Wednesday 30 October 2013

Half Term

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It’s half way through my first PGCE term and we get a week’s holiday, er, I mean, Reading Week. 
To celebrate, I decided to contract a messy cold.  It makes me feel like a real teacher as I understand it’s a bit of a tradition in the profession to stagger up to the holiday in reasonable health, then, just as you relax, so does your immune system. 
I was supposed to be visiting my parents this week, but it turns out they also have a cold so don’t want a visitor.  Although I’m sorry they’re unwell, maybe it was for the best as I was due to set off on my five hour drive first thing on Monday, just when the gale was raging. 
Instead, Monday was like having a snow day but without the inconvenient white stuff.  Nigel couldn’t get to work due lack of trains, so we had a cup of tea in bed, watched the trees thrashing in the wind and played “guess the name of the large object we can hear blowing about on the patio”.
When the storm abated, Nigel went out to check the damage.  He returned saying,
“Clare – it’s utter devastation out there.”
“Oh?”
“Two of my kale plants are now leaning at a slight angle.”

Sunday 27 October 2013

Skype


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Through my childhood, sci-fi TV series had characters using video phones, but now, for several years video calls have actually been within reach of many of us.  We are living in the future.  So why does it still feel a bit crap? 
I guess, in Star Trek , the dramatist would love the shot of somebody reporting a disaster by video link.  The character’s anguished face made the news about Klingons more dire. 
BUT the handsome chaps on the video screen reporting to their crew were actors, so they were experts at looking engaged and interested.  You never saw them glancing at the time or furtively doing a little word-processing. Unlike the rest of us defective human beings.
I find a conventional audio phone suits my fidgety nature much better.  I am able to indulge in one-handed housework, but try to avoid doing jobs that involve standing on wobbly chairs as I would hate my parents or children to hear my final expletives as I tumble to my death.  It could scar them emotionally. 
But it’s Skype for us at the moment.  Nigel, Pascoe and I line up on the sofa and call Perran or Carenza.  Perhaps if we were better organised we could use two laptops, Skype them both simultaneously and have a conference. 
But even then there would still be the slightly crap anti-climax where we wondered what to talk about, did a little word-processing, checked our watches and picked our noses.

Wednesday 23 October 2013

All dressed up

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The Picasso version of matriculation
Carenza had her matriculation ceremony!
Shouldn’t I have been there?  After all, it was an official rite of passage in my daughter’s young life.  Apparently not.  The word is that she is an adult now.  Parents will be allowed back in a few years’ time for the graduation ceremony, once there is a decent level of separation and they can be trusted not to lick their hankies in order to clean their offspring’s face.
Carenza was obviously able to picture me at home wearing my twin-set and pearls; my court shoes and matching handbag and hat gleaming as I stood by the front door waiting eagerly for my invitation to plop onto the door mat, so she sent us some pictures as compensation.
Perran also appeared all dressed up in the Bristol student newspaper, but didn’t send us the photos.  But I found them anyway!  Ha ha! (Manic laugh.)

Monday 21 October 2013

Hanging on the Telephone

Hanging on the Telephone
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When I was an undergraduate, my room was next to a landing at the head of a staircase.  On the landing was a rare public payphone.   
The first two times it rang, I answered it and dutifully toddled off to find the person for whom the bell tolled.  The first time, I wasn’t sure who the student in question was and had to make enquiries; the second time, I knew exactly who they were but they seemed to have given their mother the number of the phone furthest from their room, perhaps in the hope that she would give up ringing them.  I walked miles and then they were out.
The third time, and every time thereafter, I ignored the phone as I judged time-consuming phone-answering duties to be incompatible with the serious business of studying for a degree.  Who knows what love affairs ended, what mothers wiped away a lonely tear, as a result of my phone-refusal.
And how glad I am that my own communication with my offspring is not dependent on some hard-hearted undergraduate who is able callously to filter out telephone bells. 
The twins may have Skype switched off and their mobiles set to silent, but sooner or later, a text from me will get through.  And the two keystrokes that it takes for them to draw a smiley will reassure me that all is wellJ

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Thursday 17 October 2013

Nice Peas

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Sometimes you hear successful figures of today on Desert Island Discs saying
“Yah, in our house, there was always a debate going on, always lively argument round the dinner table.”
This makes me feel inadequate as the main subject of dinner debate chez nous is whether it’s okay to put extra salt on food or not.  However, we do always switch the radio off, thank God for the food, and then the silence is somehow filled with chat, even though I could rarely recount to you what we’d talked about. 
Probably trivial gossip.
The great thing is that Perran, Carenza and Pascoe lead much more interesting lives than our middle-aged bunch. 
“So he dumped her by text?  That’s horrendous.”
“Yeah, and then she put a picture of him picking his nose on Facebook.”
Does anybody remember the Spitting Image portrayal of John and Norma Major as a dull, grey couple eating a monotonous meal?  I picture Nigel and I like this after Pascoe has left for Edinburgh:
“Nice peas, Clare.”
“Yes, Nigel, they’re very green.”
And across the town, our various empty-nest friends will be the same. 
So I guess we’ll be inviting them round more often.  Only trouble is, unlike the offspring, we won’t be able to lock them in the kitchen and force them to do the washing up afterwards.

