Welcome to Night Vale

I've always loved having a long, relaxing soak in the bath: scented bath products, candle, glass of wine maybe and music. For a long time, my music of choice would be the album Come Away with Me by Norah Jones. For me it was perfect bath music. I listened to it so often that if I ever heard a track outside of my bath time, I would experience an echo of the feeling of nakedness and vulnerability that accompanies one's ablutions and was exploited to the extreme by Hitchcock in the shower scene of the classic movie Psycho.

I am now smiling as I remember a short video I made a long time ago for a competition to win a Macbook Pro. The brief was to recreate a scene from a movie using potatoes. (The competition must have been sponsored by a 'potato related' company, I can't quite remember). I attempted, with my limited editing skills and equally limited artistic ability, to recreate the famous shower scene. I did not win the Macbook but I did have a such a good time making "Psycho Potato".

Norah Jones no longer provides the soundtrack to my bath time. Instead, I listen to a podcast entitled Welcome to Night Vale. My daughters introduced me to this little gem. It is in the style of a community radio broadcast set in an unusual town where events such as a portal opening during  a PTA meeting to allow flesh eating dinosaurs to pass through and cause bloody mayhem, are not uncommon. It is entertaining but at the same time, gently challenges your belief in self, society and existence.  Welcome to Night Vale! The real magic of the show is the combination of clever scripting and the beautiful voice of Cecil Baldwin who narrates it... a voice more mellow even than Norah Jones singing Come Away with Me.

I used to listen to the podcast in bed but there were two problems with this: my husband hates it and the soothing tone of Cecil Baldwin sent me to sleep almost instantly. Listening in the bath is perfect. I don't generally tend to fall asleep but I can achieve a wonderful level of relaxation and enrichment (especially when the glass of wine option box is ticked). There is a segment during the show called 'The Weather' which consists of a song or instrumental piece (that usually has nothing do with the weather!) It is just the right length of time for me to wash my hair so I don't miss any of the main show. This makes me happy.

Last night, I couldn't sleep. I put on the podcast hoping that Cecil could work his magic but he couldn't. I don't feel as frazzled as I thought I would this morning but I am weary. We only have this week to get through before our half term break begins. I am very ready for that break.

I feel that we have achieved a milestone having nearly completed the first half of our Michaelmas term. Now, we need some time to process all the changes that we have been dealing with since we first arrived here at the tail end of August. We need a quick life audit to see where we are and where we want to be. I am hoping for some 'two episode long' bath times.

My Little Year One Schoolgirl

With half term rapidly approaching, my little girl is very well settled into being a year one. I am so pleased with the progress she is making and how much she loves school and learning.

This is a letter that she wrote at the beginning of the summer holidays.

A quick translation for anyone not completely in tune with emergent writing reads: To everyone, I love you so much. You've been nice to me. Especially the teachers and the children. From Addy.

I found that incredibly heartwarming and encouraging.

Her little notes aren't always so lovely. This more recent one requires no translation though possibly some explanation!

Miss Nunn

Last year, my husband organised and participated in an epic bike ride from  Queen's School in Chester to Buckingham Palace. This year, the team are endeavouring to cycle the length of Offa's Dyke from Prestatyn to Chepstow (some 200 miles). No mean feat - especially considering the current heatwave we are enjoying (suffering?!)

On Sunday night, I drove out to their scheduled overnight stop to show my support.

They were staying in Adcote School, a small independent day and boarding school in the most beautiful rural setting. The school itself was a gorgeous tudor style sandstone building with grand mullioned windows and set in extensive landscaped grounds. It was most impressive. Inside, the grandeur was still evident and as I walked up the main stairway, I couldn't help but notice a large oil portrait of Mrs Doubtfire!

It turned out that the costume designer on the set of Mrs Doubtfre was Marit Allen, former pupil of Adcote School. She had very clearly drawn her inspiration for the look of the character from the Headmistress whose portrait I was now admiring. The likeness was uncanny.

