Saturday, 10 October 2015

Counting the days...

Exams make life BORING, do they not?

Here is the conversation I had today with Shark:

Grit: Would anyone like to go to the PICTURES tonight with me? You are all aged 15! We can go and see Sicario! It has drugs and violence on the Mexican border!

Shark: I have my Jane Austen essay to write.
Tiger: I need to do an hour of maths.
Squirrel: Silence. (Not here. In a field with a bundle of old Astronomers, somewhere on a dark site.)

Grit: Goooooo OOOOOOONNNNNN. Come with meeeeeee! It will be FUN. We can eat ice cream while men blow things up. Then a woman will face a moral dilemma before becoming bitterly disillusioned with law, order and the justice system in today's USA. PLEEEASE. If you do not come with me I will have to go on my own!

Shark: Be back in the house by 10.30.

Wednesday, 2 September 2015

Steampunk Asylum, Lincoln

Thank goodness I'm not alone in wanting to wear plumbing joints, shower hoses, top hats, pith helmets and corsets. I don't care what the Daily Mail says. This is still Britain, we are still British, and there are hundreds of us.

The annual Steampunk bash. Get thee to a plumbing shop, get out the leather, make the corset, and join us.

Hopefully, I shall be there again with my Knicker Drawers and The Undeniable Husband. Here I am, occupied with the gin and ghost tour (a combination I highly recommend),

taking tea at the Very Splendid Lady Roses Edwardian Tea Room, Lincoln Assemby Rooms,

and taking photos of The Undeniable Husband aka Professor Pragma and his Language Translation Machine.


Monday, 10 August 2015

Friday, 7 August 2015

August 2015 already?

We are busy. We have Big Changes in the Gritty Household. By the year end, I hope to report All is Good. And not that I have taken to a park bench, where you can find me clutching a dead badger, swigging from a second-hand bottle of Vodka, and exposing myself to dog walkers. (But I reserve the option to enjoy that scenario when I am in my dotage.)

Change? Yes. We are in a countdown of our home education and we'll be doing that round of sixth form colleges come September.

In truth, I am done, finished before my children. Now I get my kicks from stitching wood bark to leather. No longer can I be moved to figure out quadratic equations. The woman who coerced Squirrel into spelling six words ending in -ible is gone. The teens under my charge are probably heaving great sighs of relief at being left alone. They can be off about their own challenges.

Incidentally, I am finding out things about living with teenagers. There is some secret Oath of Teenage where they are bound to lapse into complete indifference to all of life. If they are roused into response, then grunting is necessary. 'What shall we eat for supper?' Uh. Food. 'Would you like to go to the cinema?' Uh. What for? 'Shall we go shopping for something new to wear? Uh. No. 'Shall we flee the house? It is burning down about our ears.' Uh. Do I have to?

Still, the home ed. We had good times, eh? All running about fields; sobbing in despair; combing headlice; finding my Le Creuset used as a soil bucket; kicking the shit out the kitchen bin in a mathematically-fuelled rage; exploding vinegar and bicarb all over the kitchen; finding the mealy worm tub, empty, under the sofa; wearing the same stinking clothes until someone complained about the smell? Ah, the good old days!

But it is time to move on. In a few, short months I can use my special gesture I have been saving for the Local Authority.

If only the LA gave a rat's arse about us.

Maybe we got lucky (or maybe a flappy-mouthed blog assisted my armoury of deterrent) but no-one from the LA ever threatened this meagre home ed family with inspection, monitoring, surveillance, nor turned up on the doorstep uninvited. (I did once think someone was gaslighting me, moving the privet hedge, but it may have been one of my less stable episodes, or maybe during the Badman Era of Great Oppression.)

But I feel I am now looking back on ten years of home ed. (Thinking thank god it's nearly over and whose great idea was that?) If you are wondering about home ed, then my advice is, of course, as always, do it. Your life will be mashed, your priorities forced to change, but it is a great experience of freedom, even if you choose it just for one year.

What will I opine about when it's over? What will be the point of this blog come June 2016? I might turn it into Woman Rant.

Until then! Wot we did. Education, home-made, in this last month at Grit's.

Music. Listening, because we are each hopeless on the guitar in our own special way. Include local festivals such as the fantastic TogFest, the Folk Show on BBC Radio 2, and the Royal Opera House for Don Giovani. Home ed can be brilliant in this creative area. The best news for us parent-types is, we don't have to do much but enjoy music ourselves. In these days of t'internet, your happily wandering, multi-curious ears can take you a long, long way.

Drama. Mikron outdoor theatre, showing us a tale of ordinary working class folk with the History of Fish and Chips in One of Each. National Theatre's Everyman cinema relay. (I LOVED every second.) Shakespeare's King John at the Globe. The experimental immersive audio experience called Styx, performed by Stories Without Boundaries group, Rift in Tottenham...
..and Cambridge Shakespeare Festival's Timon of Athens. Yes, home ed parents have it easy in this creative world of ours. Especially if, like Grit, you can shut your mind from the huge economic outflow required by the theatre addiction. (We eat pasta, lentils, and rice.)

Art. MK Gallery, and the fantastically beautiful, evocative, poetic, and splendid Yorkshire Sculpture Park. MK Gallery fed us, grudgingly, and we nearly killed our Travelling Aunty in Yorkshire. (My request to the Sculpture Park is, Please, INSTALL A DRINKING FOUNTAIN.

Sports. Windsurfing (Squirrel and Tiger), rockbothering (Tiger), breathing underwater (Shark), not smashing up the car while learning how to drive it on an airfield (all of them). Another turn learning how to sail a tall ship for a week round the coast of England (Shark).

Okay, regarding the underwater life, Shark made her way to a hyperbaric chamber with a mild case of the bends, but so what? It's a sports related sub-aqua hazard. And I'm told, for your aches and pains, you can't do better than hyperbaric oxygen therapy.

Politics. Oh hear ye, People of Westminster Village. Stuff your PISAS. On the Gritty home ed curriculum for teens, we put on good solid social foundation studies acquired through talk, pointing at things, asking why, and listening to the radio: call that philosophy, psychology, economics, linguistics, and gender politics. 

Stuff. All the other stuff of everyday. Shark is getting to grips with maths while knocking out a dozen loaves of bread a week; they all run about woods with wide games (kids, not loaves of bread); Squirrel is making a set of bows and arrows from hazel wood (don't ask any questions); and Tiger is teaching herself the grammar of Old English. It is all teach-yourself stuff now.

Travel. The sort of HOLIDAY travel that any school with a league table position to protect says We do not give permission for you to take your child out of school. Because there's no learning to be had out of school, right?

No learning then, in a trek along a stretch of Hadrian's Wall; Walkworth castle; beachcombing those beautiful Northumberland beaches; Vindolanda; the Roman Army Museum; Housesteads; boat to the Farne Islands for some Puffin porn; and a stagger round Wallington with the family's dear 80-year old Aunty M. She whispered - when all was done, and we cheerily cried See you next year! - she whispered, Hopefully.

I guess there's no learning in any of that holiday mucking about because there's no exam at the end of it.

There's just, living life.

Wednesday, 3 June 2015

Miseria! Fortuna!

Oh, my long-neglected blog! My dear, dear, grotsday! How I have not missed your charms!

In truth - let me put it bluntly - I love another. (Not completely, it's a passing phase.) But I am posting there. Not daily, but let's face it, if someone's prepared to throw a few coppers in my direction and I can wangle a bit of work, then off I go. Times are hard.

