible readings and question times, and they always make the TA with them feel very much a part of things. I have to admit that, although I'm not a Christian in any shape or form, I hugely enjoy sharing their worship time. And it's funny really, because I absolutely hate our Monday school assemblies - they're very 'everybody stand up and do actions' and I will do anything to get out of them (and I know I'm not the only one. It's uncanny how many people suddenly find jobs that must be taken care of immediately.).

The meetings that our JWs have are more my idea of religious meetings: let's listen to a story, then ask questions, and take turns in talking and discussing things. No clapping and air-guitars; it's peaceful and thoughtful and something I don't mind being a part of. And one thing that impresses me greatly, is that these boys (who can be... lively... in class) are showing such a different side of themselves. They're only 10 and 11, but when I didn't quite understand what a Bible story was getting at, and I thought dammit, I'll give them a chance to laugh at me, they didn't do that at all. They took the time to give me a considered answer and thanked me for being interested. And I am interested. I think that religion, in all its different shapes, is fascinating. They know that I'm not trying to have a go at them when I ask about their lives as Jehovah's Witnesses and I've basically been told 'ask us anything'. Which is great. I can show my utter ignorance and they revel in educating me. It's brilliant role reversal. 

I have to say those boys know their Bible inside out. When answering my question this morning of why they call God 'Jehovah', they were able to go straight to verses that explained it. And, probably because they're children, they're doing it with very little agenda, just an enjoyment of sharing what's important to them. 

I think we could all do with seeing what other people do. What's the point of 'I'm right, so I'm not even going to consider your view'? Surely life is far more interesting if it's more 'I have my beliefs (or not), but I'd like to hear your opinion, too.' (Ever since reading Notes From an Exhibition, by Patrick Gale, I've wanted to go to a Quaker meeting, but haven't had the courage.)

So, I think I've learnt a lot from two boys who are usually expected to learn things from me. And that's another thing: so many adults think they know better than children. Couldn't we all do with opening our minds a bit more?

Thanks, boys, for including me in your worship time. I know where I'm going to be spending my Monday assembly times from now on. 

On being weighed and measured

Since I last wrote, my dad's radiotherapy for prostate cancer has come to an end. The good folks at Addenbrookes hospital are pleased with how he's doing, so he's on hormone treatment for the next three years, with regular check-ups along the way. Thankfully, he didn't suffer from too many side-effects - tiredness was the main one, although he's now pretty much back to normal. During his treatment, he was asked if he wanted to take part in a medical trial which is trying to make radiotherapy more accurate. Apparently, they control everything by computer and can target areas that are a couple of pixels across. A far cry from the prostate cancer treatment my grandfather got, where they had to lay lead plates across his stomach to stop his internal organs getting fried. I know I've said it before but, guys, please go and get your PSI levels checked. There were 30 year olds on my dad's ward with advanced cancer. It's only a blood test - go and get it done. 

Other stuff: The Daughter and her boyfriend are currently in Iceland (am I jealous? You bet.), and will be taking an extended break in October, spending six months travelling around Thailand, Sri Lanka, Australia, New Zealand and various other amazing places. What a way to miss our British winter...

Son Number One's job with the Forestry Commission is going well. He's planted several thousand trees, got on nodding terms with strange people who live in the forest, and has warned me which forest tracks to avoid unless I'm after dodgy requests. 

Son Number Two has been doing a tour of UK universities. So far, Hull is topping the list for its music department, but he has a trip to Leeds this coming week before he makes his final pick. 

My OU course is going pretty well. My tutor, possibly having skipped his medication, gave me 98% for my assignment on animism. It was a score that I didn't believe when I saw it on my phone, so I had to check it on my computer in case of strange glitches. The feedback said that most people chose the option on the Scopes Trial, but I found animism far more interesting. The assignment was about how two anthropologists defined the term, but the subject itself made a lot of sense in my head. I mean, who wouldn't talk to a hedgehog that wanders through the garden, for example? Really? Oh well, at least I now know which indigenous communities I need to go and live with...

School-wise, it's been a week of hard-thinking and kicking things (not children, I promise). Reasons that teachers are leaving in droves are now, it seems, being brought into teaching assistant jobs. I know that self-evaluation and professional development are important, but it seems we now have to judge things like our planning and assessment skills. So many teachers on forums complain that 'unqualified' TAs should not be allowed to plan or assess lessons; that we're there purely to support teaching and learning. There's a new set of official standards especially for teaching assistants, which comes out later this term, but we can't self-asses using those; we have to shoe-horn ourselves into teaching standards. The majority of our TAs don't do any planning, and some have been told, 'Is there anything kind of like planning, that you do, so you can tick that box?' Seriously? And many important things that TAs actually do are not taken into account. There's nothing on application of Special Educational Needs skills, for example. A TA that works one-to-one with a challenging pupil is going to be 'inadequate' at just about everything in those standards, even though she may go home with bite-marks up her arms and bruises up her shins. Pupil well-being is a huge part of what we do, but because a child has spent the lesson crying all over you and discussing their parents' arguments, they won't have achieved that lesson's learning objective, and so will have made no progress. They may be happier, but you can't record that in the mark book. 

Ms Fab and I are meant to be using these standards as 'self improvement tools'; that was one of our Personal Development targets from The Boss Lady, but we were told to concentrate on particular sections that were relevant and that all made sense. But now all TAs are having to assess ourselves on things that rarely form part of our job. It's supposed to help us move forward, I know. So how do I move forward from my score as a third-rate teacher to that of a first-rate teaching assistant? Or do I move on to Waterstones? It's looking increasingly attractive. 

Which reminds me, I've not watched this for years...

Rant over, as they say. I'm off to watch A Knight's Tale.