The Word Cloud

Tigger, a ginger, black, and white cat, has adopted me. I feed her. She follows me around. I feed her. Fish, rice, and fish biscuits. This cat could eat for Thailand.

Yesterday, at dinner time, I went to pick up her dish. It’s a hard plastic throwaway from a fast food restaurant that was used as a paint dish and recycled. Suitable for a stray cat. Not on the floor of the back balcony. I peeped over the seat.

No dish.

I grumbled, replaced my slippers with my plastic flip-flops and went in search. Down the balcony steps, around the patio and criss crossed the wild garden full of marigolds and papaya trees.

No dish.

Ou went to search. Said the wind must have blown it somewhere. Couldn’t find it. By this time Tigger was growling and about to tear my leg off, so I replaced her lost dish with a plastic box-type container. Fed her.

This morning, I went in search again. Could have won an orienteering prize, but still no dish. So I sat down and had a think – eliminated the impossible, and settled on this theory. Sometimes Tigger leaves a few grains of rice in the dish. Birds come – very aggressive these ones, as big as magpies and similar behaviour.

I think one bird stole the dish.

What do you think?

The fact is that his marriage wasn’t what it used to be. It lacked excitement, it lacked spark. Alright it lacked sex. John was at the end of his rope when his friend made the suggestion that led him to take his trouble down to Madame Ruth, a gypsy with a gold capped tooth who sold potions out of a small booth on Vine Street. She invited him in, listened to his tale of woe and sold him a bottle of love potion number nine that she mixed up there and then in her little sink.

She advised, “Create a nice atmosphere and slip a little of this into your wife’s drink. In a few hours her desire will return.”

That very evening he offered to cook dinner and made it as special as he could. When she wasn’t looking he slipped a measure of the potion into her wine. After about a half hour or so she began to flirt with him a little and he though perhaps it would work.

He took a quick swig of the potion himself to make sure he was up to the coming onslaught.

She announced she was going to bed and John thought his luck was definitely in. So, after a quick tidy up he followed, only to find that she was fast asleep in bed. Disappointed he got into bed himself and lay awake thinking of what might have been. He drifted off only to be woken an hour later by his wife tossing and turning in bed.

All of a sudden she leapt from the bed and tore off her bed gown growling:
“I want a man”

John leapt from the bed and whipped off his own night clothes and called out:
“So do I”

***************************
:D

Love Potion Number Nine is a song written by Leiber and Stoller in 1959 that has been covered many times buy such diverse artists as The Searchers, Wayne Fontana and The Mindbenders, Elkie Brookes and Robert Plant to name but a few. I had thought of this as I was pondering an entry to Skylark's competition this month. But I decided that it isn't original enough. There are no new jokes and I didn't make this one up either. I just reset it to this theme so I don't think I should enter it. Anyway, I had to do something with it having scribbled it, so I hope it raises a smile here.

I just want to share a little tidbit from my week. Ok, from my two days. After the week I've had, I'm glad it's just two days. I'm not sure how any full-time teacher retains their sanity. I didn't. But that's another story.

So, it's that wonderful time of the year when we test 7 year-olds to make sure they've learned what they're supposed to have learned by this stage in their education. We make them work in silence for 45 minutes at a time and make then prove to us that they can do all the stuff that we already know they can do.

I should feel grateful. When I first came in to teaching 12 years ago, the Key Stage 1 SATS tests were far more prescriptive and the test level was final. At least now, I can over-ride the test level with my own teacher assessment if I feel that the test over- or under-represents the child's ability.

I digress. We are being moderated this year. That means that every single teacher assessment I have made all year is being put under the microscope to make sure that it's a valid assessment. I say 'I' even though I job-share my class because my highly-valued colleague who I usually share these woes with is currently enjoying her second maternity leave. I don't resent her for her timely exit; I missed the dreaded Ofsted two years ago for exactly the same reason.

Digressing again; too much wine.

So, my (very supportive) head has been holding a series of staff meetings to pre-moderate all my assessments before the real moderators come in. A good idea in principle but it's left me feeling very exposed in front of the other members of staff (small school; key stage 1 is me and my wet-behind-the-ears NQT maternity-cover jobshare - lovely but inexperienced).

