Is it just me, or does everyone change character when they stay in hotels? My attitude to breakfast is a case in point. At home, my idea of dressing for breakfast is dragging on a bathrobe with one hand while putting the kettle on with the other. I wouldn’t bother if it weren’t for my son’s inexplicable distaste for his mother wandering round the kitchen naked. Once the kettle is on I throw a teabag vaguely in the direction of a mug, chuck cereal into a bowl and splash milk around the general vicinity of both. Then consume.
In a hotel I appear for breakfast in full make up (and dressed, of course) with the persona of a 1950’s debutante, and await personal service as if I had been raised in a country mansion where the family select kedgeree, kippers and sausages before a day’s grouse shooting.
Tea? Hmm, perhaps I’ll have lapsang souchong – or possibly Earl Grey. Couldn’t possibly lower myself to drink PG Tips – they advertise it with monkeys you know. How common… And of course you serve it in a pot, n’est-ce pas?
Now, first course: not cornflakes or muesli – can have them at home. All Bran? Would like to spend the day seeing the local sights – not the inside of the local public conveniences thank you. So I settle for fresh fruit compote with a side serving of live yogurt – unless there’s anything that sounds posher of course.
After that, full English breakfast, of course. And I even start to turn my nose up at hotels which ask you to select from a buffet: you mean you expect me to walk all the way over there and put food on my own plate? Oh dear, oh dear, not a very salubrious establishment you’re running here….
Having gorged myself on what is already about five times the amount of food I would have consumed at home, I approach the final course. The only option is toast? Is suppose my disappointment is somewhat assuaged by the offer of honey, even if it isn’t locally produced. But my expectation is the offer of Danish pastries and croissants. Would I consider eating croissants and honey at home for breakfast? No – mainly because I’d have to clean up the sticky, flaky mess. But of course, in a hotel, I can just swan off and leave the minions to do that.
And calories? Everyone knows that food eaten away from home has no calories….. yes, OK, diet starts tomorrow.
Oh - and apologies to anyone reading who works in a hotel restaurant – especially if I’ve stayed at your hotel.
Monday, 15 March 2010
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
An (Inadvertent) Romantic Pilgrimage
Whan that aprill with his shoures sooteThe droghte of march hath perced to the roote, …..
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
In Chaucer's day, as he reports above, people went on pilgrimages in the spring. Those were the days when everyone at least professed to believe in God, and went to places like Canterbury to visit the tomb of Thomas A'Becket.
OK, it's March, not April, but spring is still a good time to travel. And I love to go on pilgrimages - though to places of literary rather than religious significance. Though churches do often feature - mainly because that's the usual resting place of the dead.
Last year I dragged my long-suffering husband to the remote church of St Juliot in Cornwall because that's where Thomas Hardy met his wife; to the church of East Coker to visit TS Eliot's last resting place....
But the other week I promise I wasn't deliberately on a pilgrimage, and it was a place I am relatively familiar with: Bournemouth. My elder son spent three years at University there; a close friend lives in the area and I have visited and stayed there on several occasions.
The purpose of our latest visit was younger son's University interview, and having delivered his nervous form into the auspices of academe, hubby and I wandered into town to pass the time before picking him up again.
In the back of my mind was the story of Shelley's death: he was drowned off the shores of Italy and his body washed up on the shore. Because of the risk of infection he was cremated on the beach, and according to tradition, one of his friends grabbed his heart from the funeral pyre and presented it to his wife Mary, who brought it back to England and kept it for the rest of her life. It was then buried with her - in Bournemouth.
I have to say the idea of removing a heart from a burning body left me sceptical until it was pointed out to me that the heart is an extremely strong, tough muscle, and very resistant to burning.
Looking across the road from where we were walking (from the public loos towards the site of the old Bournemouth Bus Station - blame my hubby's bladder and own interests, respectively) I spotted what looked like a church - could this be the one where Mary (and her husband's heart) were buried? Crossing the road, followed by my resigned hubby, I found that not only was this not the church, it wasn't even a church any more - it was a nightclub!
So on we walked: after all, there must be dozens of churches in the Bournemouth area, most of them out of the town centre. Instead we turned our attention to finding somewhere to have a coffee. Hubby was admiring some of the town's architecture, when across the road appeared another church - well, I had to check it out, right?
