Daughters and Gadgets

After reading J-P's lovely post on his daughter Eleanor, I began to feel a bit homesick for my daughter in Scotland. She is living with her husband near St. Andrews. He's a nice guy, and they seem fairly happy.
But I miss her. I believe there's a small chance they may emigrate to sunny NZ sometime in the future.
I would dearly love to have them living down here, I think the life style would suit them both.
To help allay this feeling of loss, I went down to the garage and resurrected a webcam I'd bought last year. For some reason it never installed properly, and I gave up in disgust.
Yes. I know I teach ICT.
Yes, I know I've got a Masters in Computing Science
Yes I know I've been in computing for over 20 years, and have the newest version of Windows 7 with all the bells and whistles.
Sometimes computers do strange things.
Live with it.
What do you know, it installed perfectly.
I hope to try video conferencing with my daughter and son-in-law soon.
Today even.
Until then here is the first webcam picture from my new gadget.



I know that my beloved (like many women)objects to men playing with their new toys.
It's NOT PLAYING. it's called finding out HOW THE HELL DOES THIS WORK (the actual title of this blog)
In 6 months time, when the light of my life wants to find out how to take a picture of our little dog on-line, or how to change the camera settings to make her look better (if that were possible!!)when she's talking to our daughter or friends on a video chat, then she wants (demands)a quick and accurate set of instructions (in non-technical language of course)on how to do it.
So to all the ladies out there, we're not playing, we're getting prepared for your needs by exploring the software.
The picture was taken at 11:30 on Sunday mroning. Please note the sunshine streaming in the windows. The sun does actually shine here in the South of the North Island.
Also please note that I live about 20 km from Nuova Lazio. They've probably still got a thick layer of fog over there. (or smoke from the Mary Jane plants they're burning off before the nice police officers come calling)
Enjoy your sunny Sunday.
Enjoy new technology.
Enjoy beating the Springboks to a pulp (again)
Go the ABs

Uluru Part 2

After our tour of Uluru, we were scheduled to undergo the experience known as "Sounds of Silence".
No, this is not the Simon and Garfunkle classic, but a delightful experience of dining under the stars, listening to the absolute silence of the desert.
It didn't quite work out that way, the silence of the desert being replaced (mostly) by very loud Aussies telling everyone how good life is in Australia, and how much money they've been making.
Our friends had done this experience years ago, and we thought we would also enjoy the experience.
We did.
We were warned when I checked the booking, that it could get very cold at night, and to be sure to bring warm clothing (that's why the guy has a backpack, it's to hold some extra jumpers).
I also found out that the dining experience had been cancelled every night for the last 2 weeks, because it had been very cold, and very wet.
We were lucky, in that our day was turning out quite nice, and by 5 pm, the sky had cleared, and we got confirmation that the dinner was on.
(I also discovered that if the weather was bad, you did not get your money back, they simply gave you the same dinner in the hotel restaurant.)
All those in our hotel who had booked this evening gathered outside at about 5pm. I noticed that I was the only guy wearing a tie. My wife and I had decided that we would go a bit more formal tonight. You know, try and make it something special. At these bloody prices, I can't see us coming back anytime soon, so we'd better make an effort. Our dining companions were a mixture of Aussies, Brits, Irish and South African, a pleasant and civilized bunch at the moment.
But no ties.
We were driven by coach to the campsite, about 5 Km from the hotel, picking up other diners from their accommodation on the way.
I noted with interest that we passed a "camel rides" sign on the way. I wondered if naughty camels ended up on tonight's menu.
When we disembarked, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, we were directed to a viewing platform up in the dunes. This area was set out as a pre-dinner drinks area. We were given glasses of champagne (actually a mildly pleasant Aussie fizzy white)and canapes circulated. I cannot remember what was in them all, but I remember one was kangaroo.
Uluru was dominant on the skyline behind us, and we spent the next hour talking to our fellow diners and talking photos of each other with Uluru in the background, or just Uluru as it changed colour under the setting sun.