But here is a brief word from our 'hood.

1. The exams are nearly done, except for one half of physics. It has not been awful. It has been alright. Shark is declaring a profound love of Physics. Squirrel is approaching her studies cooly, and Tiger will smash up this house and blast all its contents to smithereens if she does not get the A* she has worked so hard for. (In Latin, Mother of all Subjects.)

2. We visited local colleges to find out wots wot. It was both a depressing experience and a helpful one. There are loadsa options educationally, and so many services, it makes me doubt *not one bit* the oppositional home ed path we chose was a good'un. We had so many years of freedom! Of running about this land dressed up and idle! It was BRILLIANT, that home ed life.

3. All the gribblymongers have their annoying teenage moments now, sometimes right from the tips of their tiny noses right down to their little awkward toes. But on balance, they are okay. They are good company, and Shark helps with the washing up. For me, I do not care if the gribblytruffles take one year or two, to decide about sixth forms or colleges, but I really do not want them to cop 30K debt in the next five years before they begin their first employ. Getting young people into severe debt is immoral. Its covert purpose is to create compliance.

4. But there are other things too, wot we did. Shark is on her Sports Diver course and Tiger has letters she can bandy about, like NICAS. (Apparently you do not pronounce them like knickas.) We went to Stonehenge at sunrise in the inner circle! (I am not dreaming. It was Dig's birthday date, so we had to do something stupendous.)

But there's more! A fantastic Mythogeography walk with Phil Smith of Devon. The Under-17 Car Club, the Woodcraft Folk, birthday parties, the windsurfing season has begun, Merchant of Venice at the Globe.

I crept away to the British Library for Goldsmith's day-long adventure in Visual Urbanism with Dig, that husband of mine. He is coming back to live with me, so yahboosucks to the rest of the world.

And that nightingale I have been trying to track down for the past 5 years? I drove over to Lackford Lakes with Squirrel, and we cracked it.

Wednesday, 22 April 2015

Daughters in the driving seat

We are all exams exams exams.

And I wish I could be one of those home ed mamas who are on the case.

Researchers, teachers, cheerleaders, invigilators, detectives, these Boudiccas of the home ed exam world know the ways of every syllabus from Accountancy to Zoology.

Just state your exam board, preferred date (a.m. or p.m.) and they pull past papers from the internet, just like magicians draw rabbits from hats. They quote mark schemes with such terrifying pin-point accuracy, they can advise I note that Question 3 on the 2013 exam was worth 10 marks, unlike the 2014 exam when the same on Question 5 was worth 4 marks, so watch out! It may be Question 4 in June 2015 and worth 30 seconds of your time.

Really, I am bruised. I turn to my daughters and say, Remind me. What exams are you taking next month?

A bit of me now wishes I could be one of the Boudicca warriors, just a teensy weensy bit! But my home ed daughters, now aged 15, are organising their own coastings towards the next set of exams. Mother? No Longer Required. Thank you very much and shut the door on your way out.

Round here, we have that big, big problem about your mama being your teacher. It is pointless your mother (graduate in EngLit plus teaching certificate) saying owt about a character, a plot, or the narrative style of William Faulkner. Forget it. Mama dragged you out her belly. That single act wiped away all respect for her brain.

Second, Shark (who can lead a pack), is a scientist. And I know feck all about Physics and Sea Bed Molluscs. A few tartly chosen phrases and I am left humiliated while the demonstration is complete. Shark knows much, much, much more than me, and she can even do some maths.

Third - the killer strike against me - I am embarrassing. In all ways. The way I stand, sit, wave, and say the word knickers while standing in the bank queue. (Even when it is an appropriate word to use, it being my handle on my business.)

Fourth, all my girls organise themselves. I am a little scared by this. (I have a to-do list from 2009 and, if I could find it, I bet it would still be good for today.)  But if I suggest any activity outside exams exams exams, then it must fit Tiger's timetable.

This should go some way to console you, if you are taking children out of school to save their heads, bodies, or souls. You do not need to be their teacher in all things. They can do it for themselves. Just watch them. Hand them a syllabus and some books and support them (if they'll let you) while they find out stuff for themselves in their own ways, with their own wits and resources about them. Trust them. They do not need to be spoon fed every hour of the day.

But there is still life outside exams! (Only just.) And I am still good for some (non-exam related) activities. These are:

Paying for theatre tickets.
In the last month we notched up Miller's Death of a Salesman at the RSC, Brecht's The Caucasian Chalk Circle at the Unicorn, and our old mate Mr Shakespeare's Cymbeline at the Waterloo East Theatre in Brad Street. (Where we had a monumental argument over just how embarrassing I could be. I told them they could all find their own way home. They did.)

Paying for driving.
We all decamped to Dorset for the Under-17 Car Club. This was excellent. Shark, Tiger and Squirrel slept in a field and I stayed in a room WITH MY HUSBAND. I have to shout it in caps at strangers because this is probably one of the most remarkable things to have happened to me in the last 15 years. You have no idea. I'm not going to tell you. Just accept it. It was a very big event in my life.

Squirrel, driving. Don't panic! She's not on the B542. She's on an army tank training ground.

Paying for friends membership.
Particularly, the British Library. We swank in and out of the Magna Carta exhibition like we own it. I also arranged a workshop on rights and responsibilities, so yay me. Big tick for mama.

Paying for folk music.
Oh yes, we are getting pretty darn big on following folk now, so look out. Thanks to Shark, I have to get us access to the local folk clubs where we can hear live music. BBC2's folk show just ain't enough anymore.

Paying for Russell Brand.
I make Shark, Squirrel and Tiger do politics. From attendance at the local sub-sub-commitee, to involvement in action campaigns, to climate change marches, and being forced to take the Global Citizen exam in a couple of weeks. They all went with the Woodcraft Folk to Cineworld's live screening. (I went next door and watched Child 44.)

Not paying for other stuff, just glad to have friends and places to go.
Specifically, maths with San and her lovely family. The last Stem lecture on X-Rays. Running about the woods for wide games. And the talk on river management (I should tell you about that. It was a growing up moment.) The preview at Milton Keynes Art Gallery (I loved the tangled woods, but I found the life size penis a bit puzzling.)

Happy to say to my girls and the world, it may be April, but there is life beyond your exam syllabus.

But this blog ain't all education now... I also use it as my aide memoire. ... In other news, Dig spent several days in Manchester, the washing machine broke down (new one installed), the car suspiciously passed the MOT, and my husband bought a fridge. In the UK and not Hong Kong. (Significant.)

Monday, 16 March 2015

The Monday Update

The travelling Aunty is here. She is sleeping in the cellar with a mouse. I tell her that the mice always come in winter, and there's very little we can do about them. This is what you get with old falling down Victorian houses. Mice. It is normal.

In other news, Squirrel is experimenting with clay. She has managed to fire small pots by first blasting them in the oven at 200C then placing them, wrapped in foil, into a coal fire, which we only light when we have visitors or the temperature sinks to 0C. She is getting quite good results, so I hope there's a career in it. Either clay pot making or lemon-peel stitching.

Sunday, 15 March 2015

Mother's Day

I had to buy my own bleeding heart.

All for charity

I decided to inflict a few days of ordinary home ed / life stuff on planet earth.

Let's face it, the planet is already weighed down with so much crap, it will barely notice another bucketful.

