Sunday, April 25, 2004
Later with Jools?
So, Teacher's TV, the new digital channel to sit alongside TV Warehouse and God 2 (there's a sequel? no-one told me there was a sequel!), is busy piloting ready to go live in the Autumn. Old news, sure, but I hadn't appreciated its full comedy value until one break time recently.
Our lovely fresh-faced English NQT has observed me a couple of times already this year. We have a nice cup of tea afterwards and I put my head on one side and nod sagely as I ask, "so what did you learn today that you could apply to your own practice?"
"Weeeeeeellllllllll", she says, trying desperately hard to show due respect to her elders. There is a pause and an evil glint in her eye, and then she cannot contain it any longer. She has to laugh. And before I know where I am in this conversation, I'm rolling my eyeballs in disbelief, begging for an explanation of What I've Done This Time. There really is nothing better for your teaching than an NQT!
You see, I'd been at it again. Daytime TV teaching. Yes, I always knew I was a flagrant populist, and, yes, I know in the past I have perhaps tended to rely a little heavily on entertaining my students into reading the book for homework rather than actually doing any work in the classroom. But Daytime TV?
"Yes", she says deadpan, "American DaytimeTV. You've definitely got a streak of Oprah. You're all 'feel the love' and 'reach for the stars'".
My bottom lip wobbles. Isn't this discussion supposed to be going the other way round?...
"But look on the bright side", she says, "you could get a job on Teachers' TV. You'd be fantastic!"
We finish our tea and go about our business, and I forget all about this conversation for a few months - until, that is, she has me videoed teaching. We're sharing an AS English Language class and she's wondering how to tackle language and power in the classroom. Fortunately, Clare Short has very kindly just showed the nation how not to do it, but wouldn't it be jolly if we could compare and contrast with a teacher who does have classroom control?
"Hmmm", I said foolishly, "teachers are not generally keen on being videoed. You can tape me."
Oh how the mighty are fallen. It was a good lesson. A2 English Literature. The structure of Chaucer's General Prologue. With home-made resources and meaningful group work that resulted in some pretty good essays. But watching myself on TV, with Dolby digital surround sound, there was only one thought in my head: "My, what big hands you've got, grandmama!!"
I have lived all these long years without anyone telling me I have the handspan of a concert pianist! And that I am physically incapable of saying anything at all, not "have you got a pen", not "yes you can go to your car to get your book", without waving them wildly like I'm teaching in semaphore. If I didn't know my culturally impoverished genealogy better, I'd swear there was Mediterranean blood in me somewhere....
And I also know about teachers' techniques for getting quiet because it's something that always makes me chuckle quietly in the corner when I'm doing lesson observations. I know that mine is saying "thankyou" in an assertive voice, because I always tell each new class I have that this actually means "shut up immediately and listen to me, it's my turn, I want a go". But I had no idea that I also hold one finger up like a reception class infant desperate for permission to go to the toilet!
As I regaled the staffroom in horror about this experience, my lovely fresh-faced NQT sat quietly looking on.
"Julie", she said in a polite, respectful, composed manner, before a dangerous pause as the morning sun glinted on her evil eye, "can I be your agent?"
"Uh?" And I realise just that tiny fraction too late that I have once more walked straight into it.
"I've got it all worked out! Teachers' TV. You simply have to become a presenter. It's going to be called Later With Jools." (Didn't somebody already take that title?...)
"Daytime TV format with a studio audience. And merchandising for the viewer at home. And everyone in the studio audience will have those foam hands with a big pointy finger that they have at American-style sports events. Whenever you're doing 'feel the love' in the studio they'll wave their crazy hands like they don't care!"
That was it. Howling in the staffroom as all the NQTs I have ever mentored joined in with further ideas for my show.
"Yeah, yeah, and she's gotta do a Blue Peter section on 20 top teaching ideas that involve using velcro".
Okay, so I admit it, I have advocated for the use of velcro in the classroom....