As it began to get dark, we were encouraged to move along to the dining area. This was a a large flat area of dune, one corner was a fire pit, one side had stainless steel serving equipment, with barbecues behind. Large circular tables (for 8 - 10) were scattered around, with portable gas heater beside each table. The only illumination was from a single candle on each table, the wood fire in the fire pit, a dull red glow from the heaters and electric lights on the serving equipment.
We (I really) had had a few drinkies by now, and was feeling more expansive. A subtle kick on the ankle from my beloved reminded me to shut up, and let others talk as well.
Aren't the ladies so good at keeping us civilized?
Wine was supplied (I think it was Penfolds, but it was getting a bit dark by now, and I'm not really sure)in copious amounts. The waitpersons being very good throughout the night in keeping our glasses filled.
There was background music supplied by a musician on a didgeridoo. Actually better than you might think. The musician was using traditional techniques but contemporary composition. It was really good.
We were served with soup and entree by the waiters, but brought up to the barbecues by tables to load up our own plates. There was plenty of choice, 3 or 4 different salads, pasta, sausages, fish(baramundi), chicken, sausages, Kangaroo steaks, emu, and lamb cutlets.



By this time the sun had completely set, and together with the effect of the many glasses of wine, I wasn't really sure what I was eating, but munched contentedly through my plateful (and I think part of my wife's as well. There had to be a reason why she jabbed my wrist with her fork. Maybe she was hungry. Who knows?)
By this time the sounds were mainly of chewing, gulping down drinks, belching (I told you there were many Aussies amongst us), boasting and bragging, plus much discussion of children and grandchildren.
This was the first time I had noticed the age range. These tours were so expensive that it was mostly made up of the middle aged, with a few rich younger types.
As I listened to the conversation circulating around me, I picked up references to "The house in Capetown", "The yacht in Darwin", "The flat in Knightsbridge".
Some of these people were very comfortable financially.
What the hell was I doing in their company?
I was a teacher with one house in Upper Hutt, a 4WD that was 15years old and a bank account that regularly went into the red.
I'm not complaining mind you, but it felt odd being in that sort of company.
I didn't mention the toilets.
There was a modern toilet about 100 metres away, up a slightly illuminated hill path. I say slightly as it used these low-level LED lights. Conversation was occasionally interrupted by screams and oaths as ladies (screams, unless they were Australian)and gentlemen (oaths, unless they were English)stumbled of the track into stony and thorny bush.
Being a gentleman (and also because my beloved swings a mean left hook)I escorted my lady up the hill to the long drop.( To any non-antipodeans reading this, a long drop is a nonflushing toilet. See here for further details on Kiwi vocabulary and usage)
Ah romance!
Back in our seats, drinking (again) from our re-filled glasses, I became aware that the distant thump of the generator had ceased.
All the lights were now off.
The only illumination was the candle and the now dying down fire pit.
There was another scream from the toilet path, as a poor Englishman discovered he could not see in the pitch black.

Then the night talker began. This was an astronomer, who directed our attention to the splendours of the night sky over our heads.
There was another oath, as a slightly inebriated Aussie leaned too far back in his chair and fell off.
The astronomer began by giving a general description of the major celectial objects, and he said that we would be seeing some unusual objects in the night sky.
Just as he said that, a shooting star streaked overhead.
How the hell did he get the timing so exact.
Saw Venus, Mars and Saturn. Many other stars and galaxies. We were then invited to use some astronomical telescopes situated on the periphery of the dining area. Spectacular views of Saturn.


Then desert was served, together with a port-like wine.
The coaches arrived, we all lurched off to them for the lift back to the hotels.
Great night.
Magic expeerience.
Terrible hangover next morning.

Uluru Part 1

Next instalment of our Aussie trip.

We flew to Alice Springs from Cairns, then drove a hired car to the Yulara Resort, next to Uluru.
A little digression here.
I'm an idiot.
When I booked the holiday through Expedia, I assumed that Uluru (Ayers Rock) was quite close to Alice Springs. It was actually, by Australian standards. It was over 400 km distant. It became too complex to change the Expedia bookings without major financial penalties, so I arranged to hire a car in Alice and drive to the resort and back.
I'm actually glad we did the journey this way, as it quickly established in our minds the absolute hugeness of the Australian continent.
Another way in which the country surprised us was that it actually felt a bit claustrophobic.



