Humour – Page 2 – Middle Age Fanclub

It seems you’re never too old for something new.

A couple of weeks ago I had a week off work. Half term for us teachers and a time to try and rest, relax and take stock of how the year has gone so far.

It never quite turns out that way though. Although the older I get, the more I find myself unable to do a great deal other than resting at times. However, the week was a bit different. I felt more tired than usual, something I put down to being poorly at the run of the year with some kind of flu bug that has clearly taken a bit more of a toll than I’d realised. As a result, as much as I wanted to get things done, I found that I just didn’t really have the energy. Thus, the tarpaulin on the garden furniture remains more off than on and the fences haven’t seen a lick of paint either.

As with most old stuff though, essential maintenance is required whenever the chance arises. And so, this week meant that it was time for a hair cut as well as a visit to the dentist. Yep, I really know how to use that holiday time, eh?

Both occasions ended up being far more nerve wracking than I’d wanted. In fact one of them felt slightly traumatic.

I hadn’t had a haircut since the middle of December and so the natural waves of my hair had kicked in and it was really quite the unruly mess. Big hair with the 80s long gone! But this wasn’t the problem. I’ve had the same hairdresser for around 27 years now and had been forced to find someone new, at least temporarily. This had happened once before, about ten years ago when my hairdresser was in hospital and it was a disaster for my hair. I’d gone to a chain salon in a shopping centre and received a clinical haircut that looked like it’d been done by a butcher…using a knife and spoon.

Fast forward a decade or so and my hairdresser – also a good mate – was in hospital again and had been for over a month. He’d been home and then back in hospital repeatedly and while I was obviously worried about him, there was an evermore nagging feeling that I was going to have to find someone else to give me a trim.

This would be only the second time anyone other than my actual hairdresser had cut my hair in getting on for 30 years. Actually, that’s a lie; my wife clippered it in lockdown!

Now I don’t know what you’re like, dear reader, but this bothered me. Really bothered me. Despite doing some research and checking out numerous reviews of local barbers on Google, it just didn’t feel right at all. I asked around about where others got theirs cut and still it made no difference. I didn’t want anyone else to cut my hair. However, I was starting to look like a wookee and my teenage son, who also has his hair cut with me, was beginning to worry about his image! Enough was enough.

Now you’d think it would be straightforward from this point, but no. I’d narrowed my choice down to two places and was even quite sure about which I’d go to. It was closer, better reviews and cheaper too. It made perfect sense to just go there…

We walked up towards this new barber’s as it was reasonably close and yet, I was so nervous about it that I took a detour. Thinking that we could arrive coming down the hill, with the advantage of being able to see if anyone else was in, my plan was immediately scuppered as we turned the corner to find that the owner was stood outside, opening up. This spooked me and for a few seconds I decided that we were heading to our second choice. Then, realising how old I am and how ridiculous I was being I played for time, taking us on another detour…for no reason in particular!

It’s amazing the amount of nerves, self doubt and just general sense of panic something different can create in me!

Eventually, we made our way into the barber’s shop. It was empty aside from the owner and he was welcoming from the start, which helped put me at my ease a little more. I decided to go first just to get it all over with and also because there was no one other than my own son to watch! Explaining what I wanted I envisaged the barber’s interpretation being to clip the sides and back down to the skin and then leaving me with just a clump of hair left sitting atop my head, like you’d see on literally every other British 12-year-old these days.

The result was a decent haircut and a pleasant experience all round. My fears were unfounded and my panic just a waste of time. The barber – Ozzie – was warm and friendly and left me looking way smarter than I did when I walked in. There were still differences that I wasn’t fond of though. Where my usual barber knows that I don’t want any ‘product’ on my hair afterwards, the new guy sprayed my head liberally, first with some kind of setting spray and then, weirdly, with liquid cologne! I was too polite to scream ‘Nooooo’ as he picked it up though!

Later that day we had dental appointments. Now these usually fill me with mild dread anyway. But this time around featured an absolute about turn of a change. Firstly, our dentist practice has relocated from its small, beaten up premises into a shiny new, vast place that’s been converted from a former furniture store in the middle of town. If I say it’s instagramable, I’m sure you can begin to imagine it. So just walking into the place felt a little bit daunting.

The worst thing was that the appointment was with someone new. Yes, another new person and this time messing with my teeth! We’ve had the same dentist for years now and I wasn’t the only one that was a little bit nervous about this change. My wife even made enquiries as to our usual dentist’s whereabouts in the hope that we might be able to change to her!

In the end, it all turned out quite well. Our new dentist was really nice and personable and everything went swimmingly. However, there was one thing that stayed exactly the same and just as unpleasant as ever about the dentist appointment. Usually my teeth get a bit of a clean with some type of electronic device and it’s often a bit painful as she scrapes away at my teeth, occasionally jabbing whatever the instrument is into my gums. This time though, I got the cleaning, but without the electronics. I think this had something to do with my pacemaker and the new dentist being a little bit cautious. So, cleaning my teeth just involved some sort of sharp instrument being rived around my teeth, with bits of stuff being dragged out from various gaps, much to my distaste. Sorry to sound like a child, but it hurt!