And outside was a notice announcing that several famous people worshipped or are buried here - including Mary Shelley! In we went, and - apart from narrowly missing leaving permanent footprints on a newly-polished floor (one sort of immortality I suppose!) - had an uneventful wander round the interior of a colourful and rather lovely church.
Out in the churchyard I was now on the trail of the Shelleys - all I had to do was find the actual irst i inspected a small building in the environs, which proved to be an Orthodox church, which was locked. As I walked away from it, I heard a voice say: 'I sleep there sometimes.'
Looking round, I saw a man sitting on a bench outside the church: tall, mid-thirties and warmly but simply dressed. Intrigued, I chatted to him and was delighted when he said: 'Sometimes I go and sleep with Mary Shelley.' We agreed that she was a great writer - and her husband wasn't bed either! He pointed out the relevant tomb, on which he had placed flowers.
On approaching the tomb I discovered that it contained not only Mary's body and Percy's heart, but her parents' bodies, which were moved from their original burial place at St Pancras; also Mary and Percy's son, also called Percy, and his wife are buried there.I spent several minutes at the tomb, taking photos and just looking, and afterwards, as we walked back through the churchyard, I saw the man I had spoken to was still sitting on the bench. As we passed, I thanked him for showing me where Mary rests, and said: 'Look after her.' 'I always do,' he replied.
And strange as it may seem, that lovely man keeping vigil at the tomb of a lady he clearly adores, who died more than 150 years ago, is true to the spirit of the Romantic poets.
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Vampires, Vestal Virgins and Vegetation Gods
What connects them? Well, blood of course – and if it weren’t for the ancient vegetation dying and resurrecting gods, it’s unlikely vampires would exist in our consciousness – but then, I dare to suggest, nor would Christianity in its present form.
There have been plenty of conspiracy theorists and prejudiced people who have accused various groups of human sacrifice and drinking blood, but why this particular accusation? Because it does have some root in reality – thousands of years ago, there were tribal communities who worshipped nature through the union of god and goddess: they venerated the feminine as the source of life. They thought of the womb as holy, and the blood that emanated from it represented – well, lifeblood. The idea was that if it could support new life, it could also enhance existing life: it was believed that menstrual blood could extend life and enhance spirituality, putting one in touch with the gods. Therefore it was given to the (male) elders of the tribe – the priests and kings (who were often one and the same). Priestesses were the source of this blood, and dedicated their lives to the service of the gods in this way.
As disgusting as this sounds to us, recent research shows that menstrual blood does indeed have high levels of melatonin and serotonin in it – the so-called relaxation hormones. This may incidentally explain the existence of PMT – a lack of these hormones would cause mood swings, stress and irritation.
The hormones are released by the pineal and pituitary glands respectively, and these glands appear to have been known to the Egyptians and to have formed part of their healing knowledge. Descartes viewed the pineal gland as the seat of the soul – the place where body and mind meet.
In Greek the blood-giving priestesses were known as Scarlet Women, or Hierodulai, which gave us our word ‘Harlot’. The Germanic term for them was ‘Hores’ – Beloved Ones – from which we have the word ‘Whore’. Both these words were at one time terms of veneration – it was the coming of the patriarchal religions which changed their tenor and made them synonymous with prostitute.
As with most religious rites, this one developed a symbolism of its own: as actual blood drinking faded out, the religious significance was preserved by ritual drinking of the nearest palatable substance – red wine, representing blood, drunk from a ritual cup, the chalice, representing the womb. This rite is found in many religions involving dying and rising gods, such as the cult of Bacchus, or Dionysus, before passing to Christianity.
The red colour of fire led to it being associated with life-giving, which gave rise to fire goddesses such as Vesta in ancient Rome, on whose altar stood candles whose flame never went out, tended by Vestal Virgins who, like their ancient counterparts – and indeed like their descendants, nuns – gave their life in service to the gods.
And the vampire? In the days of witch-hunting and the need for people to believe there were all kinds of nasties out there from which the church could protect them, the myth of the vampire grew from the – probably in part true – story of Prince Vlad,, a 15th Century leader of a group known as the Society of Dragons. His title was therefore from the Latin for dragon, Draco – and he was known as Dracul. He was also a Germanic overlord – or ‘Oupire’ – the source of the word Vampire.