The bush, some of it about 2-3 metres high grew up very close to the road, so we didn't always see the vast open landscapes we had imagined.
The road was good, sealed and metalled (I may be an idiot, but I'm a computer literate idiot, and I had previously checked using google maps street view to check the state of the road)so we hired a Ford Falcon (unlimited mileage through Europcar). I was really glad the car had cruise control, because the 130kph was easy to set for the long, long straight stretches.
We took the Stuart Highway (130kph)from Alice, then turned of onto the Lassiter Highway (110kph) at Erldunda.
After about 20 minutes i thought I had a visual sighting of Uluru itself.
As I have stated earlier, I'm an idiot. A fact my beloved clearly told me. Repeatedly.

Uluru was still 200 km away. What I had seen was Mount Conner. A wide table topped mountain, which looked very much like the mesas in Colorado.
Finally got to the hotel, "Sails in the Desert". Friends of ours had stayed there 10 years ago, and it had seemed pretty luxurious to them.
It probably was 10 years ago, and I don't think it's been touched since.
The rooms cost about A$480 per night. Breakfast and everything else was extra.
All the hotels in the Yulara resort complex are owned by the same company, so there is no competition.
However the beds were comfortable and the rooms were clean.
Dinner that night was just OK, but cost about A$140 for the 2 of us, with 1 glass of wine. Get the idea? Rip-of city.
We set of to Uluru next morning, and I must admit it was far more impressive than I had thought it would be.



It looked different from every angle. It's covered in rills, ridges, holes, caves, buttresses and waterfalls.


The colour changes from a basic sandstone red to purples, browns, blacks and pink. The texture changes across the surface, from a gritty matt to a glossy black.



We went into the cultural centre which was pretty interesting. It explained the historical and spiritual significance of Uluru to the local Aboriginal peoples, and asked tourists not to climb. There was no direct prohibition to climbing by Australian Law, unless weather conditions merited it, but I liked the polite way in which the requests were worded. I have no intention to climb Uluru, not because I believe any of the gobbledygook spouted by the locals (no offence, I think all religions are gobbledygook) but it's their country (especially this part) and I respect their wishes in their land.
We walked around most of the rock, but not all the way. They have cleverly laid out a metalled road that surrounds Uluru at a fair distance (about 500 metres), with car parks spotted strategically next to designated walking paths to points of special interest.
I should have mentioned earlier that the weather was now a bit variable. Alice Springs had just had the lowest recorded temperature of 6⁰ C, and there was heavy threatening clouds overhead.
So we drove, parked and walked, drove parked and walked, repeated until we had seen all the major points.
All done with the looming bulk of the rock above you. (Oops, I forgot to mention the herd of feral camels which went trotting past. Surreal.)



I was certainly glad to be here, rip-of prices or not. It was an experience I would not forget.
I believe the correct term is awesome.
More tomorrow, including the most romantic dinner ever!

Back to Work

Have to go in to Nuova Lazio today, even though I'm officially on holiday. Like Richard (of RBB) I've got work to get ready for the kids next week.
I've also got a new staff member to prepare.
This means apart from getting him set up on the school computer network, going over next term's plan and assessments, and showing the guy all the resources he can use.
Of course I've got to get him his Anti-Ringo vaccinations, show him where Ringo dwells in everlasting darkness so he can avoid the Pit and introduce him gently to the bunch of deviants and social inadequates we call our staff. (Just joking Richard (of RBB), your not socially inadequate).
It doesn't seem like anytime has passed since we went on our break. Doesn't time fly when you're enjoying yourself.

Holiday in Oz.

At last, I've got some time to let you know about my hols.
I have to be careful, as my beloved thinks that using the computer for anything but serious work is the device of the devil. That's why there wasn't much posted from Aussie.

Arrived in Cairns on Monday evening.


Cairns was great, nice clean town, not tacky. Sort of half way between Wellington and Taupo.
Lovely hotel (Pullman reef casino)gorgeous rooms, luxurious beds, views over the sea from the balcony.

