by Dan Hall
‘Who can blame her for being a bit of a bitch? Cause and effect, even in the classroom. Teachers aren’t gods and shouldn’t behave as such.’
‘How much do teachers earn? And they expect their pupils to respect them?!’
‘It would help to diffuse arguments if they put more points in for the girls to charge their phones.’
‘Their English teacher massively overrates Iris Murdoch. At the expense of my-heart-bleeds-to-dread what else.’
‘Is it so wrong to see a teacher/child parity? One has no more right to discipline than the other.’
‘All teachers do is spout out stuff they already know. It’s our daughters who are having to learn.’
‘He’s a fantastic teacher. He knows his authority but also his place.’
I danced through the education system through the 1980s. We made friends and enemies to gain access to scented rubbers (erasers) and Nintendo Game & Watch. Whiteboards were magical tech, held only by the higher-funded science departments. Not wishing to sound like an old fart, these palaces of learning today sound like a bloody Apple store:
‘Having daylight bulbs in the classroom would surely lift them out of apathy.’
‘The kids are furious. At lunchtime the Wi-Fi is so overloaded it’s impossible to access YouTube.’
‘Those corridors are un-inspiringly dim once the sun has passed midday.’
‘They have sourdough to make the school dinners seem classy, but ruin it by making the kids eat with IKEA cutlery. A waste of time!’
‘The work is not getting the council to paint the common room, but in getting them to do it to a finish that we would expect.’
And even within the system itself I suspect my own learning would be utterly useless. While I was a toddler my tiny brain was too easily satisfied with finger-painting and eating the corners of Mr Men books. I shudder to wonder what learning milestones are in place today. And wow… who takes the credit for them?
12yo son: ‘Got a drama test today.’ Me: ‘What are they testing you on?’ 12yo son: ‘Commedia dell’arte.’ (@The_MadriGals)
‘I’m not sure the classroom concept ever quite works for our daughters.’
‘We like to think it’s beyond education. More thought-construction.’
Overheard in Kensington – child 1 to child 2: ‘I’m sure you’ll be an excellent ambassador for Further Maths.’ (@tiganajbitch)
‘If the school won’t let me take him out for holidays when I like that’s crazy. He’s three now and can read and write and has the vocab of six-year-old!’
‘They don’t want us going into the Chemistry lab because some of the equipment has been recycled from two, even three years ago.’
‘EVERYTHING they know about sex these days is from those awful white girls singing with Cockney accents.’
And with such standards, is it any surprise that the children themselves are a quivering disappointment? Watch them roam Highgate High Street, eyes wide with fear. Those gym-obsessed seventeen-year-old boys and lanky-legged girls in tiny skirts, all worrying about Anna Akhmatova. In fact, they should be getting off down Highgate’s alleyways, lit only by period faux-gas lamps that were passionately fought for by the local preservation society. I’m not sure the teens have it as easy as we might imagine:
‘Jessica! If you don’t learn to spell your teacher will think you’re just like the rest of them.’
‘You’ve got to focus on teenage to-do lists or they end up like they’re bloody fathers.’
‘Her and her friends all get together. They’re so loud. And they have no appreciation for ANYTHING.’ (The irony lost)
And god help this lad:
‘I had to have a talk with him about the masturbation.’
But at least the younger ones don’t escape either:
‘I had to point out to Head of Year 5 that my boy’s “dyslexia” means nothing to a headhunter with a pile of CVs.’
Heard in Hampshire today. To a three or four-year-old child: ‘Well, you don’t HAVE to go to university, darling.’ (@tabby_whisperer)
‘Don’t be upset, darling. In any concrete jungle there’s going to be beautiful trees that put all the other girls in the shade.’
But amongst all the trauma and let-down, it’s good to hear that the school is not primarily a place of education. Not AT ALL.
‘That teacher fails to give the class any sense of brand or identity within the school.’
Picked up an entry form for PTA quiz night. You can pre-order bottles of Merlot, Rioja, Sauvignon Blanc and Prosecco. (@jezhiggins)
Every day of every week the (mostly private) education system lists and threatens to sink. Its ballast is overwhelmed with the demands of the National Curriculum (boo, hiss!) and the union-bullying need for teachers to have weekends (‘why should they when we don’t?’). But despite these cesspits of incompetence, at least it’s not State.
‘Surely there’s some sort of Parent’s Evening where we have a forum to report back to the teachers on their work?’