It got me thinking about some of the more iconic authority figures from my school career. One in particular sprang to mind. Ageing spinster, music teacher - Miss Nunn.

Miss Nunn had a face that always reminded me of the Child-catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Upon those unfortunate pointy and unattractive features she would plaster thick foundation. I would not have been surprised to discover that it was actually stage makeup that she used, such was the thickness she achieved - and it would crack - further adding to the Child-catcher illusion. I distinctly remember being fascinated by the skin/make up interface around her jawline. As a result , I am always very careful when it comes to blending my own foundation (on the rare occasions I wear it).

Despite her sinister visage, she was actually of a kindly disposition. She was passionate about her subject but had absolutely no skills when it came to classroom management. She was regularly the target of abuse from the naughty kids in class and her voice would become more and more shrill as she tried to restore order. On one particular occasion, her shrieking and the escalation of bad behaviour from one pupil culminated in a chair being thrown across the classroom at her. It did not hit her, thankfully,  but we certainly did not learn much about music theory during that session.

Miss Nunn went by the nickname Winnie. I'm not sure whether her name actually was Winifred, but apparently she was named after or adopted the name of a famous concert pianist of the time. I have Googled 'Winnie concert pianist' but it shed no light on the matter for me. The name did suit her though.

There was much speculation about romantic liaisons between Miss Nunn and an elderly divinity teacher, Doctor Davies. I doubt there was any truth in the matter but there was a very obvious match between the two distinctly 'old school' dinosaurs. Nowadays, the internet has spawned 'fandoms' in which fanatics of popular TV shows can write their own version of the shows using the established characters. More often than not, this involves 'shipping' which enables the exploration of romantic couplings between characters that wouldn't necessarily have been in the original script writers intentions. At school, we all 'shipped' Miss Nunn and Doc Davies. We never tired of it!

The most remarkable thing about Miss Nunn for me was her choice of dress. She always, without fail, whatever the weather, wore a blue woollen two piece. I have to hope that she had a wardrobe full of identical blue woollen two pieces which she alternated but to all intents and purposes it was as though she never EVER changed her clothes. This idea was leant weight by the fact that the armpits of the outfit were discoloured to the most vile shade of brown imaginable. There was nothing more horrendous than Miss Nun enthusiastically conducting the orchestra (of which I was a member with my trusty clarinet). Her arms would wave at full stretch overhead to ensure everyone could see her (she was fairly diminutive in stature)  revealing the unsanitary armpit area in all its gruesome glory.

Had I gone on to become a movie costume designer, Mrs Doubtfire may have had a very different appearance!

Although I would find it very difficult to assign an age to Miss Nunn, she surely must be long dead now.  I wonder how many of the pupils who passed through the door of her classroom have such vivid memories of her as I do. A quick search on Friends Reunited Teacher Memory proved that she certainly hasn't been forgotten:



Miss Nun

Short, big boobs, Fancied Doc Davis ? Not sure why !

MIss NUNN

2ND 3RD year RE lessons... total chaos !

Miss Nunn

Miss nunn always had a white face as if she had dipped her face in flour before coming to School

A School Christmas Play

As I opened a bleary eye this morning to see that the numbers on the clock were telling me it was 8:10 - the time we would normally be up and dressed and having breakfast - I didn't panic too much. I remembered that the kids had been fiddling with the buttons on it yesterday and had probably changed the time. When I turned over in my lovely warm bed and saw that the clock on my radio also said 8:10 - then I panicked!

I managed to drag myself out of bed with the cold cup of coffee on the bedside cabinet seeming to say in a mocking tone - It's your own fault. You should have woken up when I was brought up to you by a faithful husband an hour ago.

Both little ones were still fast asleep.

The reason for their exhaustion and need to sleep was that last night was my little Addy's first school play - an evening performance taking place in our local community owned Festival Drayton Centre which meant a proper stage, tiered seating and an air of great importance. Personally I would have been happy with a makeshift stage and rows of tiny school chairs crammed too close together in a school hall but there was no denying the sense of occasion.

