So, what would YOU do about education? Part 6 (the 6th and final part): who cares?

I have now been retired for more than two years. Suffice to say, I don’t miss work. I DO miss the people I used to work with, more than I can express. It’s very quiet here in Oblique Mansions at times, and I miss the camaraderie and fun. It’s lovely being with Mrs Oblique, but I miss having gossip and tales from the day to tell her.

Recently, Ms O. #1 suggested that I should utilise my services as a consultant. My one attempt at this previously was talking to a friend of hers who was having a bad time in her probationary year. With little or no thanks to me, she is at least still teaching, having moved schools. But hang on: probationary year? Do they still use that term? That’s why I don’t want to go back into education: it moves on so quickly that one very soon becomes out of date.

I don’t even want to do something in an advisory role, not that anybody would want me. Even when I was teaching, I always felt I was just blundering through. I felt very strongly about some ideas, but had no coherent view of what I wanted. I was never confident about what I was doing.

Actually, that’s not completely true. I had great lessons and great days, when I was ‘in the zone’ and everything went well. I even feel that I gave some good advice to colleagues, both younger and older. But the way that the system changed relentlessly, pressurised one into unproductive work unneccessarily and increasingly ignored people made me feel that I had nothing to offer apart from general observations on classroom practice; and that would now be meaningless, as I don’t know what the current orthodoxies are.

So I’ll be trying very hard from now on to shut up and not fall into the trap of being an old fart pontificating about education or criticising. What I would do about education becomes less and less relevant. However, I reserve the right to lecture my audience about special needs education, as I still have a daughter in the system; and I may well try to dredge up some memories and anecdotes. You have been warned.

Education 6

Sorry, this was a bit more personal than I intended it to be!

(One day, I’ll tell you the story about the Newport transporter bridge, Mr B. and Bollocks Bob…..)

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Grime: An Oblique View

Grimes

I have been challenged by Mr Oblique Junior to explain why I think he likes the musical genre of Grime. I had intended to write a post about Grime anyway, but this gives me a way to approach it.

Now listen carefully if you don’t know anything about Grime. According to Google, it is “a form of dance music influenced by UK garage, characterised by machine-like sounds”. It is not hip-hop, which features “rap with an electronic backing”; but apparently, our researchers tell us, it “draws influence from dancehall, ragga and hip-hop” (Wikipedia).

Clear? No, of course not. A curse of modern music is the continual argument about what defines a particular genre, to the extent that there have even been fictional genres created and believed. I like the idea of “Progressive Death Country”, although William Gibson was ahead of everybody else with fictional bands “Dukes of Nukem”, “Lo/Rez” and their ilk. No, I won’t explain. Go read William Gibson.

Grime is a particularly English genre. Prominent figures are Stormzy, Skepta and Dizzee Rascal. To appreciate what it is actually like you of course have to listen to it. To me, after some limited exposure, it’s characterised by a very bare, stripped down musical sound, almost minimalist dance music with often clever elements of electronica, with lyrics rapped in what seems to me frequently to be a very slow style across the top. But, as I said, you have to listen to it to appreciate what it is.

What seems to characterise it lyrically is a preoccupation with sex and violence, and usually a focus on the personal life- even the life as a celebrity- of the writer. I am not necessarily referring to any of the artists  named.

There really is in some of it a very dismissive attitude towards women and what really grates on this middle-class, late middle-aged, rather liberal-minded, white male listener is the frequent use of the N-word and the B-word. Oh, go on, you know the words I mean.

I’ll probably keep my f***ing b*****s ’til I’m 49”

goes the lyric I’m being played at the moment. Although that may not be grime, I believe.

“I make her think I love her, so I can f*** her when I want.”

However, to put my point of view was not the aim of this blog. Why does my 21 year old son like Grime?

He is very open about music, and will patiently listen to my choices, to the point of planning to come to a techno gig with us. I wonder if to some extent the fact that I am uncomfortable with the lyrics is a factor in his liking for it. Although we might deny it (I certainly did- but see “An anecdote” below) there is perhaps for all of us a wish to move on from the music of our parents and perhaps to shock them; or just to find something that is our own, and definitely not theirs.