(Although if this week's postings do tip the balance - sending us spinning into collision with the sun - then I apologise in advance.)

Shark took part in a swimathon last week organised by the Rotary Club.

We were late entrants, so we only discovered the rules after we arrived. Apparently, our team had one hour to swim as many lengths as possible. We also discovered we could have six members in our swimathon team.

Six! Our home ed team had two swimmers. At the last minute, two other children joined in. (Apparently they were not home ed, they said they just didn't want to swim with their own teams.)

Then we discovered one of our new entrants was asthmatic, and the other couldn't swim. We discovered this half way up the pool, when, on his turn, he sank.

As the home ed team (back to two members again) completed its 6 lengths, we noticed how the school teams were ridiculously competitive, boasting 1,298 and 1,301!

We thought that at next year's swimathon, we could easily show the world a thing or two about how home ed can organise itself. So, next year, I am joining in. I am going into training, and I'm going to do it in fancy dress. (I cannot be bothered to collect sponsors or anything. Just give a load of spare cash to some charity or other and I'll dress up anyway.)

(Proves that home ed children are just as good at joining in, if not better.)

Saturday, 14 March 2015

Of course it works!

Does it work, then? This home ed lark?


Of course that's the answer! Not one of my three home ed children have yet taken themselves to a park bench, clutching a bottle of voddy and a sense of exclusion / alienation / detachment from society / despair at ever finding a job / etc.

On the other hand, I can't deny, sometimes they are a bit strange.

I heard the snippet from the new Caitlin Moran programme and the interviewer/reviewer completely missed the identity type that seemed to stare me in the face!

Home ed kids develop this bizarre mix, which sets them apart. They can quote at length George Orwell / Aristotle / Jane Austen (thanks for the example, Tiger) and they make references to how Ovid's tales of metamorphosis can still be identified in Tudor drama (thanks again, Tiger), but then they are totally puzzled about how you can open a bag of crisps using one hand and your teeth. (Tiger!)

No wonder they get their hands stuck in letter boxes. Tiger would, too. Home ed kids can spend a great deal of their time indulging their passions with nineteenth century translations of the Icelandic Sagas (oh dear, Tiger) but can I trust her to open a bottle of beer safely? Reader, I cannot.

All of this completely bypassed the interviewer/reveiwer-type person, so I wondered if they had a conventional schooling.

Which led to me wonder if I should go back to that daily blog of home ed life. So I can show everyone this bizarre and eclectic mix of cake and dark matter which I think characterises yer average home ed family home.

But mine are grown up a bit now. And one of the reasons for not doing the blog everyday is to give us some private, unaccountable, growing up space.

But I went slyly to check up on Squirrel to see if she would provide me with some material. Oh. Her Tuesday busyness seemed to be sat in the cellar flicking a pencil up in the air and trying to catch it. Five hours later, I popped in on Squirrel again to find out how she was getting along! (Still flicking a pencil up in the air and trying to catch it, but dropping it a bit less often.)

Maybe she is trying to catch up on the lost years of schooling.

But it is not the stuff I think I should report on. Instead, I have gone back through the diary to find out the home ed things we did to stop them going to the park bench.

If you are considering home ed at any age, be reassured. Home ed kids do not 'miss out'. Except maybe for how to negotiate letter boxes, crisp packets, and beer bottles.

Talking, reading, taking lessons from Radio 4
Radio 4 has some crackers, hasn't it? History of the State and History of Debt? Fascinating. We are supplementing listening with Ha-Joon Chang's 23 Things They Don't Tell You About Capitalism. I FULLY RECOMMEND THIS BOOK. Every teen should read this book. Or as I do it here, read it aloud over lunch (in the manner of a medieval monk reading aloud the teachings at mealtime).

Finding cheap deals
Example Opera. The Royal Opera House School Performances. In fact, The ROH has helped so much turn my gribbletots into proper opera lovers, I now must buy the Cineworld screenings as well. Hence the little gritlings are found watching, for their birthday treat, Wagner's Der fliegende Holländer.

Mostly with the lovely, lovely, Ramblers. The teens also walk by themselves, in the manner that I suppose teens do, with their restless wandering spirits. But instead of pent up frustrations leading to the voddy, it is propelling Shark to examine the lengthy borders of water courses, rivers, and canals.

This has effects good and bad. She is become a dab-hand at watery-knowledge. Good. Being eye-spied and quizzed by the police? Bad. Especially when they then pass an opinion about home ed meaning she is 'missing out'. To Shark's credit, she offered to argue that one through. (They left.)

Also bad is the tosser (probably literally) who exposed himself. Now, I have opinions about this. It is the first time my little girl has clapped eyes on a penis. I would have preferred, ye gentlemen, that this first moment was in the context of a caring and tender relationship of mutual trust and exploration. But oh dear! You put a bag over your head while tugging at yourself next to the privet. Just in case you were wondering, ye debonair male types, This is not a stylish look. You have not done any favours to your own kind. (Except maybe provide a catwalk idea to an up-and-coming McQueen type.) Shark remains puzzled, unscathed, and if you ever do this again to my little girl, I'm going to hunt you down and chop it off.

Litter picking
Under the guise of Global Citizenship IGCSE, community action project. This is a hoot. I totally recommend this course. I love it. The kids have to complete a community action, something with a global meaning, and carry it out. They have chosen to study the impact of pollution in fresh water, specifically looking at plastics.

I could write a book about this, thanks their work, but for now, have photographs of one strand of their industry - the litter picks. (Catchphrase: Not plastic? Not my problem!)

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This really is a litter pick and not poking swans with poles, or - as someone suggested - blind people practising by the canal with a not-very-good guide dog.

Paid-for lessons
Like Latin. Lingua Latin is whipping them into shape. (I have graduated early, on account of winning the award Girl Least Likely to Succeed at Latin).

Yes, if you are worried, there are tutors for the things your home ed kids want. Finding them at a reasonable cost is the real challenge. (I am never letting Lingua Latina go; we are locking her in the garage when the course is up, so she can carry on to A Level.)

Organised sport stuff
All out-of-school clubs apply. Tiger climbs up a plastic rock face, weekly. She can now put NICAS letters after her name. At some point, I am hoping a real rock will be involved. Also, strapping oxygen cyclinders to your back and pretending to be a fish. Shark is working on her BSAC Sports Diver. Squirrel does cak all (unless pencil flipping becomes recognised by the international sporting community).

If you want a specific heading, and you don't count being-in-the-world under social, then here, have Wide Games.

This is a Big One. Once a fortnight, a large group of people get together in the woods, organise themselves into teams, and set about each other in a competitive/noncompetitive manner. It is a serious business. If this isn't equipping them for life, I don't know what is. I am not telling you where they are or when it takes place. What happens in the woods stays in the woods.

FREE stuff
Always around. The STEM lectures are a special high point. Informed, useful, quirky, inspirational. At the local school, after hours.

Art and design
This is taking up a bit of both Squirrel's and Tiger's time. (I am suspecting that Squirrel is a protean fine artist.) To support the arty stuff, I buy sketchbooks by the dozen and we trot off both to MKG gallery and the V&A, combining the bonkers and the traditional.

Places to go
For some reason, Cambridge. Isn't it true that we don't go somewhere for months, and then for months we aren't away from the place? General wandering, museum worship, early music.

We are not calling this weekly session maths. DON'T SAY MATHS. San is leading all this, and I am monumentally grateful. I have told them how I had my face dented with chalk being hurled at me in Mrs Davy's class in 1967 when I could not answer 1x1. The answer is obviously 2, so don't start on me.