Not bad price, about $840 for 4 nights, and when we arrived we found that we had got extra discount of $192 which we could spend on breakfasts, meals etc.
Went out on the reef next day at 8:00 am. Used a company called Down Under Cruise and Dive. Very good. They supplied wet suits (for buoyancy more than warmth, the water was 24⁰C. They also supplied prescription goggles at no cost, which was great for me, as I'm very short-sighted.
Snorkeling over the reef was one of the great experiences of my life.


The water was lovely and clear, with multi-coloured fish everywhere. Saw a small turtle swimming slowly away, and managed to follow it for about 100 metres.


I had forgotten how salty the water was, and how much it burned as it was forced up my nose by the pressure of the water. The sun wasn't too bad, but the sea was a bit choppy.
Saw a very unusual effect. As another snorkeler swam past, the bubbles formed by his fins were a gorgeous peachy-pink. It was like swimming through pink champagne. Lovely.
Plenty of food (sausages, steaks and salads) but no alcohol for safety reasons.
Moved to a second reef position after lunch, another swim (saw a shark) then back to Cairns on a helicopter.



Went for a feed that night at Fish Devine, not bad, but more like an upmarket fish and chips.
Took the train next day to Kuranda. Lovely scenic trip, lovely views.



Kuranda was OK for half an hour, but we had to spend 4 hours there. Not recommended.
Took the Rainforest SkyTrain back to Cairns. Well worth the expense (about A$50 each)



Note to self: DO NOT TAKE WIFE WITH VERTIGO ON CABLE CAR. TAKES AGES TO GET THE FINGERNAIL SCARS OFF ARM.
Went to dinner at The Salt House. Great food, reasonably priced (about A$120 for 2).
Pleased to note that almost all of the white wines offered were NZ.
Flew off to Alice Springs on the 4th day.
As a Scot, who is careful with money, I did not use the hotel minibar, but rather bought some wines from a bottle shop.

Tyrrell's Wines
Old Winery
Pinot Noir 2009
This was odd. Did not taste particularly good when opened, but even after 12 hours it was a bit vinegary introduction, strong tannins, but a long smooth velvety finish. Cost A$14.50

Wild Oats
Cabernet Merlot
2007
Oatley Wines, Mudgee NSW.
Wow. A huge hit of fruit and berries.
Long intense vanilla and berry finish.
One of the best if tried under $A20

More on Uluru tomorrow.

Wednesday in Wellington

Got back from Aussie early on Tuesday. Really early, about half past midnight. There was a full plane load (737-400)and only 3 immigration officers, so it took about an hour to get past and get our luggage. Joy of joys, our bags had gone astray, somewhere between Alice Springs and Sydney. Qantas knew not where.
"Don't worry mate, they'll be here tomorrow."
"Sometime."
"Late."
Finally got home about 2am.
Hot shower, back into our own bed.
Isn't it amazing how your own bed feels so absolutely welcoming?
Deep sleep for 7 hours, then up to a freezing Hutt valley morning.
I'm a bit jet lagged, not because of a huge time differential, but because of the geographical/activity shift.
4 Days ago swimming in 24⁰ C. sea water over the barrier reef.
3 Days ago, walking around Uluru (Ayer's Rock)



2 Days ago, sublime meal, under the appearing stars while watching the sun set on Uluru.
1 Day ago, walking around Alice Springs, buying Aboriginal art.
Lazy day on Tuesday, getting back up to speed on the domestic chores.
Picked up the dog from the kennels.




Checked the blogs. Lot of activity in some quarters.
Bags arrived around 8pm
Mug of Horlicks and to bed.