So, less than a week after my latest birthday and I’m reminded that nothing can ever stay the same. Like I said, you’re never too old for something new, regardless of whether you want it or not!

Film Review: ‘Marcel The Shell with Shoes On’.

If someone was to recommend a film to you where the premise was that a man discovers a talking shell and makes a documentary about it, you would be forgiven for deciding that this wasn’t the film for you. Furthermore, no one would question you doubting that someone’s sanity. And yet, here we are…

The idea behind ‘Marcel the Shell with Shoes On’ is ludicrous to say the least. To be fair though, nobody’s telling us this is real life and there have always been ludicrous ideas in some of our most loved films. ET, Star Wars, The Hobbit…it’s a list that could go on and on. And it gets even sillier though when you realise that Marcel the shell lives in an Airbnb with his grandma…also a shell. That said, I can only write about the film in glowing terms and say that you have to see ‘Marcel…’!

Having moved into an Airbnb, documentary maker Dean stumbles across Marcel the shell, who of course already lives there. Being only an inch tall, however, he’s thus far survived without being discovered. Somehow, a friendship of sorts is formed and Marcel is quick to introduce the aforementioned grandma as well as Alan, his pet ball of lint.

The film documents Marcel’s life and the friendship between him and Dean. We learn that Marcel used to have a whole family living here, but following a break up of the people who were renting the house, the family had disappeared. Marcel’s only clue as to their whereabouts is a picture of the man’s car and suitcase. Marcel is sure that his family were bundled up into the suitcase.

It’s a ludicrous idea at first, but you can’t help but warm to Marcel, almost immediately. He looks cute, he sounds cute and as the film goes on we find out that he’s both funny and caring as well as being vulnerable, which I guess you might expect of a shell.

When Dean then uploads a video of Marcel to the internet in order to help him find his family, the results are exactly what you’d expect. Marcel goes viral and the world becomes obsessed with finding this talking shell…and his grandma. Luckily, Dean is very protective and careful about who he lets into this world and soon the hunt for Marcel’s family is quietly on.

‘Marcel the shell…’ is just a lovely film. The relationship between Marcel and Dean is a real feelgood thing and the film is done in such a way that it all seems perfectly natural and dare I say it, believable. At first, I found myself kind of scoffing at the whole thing, but before too long I was completely under its spell. I won’t spoil things with any more detail, but suffice to say there’s a lot to take in.

Laughs, sadness, happiness, internet fame; what more could you want from a film about a shell who lost his family? If you’re after a film that will invariably make you smile and take you away from the troubles and seriousness of modern life, then ‘Marcel the shell with shoes on’ could well be for you.

I give ‘Marcel the shell with shoes on’…

Poetry Blog: Icebreaker

We had a week’s worth of snow days for our first week of the half term, which meant that despite setting work and trying to get stuff done around the house, I actually had a bit of time on my hands. Struck by inspiration today, I sat and wrote a poem. It’s not in any way serious, although the actual physical acts described did actually happen. Part way through writing something serious I just decided it was too good an opportunity for something silly and so changed the way it was going. I hope you like it.

Icebreaker

After two days trapped in limbo by first, several whole inches of snow
and now an actual coating of not only quite thick but also horribly slippy ice,
action is called for.
And when people call for action you'd like to think it's you they have in mind...

You've already lugged the deadweight of a kid's beach bucket full of grit for miles across this frozen corner of West Yorkshire.
Your back, damp with manly sweat, is already hurty.
Now, you stand in what is either a power pose or your audition for Drag Race, shovel in hand even though the snow has made it's metal handle really cold and you've forgotten your gloves.
The only bloke in the street brave enough to tackle the ice. Behind their curtains they watch you, rapt, you think.
Frankly, if you're forced to say so yourself, you're a hero.
They will call you Icebreaker. Maybe.

Seizing your tool and raising it high,
you plunge it at the ice.
It rebounds with force but your teeth remain intact.
Oh, for an axe.
Not to be deterred, you plunge once more and a whole whisp of snow
leaps into the air...then lands back on the very ground you were working on.
Nevertheless, your momentarily spirits soar.
You thrust once more, again, again and again, ignoring the cold and mindful, ever mindful of the imaginary fact that the whole street are watching and probably, later on, will take to their doorsteps to clap their appreciation of their hero key worker, only stopping when the last of the snow is gone.

Ten minutes later, wheezing and clutching your back,
you limp back to the house, muttering and licking the bleeding knuckle
that you nicked on your own spade,
having cleared an entire two square feet of treacherous snow and ice.
In your mind you are a gladiator who fears no foe.
In the hallway mirror you look like Albert Steptoe.

So, there you go. Luckily, I’m well practiced at laughing at myself, what with being a bit of a kn**head and all. In my defence it was very cold and the ice was very thick. I went out later and did more as well. And before anyone questions my logic, there’s a bit of a grit shortage so I was keen to use a little bit and then dig the rest of the ice out, saving some grit for later.

I have to say, it was a poem that I really enjoyed writing. I haven’t written or finished one in ages, but this one is more or less a first draft. I wrote it down in my note back with a few arrows pointing to late additions when I changed my mind about its seriousness.

