I slept through until six o clock this morning when my phone told me to “get your arse out of its pit”. A good night’s sleep is usually the consequence of a night shift followed by a bottle of red wine.
Over a spot of brekkie I watched another episode of “Hardy Bucks” (which was rather crap) then peered into the Internet to see what I’d missed overnight (as I do most mornings). I had a friend request on Facebook from one incredibly dodgy looking young lady who was “looking for friends to be her slaves”. I deleted her friend request and squealed her up to the Facebook feds. If I don’t take a moral stance, who will?
I saw that an old schoolfriend of mine has just moved back to Hastings (from somewhere in Surrey). He’s apparently retired to his old home town. Retired!! He’s only a month older than me.
And there was an amazing row kicking off on one of the political groups I follow. Some amazingly jingoistic chap whose business has been decimated following some regulation change or other due to Brexit has had to lay off over half his workforce. The chap chose who he made redundant by giving the elbow to those who he thought voted “remain” in the Brexit referendum. Can he do this legally? Of course not. Can it actually do it? He already has.
I turned off the lap-top and got ready for work.
As I headed to work the pundits on the radio were talking about how there are plans afoot to change how foreign languages are taught in schools as (apparently) it is incredibly difficult for the teachers to predict how well students will do in their exams. From my experiences with the teaching of languages there is certainly a need for change. Neither of the fruits of my loin left school with the ability to speak any foreign language (and their English can be iffy at times!).
Years before that, the way I was taught French frankly didn't work. At primary school Miss Kavanagh would stand at the front of the class and make all sorts of strange noises, and would then look at us in a quizzical sort of way. We would then make strange noises back at her (in imitation of the noises she'd made). Sometimes she was pleased with us, sometimes she wasn't. None of us in the class ever had the faintest idea of the meaning of any the noises she had made, or what her reaction might be to whatever odd noises we had made in return.
At secondary school we learned to read and write in French with a fair degree of success, but actually speaking the language wasn't encouraged.
I can remember a conversion on the subject I had many years ago with one of my old French teachers (who by the time had become a good friend). My old teacher and friend told me that we were taught to pass an exam, *not* to actually be able to speak in French. A rather damning admission, but an honest one. (Mervyn was nothing if not honest).
I got to work, picked up a new box of COVID tests, and did my thing. As I worked I struggled to shift the earworm I had somehow acquired, but to no avail. The Russell Crow "Fighting Round The World" song from South Park was firmly stuck in my head.
Work was rather busy, but not as busy as home had been. er indoors TM” had hired a carpet-washing gizmo and was having a good scrub at the carpets today. I am reliably informed that even after six scrubs the water was still coming out black.
The living room is still in uproar as we don’t want to put rugs and furniture back onto a damp carpet. Maybe we’ll do it tomorrow. Or maybe I might have a rest tomorrow – I’ve felt really rough all day. If I don’t improve overnight I’m thinking of calling a sickie.
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