I am sure that this wish is often unconscious, and I am sure that this is not the only reason or the main reason for Mr Oblique Junior liking Grime. The music is very striking, bare, new and challenging. It is a very fresh and young form of music; I wonder if anybody over 30 makes it or really gets it. It’s rebel music for a new generation. I speculate that this is the appeal to him.

So there you are. It is of course about the music, but it’s also about the cultural aspects. Popular music is all about change, and all about moving on from the choices of previous generations. Disco (still don’t really get it), punk (oh yes), and then electronica (definitely) were all new forms of music that moved me on from the rock music of my teenage years. But certainly for me, Grime is beyond the point at which I can understand my children’s choice in music. No, I don’t really understand why Mr O. Jr. likes it. Try asking him.

Please note: I almost certainly don’t understand the nuances of the N word as used in grime and hip-hop. Apparently the spelling, with an -a rather than an -er, makes it acceptable when used by certain groups.

An anecdote: When I was a teenager, I only used to listen to records when my parents were out. When they came back from the shops one day, Tony McPhee of the Groundhogs was concluding a rather noisy feedback guitar solo on that catchy little number, ‘Split Part 4’. My father and I had a very rare parent/ teenager spat:

HIM: Do you call that music?

ME: It’s better music than your silly old Beethoven.

Ho-hum. He did later go in with me on a new hi-fi system we could listen to away from the living room.

 

The Ms Oblique Library

LoansFurther to my last blog on “Print Junkies” I was fortunate enough to visit Miss (or Ms) Oblique #1 at the weekend. She and her partner, the erudite Red Rob, have an extensive and growing library, reflecting their varying interests of politics, military history, art, fantasy, SF, young adult fiction and much, much more. As is often the case on these sadly infrequent visits, I returned a stack of books that I had borrowed and came away with an even bigger stack, all recommended by the aforementioned Ms Oblique. This is of very little interest to anybody else, but I wanted to thank her with this brief post and to show the world what a 27 year old doing an MA in publishing thinks her 62 year old father with an MA in Education will enjoy. (She is very rarely wrong.) Thanks, Ms Oblique.

Print Junkies

Many years ago I was privileged to hear Harold Rosen give a talk at Southampton University. (A few years later I was privileged to hear his son, Michel Rosen, give a talk to teachers and read his poetry, in a classroom in a primary school in Winchester. For free. But I digress.)

I don’t remember the title of Harold Rosen’s talk and I remember virtually nothing of its content. It must have been something to do with reading, or literacy before that became a term hijacked by the as yet unborn National Curriculum. (Yes, children, there was a time before the National Curriculum and I was there. I am that old.) I probably took some notes, but these must be long gone, maybe even in the final clearout I made of all but a few sentimental items from my teaching career.

All I remember of the talk is Mr Rosen calling his audience of teachers and academics ‘print-oriented junkies’. He was right about me then and right about me now.

The Bookworm by Carl SpitzwegWhen I was younger I was that mythical person, a reader of cornflakes packets. If we still ate cornflakes, I would still be that person now. I am addicted to print. If cleaning my shoes (which is rare since I stopped working) I have to read articles in the discarded newspapers I am using. Mrs Oblique still gets annoyed, quite rightly, at my habit of reading signs aloud as we drive or walk down the street. I am addicted to print, especially books.

Like any addict, I do my best to avoid being without my fix. The Kindle has helped. I make sure I have books ready on it whenever we go away, but also take a print/ real book “just in case” the Kindle fails. Another digression: I recently recklessly loaded up on Amazon recommendations for my Kindle when we went away for a fortnight, only to find that at least three of them were dross. But anything will do when you’re craving a hit.

If I go into somebody else’s house, I make a beeline straight for their bookshelves. (Why is it a beeline? Do they always fly straight to their target?) Since I decluttered my own library, as documented earlier on this blog, I am sometimes saddened by the losses from mine. I always expected to have a huge, rambling library in my third age, but living with other people involves compromise.

It’s always a pleasure to meet another print junkie. My eldest daughter is one. She says her gateway drug was ‘The Hobbit’. I am delighted that she is now recommending books to me. I don’t look down on people who don’t read, but I wonder what they get our of life.