I hope you enjoyed it. Maybe it’ll raise a smile the next time your clearing some ice and snow. If you’re as heroic as me, that is!

Review: Rhod Gilbert at the Grand Theatre in Leeds.

Rhod Gilbert is a notoriously dour comedian. A bit miserable and matter of fact. Funny though, but cynical and blunt. And tonight we’re promised that things will get beyond blunt.

Rhod’s latest tour – Rhod Gilbert and the Giant Grapefruit – is all about his battle with cancer over the last 3 years. Well, they do say that we can find humour in anything.

As he takes the stage he’s quick to warn us that things are going to get dark. But we know why we’re here and exactly what the circumstances of the show are. Gilbert has fought and beaten head and neck cancer, after the discovery of a growth – that’ll be the grapefruit – on his neck. Ironically, this was found during a trek in South America to raise funds for his local cancer hospital. And as the man himself says, when life throws you lemons, you make lemonade. But when life throws you grapefruits, you’re never going to be sure quite what to do. But, like comedians are inclined to do, he made a joke out of it and took it on tour.

It’s a very different night of comedy that begins with the comic asking if there are any people in the audience who’ve also had cancer. But it works. There are, I suppose as you’d statistically expect, a fair few audience members who have gone through and recovered from cancer. A couple of people have even had the same cancer as Gilbert and so some of tonight is spent discussing what they’ve been through. It’s never indulgent and always funny (which feels like a weird thing to write even now).

It’s a brilliant show. Gilbert is, as ever, engaging and forthright. Nothing is held back, meaning that a few thousand of us are treated to tales of cancer based constipation that we probably could have done without! But, even when we’re cringeing about it, we’re laughing. Along the way, we’re treated to tales of John, Rhod’s driver while he was unable to drive himself, who is ridiculed mercilessly.

As promised, there are lots of darker moments tonight. It’d be impossible to avoid after a 3 year cancer journey. But it’s actually uplifting. Brutally honest and all the while searching for a bright spot, but it’s dark. I find myself wondering whether or not it’s ok to laugh at times, but realise that the whole room is laughing so it’s probably the whole point. Sometimes, when the chips are down, if you don’t laugh, well you’ll probably cry and I know which I prefer.

There’s a brilliant section near the end of the set where Rhod gives out awards for those who’ve featured in his battle against cancer. I won’t give the game away as some of you might go to see the show in the coming months, but there’s a brilliant tale involving a trip to get treatment that almost ended up in Aberdeen of all places. And remember, Gilbert lives in Wales! There are also awards for those who reached out to Rhod during his last 3 years, some with wise and beautifully written, sage pieces of advice…and others where it’s just plain weird.

The show ends with Rhod now offstage and a video that was made during his treatment. Keeping with the themes of the night, it’s funny while also being really sad at times and we’re given just that extra little bit of insight into Gilbert’s character. Thankfully, it’s been a happy ending and I dare say that there was more than just me in the room who was choking back a few tears as Rhod rang the bell to signal that he’d beaten cancer.

Welcome back, Rhod!

Review: Russell Kane at the Leeds Grand.

It’s 10.40 on Sunday night and I’ve just got home. My face aches, particularly across my cheekbones and I think I probably need a go on my inhaler. I feel genuinely knackered, but it’s not a bad thing though…just the result of spending some of my evening laughing like a drain in Russell Kane’s company.

I last saw Russell probably over 10 years ago and so, given the amount of time, I’m not entirely sure what to expect. What I do know is that it’s going to be a very physical kind of gig. A bit like Lee Evans but with a better sense of style and far more up to date references.

First up tonight is Jack Skipper, a comedian I must admit that I’ve never heard of. But that’s part of the treat here. I mean, us middle aged types aren’t often out on a Sunday night anyway, but as far as a bit of mystery is concerned, I’m restricted to the pub quiz, the meat raffle and a bit of ‘open the box’ if I’m lucky! So a mystery comedian is fine with me!

It can be quite awkward seeing any new comedian though. I’m always immediately aware of the chance that they might just die on their arse and I was brought up to always try to be polite. What do I do if he’s just not funny? Happily though, Jack raises some decent laughs early on before then dropping a C bomb and really warming us up.

Starting off by talking us through how he’ll pay his kids back for all of the early mornings that they provide him with when he’s hungover, he then moves on to the fact that we’re out on a Sunday night – a miracle for some of us if it’s not on the calendar! Particularly true in our house! He’s an ex carpet fitter, so gives us some jokes and stories about his time in that particular trade as well as his take on his school days and the fact that he feels that he’s just not that bright. Bright or not, Jack Skinner leaves us all with a warm glow and the feeling that we’ve just seen a future star. There’s a hint of Micky Flanagan and a touch of Jack Whitehall, while also having something akin to Russell Kane himself in there, yet Skinner definitely has his own way. He’s funny, relatable and likeable and deserves his success when it comes.

Now normally when reviewing any kind of gig I’ll have some points of reference. So, if it’s a band it’ll be notable songs and if it’s a comedian, it’s the topics they talk about or just a great gag. Russell Kane is very much a different kettle of fish though. I swear tonight feels like it’s 100% off the cuff and it’s all the more brilliant for that fact. It’s obviously not off the cuff at all, but for someone to meander through as many topics, views and stories and still get back to the point time after time, all the while making the entire room laugh uproariously, is a real skill.