He seems to have been someone with a highly performing pineal gland and therefore a high level of melatonin, although possibly this was enhanced through later-developed herbal substitutes – chasing the dragon? High melatonin levels are best achieved in darkness, and Vlad was known from his cruelty – his story therefore gave rise to a fictional beast who lives on blood (albeit from the neck), hates sunlight, is cruel and evil – and can be destroyed by the church, in the form of a cross. All great material for a gothic horror story, to this day.
There have been plenty of conspiracy theorists and prejudiced people who have accused various groups of human sacrifice and drinking blood, but why this particular accusation? Because it does have some root in reality – thousands of years ago, there were tribal communities who worshipped nature through the union of god and goddess: they venerated the feminine as the source of life. They thought of the womb as holy, and the blood that emanated from it represented – well, lifeblood. The idea was that if it could support new life, it could also enhance existing life: it was believed that menstrual blood could extend life and enhance spirituality, putting one in touch with the gods. Therefore it was given to the (male) elders of the tribe – the priests and kings (who were often one and the same). Priestesses were the source of this blood, and dedicated their lives to the service of the gods in this way.
As disgusting as this sounds to us, recent research shows that menstrual blood does indeed have high levels of melatonin and serotonin in it – the so-called relaxation hormones. This may incidentally explain the existence of PMT – a lack of these hormones would cause mood swings, stress and irritation.
The hormones are released by the pineal and pituitary glands respectively, and these glands appear to have been known to the Egyptians and to have formed part of their healing knowledge. Descartes viewed the pineal gland as the seat of the soul – the place where body and mind meet.
In Greek the blood-giving priestesses were known as Scarlet Women, or Hierodulai, which gave us our word ‘Harlot’. The Germanic term for them was ‘Hores’ – Beloved Ones – from which we have the word ‘Whore’. Both these words were at one time terms of veneration – it was the coming of the patriarchal religions which changed their tenor and made them synonymous with prostitute.
As with most religious rites, this one developed a symbolism of its own: as actual blood drinking faded out, the religious significance was preserved by ritual drinking of the nearest palatable substance – red wine, representing blood, drunk from a ritual cup, the chalice, representing the womb. This rite is found in many religions involving dying and rising gods, such as the cult of Bacchus, or Dionysus, before passing to Christianity.
The red colour of fire led to it being associated with life-giving, which gave rise to fire goddesses such as Vesta in ancient Rome, on whose altar stood candles whose flame never went out, tended by Vestal Virgins who, like their ancient counterparts – and indeed like their descendants, nuns – gave their life in service to the gods.
And the vampire? In the days of witch-hunting and the need for people to believe there were all kinds of nasties out there from which the church could protect them, the myth of the vampire grew from the – probably in part true – story of Prince Vlad,, a 15th Century leader of a group known as the Society of Dragons. His title was therefore from the Latin for dragon, Draco – and he was known as Dracul. He was also a Germanic overlord – or ‘Oupire’ – the source of the word Vampire.
He seems to have been someone with a highly performing pineal gland and therefore a high level of melatonin, although possibly this was enhanced through later-developed herbal substitutes – chasing the dragon? High melatonin levels are best achieved in darkness, and Vlad was known from his cruelty – his story therefore gave rise to a fictional beast who lives on blood (albeit from the neck), hates sunlight, is cruel and evil – and can be destroyed by the church, in the form of a cross. All great material for a gothic horror story, to this day.
Monday, 11 January 2010
The Cult of the Individual.
I went to see the rightly-acclaimed ‘We Will Rock You’ a few days ago, and apart from my enjoyment of the music and humour in the production, along with some cracking performances, I was struck by the subtext of the cult of the individual running through it. I’m pleased to see that this is something Ben Elton still espouses.
Many people mistake rebellion for individuality: indeed rebellion is usually the precursor and an inherent part of youth. We can all remember wearing certain clothes, make up, jewellery and hairstyles with the primary intention of pissing off out parents. From parents, any representation of the establishment are fair game, whether getting piercings against school rules or going on protest marches against the government – the key word is ‘against’. A rebel’s opinions are shaped by the establishment just as much as the conformist – s/he is just firmly placed on the opposing side.