Other stuff that people organised, or we just fell into going
The Harry Potter Studio tour; sleepovers at Berkhamsted with running about and games of Cluedo;  Zonzo Compagnie's exploration of John Cage's 4 minutes 33 seconds of silence at the ROH; the Woodcraft Folk; the Deutsche Bank's funded production of Othello at Shakespeare's Globe with a meet-the-cast; film with the local Independent Film Group; To Kill a Mockingbird at MK theatre.

Undermining society
Specifically, the free-market ideologies which rip apart our world for short-term financial gain. Shark, Squirrel and Tiger attended the Climate Change Demonstration in London, March 7.

We nearly didn't, thanks to a miscalculation on mother's part (her ongoing issues with Mr Time). Tiger did not march, she watched. No-one saw the scuffles involving the polar bear.

I have views about this model of education. I'm not getting myself started on the opportunities for both left and right to grab this model to exploit it politically, I'll just say that my home ed kids love them in their present form. Grown up information, communicated in straightforward terms to people who want to be there, and you get to run it at your own pace, with your own interests guiding you, without the damage of tick boxes or social humiliations.

Up and Coming
Folk music. Shark is become very interested in folk, so I have to do something about it. Watch out. Hes Fes in South Wales? May the Lord Help Me, we are booked.

There, in conclusion, IT ALL WORKS.

Friday, 20 February 2015

Question and Answer: Home Education

Here are the questions you asked, and here are the answers.

Q: Why did you decide to home educate your children?

At which point does a parent make a decision about their child? Is it in a great moment of need where the imperative to act comes without thought of consequence? The decision made. Life changed.

Or is it time accumulating, gathering experience, observation, thought? A slow, creeping, half-conscious growing, where no point is greater than any other but which leads to that same end. The decision made. Life changed.

In me, there was no sudden revelation, no conversion, no bright light of illumination. But a gnawing gut that 'things around me do not fit together'. I cannot now recollect the order of events which led to 'the decision', and I cannot make a sensible start to order events.

Should I start with my own experience of school? My work with adults who left eleven years of school behind them, yet still unable to read and write? My practical classroom work on my teaching practice? Reading Ivan Illich? Talking with people, more experienced than me, about education around the world? Thinking about what I saw and what I felt? Watching how my child learned?

All helped make the decision to home educate my own.

But I expect your task is made easier with soundbites and bullet points. They are quick currency to trade opinions in an instant. Then have soundbites and bullet points. They are in no particular order, and I stop typing at twelve o'clock.

1. My children went to nursery aged four. One year of 'things do not fit together'. The experience made up my mind, and I took my children home on the last day of nursery with a happy heart.

2. Once, on teaching practice, before I had children of my own, I saw a teacher separate two friends at primary school. They were to sit on separate mats. They didn't want to be parted. They cried. The teacher raised her voice. She instructed them to follow her commands. She said, 'Everyone is waiting for you'. It was a humiliation of their emotion, of sorts. I wanted to know, Why were human relationships considered less important than a procedural classroom task? But I could not ask this question in school. It would be a question for which there is no answer. But the question came back again and again. What if we created a way of learning that prioritised relationships? This seemed crucial for me with a child aged four, when her social relationships with her family were more important than anything in the world. So I home educated because I wanted to ask questions about learning. I wanted to watch how she learned; I wanted time to observe, and find answers; I wanted to think and grow, and in this, I knew that I was just like my child. We were starting from the same base and a mission for both of us was to discover how the world worked; why people act the way they do.

3. I could see the practical reality of school, looming. How my children rarely wanted to leave what they were doing to take the drudging, grudging, slow walk to nursery. At home, one child would confess that her sister hid in the toilets. I thought 'Why have I taken these children from what they were doing - playing happily together in the garden on a sunny day - so they can be miserable and scared in a closed room hiding from people they don't know'?

4. I couldn't suppress this instinctive feeling - that a single room was a physically unhealthy place to put a young child. And for several hours each day? This seemed to be the opposite of what I thought a young child should have. I think of that steam of childhood. It should be free to run about, jump up and down, the trial of bodies against sky, rain, wind, stretches of grass - every blade of it a journey to the stars. I wanted my children to do this: to exercise their limbs, express themselves physically, move from one place to another under the restless energy of their own being. How could I tell them we can no longer go out every day to know wildness; they must now sit still for hours at a stretch, move only when they are told and, when playtime is over, they must tuck away their limbs, shut up their restlessness, and suppress what nature compels them?

5. One day I went to pick up my daughter from the nursery. She was piling up blocks on a table. The teacher was sat next to her. As I entered, the teacher covertly slipped the clipboard she was holding so that it was hidden, under the desk. On the clipboard was a tick-box assessment of my daughter's capabilities in moving her hands; her gross and fine motor skills. I thought, No. You don't teach my child that the role of an adult is to silently watch and assess what you're doing; to quietly test you against a list of criteria that you have no knowledge of, are powerless to interact with, and with what purpose of collation you don't understand. That is not how I want my child to understand her relationship with adults - one of surveillance and accountability of knowledge. I want her to be able to speak to adults eye-to-eye, level-to-level, to ask an honest question and receive an honest answer.

6. The first day at nursery we ended up in A&E. The nursery staff had shouted 'Who wants to watch a video?' My three all sprang up at once; one knocked the other into a table; she cut her eyebrow. I did what I was told all the way down the line. We ended at A&E for three hours. At bedtime, I thought, Why did I do that? Why did I obey everyone? Why didn't I take my daughter home, douse her in Dettol and strap bonding tape to her wound? How come I had been so swiftly institutionalised? If that happens to me - if I give up my power, my decisiveness, my independence - all so readily, then this will happen to each of my children. Do I want that they will be submissive to the command of others in the world? Or do I want that they will grow as people who feel they can judge the world for themselves, make their own decisions, and make the world?

7. On another day I went to pick up my whimsical wondering child. She asked a question - one of those questions that whimsical wondering children ask - why is the earth round why is the sky blue - and the teacher said 'It is because it is'. The teacher meant: 'accept things the way they are'. The context said: do not ask questions for which there is no time or inclination to answer'. Of course the teacher did not have the time to say, 'That's an interesting question! I hadn't thought of that before. Let's experiment with soil and see if it glues together in a ball. I wonder why little things glue together in spherical shapes?' The school context does not have the time to respond to individuals. It cannot stop to spend two hours playing, and wonder why the earth is round.

8. The language of school is duplicitous. At the nursery, the staff always referred to the playground as 'The Garden'. The first time, we all went to see in great expectation. There were no plants. No grass. No garden. There were iron railings with spikes, a concrete rectangle, and some plastic trucks. This is language teaching black is white and white is black. I live in a reality, and I strive to articulate my reality. I do not want to adopt false and misleading language; I do not want to impose what I know to be a lie on my child for the convenience of others; it would be to allow others to take power over me, my language, my reality and my relationship with my own.

9. I observe the fracture between the language used in school and the reality I see. I hear what is said: You are all individuals; you all achieve according to your work and your effort. Then I see hundreds of children sat in rows wearing identical clothes, modelling the behaviour of limbs demanded by the physical space and the discipline of the staff. The encouragement given is not so these people can become different from each other, but that they settle into a norm. Difference, uniqueness, individuality of ideas and expression, these are not encouraged. The language says they are, but the visible and lived reality says they are not.