"And a Jackanory bit, where Jools tells one of her completely unbelievable apocryphal stories about teaching that she swears are true".
Okay, okay, so I value a teensy bit of exaggeration as a narrative device. It doesn't make me a bad person, does it?...
If we had a bell, it would eventually have rung and freed me from my torment, but as we haven't I did the only thing that ever works to dampen the hysterical excitement of people who are supposed to be learning something from me: I set those pesky wannabes an essay! Is a teaching style based on British Children's TV from the 1970s better or worse than contemporary American Daytime? Discuss. 1000 words by Monday.
So, that's it. As I stare into the gaping chasm of a Sophie's Choice management restructuring, it's nice to know I have other career options. If the DfES would like to call, I'm available for screen tests and wardrobe consultations on Wednesday afternoons. Now, with me, wave your hands like you just don't care!
So, Teacher's TV, the new digital channel to sit alongside TV Warehouse and God 2 (there's a sequel? no-one told me there was a sequel!), is busy piloting ready to go live in the Autumn. Old news, sure, but I hadn't appreciated its full comedy value until one break time recently.
Our lovely fresh-faced English NQT has observed me a couple of times already this year. We have a nice cup of tea afterwards and I put my head on one side and nod sagely as I ask, "so what did you learn today that you could apply to your own practice?"
"Weeeeeeellllllllll", she says, trying desperately hard to show due respect to her elders. There is a pause and an evil glint in her eye, and then she cannot contain it any longer. She has to laugh. And before I know where I am in this conversation, I'm rolling my eyeballs in disbelief, begging for an explanation of What I've Done This Time. There really is nothing better for your teaching than an NQT!
You see, I'd been at it again. Daytime TV teaching. Yes, I always knew I was a flagrant populist, and, yes, I know in the past I have perhaps tended to rely a little heavily on entertaining my students into reading the book for homework rather than actually doing any work in the classroom. But Daytime TV?
"Yes", she says deadpan, "American DaytimeTV. You've definitely got a streak of Oprah. You're all 'feel the love' and 'reach for the stars'".
My bottom lip wobbles. Isn't this discussion supposed to be going the other way round?...
"But look on the bright side", she says, "you could get a job on Teachers' TV. You'd be fantastic!"
We finish our tea and go about our business, and I forget all about this conversation for a few months - until, that is, she has me videoed teaching. We're sharing an AS English Language class and she's wondering how to tackle language and power in the classroom. Fortunately, Clare Short has very kindly just showed the nation how not to do it, but wouldn't it be jolly if we could compare and contrast with a teacher who does have classroom control?
"Hmmm", I said foolishly, "teachers are not generally keen on being videoed. You can tape me."
Oh how the mighty are fallen. It was a good lesson. A2 English Literature. The structure of Chaucer's General Prologue. With home-made resources and meaningful group work that resulted in some pretty good essays. But watching myself on TV, with Dolby digital surround sound, there was only one thought in my head: "My, what big hands you've got, grandmama!!"
I have lived all these long years without anyone telling me I have the handspan of a concert pianist! And that I am physically incapable of saying anything at all, not "have you got a pen", not "yes you can go to your car to get your book", without waving them wildly like I'm teaching in semaphore. If I didn't know my culturally impoverished genealogy better, I'd swear there was Mediterranean blood in me somewhere....
And I also know about teachers' techniques for getting quiet because it's something that always makes me chuckle quietly in the corner when I'm doing lesson observations. I know that mine is saying "thankyou" in an assertive voice, because I always tell each new class I have that this actually means "shut up immediately and listen to me, it's my turn, I want a go". But I had no idea that I also hold one finger up like a reception class infant desperate for permission to go to the toilet!
As I regaled the staffroom in horror about this experience, my lovely fresh-faced NQT sat quietly looking on.
"Julie", she said in a polite, respectful, composed manner, before a dangerous pause as the morning sun glinted on her evil eye, "can I be your agent?"