‘Here in Hereford, a local academy-status primary school is having an ice rink at its Christmas fair. My kid’s has a bran tub.’ (@JudSawyer)
‘Can someone work out some sort of efficiency chart to make sure the staff are doing what they’re supposed to?’
‘Teachers with tattoos should wear long sleeves. Even in comprehensives.’
‘What leads someone to want to become a teacher? I never know how much of it is choice.’
‘Teachers are creatures of habit.’
‘The difference between State and Private is the pitter-patter of self-respect.’
My Finchley comprehensive school education clearly wasn’t smart enough. I’ve had to look up ‘Commedia dell’arte’, I don’t know what a ‘bran tub’ is and I have absolutely no idea what the difference in taste is between Merlot and Rioja (my option at the table would be to go for whichever is the cheaper). But boy, these schools sound like an exhausting place to be; for the teachers, the parents and the poor bloody kids at the heart of it all.
But if you arrive at the right time of day, you see kids in Caffè Nero ignoring their iPads and instead trying to play with the free toy from a magazine. And while the parents are pouring over a choice of pastries, you’ll notice stolen teen glances across the room. It’s a relief to know that despite everything, despite the fees, the pushy parenting, that those teens are actually just thinking about that alleyway near to The Wrestlers pub where the CCTV broke last week and the faux-gas streetlight shines a beam bright enough to see, and dim enough to hide.
ASPIRATION
Showing Mum @Highgatemums and she reminds me how at four years old I told the harvest service that my favourite cheese was camembert.
Aspiration – the curse of the human condition. It’s the reaching for something, anything, that signifies a move forward. First it’s a utility room, then it’s two, then there’s no room to store the ski equipment so a basement is needed. How keen we all are to show the world what we think we’re worth. Or even better, to have others remind us:
Overheard in dentists: ‘Yes, Daddy is a Brigadier. But then nearly everyone you meet is a Brigadier, or will be soon.’ (@larkrise2candle)
Overheard woman on phone whispering, ‘I’m in a supermarket’. Something is said to which she exclaims loudly ‘No! WAITROSE!’ (@Becks01483)
Overheard this morning ‘civilisation basically ends at Parsons Green’. (@_dreamfunda)
Drinking decaf Earl Grey from a handcrafted ceramic mug made by my friend’s grandmother. Feeling agonisingly HM. (@maryjayneagain)
For my 21st birthday my husband got me a wine decanter. I’m pretty sure i’m fast approaching HM territory. (@shutup_maria)
‘It’s not a jacket, mummy, it’s a gilet.’ (@honoroakhill)
I once loudly asked my 5-yr-old, in Guggenheim, Venice ‘Who do you think that’s by, darling?’. I knew she’d say Picasso. (@MichelleLGa)
Overheard loud parenting on the Penzance to Paddington tr
ain, getting two-year-old to do phonics for benefit of commuters. (@emilythecat)
Kids are an aspirational pain. They are your path to enlightenment, whilst simultaneously being responsible usually for your exclusion. They have no idea the EFFORT and AGONY required to lifestyle more than just a job-lot of Sally Bourne cast-offs.
‘Sweetheart, I don’t blame the art teacher for scolding you. This piece is devastatingly lacklustre.’
Me: ‘Where shall we go for lunch after the Ballet on Saturday?’ Him: ‘Burger King?’ Class act my kid. Totes debunked my pseudo-HM status. (@KjDouglas)
Overheard today, said to a 4-year-old, ‘Until you know how to spell Valkyrie you’ll never get anywhere in life.’ (@Lou_Roll)
Overheard on Southwest Trains mum to 10-year-old ‘and that’s why you need to go to university. So you don’t become a bog cleaner.’ (@chvrlee)
Heard in Waitrose car park, ‘Put that carrier bag back in the boot. We can’t use a Tesco bag in there.’ (@au_somemum)
Turning myself in: Child ‘Beans beans they make you far’ Me ‘It’s farT. There’s a T on the end.’ (@SheyMouse)
Overheard at Asda, ‘Oh that’s terribly common, we could just cover up the print.’ In reference to a child’s Frozen dress. (@TitchyMixz)
But sometimes they make you proud:
A 7-year-old, ‘My hobbies are maths, art and Paris.’ (@iraturkey)
My 14-year-old son asking me if I knew where he could buy a reclaimed mango wood wardrobe for his bedroom. (@ColinC34)
Six-year-old on her way to school in Exeter, ‘So daddy, how many years study is a PhD?’ (@emilythecat)
Two six-year-olds role playing. ‘Let’s make a shop’ ‘Yes! It could be John Lewis!’ (@MrsHodge1978)
‘Her first words were “shoes” and “brioche”.’