The one thing that everyone agrees on is that my assessments are correct. Which, as I've taught KS1 almost exclusively for 12 years, they jolly well should be.

What I'm missing is evidence. How can I prove that my assessments are correct? A large proportion of KS1 work is practical; it has to be. I have objective grids that I highlight when children have achieved something but unless I annotate them to cross-reference to planning or written work, it's not really counted. The implication being, I could have made it up.

And therein lies the problem, and the cause of my mini-meltdown at work this week. There are crap teachers out there and therefore good teachers have to prove that they are not crap teachers. But I am rubbish at evidence gathering. It doesn't even rank bottom of my list of priorities, it's just not on my list at all. I have no time for it and when I am forced to do it, I cut as many corners as possible to get it done as quickly as possible because it's not for my benefit, or for the benefit of the children I teach. It doesn't inform me. It doesn't tell me anything I don't already know. It doesn't assist with future planning. It's just a ticklist to prove that I'm not a crap teacher. And I'm not even proving that for my own benefit; I know I'm not a crap teacher.

The easiest solution would be if someone could invent an app that could access the 'teaching' part of my brain. There they could evaluate the vast database that I carry around in my head year on year. Every individual child entered and assessed. Areas of concern highlighted. Progress celebrated. I know every single child in my class down to the very last dotted i and crossed t. Ask me anything about those children (up to 30 each year) and I can say what they can and can't do across the curriculum. In 12 years of teaching, I have been proved wrong on two occasions and both those children were a long way outside the box (and I have learned from them for furture children).

But there is no helpful app and until it's invented, it appears that I've just got to get a little bit better at the paperwork.

Either that or drink more wine.

Night all.

I am one of those (annoying) people who absorb obscure facts and rejurgitate them years later having not given them a moment's head time in the interim. If I am at a loose end and want to watch a bit of telly then I am vastly more likely to put on a recording of a history documentary than I am to tune in to Britain’s Got Talent or Corrie or some-such. It was recently as I was watching just such a programme that I came across a particular fact that I just had never come across before at all. If I had I would have remembered I am sure. It is inconceivable that I am anywhere near the first person to remark on this, but it is new to me and I thought I would share with this little world, or those parts that didn’t already know, how utterly inappropriate it is that the man who founded Pan American World Airlines in the 1920s, an airline which flew literally millions of flights carrying tens of millions of passengers all over the world and managed it through the peak of its powers up to the 1970s, should be named Juan Trippe.

But he was.

I submitted a short story to the Mslexia magazine competition and paid an additional £45 to have it professionally critiqued - GULP, today I got the results of the critique (though think the competition winner is announced next week).
Having never had anything critiqued before (I've been too much of a wimp to post anything on here - except briefly to Lou who, incidentally, pin-pointed the same 'problem' as this critiquing person!  If only I'd shown Lou, and probably all you Cloudies before I submitted...  Lesson learned!)
Anyway, I thought I'd share the basic layout of the critique I received (although it's obviously very specific to my story) so that other writers scared of critiques on their work might feel less afraid.

So, it begins with General Comments (which is most of the critique):

"This is a highly imagined and well-rendered evocation of a teenager in break down and (for a person who in the narrative can't communicate) uses metaphors as concepts of reality..."  So basically outlines the plot!

"The narrative is rendered here in a highly personal and idiosyncratic way as universal experience.  At another level it also bespeaks a quality of isolation and distancing that marks anybody - not just teenagers - in the process of breakdown.  In this it raises the literary quality of this piece of writing..."  So comments about writing style and suggested audience.  Was chuffed by this comment!!

"You are explicit about your literary intentions: 'Time was a train, a speed train, an express'.  I wonder if you need to express this explicity as what comes after shows us how this metaphor is working.  I think 'the rest of your life platform' is a great culmination to the chunky metaphor that is this paragraph..."  Less is more...

"It is telling when you range around these metaphoric notions then come back to earth with 'and I still haven't done any sewing'..."  Not sure what 'telling' means - any ideas?