The play was called "Children of the World" and showcased how children all over the world celebrate Christmas. Addy was cast as Poland.

The costume requirement was a bit vague. If I had had the time, I would have googled the Polish National Dress, scoured charity shops for something suitable and even dusted off my sewing machine. Needless to say - I didn't. With what we had at home and big sister Taylor picking up a little waistcoat from Primark on a well timed shopping trip, we cobbled together the 'boy' interpretation of the costume.  Addy looked absolutely delightful but she was not overly impressed.

Neither was she overly impressed with the idea of rehearsals. I was taken to one side by her teacher to be told that she was refusing to join in. When I questioned Addy about it she said that she didn't want to be tripped up on stage. Trying to get inside the mind of a four year old I surmised that it must be quite overwhelming with the whole school involved in the production and lots of movement on and off stage. I reassured her. I told her how proud I'd be to watch her. I tried bribery. I played the Santa card - I bet Santa will leave you an extra special present under the tree if you join in. I waited to see what would happen at the next rehearsal.

She still didn't join in.

Although she was not actually taking part, she was watching and learning. She knew the dance routines. She knew the songs. She had one last chance to overcome her reluctance at the dress rehearsal before the actual performance. I wasn't holding my breath.

Last year, I turned up at the festive setting of Addy's nursery school to delight in my little angel singing Christmas songs with her tiny classmates. The reality was a grumpy Mini Grinch who sullenly refused to sing a single note. Last night, these memories flooded back as I sat in C13 awaiting the start of the show.

She was sat at the back (maybe deliberately) and looked very tiny surrounded by older children. After the introduction, Poland was the first country up on stage to share their Xmas traditions with an eager audience.

Addy awkwardly joined the back of the line of children representing Poland. Each child collected a glittery star from the props lady as they climbed the steps onto stage. Each child except Addy. As she held out her little hand, there were no more stars to hand to her. I guess that as she had not been joining in with the rehearsals, she was not counted and therefore not enough stars were made. I could have cried. I sensed her discomfort as she stood on the stage, starless. The other children launched themselves into their lines and song and dance as Addy stood apart from them fighting back tears. She lost the fight. She didn't just burst into tears - she exploded.

I felt powerless. From the second row back I was so close to my distraught little daughter... yet so far.

Thankfully, the headmaster did his best to sneak discreetly onto stage (he is not a small man!) and scooped her off. He calmed her down and gave her the job of assistant to prop lady.

As 'Poland' she was a disaster. As 'Assistant to Prop Lady' she was fantastic. I could see how much she loved being involved and handing out the various props to the next set of actors waiting for their moment in the spotlight. No more awkwardness and reluctance - just enthusiasm and efficiency.

She was persuaded to go up on stage for the finale - a heartwarming whole school rendition of a song called We are the Children of the World. For a brief moment she joined in with the singing and the actions and I was given a glimpse of the little star she could have been - but mostly her interest lay in what was going on offstage and behind the curtains.

As we made our way back home I asked her if she had enjoyed herself and she answered with a resounding yes. I suppose that is all that really matters.

A late night and much excitement with a little raw emotion thrown into the mix did result in the over sleeping next morning.

It was a rush to get to school but we made it just before the start of registration. I breathed a sigh of relief. Today of all days, an OFSTED official loitered in the classroom with his clipboard of doom. I gave Addy a quick kiss goodbye and was about to make my hasty retreat when the same look descended over her face as I had seen last night when she stood empty handed on stage with the star waving children of Poland. I willed her to hold it together, to sit calmly on the carpet, to wait for her name to be called and answer with a upbeat and 'ready for the day' - Yes, Mrs Buckley.

She didn't.

J is for Junk to Funk, Jazz Band and Jogging

One of the suggestions put forward for a J Alphabet date was a romantic 'jog for two' down on the canal towpath followed by a well earned jug of Joules Pale Ale at our local brewery. I was slightly relieved when a well timed 'Junk to Funk' event came up at the school two of my daughter's attend featuring performances from the Jazz band that they both play in. I bought two tickets!