It’s not hard to work out why this is called the ‘Hyperactive’ tour. If you know Kane’s live work then you know his style; perpetual motion at what feels like 100 miles an hour. And anyone who just bought tickets for a good night out is left in no doubt as to the name when he bounds out and proceeds to just do circuits across the stage as he talks. Kane is a phenomenon; he never seems to stop and his delivery is incredible coming as it does on the run, during a dance, lying down or just crouching in front of us. Even taking a drink is done while wandering!

Whether there’s a plan or not, Kane’s material is superb tonight and I find myself wondering ‘Is this the funniest show I’ve ever seen?’ about halfway through. The answer is that I don’t know, but that’s the fault of my memory, not Russell Kane. Tonight is very definitely up there though.

In a way, Kane is hugely unprepared for tonight’s show as when he takes to the stage he’s only actually been in the building for 10 minutes or so. Apparently he was stuck in motorway traffic, which not only leads to a glorious bit about Slaithwaite – a place Kane discovers that the locals pronounce as more of a noise than an actual word; Slaawit – but lands him in quite an agitated mood. In turn, this adds even more to the energy of the show!

Quite a chunk of tonight is related to the audience. Kane ‘picks on’ the front row from the off and much fun is had at the expense of Yorkshire folk and their accents and attitudes. There’s nothing at all malicious in this and Russell judges the tone brilliantly so that the whole theatre is laughing as one. Even when he does a brief section about Geordies later on, I can’t take offence. It’s just very, very funny and stingingly accurate!

Kane says himself that he doesn’t tell jokes. In fact some of tonight seems dedicated to almost giving us a sermon about enjoying life, but it’s just hilarious at the same time. There are a good ten minutes spent on gently mocking ‘Gen Z’ as he asks questions of a 17 year old near the front and I find myself veering between wiping tears of laughter away and feeling dreadfully sorry for the lad!

Further down the line, there are riffs on his working class roots, his family, his wife and also the joys of living up north. All of it is priceless, hence the aching face and struggling lungs when I get home.

Only when Russell starts talking about limiting his show to 70 minutes, do I realise that we’re nearing the end. So relentless has he been that it feels like time has flown. Maybe somehow, with his dancing and speed walking around the stage he’s managed to find a way to speed up time? He admits to being worn out and I think every last person in the room feels exactly the same. But we’re all smiling.

Kane leaves the stage to rapturous and well deserved applause and much acclaim. There’s no chance of an encore, but nobody seems to care. This has been a wonderful night spent in the company of someone who appears to be a wonderful human being. And boy, is he funny!

If you get the chance to catch any of the rest of the tour, then jump on it. If not, start preparing yourself for next time!

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Russell Kane; perhaps the funniest stand up in Britain.

Teaching: I’ve been on a course…

This week, as a work thing, I did something that I haven’t done for years. So long in fact, that I really can’t remember how many years it’s been, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if it’s been well over a decade. I went out on a course.

I’ve long had an aversion to courses. I’m not good around new people and really can’t be bothered trailing to anywhere different with all the navigation issues that it can create. And that’s before you get to the chaos that going out on a course can create. You leave behind a classroom full of resources and a day’s worth of classes doing – or simply not even attempting – all of the work you’ve spent time creating and then setting for them. So basically, your room is at the mercy of whoever’s covering your lessons and a load of students frothing at the mouth at the prospect of you not being there. A course you say? I’ll just stay at work, if it’s all the same.

There was no avoiding this though. Firstly, I’m at a new school and so keen to make a good impression. But secondly, this was a course for mentors and I needed to be there in order to learn how to use the software that I’ll be working with as mentor to a new teacher or an ECT as I’m required to call them nowadays.

I started the day by making the kind of mistake I’ve previously laughed heartily at in others. Yes, I didn’t check the dress code, meaning I was the only person to turn up in a shirt and tie! Oh, the horror as I walked in! I almost wore a suit though, so I was relieved that I could just quietly rid myself of my tie and not look too stiff in amongst the sea of hoodies and jeans.

There were plusses though. I got to leave the house later, meaning more time to lounge about over breakfast, the course didn’t start until later than work, we got a free lunch and then we were treated to an early finish, so it turned out to be not so bad.

However, the whole experience left me with a number of questions as well as wanting to share a few observations too…

The first thing that occurred to me was the name of the thing. They’re no longer courses, apparently. No, now we go on conferences. So when did that change? And why? It’s clearly the way things are these days, with academy chains running things like businesses and referring to people on courses as ‘delegates’. Ridiculous, really. I mean there were around 30 of us sat in a classroom watching and taking notes as two presenters talked us through some slides. It didn’t feel like what I imagined a conference to be. I thought conferences were about ‘networking’ (perish the thought and pass me the sick bag) and maybe standing around drinking wine and being waited upon with nibbles. I got to sit at a desk and settled for jacket potato with cheese and beans for dinner! Not even a warm plastic cup of chardonnay in sight!