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Tuesday 15 October 2013

Pan Fire

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I thought I was doing really well – I have made it to every session of my PGCE course so far, despite a mammoth commute, have handed in my first two assignments on time, have kitted up and seen off two children for university.  The house is a bit of a tip, but heigh-ho. 
In living at home with Nigel, I knew I was going to lose out on university life, but weighed against that are the advantages of retaining family life and links with old friends.
I was doing just this at the church Harvest Supper on Saturday, when in the middle of a speech about African AIDs orphans, I had a mental picture of…SMOKE!
 I realised with a shock that I had left a pan on at home.   I raced back.
I opened the front door on a pall of acrid grey smoke.  I thank God that it wasn’t worse – the house wasn’t actually on fire.
I guess a burning pan is the traditional way for a woman’s unconscious to tell her that she has too much on her plate.  I think I’ve just been told.

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Saturday 12 October 2013

So What Happened to The Tribbles?

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Just before Carenza left for uni, she made a plethora of pom-poms.  Obviously we feared they would take over the house in the way that Tribbles once invaded the Starship Enterprise, but luckily we were wrong.
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED TO THE POM-POMS
Carenza made them into a rug.

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED TO THE TRIBBLES





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Thursday 10 October 2013

Bum Dial

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Bum Dial
When friends ask “Has Perran been in touch at all?”
We say “Not much,” then, defensively, “But that’s a good sign – he’d only be ringing us if he was miserable.”
There’s been the odd text, skype, phone call, enough so we know he’s still alive. 
Yet we are content.  The reason?
On Perran’s second day at uni, we were in the kitchen at home each wondering silently how he was getting on.  Then Nigel’s phone rang: it was a call from Perran’s mobile.  Nigel listened for a while, then turned the sound up and beckoned me to come over.  We could hear several voices, amongst them, Perran’s - a group of girls and boys, laughter. 
The conversation was indistinct, but it sounded friendly and happy.  We imagined them in the kitchen of their shared flat.  Clearly Perran’s phone had called us by accident from his pocket.  We smiled at each other and quietly switched the call off.
No deliberate call could have been quite as reassuring as that bum dial.  However much somebody declares “I’m alright!” over-anxious parents can never be sure. 
But hearing that, we could be sure.

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Tuesday 8 October 2013

Gone

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Gone.
I had to go to PGCE lectures yesterday, which meant that it was Nigel and Pascoe who drove Carenza and all her goods and chattles to Oxford.   I wasn’t there to help her settle in, hang up her clothes, shove stuff under her bed.  And now I have no mental picture of her in her room . 
However, being the parent who does the drop off is not an easy option either.  Almost before you have heaved the last box up the stairs, other freshers are hanging round ready to chat, and you soon feel in the way.  Quickly you deposit that final fatal crate and depart, still doubled-up, to phone your chiropractor for an appointment.
Last night, as I rubbed ointment into Nigel’s lower back, I was, on balance, pleased not to have been the one to deliver Carenza to Oxford. 
Anyway, there’s something about the webcam that always makes a college room look so much larger when you see it on Skype than in real life, so as long as I don’t visit her, as far as I’m concerned, Carenza will be living in a palace.

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Sunday 6 October 2013

Birthday

“It’s such a perfect day.  I’m glad I spent it with you…”
The mellow sun is low in the sky and Nigel is driving Pascoe, Carenza and myself home from seeing Perran in Bristol while Lou Reed is serenading us from the CD player. 
For my birthday, I like to get the family together, but had thought that it would not be possible this year since everybody is destined to be studying far from home.  But to my delight, we managed it.
Pascoe’s departure for Edinburgh has been delayed until January, Carenza doesn’t set off for Oxford until tomorrow.  So all we had to do was drive all the way to Bristol to be with Perran.  Oh, and celebrate my birthday three days early.
Perran was lucky that one of his flatmates also had parents visiting, so tidying the flat had probably been a joint effort.  It looked very civilised.   However, eagle-eyed Carenza triumphantly pointed out a takeaway pizza box on a shelf in the kitchen.
“That,” said Perran with dignity, “Is the cardboard recycling.”
My best birthday present this year was to see that after only two weeks, Perran is settled and thriving at Bristol.

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Thursday 3 October 2013

“The trouble with tribbles”

Carenza is still at home.  She missed Perran desperately when he left, and now Sasoon has gone too. She is enjoying a few get-togethers with old friends, but finally she is ready to be on her way. 
She has chosen an interesting way of expressing her feelings.  She began by making a few pom-poms.   Then she created a pom-pom garden and now she has moved on to a pom-pom empire.  She had better leave soon or we shall be over-run by pom-poms.  
As Nigel drives her to university on Monday, pom-poms will hop and bounce along, squeaking and following the car down the road like the Pied Piper of Hamlyn. 

On second thoughts, perhaps I shall try to persuade the pom-poms to stay with me.  They can snuggle up to me on the sofa when I watch telly at night.  They will be company for me.

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Tuesday 1 October 2013

Jack's Song About Leaving Home




The feeling in the air is that it's time to leave home.  Despite a few nerves, and parents who will miss them, Perran and Carenza's friends are ready to move on, some of them to new places, others simply to new challenges.  Jack Wheater (on the right of the picture) expresses the feeling of his generation - to hear his poignant song, click on the link below.

Jack's Song About Leaving Home