The Junk to Funk part of the evening was a fashion show. The jubilee inspired fashions were created using recycled materials and modelled by the girls who had designed them. Some of them were quite impressive - others seemed little more than ordinary clothing with union jack napkins pinned to them but it was still lovely to see the girls strutting with increasing confidence as the audience showed their appreciation with clapping.

On display at the front of the stage were two incredible Junk to Funk creations. The fantastically talented Kirsty Warner (a name to watch out for) whose photographs I have featured on this blog, had made a jacket out of teddy bears that she had purchased in charity shops. Just as a faux fur jacket it was beautiful but she had incorporated teddy heads in the design which made it look quirky and almost evil in a Cruella deville sort of way - completely original in concept and perfectly executed. The talent continued to scream out in the shape of a futuristic dress made of coke cans which looked part robot part fish. I'm not sure that sharp edges wouldn't rip your flesh to shreds if you actually tried to wear (and move in) such a garment, but it was visually stunning on the mannequin. This piece was created by the son of my dental hygienist. I actually can't wait for my next appointment so I can tell her how much I loved it (before I have to open wide!)

Although the event was named for the fashion show part, the majority of the evening was a musical showcase. The much loved, long serving music teacher (who also teaches my girls piano and has become a family friend)  retired recently. We wondered how anyone could fill the shoes of a teacher that had become such a fundamental part of the music department, and indeed the school as a whole, but judging by the success of the evening, the replacement is doing a wonderful job. My girls adore him and my first impressions during the brief meeting I had with him when I brought Taylor's drum kit in to set up earlier in the day, were very positive. Since taking the post, he has formed a Jazz Band and a Glee club, both of which delivered performances.

The show opened with a lively samba drum piece leaving no doubt that proceedings had well and truly begun.

The jazz band featured my Taylor on drums and Charis on piano (she was very excited to be playing a grand piano even though it was possibly the most battered and un-grand grand piano I had ever seen). All of the members had clearly worked hard to achieve a level of competence in a style that, for my daughters at least, was different to what they were used to. However, with members of staff taking leading roles, it did somehow have the feel of a vehicle for frustrated teachers to live out their musical legend fantasies! Despite that, it was very enjoyable (although I must try and teach Taylor to stop pulling unflattering 'concentrating' faces as she drums!)

There were several solo singing performances, the majority of which, Charis accompanied on piano. I have listened to her practising these accompaniments at home (in fact she broke a low C string on our piano during one particularly enthusiastic session) but I was absolutely amazed by her performances on the night. It wasn't just that she played the pieces practically note perfect (I think I did detect one or two tiny mistakes), it was the way she supported the soloists,  subtly emphasising notes when the singers went off key to help them find the melody again, keeping the timing and allowing the vocal to shine. She never once sought the limelight. In her very unassuming way she  delivered what was needed.
I have so much respect for my daughter. She has a maturity, poise and confidence that totally belies her tender 15 years.

I didn't take my camcorder.  Recording something necessitates watching the action through the screen  (unless you have a well placed tripod or don't mind the inevitable 'drift' that you get when not monitoring hand held equipment). I hate how that detaches me from the moment. At the expense of having the recordings, which I would have loved, I stayed completely in the moment. On balance, I think I loved that more! Plenty of people did video. This is footage of Charis on piano and my niece on guitar singing Rhianna's Take a Bow (taken by Ella's mum - my sister).

A highlight of the evening for me was when Taylor's boyfriend, George, took to the stage with his theatrical friend Ollie for a 'showbiz' performance of Me and My Shadow. George has one of those voices that has lovely tone and timbre but doesn't co-operate in terms of staying in key! It didn't matter that it wasn't the greatest vocal performance of the night. For me it was definitely the most entertaining. Performed with panache and swagger, it provided me with much needed comic relief from the emotional  roller coaster I had been on watching my girls. I could see Taylor watching her man with pride and embarrassment in equal measures. 