The school we were at was one that I used to drive past daily for a decade. I actually imagined that one day I’d work there. It was a short commute for me and had a name that conjured up far more positive and idyllic images than the reality. Now though, following some dark days for them, they’ve knocked it down and rebuilt the place and I have to say, it was an impressive building. It’s nice to see that money is being spent in education…if only we could recruit more teachers.

Even a brand spanking new building has its drawbacks though. For about the first hour of being there, every few minutes the sound of gushing water would interrupt us. No one had any idea where it was from, but boy did it sound close. Very off-putting, I can tell you! I was sure that we were going to get soaked at any time! And then there was the school bell. I say bell, but it sounded like the kind of alarm you expect would signal an approaching apocalypse. And it just seemed to go off so often! A ‘conference’ with the threat of drowning or zombie panic. It’s no wonder it’s taken me so long to get back out there!

While watching our presenters go about…well, presenting, it struck me that this was the kind of job I’d have liked. I love the showing off aspect of my work and have always loved giving assemblies or running training for staff, so I’d like a bit of that there presenting I reckon. But then, it occurred to me that I’d be very worried about the amount of questions I’d have to fumble an answer for and that I’d probably really just want to be telling stories and doing dad jokes – not what your average ‘delegate’ wants in these corporate heavy days of education. Maybe I’ll stick to the classroom after all!

The two presenters we had were very good and yet still my abiding memories of them talking to us revolved around their language choices. No sweary Marys, don’t worry, but just using phrases I’d either never heard before or just hadn’t heard in years. Firstly, one of them kept saying ‘Hell’s Bells’, which I thought had died out years ago and then the other referred to students as being like ‘giddy little kippers’, which really threw me as the only kippers I’ve ever encountered were dead and being offered up as part of guest house breakfasts. So, not giddy at all. But all was forgotten and forgiven when one of them kept using the word ‘twiggle’, which I’d never heard. Going on the context of use, I worked out it must be a verb meaning to change something slightly, like to ‘tweak’. But twiggle seems like a great word and I’d encourage all 14 people who read this to start using it immediately!

In the afternoon though, an old ghost returned to haunt me. Every so often in teaching someone latches on to a person who’s had an idea and set themselves up as some kind of guru. It’s particularly irksome, because almost every idea is recycled from years before and these people aren’t reinventing any wheels. Anyway, just after dinner, there he was smugly standing there jabbering on about something I wasn’t listening to on a video. I won’t mention his name (it’s not even a proper name), but suffice to say it soured those few minutes until he disappeared again!

Overall though, despite my reservations, I had a pretty good day and actually learnt some stuff. Best of all? It was the compliments. I genuinely think that I’m a hopeless mentor and yet still the presenters told us on several occasions, “you are all amazing” as well as referring to us regularly as “special”. I must remember to tell my wife!

Middle Age: Tales of the unexpected.

I’ve been writing this blog for 6 years now. The original idea was to sort of diarise stuff about getting older; welcoming in middle age and documenting what it was like, if you like. That quickly changed when I realised that I’d given myself a platform where I could write about…well, anything!

Six years ago, I’d had a heart operation and so my first 3 blogs were about that. It was the reason for starting the blog. I suppose it was kind of cleansing. A way to let people know how I was feeling without having to do any of that awkward talky stuff that I’m not a great fan of. But then I got to liking writing about all manner of stuff and noticed that there were more than just my friends reading. So suddenly, there I was typing up my thoughts and feelings about music, fashion, young people, football and eventually even plucking up enough courage to share some poetry.

It’s been a while though since I wrote about middle age, but recently I got to thinking about some changes I’d gone through that I hadn’t really expected. So, I thought I’d give the rest of you advance warning of some of the perils of middle age. Something to look forward to, eh? And if you’re already of a similar age or older, some of this might resonate and make you chuckle.