Damn, so close

In my last quick post from Cairns, I enquired whether the almighty might care to expunge Nuova Lazio high from existence, or even Ringo. Can you imagine my joy when I spotted the headline in Stuff.co.nz about the Lower Hutt college completely destroyed in a suspicious fire? Unfortunately it was the wrong school. Better aim next time Big Guy. He's the one with the earring, or alternatively, it's the one with the double-bass (not the drum, seemingly)playing music teacher.
Sitting here in the laundry room of a classy hotel in Alice Springs, sipping a very drinkable Tasmanian Lager (Cascade)while using this archaic $2.00/minute internet access computer. Absolutely magic time in Uluru, more later
Hope the Weather in NZ has improved, because it's bloody freezing here. I kid you not. They've got emergency teams of old ladies knitting woollen ear warmers for the frost-bitten Kangaroos.
Great news about the ABs thrashing the living daylights out of the barbaric Springboks. More after I get home.
Kia Ora Bro's

If it's Thursday, I'm in Cairns

Having a great time in Aussie. Weather nice and hot, not below 22 C.
Went out on the reef yesterday, snorkeled above the reef, saw hundreds of different types of fish, plus chased a turtle.
Hope everyone is having fun in chilly Kiwiland.
If there's a just God, Nuova Lazio will have been expunged, or at least be Ringo-free when I come back.
I'll try and post again from Alice Springs.

Gods of Double Bass

I never knew the double bass could sound like this.

Video Blog

Second thinks it's ifficult. Is It? Let's try

Teaching

After recovering from the rigours of the week, and the term, with two weeks of R & R to look forward to, it occurred to me that any reader who is not involved in teaching, would think that we teachers have a pretty soft life.
Think about it.

• Never work on weekends.
  
• Start at 9
  
• Finish at 3
  
• All the public holidays
  
• 12 weeks holiday a year
  
• Good pay
  

The reality is slightly different.

For most of us, the day starts at 8, so we can get the rooms ready and attend morning appell or briefing. This is where we learn of any planned/unplanned changes to the normal school routine.
We don't always get our coffee or lunch breaks, as we have to supervise the kids having their breaks, or we're running detentions or catch-up classes
Most of us finish by 5, but HOFs and Deputy/Principals are often in school until 6 or 7. This is not a choice. There are committee, faculty and other meetings most afternoons.
Many teachers come in on weekends to support an extra-curricular activity (coaching rugby, netball etc.)or to get some administration done, or new assessments set up for the new curriculum. When I arrived in Nuova Lazio from Scotland, I must have spent every weekend for 6 months getting the courses and assessments set up.
We do get a lot of holidays, and by God we need them. Teaching/supervising about 600 kids per week is exhausting. Think about your own experiences. Even looking after 2 kids for an afternoon is fun, but how tired are you at the end? Multiply that by 300 and you will get close to our levels of exhaustion. Remember that most of the kids would rather be doing something else, so we have to motivate, inspire, berate, lead, demonstrate, assess, give feedback, praise, warn, threaten and care for all of these kids, every hour, every day.
Finally pay.
A new teacher, coming out of a 3 or 4 year degree course, plus a year doing a post-graduate certificate/diploma, has about $20,000 of debt to pay off, and they start at $30,000 per year. This is about $14.50 per hour. Is this enough. Do people want their primary children's educator to get paid less than the cook at the local cafe?
We're just starting a pay and conditions negotiation with the Ministry of Education, and I don't foresee an easy ride.
Mind you if we start having random strikes, and start sending kids home for whole days, what's that going to do to the country's overall productivity?
Ah well.
I'm going to enjoy the next two weeks off. Recharge the batteries.
Don't even think about school for at least a week.

Yes Mary, this is a penis.