A true individual stands aside from the establishment and decides what is right independently. Perhaps the best dramatic rendition of individuality is the 1960’s TV series ‘The Prisoner’, while in reality the founder of Radio Caroline – and ultimately the catalyst for commercial radio generally – embodied the spirit of the individual when on being told he had to pay a radio station extortionate amounts to get airtime for his acts, he replied: ‘Looks like I’ll have to start my own radio station then…’
Ben Elton was part of the ‘alternative comedy’ set of the 1980’s and their initial raison d’etre was to provide an alternative – aka rebel against – the pretty dire mainstream humour of the day. They did this so successfully that they became absorbed into the establishment and ironically eventually became the mainstream against which future generations of comedians would rebel. Few comedians manage to escape this process, and most lose their credibility along the way. Ben Elton has managed to salvage something via his writings, but from those days the only comedian I can think of who hasn’t compromised for money, fame or at the behest of TV or film moguls is Eddie Izzard. His standup remains exactly what he considers right for him, quality is not compromised for popularity, and while his audience may not be representative of the whole population, it is intelligent and appreciative of Eddie’s truly unique talent.
Queen occupy a similar place in the field of music. Though rooted in rock, their music was like no other; they famously disregarded advice that ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ would not be played on the radio because it was too long, and would flop. It has to be admitted that they were helped here by another wonderful individual, Kenny Everett, who disregarded any rule about what could or could not be played. I always felt that Queen played the music they loved and just appreciated the fact that others loved it too. How different to the homogenised bands created by moguls whose sole motivation is to make money
‘Twas ever thus – while Wordsworth wrote verse that could be understood by anyone, TS Eliot, anther famed individual, cheerfully threw in bits of Sanskrit and Ancient Greek along with allusions to vegetation rites various other writers on the basis that if the reader didn’t understand they could always go and look it up – he wasn’t going to compromise his integrity as a poet by dumbing down for popularity. Good for him – we need individuals, especially talented ones, or we will end up at the mercy of the GaGa society.
Many people mistake rebellion for individuality: indeed rebellion is usually the precursor and an inherent part of youth. We can all remember wearing certain clothes, make up, jewellery and hairstyles with the primary intention of pissing off out parents. From parents, any representation of the establishment are fair game, whether getting piercings against school rules or going on protest marches against the government – the key word is ‘against’. A rebel’s opinions are shaped by the establishment just as much as the conformist – s/he is just firmly placed on the opposing side.
A true individual stands aside from the establishment and decides what is right independently. Perhaps the best dramatic rendition of individuality is the 1960’s TV series ‘The Prisoner’, while in reality the founder of Radio Caroline – and ultimately the catalyst for commercial radio generally – embodied the spirit of the individual when on being told he had to pay a radio station extortionate amounts to get airtime for his acts, he replied: ‘Looks like I’ll have to start my own radio station then…’
Ben Elton was part of the ‘alternative comedy’ set of the 1980’s and their initial raison d’etre was to provide an alternative – aka rebel against – the pretty dire mainstream humour of the day. They did this so successfully that they became absorbed into the establishment and ironically eventually became the mainstream against which future generations of comedians would rebel. Few comedians manage to escape this process, and most lose their credibility along the way. Ben Elton has managed to salvage something via his writings, but from those days the only comedian I can think of who hasn’t compromised for money, fame or at the behest of TV or film moguls is Eddie Izzard. His standup remains exactly what he considers right for him, quality is not compromised for popularity, and while his audience may not be representative of the whole population, it is intelligent and appreciative of Eddie’s truly unique talent.
Queen occupy a similar place in the field of music. Though rooted in rock, their music was like no other; they famously disregarded advice that ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ would not be played on the radio because it was too long, and would flop. It has to be admitted that they were helped here by another wonderful individual, Kenny Everett, who disregarded any rule about what could or could not be played. I always felt that Queen played the music they loved and just appreciated the fact that others loved it too. How different to the homogenised bands created by moguls whose sole motivation is to make money
‘Twas ever thus – while Wordsworth wrote verse that could be understood by anyone, TS Eliot, anther famed individual, cheerfully threw in bits of Sanskrit and Ancient Greek along with allusions to vegetation rites various other writers on the basis that if the reader didn’t understand they could always go and look it up – he wasn’t going to compromise his integrity as a poet by dumbing down for popularity. Good for him – we need individuals, especially talented ones, or we will end up at the mercy of the GaGa society.