Going white. I’m 52 now and so far, while I’ve been going grey since my early thirties, it’s been a pleasingly slow progression. I’d say that most of my hair is still black and that thankfully, aside from some patches in the sides, I’m more pepper than salt. However, following an operation I wasn’t able to shave for a while. I was fine with this. Being happy to be alive will make you far less vain and so being unshaven and subsequently growing a beard didn’t phase me at all. What did bother me though, was the fact that my beard came through as largely white! I mean, when there was a bit of growth, say after a week or so, I was beginning to resemble some kind of apprentice Santa Claus! Definitely not the change that I was expecting.
Losing my hair. To clarify, I still have a decent head of hair. There are far more who are far younger than me who have lost a lot more hair. That said though, lately I’ve really noticed how much I’m receding. And while in reality there’s very little chance of it, I’ve been beginning to fear the development of a hair island at the front of my head! My forehead is definitely growing where there used to be hair! Like I say, I think it’s a way off as yet, but it’s really bothered me.
Strange marks and blemishes. Another unwanted imperfection has been the development of marks and blemishes on my body. I already have three notable scars – two on my chest and one on my right calf – so I could do with the latest additions to my body! A year ago, I got an infection right at the top of my left leg, just where it meets the hip. I’ve no idea how, but it ended up as a real mess when the cyst burst and I ended up at the doctors. Even he took a deep breath when I revealed the mess that my leg was in. Anyway, a year later and the marks are still there, like two ugly red scars. I also have a mark on my shin that I can’t explain and right in the middle of the large scar on my chest it’ll sometimes get dry and itchy, making for another horrible blemish. Add to this a small red area on the end of my nose and it’s becoming a bit of a problem! It seems that when these things happen nowadays that my body just can’t move on! It’s honestly one of the worst bits about middle age that I’ve encountered so far!
My body. Having been slim all my life, middle age is no fun. I used to be able to eat anything and it had no effect. Now though…ooof! Too much spice = heartburn, coffee = feeling sick, pizza, I’m steering clear of as I think I’m developing an aversion to cheese, red wine (oh, red wine), that used to be my best friend, gives me nightmares and a thumping heart in the night! And it all makes me put on weight. I have a belly that I’m really not fond of, but try as I might it just won’t shift. My body is not enjoying middle age!
Bruises. Suddenly, bruises are taking far longer to heal and going far bluer or greener than before. What’s that all about? I rarely bruised as a young man, but now the slightest touch against almost anything and I’ve got a nasty bruise. This means that, as a teacher, I have a more or less permanent bruise at the top of my thigh where I’ve walked into yet another desk as I do my ’rounds’ in the classroom!
Memory. Now, I’ve never had a great memory. I’m terrible at remembering birthdays and rarely know the lyrics of songs, despite the fact that I may have been singing them on and off for over 30 years. However, middle age has now brought the curse of not being able to remember why I came into a room. The kitchen is the favourite here and it often doubles up as I remember why I’m there – to get something out of a cupboard – but can’t remember what the something was that I was getting.
Hair growth. If you’re wondering, yes, this is a strange thing to include in the same piece as a bit where I worried about hair loss. But that my friends is the weird and ‘wonderful’ world of growing into middle age. Sometimes, everything’s a conundrum! Suffice to say, since the onset of middle age I seem to be sprouting hair in places where I don’t really want it. Firstly, I have more back hair than I’d like. It’s not a great deal, but I’d prefer none really. I’ve always been quite hairy anyway, but my back seems to have decided to play catch up with my chest, arms and legs over the last few years. My eyebrows too have gone rogue. The hair there is just taking on a life of its own and I’m finding myself having to trim it regularly to stop it encroaching up my forehead. And then, there’s my nose. Not just hair in there, but growing on the outside too and while both have been a constant in adult life, it would seem that they’re now just heading into some form unwanted of overdrive! Believe me, shaving the outside of your nose is no fun whatsoever!
A realisation of my uselessness. I’m not really useless. There are lots of things that I can do and lots that I’m actually good at. However, what worries me is far more fundamental. The older I get, the more I’m finding that the essential ‘man stuff’ is a bit beyond me. There’s just loads of stuff that I cannot do. Let me explain. Recently, one of the spotlight bulbs in our bathroom stopped working. This wasn’t a problem. They were easy to change, I’d heard. Just press on the outside, it’ll drop down from the ceiling and you pop the bulb out and put another in. Except ours didn’t. Naturally though, being a bloke, I couldn’t resist a half hour struggle with it first, which succeeded in me breaking the unit leaving it now dangling from the ceiling! The springs to hold the unit in place were either left dangling with the light or flew off into the loft which meant a long time spent crawling around our loft space trying to find them amongst the insulation. No fun, dear reader, no fun! Suffice to say, another two bulbs went soon after, leaving us with one working spotlight. It turned out that our electrician had fitted the less than easy to change versions and only after several trips to YouTube was I able to figure it out and even then fixing it all was far from easy. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so frustrated. Add to my spotlight woe the fact that I won’t go near electrics having electrocuted myself quite badly in the past, I don’t like speaking to people on the phone and that I can’t change a tyre and I’m stuck in middle age feeling pretty useless!

It seems really unfair that just because you get to this stage in life that a million unexpected things start to happen to you. I mean, the health worries have been more than enough and I thought all the awkward changes I needed had come in puberty. I imagined my next stop was pensionable age and all that would happen would be fully expected! This present pit stop is not at all enjoyable!

Anyway, less moaning and more positivity. I’m still here and most of my hair is still its natural colour! Until next time…

Teaching: The Reading Test.

I wasn’t planning to write anything at all on this topic. Far brighter people than me have written far more incisive commentary about the importance of reading and the struggles that young people have with it. And anyway, this was just a baseline test; a straightforward reading test done in class with (hopefully) minimal stress. But, in teaching sometimes it feels like nothing is ever straightforward.

September and baseline testing for Year 7s go hand in hand. Not always merrily skipping down a corridor, but hand in hand all the same. So, it should be straightforward, right? Read the texts, read the questions, answer the questions using the information from said texts. And as a bonus, take your time doing it as we can use a little chunk of next lesson too. Easy? Well not for all, naturally. But straightforward, surely?

Of course, if you’re a teacher or have ever worked in education, you know the answer to the question above. And of course, the answer is a big fat NO! As I mentioned earlier, nothing ever seems straightforward in education and some days everything can feel like a battle.

Which brings me to my topic. Reading tests. Or rather, the reading test that I’ve just done with my seemingly delightful Year 7 group.