Saturday and Survived

What a pleasant feeling to wake up without the buzzing of an alarm. No need to go into school at Nuova Lazio for two weeks.
Cuddle up back under the covers of the warm bed.
How is it that you can be warm sitting in a heated room, or under a blazing sun, but the warmth of snuggling under a quilt is so much more delightful?
Last day on Friday was thankfully uneventful, at least as far as the pupils went.
Basket Guy was running a stage show for the kids called MyTube, and by all accounts was a great success. Richard (of RBB) was doing the music and sound system stuff, so we didn't see much of them for most of the day.
Recognising our closeness to exhaustion, Der Fuhrer shouted a morning tea, and not just pikelets. Potato topped savouries, pies and sausage rolls by the kilo. Much needed and much appreciated. If you've never been in a staffroom when they deliver food, all you need to picture the scene is to have watched a nature program. The way that vultures swoop and tear at a dead Gnu, or the way that Hyenas burrow their way into the guts of a Wildebeast will give you a idea.
You have to really watch where you put your hands, someoone might rip it of.
The stress of the last day really got to some of us. I spotted crying, sobbing, weeping, screaming, shouting, nervous tics and twitches. And that was one person over 5 minutes.
One of our staff fell at the last gate. The other Scot in my department succumbed to a seizure just before lunch. He was conscious as they wheeled him away to the ambulance, but not quite compos mentis. Poor guy, he was due to start work in a school over the hill next term. I think he finds our kids hard work.
He's right of course. Our kids are very hard work, but mostly it's worth the effort.
Looking out of the windows, I can see blue sky and a pinky sunrise.
I wonder if this is some sort of good omen. I really haven't seen much sun or sky for 4 weeks. It's been gray, wet and cold. Just like Scotland.
But that's the reason I travelled 13,000 miles. To get away from the cold and gray.
Ah well.
Never mind.
Cairns on Monday.
Enjoy!.

Friday at LAST

We made it.
We survived.
Basket Guy mentioned in his blog that he wondered why it was that even though we got 4 holidays a year, teachers seem so knackered after just 10 or 11 weeks.
The truth is that kids are emotional vampires. They will suck out and absorb every scintilla of emotion, enthusiasm and knowledge that a teacher expresses.
It is why the "good" teachers are just as, or even more exhausted than the norm. If you give more, they take more.
When I first started teaching (I was in my 40s)my beloved mentioned that she had never seen me more exhausted every day. For the first time I began to take quick naps on the couch before the T.V.
I find it fun and fulfilling, but we still need a break to recharge. The kids do to.
So today I'm stocking up with lollies for the kids, and really looking forward to our break in Sunny, Warm Oz.
One more day.

Second Last Thursday

Two days to go. The light is visible at the end of the tunnel. It has been a long 11 weeks. Everyone, pupils and staff are getting tired and irritable (there's a good Scots word for this. It's 'Crabbit'.








All of the hard stuff is finished.
The last report evening went off last night. 2pm to 5pm in a large, mostly empty icy cold gym. No coffee easily available. I saw 8 groups of parents, caregivers and offspring. Some good discussion, some awkward moments, some plans set.
22.5 minutes available for each group. They normally finished in 5. I was bored, cold and fed up. All of my marking had been finished. Many of us got up and wandered around. Some lucky buggers had their desks and chairs positioned below the gym heaters and were reasonably comfortable. Some had been positioned in front of the doors, and an icy wind made them very uncomfortable.
No sarcastic comments.
No advanced cynicism.
Too tired.

Report Tuesday

This recording was discovered in the remains of the hall after the police had cleared the riot. It appears to have used a voice-activated microphone, but only one side of the conversation was actually recorded.



"Well hello."
"Sit down, sit down."
"So you're Report Evening's Dad?"
"Oh, sorry, Report Evening's Uncle then, how do you do Mr. Evening?"
"Oh, you prefer to be called Drunk and Disorderly?"
"No worries, let's get started Drunk."
"I take it you've seen Reppy's Report Card?"
"No?"
"Let me check the address we've got on file"
"Hmmm, a bit different from what we've got."
"So you don't live in KeriKeri then?"
"That's OK, I'll get it updated."
"Now then about Reppy."
"She means well, and is normally good natured, but she talks far to much, and often doesn't pay attention"
"She hasn't achieved any of her major milestones this Term, and her attendance is way down, less than 25%."
"She really doesn't know what she's supposed to be doing."
"No." "I agree." "It's not good enough, and we're going to have to make some changes."
"First we need to see her attendance go way up."
"She often seems hungry and thisty, so perhaps you can ensure that she has access to snacks and tea/coffee/juice."
"Some people work better with some light background music, so perhaps we can try that."
"Oh." "I agree." "No Double Bass music, it's far to moody and depressing for Reppy."
"One area I'm worried about is the quality of work taking place."
"It's no good just covering things she already knows, we'll have to go into new areas, see things she doesn't know about, discuss things outside of her comfort zone."
"I'm glad you agree."
"Sorry, what was that again?."
"Do I know Reppy's cousin, Learning Conferences?"
"Yes I know LC, sometimes I think she's more trouble than she's worth, but we get good results, so I can't complain."
"I see."
"You prefer LC to Reppy?"
"Well we'll see what we can do, but I can make no promises."
"What do you mean typical teacher, never listens?"
"I'll have you know I'm the best teacher here, and I know considerably more about Education than you do."
"Don't call me an opinionated Irish bastard, you colonial oik, I'm Scottish"