"Uh?" And I realise just that tiny fraction too late that I have once more walked straight into it.
"I've got it all worked out! Teachers' TV. You simply have to become a presenter. It's going to be called Later With Jools." (Didn't somebody already take that title?...)
"Daytime TV format with a studio audience. And merchandising for the viewer at home. And everyone in the studio audience will have those foam hands with a big pointy finger that they have at American-style sports events. Whenever you're doing 'feel the love' in the studio they'll wave their crazy hands like they don't care!"
That was it. Howling in the staffroom as all the NQTs I have ever mentored joined in with further ideas for my show.
"Yeah, yeah, and she's gotta do a Blue Peter section on 20 top teaching ideas that involve using velcro".
Okay, so I admit it, I have advocated for the use of velcro in the classroom....
"And a Jackanory bit, where Jools tells one of her completely unbelievable apocryphal stories about teaching that she swears are true".
Okay, okay, so I value a teensy bit of exaggeration as a narrative device. It doesn't make me a bad person, does it?...
If we had a bell, it would eventually have rung and freed me from my torment, but as we haven't I did the only thing that ever works to dampen the hysterical excitement of people who are supposed to be learning something from me: I set those pesky wannabes an essay! Is a teaching style based on British Children's TV from the 1970s better or worse than contemporary American Daytime? Discuss. 1000 words by Monday.
So, that's it. As I stare into the gaping chasm of a Sophie's Choice management restructuring, it's nice to know I have other career options. If the DfES would like to call, I'm available for screen tests and wardrobe consultations on Wednesday afternoons. Now, with me, wave your hands like you just don't care!
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em
Well, that's what I learned many years ago at my grandmother's knee, along with a large number of idiomatic expressions that my students recently delighted in providing well researched linguistic evidence to show were incontrovertible evidence of my rapidly advancing age/senility. So young and so untender...
But I digress already. So, there's me and three guys sharing an office at work. Every Monday morning for the whole of the last academic year, I'm in a 40 minute exclusion zone while they log on and check their updated fantasy football league position. It's all talk of who's sustained a groin injury and which goalie has kept a clean sheet, and whilst I count myself amongst those who can at least attempt an explanation of the offside rule, I'm left guessing that all this talk of groins and clean sheets is not meaning quite the same to my colleagues as it is to me.
I try to take an interest, honest I do, but they're playing a game that I wasn't invited to join and in that situation I have the moral sensibility of a scabby-kneed 5 year old. So, I try teasing these decent, culturally sensitive, liberal minded men about their bare-knuckled competitiveness and their decidedly anoracky ability to evaluate in 37.38 seconds the relative merits of any 4-4-2 combination you throw at them. Impervious to my teasing, I try huffing and harumphing, with a "can't you guys see I'm trying to do some work here?" kind of a strop, but they just laugh at me. They just don't care!
The academic year/football season, it comes and it goes, and before you've had nearly enough quality time with your favourite sunlounger, it's all kicking off again. But this time I took my grandmother's hard-won wisdom and I signed straight up for the Park College Fantasy League of Death II. Did I know anything about football beyond the general principle of kicking a ball into the back of a net? Did I know anything at all about the Premiership? Did I know the first thing about playing fantasy variations upon a general theme? Did I hell?! But oh, I do so love playing games, and I so so love winning them, especially when my three office-buddies laugh long and hard at my appearance on the league table. "Hahaha", they chortled affectionately, "you're a girl and you'll never win!"
So, guess who's been winning all year?! Well, okay, to tell the truth, it's only nearly been me.... I've been top of the table once, been second nearly all year, and have only occasionally slipped outside the top 4. And to my way of thinking, Chelsea/Man United is pretty fine form for a complete novice!