10. Perhaps we parents are simply difficult when it comes to fitting in. We looked at what school offered us as adults and we didn't want it. We were not prepared to have ourselves, our family time and our home time dictated to us by the administrative requirements of an institution. We would not, as parents, have been compliant with paperwork, clocks, demands for black trousers or reprimands about zipping bags and apples. We would probably have received letters about our behaviour.

11. I do not believe in school league tables.

12. I do not believe in uniforms for primary children. I think uniforms crush individuality and force a character to submit to a visual language which is not theirs.

13. I believe the National Curriculum crushes creativity at primary: I heard art was consigned to indifferent doodling on a Friday afternoon; dance disappeared; listening to music was not there. But we live in a rich and exciting world where all these sensory experiences are there. Why not live in this world and immerse ourselves in it? How can it make sense to deprive a growing child of these sensory creativities? An education in the arts is too important to trust to a school.

14. I wanted my children to learn what they wanted in the way that they wanted; in a way that made sense for them. Even if it made no sense to me.

15. One day, shortly after we decided to home educate, I spoke to a friend whose daughter had gone to school. She told me how she had gone to pick up her child; the children had been doing a project on owls. There, on a tray, were 30 owls made from cardboard cut outs. She said it was the most depressing moment of her day. All the owls were exactly the same. She could not tell her daughter's owl apart.

16. I do not believe in excessive health and safely and risk assessment requirements which reflect a school's insurance position but bear no relevance to my child's life. I want my children to take risks. I want them to climb trees, play in rivers, do stupid things to their thumbs with hammers, and I expect to be with them when experimenting with fire requires a bucket of cold water and a tub of burn cream.

17. I wanted my children to play, freely. Hours of purposeless rambling play with unicorns and feathers and buckets and whatever came to hand. I did not want to direct their play. I wanted their play to be theirs, possessed by my children as special and unique to them. I believe it is not the role of an adult to impose routes and pathways and outcomes and assessments on a child's play.

18. I wanted us as a family to eat together, get round the table together, and share food everyday. I did not want to be pushed into the routine of school: provide a kiddy tea time so they can do homework and get to bed early. This is for the benefit of school. It is not for the benefit of our family life.

19. I do not believe in homework at primary school.

20. I wanted my children to learn the society in which they are a part, by taking part in that society - by shopping, visiting libraries, community centres, museums, galleries, public spaces; by accompanying me when I needed to pop in and out of offices, drop things off, make deliveries, talk to people, run a household. I wanted the children to see how we spent time and used our social and business spaces. I wanted to explain things I saw in the street and on our journeys. I could not see how sending my child to school could ever involve them in the same detailed experiences. How can it, when the local school shuts everyone inside and keeps a padlock on the gate?

21. I did not want to waste my emotional and intellectual energy trying to circumnavigate rules, regulations, and restrictions over ultimately pointless issues of the school system like 'What is in your lunch box?' This is wasting time when we could be exploring the world. I think the school system is designed to waste time: it fragments tasks, disrupts time, introduces non-controversial controversies and, in effect, stops people inquiring. In this, school is an anti-educational system.

22. School is a service offered by the local council. It is not a compulsory service. There is no legal requirement on me to send my children to school. I have the choice as a parent. I want my children to know the same: they can choose how to live their lives; they do not have to feel they must do something just because everyone else does it, or because they are told they must do it. They need to know the law; their duties, rights and responsibilities as a citizen, and set about a course which balances these demands.

23. I wanted to be able to sit up reading with my children when they wanted; I wanted the children to play late if the mood took them; what if they wanted to go out at dusk and find bats? I wanted my children to find their own rhythms of sleep and wake, of play and rest; their own clockless patterns of inquiry and purposeless footling. This is a joy to me, to have the sway of the day led by a wondering. 

24. Childhood is such a short and valuable time. Why turn a child's interest into what an adult thinks they should be doing?

25. We had everything we needed for a rich primary education at home. Books, talk, a kitchen table, a casual approach to mess, running water, a sense of humour, places to visit all around us, and time.

26. Many, many, people home educate. There are dozens of local groups: we have several in a small area with parents organising the most tremendous activities. I had confidence that I would meet parents who were were lively, directed, well-organised, independent minded and filled with ideas about childhood and the possibilities it offered.

27. Home educating seemed to make sound economic sense when we looked at the family outgoings on an annual basis. We did not need to buy uniform, make a contribution to a school fund, provide on-going school items, nor take holidays at the most expensive time of the year. We could holiday at the cheapest time of the year and wear our old clothes.

28. I wanted my children to remember their childhood as fun, ridiculous, silly, brave, adventurous, wandering, playful. I wanted them to remember how they could spend hours playing and following their passions. I never wanted them to stop saying to me, 'I don't want the day to end'.

29. Experiential education is not a new philosophy; the Ancient Greeks nailed it by advocating learning through experience. I do not think Aristotle had in mind 30 kids in a room looking at a picture of a river in a geography text book. The river? We can go play in it, swim in it, and try building a raft for it.

30. I wanted to show my children the world. The world could be Australia or Wales, it didn't matter to me; I wanted to point to the world, and talk about it, how it worked, how I didn't know stuff, how a person could make an impact in it. How everyday is a place of mystery and surprise and wonder and delight. Why would I give up all that amazing world to a teacher in a school who couldn't leave the classroom?

31. I knew we would not be at home all day. Why do people think we are? Should I list the places we have visited from the corner shop to the streets of the old town in Sana'a? The world is our classroom. I wanted to be in it, with my children.

32. Gender politics raised its head at an early age. At nursery, my daughter wanted to play with the plastic trucks. She never felt strong or brave enough to take them from the boys who monopolised them.

33. My daughter was fearful of the staff. They had inexplicable and apparently arbitrary authorities. They commanded bells and whistles, pointed and shouted. It made no sense to her. Often, the rules made no sense to me, either.

34. I taught in a secondary school. Take these events as typical: One child set a table on fire; another brought a replica gun to school; I found that my book cupboard was used as a place to stash heroin wraps; one girl got pregnant; another routinely disrupted the class by throwing furniture; one boy deliberately got himself suspended so he could spend time at home with his dad; the language from the children could be foul, brutal, demoralising. Schools can be tremendously forgiving places; they can be great places with strong team spirits; fun events can happen there. They can also be places where intimidation and brutality is a daily experience for administrative staff, classroom teachers, and children. They can be sink or swim places. A strong school can swing to become a weak school within a term. It's chance, haphazard, a muddle-through environment. Why should I chance it with the people I love most in the world? Why put my children into what can become a brutalising anti-social environment?

35. I observed how children teach themselves. I can speak now, at the other end: my children are aged 15. They have each taken an IGCSE to find out the exam system; to help focus their thinking on what they want to do next. They all taught themselves to the exam. As students, they are self-disciplined, they organise their time, they manage their approach to learning, and they arrange their resources appropriately to a deadline. My job is not to 'teach' them their subjects but to support them in their life choices; to provide the structure and the safe background in which they can trial ideas, approach problems, and come up with novel solutions.

36. Here is a motto which has guided me: Be imaginative enough to think what you'd like to do in life, and be brave enough to carry it out. I wanted to spend time with my children. I enjoy their company. They are a source of constant delight and intrigue. They annoy me, and get in my way. They make me laugh more than anyone in the world. They have led me into amazing adventures and taken me to places I would not have otherwise have gone. They illuminate every day. They are obstinate and wilful. They take after their father. Working the days together in the way that we do gives us plenty of time to be together, laugh together, talk through problems, think of approaches to issues, share ideas and discuss things of our everyday. What more could I have asked from a family?