Thursday, 31 December 2009
New Year's Resolutions
Traditionally, this is the time for making New Year’s Resolutions – because of some arbitrary point at which a section of humankind have chosen to use as the end of one designated, numbered solar revolution and the beginning of the next. We can’t even agree as a species on the date – Jewish and Chinese new years are different for a start…
And why January? I can understand using midnight as a dividing point for days because it’s during the hours of darkness when our biology suggests we sleep (not that we always do – and it’s disconcerting to find yourself awake at 4am and realise it’s tomorrow and not worth going to bed now). But the middle of the winter? Why not have New Year’s Day in August, when we can spend the holiday on the beach? OK, given England’s weather, it’s still a risk, but a better one than January,
Anyway, after making plenty of resolutions I’ve kept for precisely the same length of time I kept writing in that lovely new diary I received every Christmas as a child – and often the resolution was to keep the diary – I stopped resolving several years ago, and just decided to make any changes to my life as and when I decided they were needed. For instance: having recognised caffeine-related moods I started replacing coffee with herbal tea. Do that repetitively and it becomes a habit – make a new year’s resolution and it lasts as long as the Christmas tree lights (yes, the new set’s gone wrong again this year…)
I have been asked so many times whether I’m making any New Year’s Resolutions though, that in desperation I have come up with some – ten, in fact. That seems to be the right number for rules you are expected to keep to….
So for 2010 I resolve:
1. Not to take up smoking or drugs
2. Not to join the BNP
3. To refrain from putting tomato ketchup on any of my food (because the stuff makes me feel nauseous).
4. Not to become a lesbian.
Note: this is not in any way meant as a slight on gay people of either gender, just a reflection of the fact that never in my life have I been remotely attracted to anyone nature has not seen fit to bless with testicles.
5. Not to become a member of any established church – especially not the Church of Scientology.
6. To read, and reread the poetry of Keats, TS Eliot, Shakespeare, Byron and any other writer that takes my fancy.
7. To eat chocolate in moderation (but I define – and if necessary redefine – what is meant by moderation).
8. Not to covet – or indeed cover – my neighbour’s ox.*
9. Not to associate with anyone with jam for brains.*
10. Not to put socks in the toaster.*
*I am indebted to St Eddie of Izzard for inspiring these very important resolutions.
Right 2010 – bring it on: I’m ready for you, and I confidently predict that these resolutions will last longer than any I’ve made before….
…..with the possible exception of No 7.
Just off to make some toast now.
Whoops – was that a pair of socks? Sorry – thought it was bread slices…..
And why January? I can understand using midnight as a dividing point for days because it’s during the hours of darkness when our biology suggests we sleep (not that we always do – and it’s disconcerting to find yourself awake at 4am and realise it’s tomorrow and not worth going to bed now). But the middle of the winter? Why not have New Year’s Day in August, when we can spend the holiday on the beach? OK, given England’s weather, it’s still a risk, but a better one than January,
Anyway, after making plenty of resolutions I’ve kept for precisely the same length of time I kept writing in that lovely new diary I received every Christmas as a child – and often the resolution was to keep the diary – I stopped resolving several years ago, and just decided to make any changes to my life as and when I decided they were needed. For instance: having recognised caffeine-related moods I started replacing coffee with herbal tea. Do that repetitively and it becomes a habit – make a new year’s resolution and it lasts as long as the Christmas tree lights (yes, the new set’s gone wrong again this year…)
I have been asked so many times whether I’m making any New Year’s Resolutions though, that in desperation I have come up with some – ten, in fact. That seems to be the right number for rules you are expected to keep to….
So for 2010 I resolve:
1. Not to take up smoking or drugs
2. Not to join the BNP
3. To refrain from putting tomato ketchup on any of my food (because the stuff makes me feel nauseous).
4. Not to become a lesbian.
Note: this is not in any way meant as a slight on gay people of either gender, just a reflection of the fact that never in my life have I been remotely attracted to anyone nature has not seen fit to bless with testicles.
5. Not to become a member of any established church – especially not the Church of Scientology.
6. To read, and reread the poetry of Keats, TS Eliot, Shakespeare, Byron and any other writer that takes my fancy.
7. To eat chocolate in moderation (but I define – and if necessary redefine – what is meant by moderation).
8. Not to covet – or indeed cover – my neighbour’s ox.*
9. Not to associate with anyone with jam for brains.*
10. Not to put socks in the toaster.*
*I am indebted to St Eddie of Izzard for inspiring these very important resolutions.