Now previous readers might already know that I’ve recently taken up a new post at an all boys school. Suffice to say, as you might well expect it’s pretty tough at the moment. On top of a shedload of entirely new and sometimes alien systems and routines, all my learners are boys and therefore full of the ‘challenges’ that boys can bring! That said, it’s a very supportive environment and I feel like I’m getting on top of things and coping with anything that gets thrown at me…metaphorically!

In amongst my cohort of somewhat rowdy boys, my Year 7s stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. I’m new, they’re new and we’re in this together. They’re keen to get on and eager to please and of course, full of questions, as we probably all were at that age. They all say a cheery ‘morning, sir’ at the door and many of them tell me to have a ‘good evening’ or even a ‘good weekend’ when they leave, depending on the day.

So, today’s attempt at a baseline reading test was a timely reminder that there are always hitches, irritations and curveballs in teaching. Okay, this one wasn’t the biggest deal, but it reminded me of the need for patience and also the need to always make sure that everyone in the room is sure of what they’re doing.

The problems started as I gave out the texts. One reading booklet with texts to read from and an answer booklet…where you put your answers. First off, I asked my class to fill in the front of the answer booklet with the necessary information. In this case that was first name, middle name, surname, date of birth and school name. I explained what was needed and also that, if they didn’t have a middle name, then they didn’t have to write one. And this was when the questions started.

“Sir, where do you put your name?”

“Sir, what if I haven’t got a middle name?”

“Sir, what if I don’t want to put my middle name?”

“Why do I have to put my middle name?”

“Why do they need my date of birth?”

Eventually, we got there, even adding my own name to the front of their answer booklet just in case it was misplaced. At least someone would know where to find me.

Next came instructions about time. I’d been told that it didn’t matter if the test didn’t get completed in the hour – we could use next lesson too. So, I made it really clear that the boys should take their time, look for accuracy rather than speed and that we’d have this lesson and the next if needed. It wasn’t a race. You can guess what came next…

“How long have we got, sir?”

The first time they asked, I just repeated myself. Same with the next. And, with a slightly more irritated tone, the next too. By the time the same question had been asked about 8 times in 10 minutes or so however, I felt like steam might be coming out of my ears!

Then, it was time to give a bit of guidance. The answers they needed were in the texts that they were going to read, they should read the texts first before attempting the questions, the paper would tell them which text questions were referring to and so on. But before I’d even got halfway through what I was saying, the hands were going up. I asked them to wait; I might answer your question before you get the chance to ask if you wait until I finish. Still, the hands stayed up like this was some kind of endurance test. And then, when I’d finished…

“Where will the answers be, sir?”

“How do I know what text the question is about?”

“How long have we got, sir?” Just kidding with that one; they’d got the point by now!

Once those worries were seen too, again, I gave a final warning. Treat the test like an exam. There should be no talking and while they should ask if they had a question, I couldn’t just give answers and they’d be better off just reading the text again. And with that, I told the class that they could begin writing.

Seconds later, a hand shot up to ask a question, while the boy sat in front of me started reading the first question out loud.

I give up!

Book Review: ‘Above Head Height’ by James Brown.

Confession time. I had a little bit of a misspent youth. Nothing to panic about. Not committing crimes, not doing a great deal to disrupt others and not going out of my way to be obnoxious. My misspent youth consisted of doing the kinds of things that were important to me for as much as my time as was humanly possible, while neglecting the stuff that seemed boring, but on reflection might have actually done me some good.

My misspent youth largely revolved around football. Naturally, there were girls a bit later too, but I was no Casanova. Mind you, I spent endless hours playing football and I was no Maradona either! But wherever I could and whenever I could, I played football. ‘Above Head Height’ is a book for all of us who have obsessed and continue to obsess about football. ‘Above Head Height’ is what happens when your misspent youth continues through your entire adult life.

If you love football, then ‘Above Head Height’ is a must read. Even if you only have a casual interest in the game it’s still definitely worth a look. Brown – the former editor of the groundbreaking Loaded magazine – takes us through his own personal obsession with football, from days and nights playing any-number-a-side street football right up to his present day situation where he plays football with various social groups about 4 or 5 times a week. It’s an encyclopedic look at the game and why we play it, as well as why we get so obsessed and so for those of you like me and James, it becomes a very interesting read.

Brown’s experience of football as a kid will be familiar to a lot of us and as such, offers a huge slice of nostalgia for simpler football related times. Huge sided, barely organised games in the street, the park or wherever there was space and playing until you were either dragged in by a parent or it was just too dark to see anymore. Sometimes even that wasn’t enough to stop us!

‘Above Head Height’ takes us on Brown’s journey through football in its many guises. It’s a path well trodden for many of us. There are his experiences with school teams, playing with gifted players, playing at college and university, early adult five-a-side leagues and then onto time spent coaching his son’s team (something which a lot of us will have stumbled into inadvertently!).

This is more than just a book about football and a football obsessive. ‘Above Head Height’ starts with the funeral of a fellow player and Brown touching on the fact that, despite having spent years playing with this man, he really didn’t know him. He could pass comment on his playing style and pay tribute to his organisational skills – he was the bloke who organised the league – but what did he really know of the man he’d spent so much time with?