Q: Have they ever been to school? If not why not, if so why did you take them out of conventional schooling?

I think I answered this above.

Q: What has been your experience of home educating your triplets?
I think you can see the nitty gritty of life inside the grit's day blog. That is one reason it is there; for others who may be considering home education to wrestle with some practicalities.

Q: Do you think they have missed out on anything by home schooling them?
Do you think children who attend a conventional school have missed out on anything? 

Q: How have you coped as a parent? Have you ever struggled to challenge them academically or with having your children at home all day?

We all 'cope' as parents. We all face days which are crap, anxious, fearful, horrible, when the gin can't pour quick enough and a rope in the woods seems like a workable solution. We all have days which are joyous, frivolous, bizarre, enervating, wondrous, when we don't want the day to end. Why does home education make any difference to parenthood?

Monday, 2 February 2015

Home ed exams, ka-ching!

I deserve a medal. I go to the local school and hand over seven hundred quid.

Sorry. I may be denting a fond idea (I know the family cousin certainly maintains it), that exams are some sort of chivalrous code of hard-working honour, the results of which shine with an inner glow of moral worth. Uh. The edu-business works on money, like every other business.

And yes, the Griblytots are down for exams again this year. The Latin teacher says Level 1 is non-negotiable. We don't mess with Lingua Latina. I say Global Citizenship is non-negotiable because I paid already. After that everyone chooses to do or not to do.

For me, I am not convinced that a string of A* GCSE grades says much. Maybe A*A*A* etc shows a student who knows how to follow exactly what's required of them in the mark scheme. I think of that as an excellence in attentive copying behaviour. Sorry.

But every year, I'm not surprised to read of some high achiever rejected by one of the posh universities, despite the outstanding candidate having 10 A* grades. I can imagine the scene in the Oxbridge interview, having sat in one of them meself. Are the people interviewing the candidate going to be impressed by someone who sits there and has the air of 'You tell me what to say, and I'll say it back to you'? The school led them to it, because that is how schools are measured. God forbid our universities apply the same. I think an independent mind, striking out in their own thought-out direction is probably going to get that place in preference. Sorry about that.

Anyway, the exams as a private home ed candidate. If you are looking for your home ed child, first join the Yahoo exams group. That list is BRILLIANT. Those people are a mine of information about everything exam-related.

Second, know everything about the exam your child wants to sit. If they want to sit English, find a board that suits their interests and your localities. Do your research on the internet looking at the curriculums. Find one that is 100% exam assessed if it is going to be difficult organising any type of continuous assessment (it will be). You may have to email and ring round schools in your area and speak to the exams officer who will tell you whether they accept a private candidate for that board.

Then know the exam codes because there is paperwork to complete. The school may need sight of a passport or other identifying document and ask to clap eyes on the candidate before registering them for the exam. So they can be sure the right candidate turns up for the exam (and not their dad, say, who already has a degree in Eng Lit).

After this, expect the bill. In our case, 700 conkers. The cost not too bad for 9 exams spread between 3 kids. I've heard of worse. And that opens up a whole big can of worms, so I'm stopping right now.

Thursday, 1 January 2015

How we abused the little children in December

I see we ended 2014 by being potential child abusers again.

Personally, I blame the NSPCC.

There's an election looming, right? We can expect, like all large organisations needing government support, the NSPCC will ready itself alongside the main parties, so everyone's able to do business straight off: they must all be in 'policy position'.

Whichever government forms, interested organisations must be able to 'deliver' a quick win in 2015. A positive-headline grabbing solution to one of society's problems. In the child abuse scenario, we're looking at a win for the NSPCC and a Win for a new government. Joe&Joanna Public will be grateful how those in power are 'doing something at last!'

It helps if you can encourage the problem in the first place, obviously. They have just four months now to dig that problem into your consciousness.

Unfortunately, there hasn't been a problem about home educators abusing their children. On balance, the responses I've had from the general public have been positive. Most people seem to understand that we've taken on a big educational responsibility and they give us a big thumbs up.

But that's not much of a problem-story if you're trying to organise a policy-solution.

Hence the continuous plugging away at home educators on the basis of suspicion. Tell those local council employees, time and time again, how home ed is not really about education, this is about abuse. Remind everyone how 'Home schooling' is just a Cover. The vulnerable children of 'home-schoolers' are 'falling through the net'.

Throw enough mud, see if it sticks, and come up with the solution you wanted all along. Monitoring, surveillance, registration.

The NSPCC/Corporate friendly solution will then involve headlines about how many children have been 'saved' by new regulations; how many children have been rescued from fates worse than death! Yes, we got inside those 'hidden homes' and found out what those so-called 'home educators' were really up to. We activated our solution!

That dealt with the problem.

As for the kids who are really being trafficked, sold into slaveries, denied freedoms and rights, beaten up and used by adults? We can't obviously find these children, because it's flippin' difficult.

Take the simple 'solution' of school, where 'all kids can be seen'. As a classroom teacher, you can't know, looking round your class, which kids are being abused sexually, emotionally, or physically at home.

You might have suspicions. But no way could a teacher point a finger or press Social Services Nuclear without very good ground and while standing alongside teams and teams of people.

You people who imagine that teachers can simply observe a child and activate a care solution? They can't. It's all more complex than you're led to believe. Within hours of raising concerns (I did) the response in my case was to tell me it's confidential of course, all being dealt with, I didn't need to know any more, carry on as normal. The child stayed through school, looking haunted and miserable for years and, as far as I knew, nothing changed. Perhaps it did. But if some form of intervention did happen, and if it was successful, you could hardly slap the case across the Daily Record, could you?

But home educators? They are easy targets. We already have a newspaper headline reserved for us. We already have a folk-character as the 'anti-authority wrong-un'. The story then goes, a light needs to be shone on our dodgy dealings. We're 'hidden'.

The fact is that my home educated kids, like thousands of others in your land, are out on your streets, in your scout huts, village halls, community centres, museums, galleries, shops, parks, seasides, and transport systems.

I know the argument then goes, well, these kids obviously aren't learning anything because they're not sat at desks.

Home ed kids are not learning about society? How people work together, what needs, interests, desires bind us? They're not learning how to fit in, how to shape events, have a voice and be a part of debates, even when they are right in this society, right in the heart of it, taking part in it?

Well, at this point, my radical suggestion is, don't believe everything you read in the newspapers, especially when it's supplied by large organisations with a vested interest in solving a problem.

The election looms not only for the main parties but for all those large (and small) organisations and corporates who do business with governments: the interests who provide oil to the machines, the backing, support, infrastructure, and whisper of all the social problems they can readily solve.

So this is not an educational debate. It's a battle of interests. A competition for power. And in it, whose responsibility is your child?

Wednesday, 31 December 2014

2014? Get the Hell out of my House

2014, you were shit.

You were, in a minor cosmetic way, better than 2013 when I spent several months face down in a bucket of zinc, expecting to explode and die without ever having the chance to use the epipen, but really, 2014? You were worse, far far worse than 2013.