Right 2010 – bring it on: I’m ready for you, and I confidently predict that these resolutions will last longer than any I’ve made before….
…..with the possible exception of No 7.
Just off to make some toast now.
Whoops – was that a pair of socks? Sorry – thought it was bread slices…..
Sunday, 6 December 2009
It’s beginning to feel a lot like Osirismas….
…or Tammuzmas, Dionysiusmas, Sol Invictusmas – call it what you will, there have been numerous ‘gods’ celebrating December 25 as their birthday. The one notable religious figure who, according to accepted facts, was not born on Christmas Day is…. Jesus Christ. Depending on whose dates you go by, he may have been born in March, September or October – but not December.
The date was borrowed – like nearly all Christmas traditions – from pagan religions based on sun worship, and reflects no more that the visible movement of the sun after the winter solstice (December 21) towards the lengthening of the daylight hours. This in ancient times provided just the excuse everyone needed in the depths of a cold depressing winter with little fresh food, to eat, drink and be merry – just the time to cheer ourselves up with a good old knees-up. Just as we do today, however we dress it up.
I say borrowed – misappropriated might be a better term for what the fledgling Christian church did to the old Yule celebrations, along with plenty of other traditional festivals and customs. For what do holly, mistletoe, ivy, pine trees, Yule logs, mince pies and tinsel have to do with the birth of a child in the Middle East 2000-ish years ago? Even if we accept the Biblical story, the only gifts around were pretty boring: gold myrrh and frankincense, and there would have been no greenery bedecking the manger in the desert. Neither is Joseph recorded as celebrating his son’s birth (OK, stepson then) with a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie.
No – they all relate to the nature worship of our ancestors, when evergreen trees and plants represented continuing life and fertility over the bleakest period of the year. Mistletoe itself was a fertility symbol, used to strew over the beds of newlyweds to ensure children of the marriage – our current tradition of kissing under it is merely a watered down version of this.
As for the Bible story itself: again, many pagan gods were said to have been born of virgins, in stables or other lowly places, had stars foretelling their arrival and to have been visited by wise men.
So maybe what we are all doing this month is exactly what all our forebears did, whatever belief system they had – cheering up the cold winter months with a few parties, family get togethers and enjoying the excuse to ditch the diet.
The date was borrowed – like nearly all Christmas traditions – from pagan religions based on sun worship, and reflects no more that the visible movement of the sun after the winter solstice (December 21) towards the lengthening of the daylight hours. This in ancient times provided just the excuse everyone needed in the depths of a cold depressing winter with little fresh food, to eat, drink and be merry – just the time to cheer ourselves up with a good old knees-up. Just as we do today, however we dress it up.
I say borrowed – misappropriated might be a better term for what the fledgling Christian church did to the old Yule celebrations, along with plenty of other traditional festivals and customs. For what do holly, mistletoe, ivy, pine trees, Yule logs, mince pies and tinsel have to do with the birth of a child in the Middle East 2000-ish years ago? Even if we accept the Biblical story, the only gifts around were pretty boring: gold myrrh and frankincense, and there would have been no greenery bedecking the manger in the desert. Neither is Joseph recorded as celebrating his son’s birth (OK, stepson then) with a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie.
No – they all relate to the nature worship of our ancestors, when evergreen trees and plants represented continuing life and fertility over the bleakest period of the year. Mistletoe itself was a fertility symbol, used to strew over the beds of newlyweds to ensure children of the marriage – our current tradition of kissing under it is merely a watered down version of this.
As for the Bible story itself: again, many pagan gods were said to have been born of virgins, in stables or other lowly places, had stars foretelling their arrival and to have been visited by wise men.
So maybe what we are all doing this month is exactly what all our forebears did, whatever belief system they had – cheering up the cold winter months with a few parties, family get togethers and enjoying the excuse to ditch the diet.
Monday, 16 November 2009
Handwriting
Many years ago, at my younger brother’s parents’ evening, excellent reports of his work were given by nearly all staff – he always was a creepy little twerp at school. (Sorry bruv!) The exception was the English teacher who declared that he would never achieve anything in the subject until he improved his handwriting drastically. My father nodded sagely and said that the same had been said of his elder sister (me!) when she was at the school.