Right Dress

Someone recently mentioned that they had seen a scruffily dressed bloke picking up Cheezo packets after a performance of the Nueva Lazio 40 piece school ensemble.
I objected to this gross calumny, he was just comfortably dressed (actually, the fist time I typed it, it came out as comfartably, which may be wrong spelling, but feels intrinsically more accurate).
Heating in Nuova Lazio is not normally a problem, with our balmy sub-tropical yet temperate climate in our secluded valley. Occasionally we get the odd wind or two coming up from the Antarctic, and this does tend to bring a bit of a nip in the air (no offense, Oh Sons of Nippon)

When this happens, we all tend to wear warmer clothes, disregarding our usual sartorial elegance.
We all have our personal idiosyncrasies of dress.
I know our leader of music prefers to come in in his tuxedo, to lend that touch of class.

I always wear my trusty Harris Tweed "Sports" jacket which has seen me through many a campaign against the fuzzy-wuzzies.
Our PE department are always tastefully attired in the best quality nylon shell/track suits.
(As an aside, an old joke in Scotland;
"How can you tell the bride at a Dundee wedding?"
"She's the one wearing the white shell suit")
Our Art department vary between off the shoulder glam, to warm and woolly, with a bit of Bohemian chic thrown in.
Jeans are completely forbidden at all times (unless you want to make a really good impression at Parent/Teacher Report Evenings .(which is tonight)
Our Technology teachers wear comfortable yet scruffy apparel. Mostly a mix of shorts, trainers and any other rags they can get hold of.(I speak only of the males of the species; the Lady teachers are always well turned out)
Most of us wear what we want. Some with ties, some without. As usual, most blokes wear roughly the same week after week, while our poor female colleagues splurge out on many different variations as females are wont to do.
Our senior leadership team (See, I'm up to date with the terminology, even if our esteemed leaders often forget.)are mostly smartly dressed.



Apart from Ringo.
I am sure he tries his best, always wears a tie, often a casual silk scarf draped elegantly over his stylish Armani suit, with his rakish silver ear-ring glinting in the sun, but it never really comes off.

Surrounding us is a sea of neatly uniformed students, all complying exactly to the regulation of the BOT. Leather shoes highly polished, ties neatly knotted, every one wearing their school blazer proudly, merit and Excellence badges gleaming in the sub-tropic sun.

I tell you, when I was in the Army, I though I knew what uniform was, but I couldn't believe what standards of uniform excellence the pupils here aspire to.