"You use the sense of sight to great effect.  'It's distracting.  Red crayon like sickeningly bright blood, is dribbling down her chin.'  NB I think this would be even more powerful if you lost the adverb sickeningly..."  Bloody adverbs!

"Nettie's hypersensitive sense of taste is used very well here: '...water...a familiar tang of metal hits my mouth'  And: 'Water looks clear but smells bad, like my palm when I've held change too long'.  Then in one wonderful phrase you manage to combine taste and sound..."  Enjoying the compliments but the negative is coming!

"We see her degenerating into total isolation and further and further into disabling paranoia.  I would render this without capitals.  The words themselves have sufficient power..."  This comment was made by Lou (thanks Lou - sorry you saw it after I submitted the story!)  I used capitals when she (the narrator) wanted to emphasise a feeling.  It clearly was a bad choice as she repeats later in the critique.

"And you need to use explanation marks much more sparingly: 'They'll kill us, Nettie... They've sent snipers in helicopters...  They're outside the door...'  Explanation marks reduce the power of the meaning of the words..."  This comment is really very helpful to me as I had no idea I did that!  Clearly, when she quotes me, I do it too much.

"You as the writer, by using all the senses - aural, oral, sound and smell - is very cleverly into the mind of this girl; we hear what she hears, we see what she sees... Through this sick girl's rendering we share the parents' despair.  Very good writing..."  Phew!

Then the heading reads Publication:
"A highly commended piece of writing.  This story would be suitable for the higher quality small magazines or could be one story in a collection to reflect the writer's range.  It could also be at the core of a very interesting novel..."  Wow, it is at the core of a (hopefully very interesting!) novel!!

Then Presentation / Layout:
The layout and syntax here is fine and the language is accomplished.  But I do have reservation about the the use of different typefaces.  I had thought that the use of different typefaces here would be viable but on re-reading I have changed my mind.  I think particularly the use of upper-case typeface becomes irritating and distracting.  The words are - and should be - powerful enough..."  OK

Finally the bizarre bit Any Other Comments:
"I have a personal problem with the name Nettie.  It looks terribly old-fashioned here.  And in my part of the world it is a slang name for an outside toilet..."  Excuse me?  Where in the world does this person live?!

Anyway, overall am pleased but totally kicking myself for not posting this story on the Cloud first!  Hope it's of use to any of you Cloudies as it's been a great help to me.

Peter Buckman, Ampersand Agency
Peter Buckman was on the editorial board of Penguin Books, and moved to New York to be a commissioning editor with the New American Library. He then became a full-time writer, producing books, films, plays, and scripts for tv and radio. Agenting has always been part of his life. The Ampersand Agency Handle literary and commercial fiction and non-fiction. Contemporary and historical novels, crime, thrillers, women’s fiction, memoirs, history, biography, cookery – anything as long as it’s well written. No fantasy / sci-fi / horror though.

• When did you come into agenting? What did you do before? And why agenting?

I was a publisher and then a full-time writer before becoming an agent in 2003, so I know the pleasures and pain involved in all aspects of the creative process.

• Have you ever opened a new manuscript, read a single page, and thought ‘I’m going to end up making an offer on this’? What was it about that page which excited you?

Yes. The opening sentence of “Q&A”, which turned into “Slumdog Millionaire”

• What’s your pet peeve on covering letters?

Packages or envelopes so plastered in sticky tape that I have to get a carving knife to open them. Anything addressed “Dear Sir/Madam” or “To whom it may concern”

• Do you need good personal chemistry with your authors?

Not necessarily, though agenting is a very personal thing – like having a lover, without the sex. You need to respect and be generous to one another, as well as being capable of surprise.

• The grim stats: how many submissions do you get per week (or year)? And how many new authors do you take on?

Around 100 a week, say 5000 a year, and in nine years we’ve got maybe 60 authors. You can figure out the stats.

• Do you like your authors to tweet & blog & Facebook … or do you really not care?

Don’t care

• Which is most important: the editor, the publisher or the advance?