2013 only brought me a worry about instant death, but 2014? You bought the prospect of a slow, slow lingering life, not by having my heart simply ripped from me (that happened in 2003), but by stapling my eyelids open to watch the pieces of heart be jumped up and down upon, then kicked about this planet, like so much broken stuff that the prospect of mending it all seemed as far as jumping to the moon.

But 2015, you are going to be good to me, are you not? You are going to be lovely and kind and healing and generous and gentle. You are going to be straight down the line, honest and true. You are going to be funny, witty, and wise. You are going to make me laugh with such big rolling bellylaugh laughter that I am glad to be alive and glad that it is 2015, the year when everything just said safe.

Monday, 22 December 2014

Yeah, the rest

Just so I don't forget, like. Apart from Berlin, the monthly home ed triumphs. We need to record them, in case I reach the end of the month and can't recall what we did. Not any of it.

1. The lantern parades: local, various, some burning of a dragon involved.
At one point in all this festival of light and lanternry, Shark, Squirrel and Tiger attended a workshop with our local wicker-botherers, Festive Road, which was being recorded for a programme, but I can't recall which one, nor exactly when it was recorded or broadcast. Apart from that, much wicker bothering was done.

2. More British Museum, more V&A, more British Library.
I am afraid we are regulars. You can probably find me in the friends room at some point, slumped against a cappuccino. The kids are old and wise enough to go an explore on their own accounts, so long as they come back to tell me interesting stuff they found out. That's the rule.

3. They went to the Globe, I went to the RSA.
Yes, I managed this splendidly: I booked the offspring into an event at Shakespeare's Globe then I sloped off with Dig to his Club of Choice, the RSA. I have no idea what education the children experienced, but I gathered it was community based, and involved singing.

4. Latin, Glob Cit, Tiger's rock climbing, and the Media education.
The normal round of lessons continues, including mother's Film Family Fun Night, which this month has been sci-fi based. The geeky Plan-9 and the prescient Brazil.

5. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.
The lovely, funny, witty and insightful Simon Armitage reading his Gawain version at Sam Wannamaker theatre. (I was very restrained and did not throw panties.)

6. Opera.
Shark, Squirrel and Tiger are opera goers. They don't get it from me, but daddy Dig. I am working on it all with the elbow-length evening gloves and the up-do. This month the offspring clocked up Glyndebourne Touring Opera for Turn of the Screw, then the MET Opera (cineworld screening) with Wagner's 6-hour treat of the Meistersinger.

7. The Imitation Game.
The Travelling Christmas Aunty did her tour of family duty; keen to provide new and stimulating experiences for her jaded travel palette, we took her off to the cinema, having worked out that it could have been fifteen years since her last visit. (But do not tell her this: we are now hard at work on what we think should be her bucket list. So far we have thought about pushing her out of an aeroplane (with a parachute) and burying her alive. We read this experience has been therapeutic for some people in Germany.)

That's it. Someone said Christmas is coming up which means we have parties to attend, and I do battle with holly wreaths.

Monday, 15 December 2014

Feeling weary

Things are stirring in the home ed 'hood. After a (relatively) long period of quiet.

Not simply the trouble-making of the NSPCC, but the Sunday Times article, conflating out-of-school children to vulnerability to abuse and exploitation. Then further debates on changing guidance on children 'missing' education and 'questions in the house'. My guess is the registration and inspection debate will be the gift to home ed for 2015.

Some proper botherers are out for us. They simply can't let us alone to get on with an education. Any link of disreputable behaviour will do. Any suggestion that we are not caring parents providing a fantastic opportunity to live a childhood, or that we are providing the time and space for our kids to grow up in their own unique ways. Nope, none of that is useful for the culture the botherers want to build. Their story is to strew fear, uncertainty, doubt. Who knows what home educators are up to? Training up mini jihadists? Abusing children physically, emotionally, sexually? The secret 'invisible' people undermining normal society?

Please, could home educators just be a bunch of mild eccentrics, gentle people, independent minded people who take on huge family responsibilities? Could we be celebrated as people following philosophies of education that reach well back beyond the Victorian schooling solution?

I'm sure the botherers need to suggest that if all home educators were monitored, then this would address every suspicion they raised for you. Then we all lose. But this isn't an educational agenda, even though that will be the message with the push for earlier and earlier engagement with outsourced learning, closer accountability of childhood, more pressure of league tables, standardised testing regardless of how unique is Tinkertop, greater surveillance of how you're interacting with your child in the home.

It all means less contact time between parents and kids, and more monitored time between parents and kids. You have to wonder what society they're trying to build.

Saturday, 13 December 2014

That was a lesson and a half

We took the kids to visit Berlin. We cranked up a few journeys around the museums, with a few oohs and ahhs of the sights.

I particularly liked the Bauhaus Museum and the Deutsches Historisches Museum. And the upstairs  German Art exhibition in the Brohan Museum. We visited a Christmas Market! And I drank Glühwein in the frosty cold! The Berlin Wall exhibitions were on the list, of course, as was the sight of the reichstag, the Brandenberg Gate, reviews of the lovely Neil MacGregor's observations, and our ongoing, wide-ranging discussions on European economic policies and post-war European politics.

Yippee! say the home educated innocents, Shark, Squirrel and Tiger!

(One day they will be grateful for the parents they had.)

I can't call one particular line of our enquiry in Berlin a 'highlight', because that word triggers all the wrong connotations. But the most memorable lessons in humanity came from the Foundation Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, and the exhibition at the Topography of Terror.

I am grateful to my parents. In 1974 they took me out of school for a tour of Germany and Austria. They found it difficult to navigate their relationship with Germany, or to talk about the Second World War, so they took me and my brother to experience together the modern Germany, then walk through Mauthausen Memorial. They left us at times to think out for ourselves what would our values be? Values of individual moralities when faced with social coercions; how we could be led into states of agreement, denial, complicity, resistance, fear or a belief in right and duty. How societies converge, part, forget, remember, move on.

And that's what I wanted to give Shark, Squirrel and Tiger.

The memory of enjoying a holiday; seeing beautiful historic buildings, exciting modern developments, the boredoms and panics of travel, then feeling the texture of earth under foot, touching walls and doors and gateposts, moving through cold, practical spaces of death and survival. Such a visit for me in my same-teenage year was a more profound education than I could have gained by sitting in a classroom, staring at a black and white photograph in a school history textbook, waiting for breaktime.

Saturday, 22 November 2014

The NSPCC fighting for children

What's the real crime we home educators commit, as we encourage our offspring up your shops, about your high street, down your parks, and in those workshops at the local museum?

We're visible to you. But we're 'invisible to the authorities'.

Word in the 'hood is that we'll hear a little more in the news about the 'seven case reviews published since 2008'.

Then it'll be much, much more, about how 'the authorities' need a compulsory register and an ofsted home ed monitoring team.

(And just when I was a-teaching Shark, Squirrel, and Tiger how to be independent, I'm reminded in that link that really I should tell these kids how they should strive instead to be counted, bean by bean, as a global asset.)

Saturday, 15 November 2014

Clawing my way to a new normality

Thank goodness November has come. October was Rubbish.

But! October will not have as it deserves. It shall not be blasted into micron particles, nor scattered through the universe, never to be assembled again. No! Good things must come from The Evil that was October. Or I am not my mother's daughter. Then, here are the good bits.

1. The British Library.
We are Friends, BritLib and Me. Our friendship is the Direct Debit type (surely one step up from hard cash over the counter).

You can expect to see us strolling hand in hand down King's Cross - me wanting to ogle their lovely books, and them, purring coo-coos at me, making come-hither glances from their shop front.

