There was a fair bit of denial over the course of last evening. Denial and swears. And chocolate. With some wine to take the sting off. I blame the polls for getting my hopes up. And my own stupid self for not floating outside my leftie, social consciencey, feminist, anti-phobe, social-media bubble and having a look around at what the other folk were talking about.
But because my brain is undeniably a right prick at times, I can’t get her question out of my head. Why can’t that poor little hedgehog talk? Seriously, what is the criteria for making it into the talking animal stakes in Peppa Pig?
A 15 year old made me cry recently. She knew it too; saw me well up and turn my head to blot a couple of escapees with the heel of my hand. She didn’t say anything, just looked at me with large eyes and a guilty half-smile. Students have brought me to tears before, although…
This time two years ago I was marking a clutch of Year Twelve essays; sitting on the couch, red pen firmly clasped, a stack of film analysis on either side (Marked and Yet To Be), the television keeping itself company in the background. A commonplace scene in our lounge of an evening, especially as prelim…
Generally speaking, I am one of those people who needs to be feeling like death before I go anywhere near a doctor. Even then, if I think it’s death by virus, standard practice is paracetamol and a healthy dose of avoidance. Partly it’s a hallmark of being a teacher; the preparation of relief work while feverish is just about as…
Most of us, if we’re lucky, had at least one friend during our young life whose house became a home away from home, whose parents became surrogates, whose siblings were just as infuriating as our own.
In this age of individuality, where subjectivity is King and anyone’s opinion and perspective is as valid and correct as anyone else’s, it seems like we’ve lost sight of the fact that there are, indeed, facts. Things that cannot really be contested, no matter who you are and what your experience may be.
Activewear enthusiasts, I have judged you harshly. And I was wrong.
You’re sitting through one of those excruciating meetings that should have been an email. Its topic is something that you care little about, and that matters in the grand scheme of things not at all.
Last week I made a life changing decision.
No exaggeration. Life. Changing.
Something that has struck me, simple and yet profound, is the fact that even though my nightly route doesn’t change, I almost always notice some new detail or variation or fragment of beauty as I walk along.
The wee lad’s sick.