The trouble is that I am now ten times more anoracky than the guys have ever been, and my bare-knuckledness has reached a desperate level. You see, the person who is winning is another woman, a fact I delight in pointing out every Monday morning when the points are updated and she's still there, our very own staffroom Arsenal. But, she's an EX member of staff, and that rankles - she may be a winning woman, but she's not one of ours! I really don't mind telling you that it's been a big test of my moral fibre - do you go for hard-won feminist solidarity, or do you trade it all for staffroom loyalty?
Reader, I traded it. And now I am gambling everything for the win with a high risk strategy. All my slow steady accumulation of points week in week out from the likes of Dodd and Bridge is behind me now, as I play with the cheapest feasible defence in order to afford a gun-toting midfield. And, more importantly, with players that SHE hasn't got. So far? Disastrous!! But it ain't over til the fat lady sings and if nothing else, I shall go down in a blaze of foolish heroism to save my staffroom honour!
Just a shame no-one will know it's a deliberate strategy!...
Well, that's what I learned many years ago at my grandmother's knee, along with a large number of idiomatic expressions that my students recently delighted in providing well researched linguistic evidence to show were incontrovertible evidence of my rapidly advancing age/senility. So young and so untender...
But I digress already. So, there's me and three guys sharing an office at work. Every Monday morning for the whole of the last academic year, I'm in a 40 minute exclusion zone while they log on and check their updated fantasy football league position. It's all talk of who's sustained a groin injury and which goalie has kept a clean sheet, and whilst I count myself amongst those who can at least attempt an explanation of the offside rule, I'm left guessing that all this talk of groins and clean sheets is not meaning quite the same to my colleagues as it is to me.
I try to take an interest, honest I do, but they're playing a game that I wasn't invited to join and in that situation I have the moral sensibility of a scabby-kneed 5 year old. So, I try teasing these decent, culturally sensitive, liberal minded men about their bare-knuckled competitiveness and their decidedly anoracky ability to evaluate in 37.38 seconds the relative merits of any 4-4-2 combination you throw at them. Impervious to my teasing, I try huffing and harumphing, with a "can't you guys see I'm trying to do some work here?" kind of a strop, but they just laugh at me. They just don't care!
The academic year/football season, it comes and it goes, and before you've had nearly enough quality time with your favourite sunlounger, it's all kicking off again. But this time I took my grandmother's hard-won wisdom and I signed straight up for the Park College Fantasy League of Death II. Did I know anything about football beyond the general principle of kicking a ball into the back of a net? Did I know anything at all about the Premiership? Did I know the first thing about playing fantasy variations upon a general theme? Did I hell?! But oh, I do so love playing games, and I so so love winning them, especially when my three office-buddies laugh long and hard at my appearance on the league table. "Hahaha", they chortled affectionately, "you're a girl and you'll never win!"
So, guess who's been winning all year?! Well, okay, to tell the truth, it's only nearly been me.... I've been top of the table once, been second nearly all year, and have only occasionally slipped outside the top 4. And to my way of thinking, Chelsea/Man United is pretty fine form for a complete novice!
The trouble is that I am now ten times more anoracky than the guys have ever been, and my bare-knuckledness has reached a desperate level. You see, the person who is winning is another woman, a fact I delight in pointing out every Monday morning when the points are updated and she's still there, our very own staffroom Arsenal. But, she's an EX member of staff, and that rankles - she may be a winning woman, but she's not one of ours! I really don't mind telling you that it's been a big test of my moral fibre - do you go for hard-won feminist solidarity, or do you trade it all for staffroom loyalty?
Reader, I traded it. And now I am gambling everything for the win with a high risk strategy. All my slow steady accumulation of points week in week out from the likes of Dodd and Bridge is behind me now, as I play with the cheapest feasible defence in order to afford a gun-toting midfield. And, more importantly, with players that SHE hasn't got. So far? Disastrous!! But it ain't over til the fat lady sings and if nothing else, I shall go down in a blaze of foolish heroism to save my staffroom honour!
Just a shame no-one will know it's a deliberate strategy!...