The only blip in this new affair is that, to pursue it, I have to again pretend it is for our 'home education'.

My protestant misery streak must be coming out. I cannot just say, 'I'm joining the BritLib because I want to walk into their exhibitions when I like'. It has to be because it is useful for a cause greater than this simple satisfaction of not bothering to book a ticket for their (excellent and fun) Gothic exhibition; I must tell myself that throwing my bank account at them is improving for the Griblets; perhaps morally virtuous for the whole family!

I wish I could get rid of this streak. It is annoying.

2. The V&A.
I'm friends with them as well. This is my present to Tiger, who wants to spend days at a time wandering in their hallowed halls. Really, we only can manage one day a month. I like the V&A, of course I do, but I have yet to swoon in their company. Maybe a little more exposure to their lacy embroidery will help. Speaking of which...

3. My Knicker Drawers.
Each of us has a purpose in life. Mine is in my Knicker Drawers. It is going well. I have some brilliant commissions from lovely people, who I admire most of all for trusting me to create for them books of fancy, whimsy, idleness, intent, purpose, poetry and pleasure.

4. MET Macbeth.
Let me pretend we popped over to New York. (Don't tell anyone we went to the live screening at the cinema in Milton Keynes.) But I am a Big Fan of live screening! If you do not indulge in this, you must! Find out the theatre you can enjoy without the train travel, and go!

As an adendum, I also took the Grotlets to the re-screen of the National Theatre's Frankenstein. (Shut up about the certificate 15. They are old enough.)

5. Latin.
All scholarly stuff. Add Global Citizenship IGCSE, the STEM lectures at the local school, and various Future Learn Moocs and other curriculums the Griblets are following in a not very intensive or regular manner.

I suppose I should be on the case everywhere, but the reality is, I'm not.

I introduced the Gribblytots to the exam system last year, so Job Done. Yay Me, Tiger Mother! As far as I'm concerned, they now know what exams are about. They can choose where they go from here, whether they take lots of exams, not very many, whether they wing their way, or whether I have to place a large bribe behind the waterpipes at the local college.

6. Neil MacGregor.
He of the British Museum, the lovely voice, and the wonderfully informative series on Radio 4, Germany: Memories of a Nation. A home education could be had, sat at the kitchen table, eating jam butties, listening to the radio. (Hang on a minute! That's how we do home ed.)

7. Outdoors.
Not simply our evening walk by the Co-op skip. But the wandering in the healing paths of our beautiful natural world. (Or as much of the soothing wilderness we can suck up between the A5 and the A421.)

The best of all (if you are a practising teenager) is running about the woods in Wide Games, organised by a wonderful home educator who I rely on for all small and large matters, from diary management to remembering how to breathe.

I suppose I should also include, under Outdoors, Tiger's Climbing Club and our ongoing Scuba fanbase, aka Shark, off with her underwater diving chums, once a week.

8. Shakespeare.
Specifically, Love's Labours Lost. RSC, understudy performance. See it February if you can't make Stratford. (Live to cinema 11 February 2015!) We have maybe six plays to go before I achieve my (largely pointless) aim to have Shark, Tiger and Squirrel see all Shakespeare plays before age 16.

9. The Queen Galadriel.
Tiger, not to be bested by sister Shark (already dun a week on the sail), snatched a place on a weekend crew with the Cirdan Sailing Trust.

I like the way the Trust positions itself as working with Children of the Disadvantaged. Well, count us in! Consider that joining a sailing crew is our very own Social Inclusion Project.

10. Into Film Festival.
We saw Maze Runner. I don't recommend it. Sexual threat sublimates to cartoon antics (Are you the only girl in a tribe of boys? Throw rocks at them from a tower); terrible script (the character who is told to Shut Up! Shut Up! is female, couldn't you guess) and the bizarre premise of the whole thing.

Say you had a group of teens, preciously immune to a terrible disease that took hold after the earth was destroyed. What would you do? Get them to a lab and study their bloods? (Let's ignore even how the lab exists after civilization is destroyed.)

But No! You would not do blood tests! You would build an enormous mobile concrete maze. You would make a hole in the middle where your teens can live. You would stock the maze with robotic flesh-eating spiders, then watch your teens try to get out. When they do (I spoiled it for you now) you would tell them you never expected they would survive! Before blowing out your own brains. (Or not.) Effective cinematography, a trashy storyline. With robot spiders.

But film is big at Grit's. We sometimes hang out with the local Independent Film Group.

11. Geology.
The Festival of Geology. A fixture of our annual calender. It is always delightful, surrounding ourselves with the gentle geologists, animatedly talking granite. I have put the Pliocene Forest at Sutton Knoll, Rochhall Wood, on our list of things next in Suffolk.

12. Local politics.
Obviously I am not content to drag my Grofalots to the sub-sub-sub-working committee on the future of the Arts charity in Smalltown!

(Probably Not Going To Be An Arts Charity Any More, thanks to a bunch of self-serving devious bastards trustees who disposed of the charity's assets in preparation for closing the lot down. But who said anything about money? Not me. That would be an allegation.)

But I am determined my offspring learn Practical Politics. I took them to a discussion about Milton Keynes architecture, including talks by English Heritage and the 20Cth Society.

13. Sitting in Lidl car park Luton, hugging a bottle of rum that Shark Made Me Buy.
Buying alcohol for my 14-year old daughter is my Parenting First. I am PROUD. Shark said she wanted either meths or rum. I thought about this, then concluded I cannot drink meths. I bought the rum in Lidl because I am usually there on a Tuesday night (woodcraft folk), and Lidl must be cheap on rum, no?*

14. Crude and vulgar language.
Recently I had a brush with a member of my own sex. It was a depressing and dispiriting experience. Mostly, I am a woman led to foolishnesses by my own head. I wonder, What is reasonable? What would be an intelligent course of action? I have developed some sense of what is right and what is wrong based on experience, observation, and thoughtful consideration of the options. Let's think about it.

Pft. I wasted hours and 40,000 spoken words attempting to reason, how, um, I observe that some women, er, women who maybe want to advance their careers? - well, perhaps they use morally doubtful, what I would think of as dubious, exploitative, underhand techniques - perhaps massaging of feelings, blahblahblah, some sexual hinting with some emotional control, and stitching the vulnerable victim into a need relationship, blahblahblah, possibly using the source book Honey Money as inspiration (please don't buy it), perhaps where trade can be had from a teensy bit of hair flicking? But then, blahblahblah, squeezing on the bullying and threatening and foot stomping and the screamings of disloyalty and betrayal if the goods aren't delivered; pulling the strings of the heart, not the intellect in the head; emphasising the change of heart, not the change of mind, as the how to get where, and the means to get what they want. Um, I think the short-hand phrase is emotional manipulation?

See? What a speak of blahblahblah.

Then someone summed up La Femme Fatale with commendable precision. She's a Prick Teaser.

I wish I could have said that. Hail vulgar language. Let it be my guide.

October. Some good bits with the kids. Otherwise, what a fucking disaster, with the vomit brought up by a encounter with a manipulative Prick Teaser dumped on top.

*It would be cruel to spoil this story with its additional bit of information. That Shark is taking a Future Learn course on experiments, such as extracting the DNA from a banana using washing up liquid and meths (or rum). I told her we did DNA already. But then I reconsidered. I reasoned that if we had rum, I could drink it, and blame Shark.