Addictions or obsessions have their problems. I have on occasion, probably fairly, been accused of ignoring people because I have had my head in a book. Maybe more seriously, I think that being a fluent reader might have handicapped me in my approach to young readers, both as a parent and as a reader. It’s always been hard to empathise with somebody who just doesn’t get reading, no matter what I might claim.

Now to continue with Miss O’s latest recommendation. ‘Ancillary Justice’, by Ann Leckie, as you are so kind to ask.

The illustration is ‘The Bookworm’ by Karl Spitzweg, in public domain. Mrs O. was unavailable for illustrating duties, being occupied making Dockers’ Chutney.

 

 

‘The Day of the Triffids’ by John Wyndham

One of my top three SF novels. But has it stood the test of time?

I have no idea how many time I have read ‘Day of the Triffids’ (1951), or when I first encountered it. I can quote chunks of it. John Wyndham has written other novels with a disaster theme, for example ‘The Midwich Cuckoos’, but this is the best known. It has been filmed and dramatised for TV and radio.

20170908_151603Most of humanity has been blinded by a spectacular meteor display, which may be due to human intervention. As if this wasn’t bad enough, the threat of the Triffids soon emerges. They are tall, walking, poisonous plants, grown for their high quality oil. Escaping from cultivation, they take advantage of the blind.

What makes this book such a good read is the logical, reasoned way in which it develops from these speculative elements. It doesn’t invent anything else; it just explores what could happen. Variations in individual morals, from altruism to pure self-interest, cause variations in the way individuals cope. Different communities struggle to survive in very different ways. A great interest is in the human interaction and the effects the disaster has on the country.

Of course, this book has aged; but I would say enjoyably. In many ways, the science is remarkably prescient; nowadays, 66 years on, we would say that the Triffids were genetically engineered. Developments in IT are really not relevant, because of the lack of electricity that would soon develop. Other than the science, there is pleasure in what is now a period setting.

I am not sure how somebody new to this book, especially somebody much younger, would react. It may be that its time has gone, at least until it becomes truly historic. I re-read it with great enjoyment, along with some mild amusement at how it is beginning to date.

The Three Best SF Novels Ever

This is a very personal choice. I like plausible, near future SF. I’m not a great fan of space opera or wild fantasising. All of the three I have chosen start from a believable twist or speculative element, then follow the plausible consequences.

The Day of the Triffids (1951): John Wyndham

An end of the world as we know it story.

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968): Arthur C. Clarke

A alien artefact is found on the moon.

The Martian (2014): Andy Weir

An astronaut is stranded on Mars

20170908_151517

I am re-reading these and will write brief reviews. But how can I have forgotten to include a fourth book…….

Neuromancer (1984): William Gibson

The first cyberpunk novel, allegedly.

Bar El Camino, Puerto de la Cruz

In the unlikely event that you should find yourself in Puerto de la Cruz, I can recommend this tapas bar.

Bar 2Bar

It’s right on a steep path of terraces and steps, so passers-by are feet (sorry, a metre or two) away. The seating is limited: no more than seven or eight tables outside and a few inside. The menu is limited: a selection of tapas of the day. We took the line of least resistance the first time and had the mixed tapas. This was so successful we did it again.

20170901_133212We start with cold Dorado beer; hey, this isn’t England and it’s not real ale, you know. Then there’s warm bread and garlicky mayonnise. (A first: Miss O. the youngest eats it.) Then our tapas arrive. There are lovely soft butter beans; goat in a sauce; pork meatballs in a sauce; fish and potato wrapped in batter; potatoes; salad with olives and fish bits. That might be it. I got so excited I can’t necessarily remember. Sorry about the lack of detail, but it was all delicious. Miss O. has Canarian wrinkly potatoes in a spicy sauce and eats all of them. Wow!

BarraquitosWe follow this with barraquitos: layers of condensed milk (really), coffee, Quarante y Trés liqueur, whipped cream and lemon. I think. My Spanish is minimal. “Do you know how to drink this?” the waiter asks. Of course not. “Take a photograph on your phone, them stir it and drink.” It’s sweet, very much a holiday drink. We pay what seems a very low price for the outstanding meal we have had and wander off for a siesta.

(Bar El Camino, Camino de las Cabras, Puerto de la Cruz. Of course, it would be on Trip Advisor, wouldn’t it? I haven’t read any reviews though. Take it from me, it’s great.)