The most important thing is that the author is happy and well-served

• Do you secretly have a book in you? And if so, tell us more …

I’ve published seven books, all out of print, and some of them so boring not even my wife has read them

Peter is one of the agents appearing at this year’s Festival of Writing. Each year we invite literary agents who are hungry for new talent and who represent some of the biggest and best agencies in the business. Don’t miss your chance to book a one-to-one session with an agent of your choice.

On Sunday 13 May, I shall set off to ride 500 miles from St Andrew’s in Scotland to St Andrew’s Youth Club in London to raise funds to cover savage grant cuts. 

 http://www.standrews2standrews.com/ 

We all have our special charities and this one happens to be mine. So this is isn’t a plea for sponsorship but rather an opportunity for me to blog briefly about something important to me and to let you know a bit about what good youth clubs are doing. And, although the youth club doesn’t feature specifically in ‘The Pimlico Kid’, it certainly does in the next book.

Founded in 1866, St Andrew’s is the world’s oldest (sic) youth club. It’s a great institution that gave me, along with countless others from the council flats and houses in Central London, opportunities that simply would not have been available.

Today it has approximately 700 members (boys and girls) from the age of five to 19 and each evening 70 to 100 attend the club. Activities include; football (nine teams fielded each weekend) dance, cookery, boxing, drama, karate, archery and many others. However, kids can also come to just to hang out in a safe place with their friends and, if they wish, watch soaps or football.

Youth clubs like mine are on the front line when it comes to the tougher issues (gang and knife crime) facing youngsters in the big cities. Apart from being professional, the most important quality the staff need today is bottle. However, because youth clubs (unlike home and school) are places kids go to only if they want to, it’s often possible to engage with them informally and effectively. The work has never been more important.

I hope to make it back to London in five days and, if I have any energy, to provide one or two updates along the way.

 

I

Vote please.


1. 

Two old ladies were shopping in town the other day. 

One says to the other "Did you come on the bus". 

The other replies "Yes but i made it look like a asthma attack".


2. A very shy guy goes into a bar and sees a beautiful woman sitting at the bar. After an hour of gathering up his courage, he finally goes over to her and asks, tentatively, "Um, would you mind if I chatted with you for a while?"
She responds by yelling, at the top of her lungs, "NO! I won't sleep with you tonight!" Everyone in the bar is now staring at them. Naturally, the guy is hopelessly and completely embarrassed and he slinks back to his table.

After a few minutes, the woman walks over to him and apologizes. She smiles at him and says, "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. You see, I'm a graduate student in psychology, and I'm studying how people respond to embarrassing situations."

To which he responds, at the top of his lungs, "What do you mean £200?!"









3. A Mormon happened to sit next to an Irishman on a flight from London to New York . After the plane was airborne and had reached its assigned cruising altitude, the flight attendant came around to take drink orders.

The Irishman asked for a whiskey, which was promptly brought and placed before him. The flight attendant then asked the Mormon if he, too, would like a drink. The Mormon replied in disgust, 'I'd rather be savagely raped by a dozen whores than let liquor touch my lips.'

The Irishman then handed his drink back to the attendant and said, 'Me, too. I didn't know we had a choice."


4.

A blonde heard that milk baths would make her beautiful. She left a note for her milkman to leave 100 litres of milk. When the milkman read the note, he felt there must be a mistake. He thought she probably meant 10 litres. So he knocked on the door to clarify the point.

The blonde came to the door and the milkman said, "I found your note asking me to leave 100 litres of milk. Did you mean 10 litres?" The blonde said, "I want 100 litres. I'm going to fill my bathtub up with milk and take a milk bath so I can look young and beautiful again."

The milkman asked, "Do you want it pasteurized?" The blonde said, "No, just up to my tits. I can splash it on my face".

Can anyone help? We're having a Victorian Day at school in a couple of weeks to celebrate 125 years and someone had the great idea that we should all dress up as Victorian school mistresses. (Wasn't me!) Looking at pictures, I need a long black skirt and a high neck blouse for starters. Don't suppose anyone's got either of those lurking in a wardrobe somewhere? Or any idea where I can get one without forking out a fortune? Any suggestions appreciated. Howls of laughter will earn a slap ;-)