During the interval, there was a raffle. After my success in the 'I' date raffle, George's mum (who was sat with us) said she wanted some of my luck because the first prize of £100 in Argos vouchers would be very nice. Would you believe it? She won first prize!! What's more, my number came up too!!! I won a trip to Wolverhampton Races. It is all a bit of a mystery because there was no information provided with the tickets but I'm sure we'll work it out! I had a big smile on my face and congratulated my husband on his raffle ticket buying skills.

The show overran the advertised finish time and daughter Ivy who was babysitting the little ones was waiting for us to get back so she could go to the pub with friends. I left my husband to wait around to pick up the drum kit and bring the girls home in the car while I made a hasty exit and ran home. 

I had a really good time on my J date and I even incorporating some of the Jogging that I was trying avoid.

When my husband got home with the drums, the girls, the 'Shadow' (or the 'Me'!) and a mountain of chips, I had recovered from my impromptu marathon enough to enjoy a greasy supper and a bottle of bubbly to celebrate the end of Taylor's A levels and a successful night.

For my 'K' date I am going to insist on something more intimate that does not involve a raffle. Any suggestions?

School Uniform

When I was at school, our uniform consisted of a green and white striped blouse which could only be purchased (at great expense) from the department store Caley's in Windsor, grey skirt, grey cardigan or jumper and a black and green striped tie. The blouses were uncomfortable and the grey colour was drab. Pupils desperate to express their individuality would undo a top button and wear their ties long and thin (or short and fat depending on current trends) Some teachers were stricter than others at enforcing the correct dress code.

I remember being involved in a campaign to allow the girls to wear trousers. We thought it grossly unfair that the boys were able to wear trousers but girls were forced to wear skirts. Ironically, I now find myself in a position where I am opposing a ruling at my daughter's secondary school to ban skirts.

I am very much in favour of school uniform and I think the one adopted by my daughter's school is  sensible, comfortable and thankfully easy to launder.  It comprises polo shirt and sweat shirt with school logo and black regulation trousers or (until recently) skirt.

The move to ban skirts is because a number of girls have taken to wearing the very short, figure hugging style of skirt that leaves little to the imagination. I have seen the girls walking round town and at the risk of sounding like a fuddy duddy (think I may have already condemned myself there with my choice of language!) I don't honestly think that it is appropriate for a learning environment. I would not be happy for my daughter to dress in a revealing way for school.

I agree with the headmistress and governors that something has to be done to bring the uniform back to an acceptable standard of modesty and smartness but to address the problem with a ban on all skirts seems to me a lazy solution most likely to cause an inflammatory response from parents and pupils alike. Several boys have already turned up to lessons wearing skirts in protest.

My daughter does not actually own a school skirt. She likes the practicality of trousers. However, during hot spells such as we have been enjoying recently, the last thing anyone would want to wear is black trousers (especially since some of the classrooms are impossible to keep cool). It was the morning before the skirt ban was announced during assembly that she had asked me if we could go school skirt shopping for her. I received a letter by post with the same announcement. When my daughter came home that afternoon she was incensed by the decision. She is not one to make trouble but when I told her that I wholeheartedly agreed with her and would be happy to take it up with the head, she surprised me by not shying away from potential confrontation.

I believe that the best way to run a school is to have everyone involved working together for the good of all wherever possible and practical. There will inevitably be conflicts of opinion. As the cliche goes - you can't please all of the people all of the time.

I am unimpressed by the poor management of the age old problem of kids rebelling against their dress code but I am sympathetic to the fact that the head is only human and trying to do a difficult job. I wrote a polite letter strongly stating my viewpoint and my daughter delivered it the following day.

I don't know what the outcome will be but I do know that I am proud of my daughter for not being afraid to stand up for what she believes in. I also know that if we are lucky enough to have more sunshine, I will support my daughter in breaking the rules to wear a skirt, although not one of the skimpy variety that caused the problem in the first instance. My daughter will be a 'knee-length' rebel and I will love her for it.