Ultimately, ‘Above Head Height’ is a book about friendship, camaraderie, obsession, health, fitness and the realisation that none of us are getting any younger. Football is just the orange or black and white checkered sun that it all orbits around. Of course, there will be family, careers, births and deaths, but sometimes it will feel like none of it is as serious as our feelings for the beautiful game!

If you remember the Wembley Trophy (or the penny floater if you’re from my neck of the woods), if you’ve ever spent far too long explaining the whys and wherefores of your latest ‘world-class’ goal, if the phrase ‘jumpers for goalposts’ still makes you smile and if you still dream that you might just get the call to play professionally, then ‘Above Head Height’ will be right up your street.

I give ‘Above Head Height’…

Always Look On The Bright Side – Five things that made me smile in June!

The weather alone should be reason to smile in June, but alas here in England the month or season doesn’t always offer a guarantee where the weather is concerned! So, while sheltering from the almost incessant rain, I had to look elsewhere for my little moments of joy last month. Here’s what I found.

Cooking. I love the idea of cooking. I see recipes or even just pictures of food and think I’d love to make that. Sadly though, I’m not a great chef. I don’t enjoy cooking either and the process usually gives me no joy whatsoever. Instead, I find it stressful and tedious and the end result is often nowhere near what I was led to believe would happen should I follow these magical instructions. The kitchen is always a mess afterwards too. Lately however, I’ve managed to find some simpler recipes to follow and have actually found that I’ve put together some very tasty dishes. For now, I’m sticking to pasta with the aim of honing my skills and concentration levels so that I can attempt a decent curry, but we’ll see. What I’ve found so far though, is that every Thursday and Friday, making something like pesto chicken pasta or penne with tomatoes, cream and chorizo is not only making me smile, but it’s an unexpected delight to me tastebuds too! Definitely something to smile about!

Comedy Pet Photos. I wasn’t aware of the Comedy Pet Photo Awards until very recently. Last month in fact, which was obviously handy given this blog. Apparently, it happens every year and people from all over their world send their funny photos in to be judged. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think all of the finalists were that funny, but the two below definitely raised a smile. And although the winner – Hector the dog – was good, it wasn’t as good as the donkey for me! Regardless, both of them helped turn that frown upside down!

K Pop Hugging Marathon. Being 52 I’m not a fan of K Pop – in fact I have only the vaguest idea of what it is – and I’m also not the world’s greatest hugger. Still though, this story made me smile. To summarise, some bloke called Jin from the insanely popular K Pop boy band BTS – don’t ask me what that stands for, although I suspect it’s Bacon & Tomato Sauce, as in the filling in a delicious sandwich – has come up with an idea to celebrate the end of his 18 months of national service. He performed a hugging marathon with 1000 fans who were chosen in a raffle. In truth it sounds like a bit of a daft idea, but then when you think about the impact it will have on those fans you can’t help but smile. In an era where too many ‘stars’ keep themselves distant, this seems like a brilliant gesture and one that he really didn’t need to make. I’m sure fans of the band would have just been happy that he was ready to get back to the band, but instead he’s not only given out free hugs, he then performed songs to 3000 more fans in a different event. That Jin, eh? What a guy!

Classical Music. Classical music wouldn’t naturally be my choice. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, but usually only in the background of a film or some kind of video. In truth I wouldn’t know Bach from Beethoven! I’m an indie kid at heart still, despite my age! However, my opinion changed somewhat last month when a group called ‘&Piano’ came to our school to perform for our Year 7 students. ‘&Piano’ are a collective of musicians with only the one constant; the lad who plays piano. Last month’s incarnation was piano, cellist and an opera singer and it was fantastic. From the second that the opera singer sang her first note I was pretty much enthralled and despite one or two giggles in the audience, I think our students were too! A true testament to the power of live music and more than enough to raise a smile! I’ve added a link to their website below if anyone fancies finding out more.

https://andpiano.co.uk/

Birthdays! My wife and daughter’s birthdays are two days apart in June, so last month was a big one in terms of organisation, celebration…and presents! It can get very stressful and this year was no different apart from the fact that the stress levels ramped right up as it was my daughter’s 18th. It was all still really enjoyable though. Still though, one or two things really made me smile. Firstly, I bought my wife a joke present – some bubble wrap. She’d been wrapping some of our daughter’s things a few days prior to her own big day and was using bubble wrap for a couple of the more delicate gifts. So when she remarked, ‘I love bubble wrap!’ I was straight online to order some! What really made me smile though was how big it was. The bale was around 3 feet high and a couple wide which none of use were really prepared for! My wife took it in very good humour though, especially as it was alongside a pile of other gifts! My daughter’s party managed to make me smile too, even if I was quite opposed to the scale of the whole thing. We were lucky to get a local bar to host and around 40 friends and family showed up to celebrate. Our hosts were absolutely brilliant and everyone had a ball. And you can’t help but smile when it all turns out well!

So, another month passes with a few more smiles and standout moments. I’m hoping July, with its end of the academic year feel, will raise a few more! I’ll let you know soon!