‘Really’, said the English teacher. ‘And what’s she doing now?’
‘She’s an English teacher,’ replied Dad.
Nowadays, students tell me that handwriting doesn’t matter – we all communicate via typewritten emails, texts and the like. And the days of having to copy out stupid sentences to improve our cursive script (not that it did me any good, clearly) have long gone. Being brought up in Norfolk, I can remember loudly disputing one of those sentences which stated:
‘Yarmouth is on the Isle of Wight.’
Eventually I had to concede there might be two Yarmouths – but we had the ‘Great’ one, at least!
No one needs worry about clarity of handwriting any more – right?
Wrong. I have pointed out many times that some of the most important texts we ever produce – examination answer papers – are still normally handwritten, and if the examiner misreads, or worse, cannot read, your handwriting, you fail.
Now I have a couple more bullets in my armoury. Gordon Brown’s letter to a mother in distress may well have been – and indeed was, to my thinking – over-played in the media, but it shows the difficulties that can be caused by poor penmanship. I’m not Mr Brown’s greatest fan (assuming he has one) but it is fairly obvious that he meant his letter to bring some shred of comfort to a bereaved mother: there was no malice or even disregard in his mistake.
In more amusing vein, Russell Brand’s latest error of judgement (again, characteristically lacking in malice aforethought) was to use a pen rather than a keyboard to write his contribution to The Sun’s Bizarre column this weekend, resulting in ‘snug’ being interpreted as ‘smug’.
Perhaps both gentlemen could do with a proofreader skilled in interpreting the average standard of handwriting of today’s teenager – or a few hours spent laboriously copying out stupid sentences….
But thanks fellas – telling students that they could get themselves into bother in the media for upsetting someone’s mum or misrepresenting a footballer’s jumper may well sway them more than the possibility of an examiner failing their history GCSE paper because they apparently think that:
Ancient Egyptians wrote in hydraulics, lived in the Sarah Dessert and travelled by Camelot.
The Greeks were a highly sculptured people.
Socrates died from an overdose of wedlock.
Sir Francis Drake circumcised the world with a 100 foot clipper.
But then, if they improve their handwriting we may suddenly realise just how awful their spelling is……
‘Really’, said the English teacher. ‘And what’s she doing now?’
‘She’s an English teacher,’ replied Dad.
Nowadays, students tell me that handwriting doesn’t matter – we all communicate via typewritten emails, texts and the like. And the days of having to copy out stupid sentences to improve our cursive script (not that it did me any good, clearly) have long gone. Being brought up in Norfolk, I can remember loudly disputing one of those sentences which stated:
‘Yarmouth is on the Isle of Wight.’
Eventually I had to concede there might be two Yarmouths – but we had the ‘Great’ one, at least!
No one needs worry about clarity of handwriting any more – right?
Wrong. I have pointed out many times that some of the most important texts we ever produce – examination answer papers – are still normally handwritten, and if the examiner misreads, or worse, cannot read, your handwriting, you fail.
Now I have a couple more bullets in my armoury. Gordon Brown’s letter to a mother in distress may well have been – and indeed was, to my thinking – over-played in the media, but it shows the difficulties that can be caused by poor penmanship. I’m not Mr Brown’s greatest fan (assuming he has one) but it is fairly obvious that he meant his letter to bring some shred of comfort to a bereaved mother: there was no malice or even disregard in his mistake.
In more amusing vein, Russell Brand’s latest error of judgement (again, characteristically lacking in malice aforethought) was to use a pen rather than a keyboard to write his contribution to The Sun’s Bizarre column this weekend, resulting in ‘snug’ being interpreted as ‘smug’.
Perhaps both gentlemen could do with a proofreader skilled in interpreting the average standard of handwriting of today’s teenager – or a few hours spent laboriously copying out stupid sentences….
But thanks fellas – telling students that they could get themselves into bother in the media for upsetting someone’s mum or misrepresenting a footballer’s jumper may well sway them more than the possibility of an examiner failing their history GCSE paper because they apparently think that:
Ancient Egyptians wrote in hydraulics, lived in the Sarah Dessert and travelled by Camelot.
The Greeks were a highly sculptured people.
Socrates died from an overdose of wedlock.
Sir Francis Drake circumcised the world with a 100 foot clipper.
But then, if they improve their handwriting we may suddenly realise just how awful their spelling is……
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