I can remember when I was teaching in Scotland, we had an almost qualified young lady student-teacher sent to us for her final experience. On her second week, we had a mufti day for some charity or other. Everyone, pupils and staff entered into the spirit of the thing and we all came in many varieties of dress.
This young lady, blond, voluptuous (and let's face it, a bit thick) came into school wearing a micro-mini skirt and a see-through white blouse, no bra, or undergarments we could see.
We almost had a riot in her form class, and as the word spread throughout the school, hordes of teaming testosterone-fuelled youth packed the corridors to get a glimpse.
We had never seen such excitement since the visiting chairperson of the council education committee had had an epileptic fit on the podium whilst addressing the senior school on the dangers of drink and sex at the senior parties due that month.(The seniors spread the rumour that she was having an LSD flashback from a student indiscretion)
or
When the stupid unfeeling bastard of a school chaplain had told our juniors (10-11 years old), with a PowerPoint® presentation and scientific and mathematical equations that Santa Claus could not possibly exist. On the last week before Christmas break. We had over 100 crying and sobbing distraught kids to calm down.
I tried to point out to him later in the staffroom while we having a cup of tea, that he could have used exactly the same scientific and mathematical tools to disprove the existence of God or Christ, but I could tell he wasn't listening. I made sure he wasn't listening or even paying attention about 15 minutes later when the phenolphthalein I had put in the sky-pilot's tea began to work. For those of you not of the scientific bent, phenolphthalein is used as an indicator in acid/base titration, where it gives a lovely pink colour at pH 8 - 12. It is completely colourless at slightly acidic pH. It is also an extremely powerful and fast acting laxative, and I hope the hypocritical myth-worshiper has the pleasure of a prolapsed rectum.
However, back to our student teacher. After we had, with some difficulty, cleared the corridors of panting and pawing adolescent males (and a few odd girls), we managed to get the young lady down to the Rector's office. When he could tear his eyes away from the sight of her( now rapidly heaving but splendid) bosoms, he explained about the need for decorum, a professional dress code, using common sense, the dangers of post-pubescent males, and would she please cover up (her rapidly stiffening) nipples. (No I made that last bit up, he didn't actually say it, he told me later that that was what he was thinking.) It seemed that the young lady was unaware of her effect on young males until this instance, and she hastened to make herself decent by the application of a hurriedly obtained lab coat from our Chemistry department.
The whole incident put clothes in a different light, and I know that we guys on the staff were looking forward to next years mufti days, to see what might happen.
Alas, we never knew.
Such was the effect on the young lady of poor dress-sense but magnificent body, that she left teaching, and the last we heard was working in Glasgow at the Club Rogano, where her pole-dancing act is highly regarded by the aficionados.

Teaching is a joy.

Sport

Lots of blogs are mentioning sport recently, ManOfErrors is getting a lot of comments, with memories of past glories of caliper-laden soccer afficianados.
Now I will recognise that NZ is a sport mad country, where everyone is encouraged to go out and get active.
Why?
We have Taffy at Nuova Lazio High, who is mad keen on mountain biking (MB). He has helped to develop a (reportedly) magnificent MB track in the glorious hills surrounding the balmy valley of Nuova Lazio. At least that is what I think he said at last appell, sometimes it's difficult to work out what he is saying. I think he's fallen of his MB once to often, and is suffering from serious brain damage, like most sportsmen.

I hear reports on the wireless radio, and the wireless television of chaps doing wonderful things on emerald green paddocks;of coughing up the pill, of ball in hand (I thought they always had to do that in Rugby Union Football(RUF); of the secret black arts of the scrum(mage); of brave chaps running and playing with one testicle hanging out (have these chaps not heard of personal protectors?

what I believe our American friends would call a jockstrap, or at least good manners);many cries of "that's gotta hurt", of course it has to bloody hurt, they've just been hit/trampled/punched/choked/thrown/hit again/kicked/jumped on/butted/kneed/bitten/(and I strongly suspect in one instance French Kissed).


Reports on a strange variation of RUF called soccer, where 11 chaps kick a ball up and down another emerald green field (this time), where they are not seemingly allowed to handle the ball at all (unless it is a mysterious entity called the "Hand of God Maradonna")
Reports from an occupation called netball, where young ladies (scantily dressed and of a delicate mien)stand about, occasionally trot, and throw a ball to each other. This one is almost civilised.



Reports of beach volleyball....no I cannot go on, it is simply too much for a man of my advancing years and high blood pressure, but I have recorded some of the girls' games on the Digital Versatile Disc Recording Apparatus.
Sport is supposed to be relaxing.
At its most energetic it consists of 11 chaps, properly attired in gleaming white, wasting their time on a beautifully mown lawn of epic proportions, while we, the real sportsmen sit in deck-chairs under a brilliant sun centered in an azure dome and sip gin and tonics, and rumble quietly to each other about things of the day.
No sweat.
No blood.
And definitely no bloody women.



Ah well, a large whisky calls, while I watch our gallant 15 thrash the living daylights out of those ugly Welsh. Watched on that marvellous invention called Satellite Television, linked to my wireless television. This way I did not have to go to my well deserved bed too late.