Amazing HM moment in Crouch End, six-year-old old to mum, ‘I hope the old KFC becomes a new Whole Foods shop.’
It’s a blessing that the ever-powerful world of retail is there to help guide the squawking tots in the right direction:
‘Posh wine shop down the road is hosting a lunchtime “Mothers and Babies Chenin Blanc tasting’’.’ (@Pollylwh)
‘I can’t stand a café with a community board. Thank God there’s none around here.’
‘And Asda is what keeps the even riff-ier raff away from Sainsbury’s’ (@Cal_Lad85)
‘They let her enter my PIN number. It’s an absolute hoot. And a highlight for the barista girl.’
I visited a restaurant that had a salmon, kale and pesto dish on the children’s’ menu today. (@CharlotteKaye)
I may have reached peak middle class. Had fish and chips with the in-laws and they’d laid out FISH KNIVES. Sweet baby Jesus. (@mim_monk)
The HM are appallingly mischievous at feeding each other’s aspirations. Conversations swirl around material stuff: holidays, excellent grades or a rare yoga teacher that nobody has yet discovered. Achievements are delicately dropped into conversation so as not to appear boastful, but done with enough force so as to make their message most perfectly heard:
‘Is it normal to do that? ... Oh, I just wondered. Mine doesn’t ... But then again, mine’s talking now so there it is.’
‘It’s absolutely ridiculous that I should be expected to work.’
Overheard once sat by the river, ‘It’s the worst barn conversion we’ve ever lived in.’ (@janmorgan8)
‘We discourage them from listening to pop records. The form is too simplistic.’
‘The baking space isn’t really a separate kitchen. Not as I see it. But it does help to keep the main one tidy.’
Who’s going to make me a Christmas cake so I can pretend my kid made it for the cake sale? (@elianas_world)
But STOP THERE! Don’t think that the kids aren’t also possessed. Back in my teen days we fled to Camden Town to get away from materialism and aspiration. Now they run there to find it. And the younger ones? I’m suspecting that your sibling’s Lego and a circular bit of Hornby model railway won’t make the grade any longer:
A 6-year-old to another in a tennis lesson today: ‘Excuses stop you from achieving what you want.’ #LifeLessons (@biscuitchaser)
Overheard two five-year-olds, ‘I’m going to be a solicitor or a YouTuber, which one do you think’s easier?’ #moderncareers (@jofflean)
We had a magic flying suitcase this week. I asked the two Four-year-olds where they wanted it to take us. ‘Antigua’… (@Debutots_Jen)
Today’s gem from my 9-year-old. Sat in a tea room, ‘Daddy is this fair trade hot chocolate?’ What have I created? (@woody_2k)
To bed, rain hammering down. Daughter number one debating Sylvia Path/Ted Hughes, number two wanting to learn more German. (@MichelleLGa)
In Amsterdam, my 5-year-old, ‘I played painters in the playground. I was Van Gogh and my friend was Rembrandt.’
When my youngest was three she kept asking for ‘poco shon-alan’. Finally realised she wanted: pain aux chocolat. (@StaticKing)
Adult to child in Hampstead park sandpit: ‘What’s that you’re making, is it a mud pie?’ Child: ‘No, it’s a wild boar pie.’
And me? Well I’m writing this chapter at the Balans Soho Society in Central London, early before heading to the day job. I’m here because the coffee is good and they play sassy early Motown in the mornings. Oh, and because the walls are painted the same Sally Bourne Interiors slate grey that I’ve earmarked for my new front door. It’ll be one of the first in the street, and I know it’s quite the statement.
THE CHILDREN
‘Everyone’s having children these days. There’ll be no room anywhere for those of us that got there first.’
Arguably the only thing worse than childless people are those with children. Because the tots of others are appalling, rude, out of control and bordering on the mentally ill. The HM has no time for them, except as examples to show how excellent their own parenting and children are:
‘The discipline amongst those girls is shocking. And I’d know. I visited Yugoslavia during the war.’
‘Absolutely, I’m partisan. But she speaks rubbish. I don’t like her. And my daughter says her children are appalling in class.’
‘Oh, I can’t stand Petersham Nurseries. It’s full of loud parents with spoiled children.’
But of course, the behaviour of one’s own children is not appalling at all. And should be carved into natural waxed oak tablets as a touchstone for others:
‘Why should a child be forced to apologise if they find it humiliating?’
‘Who cares about tantrums or crying? If you love a child, everything it does is a joy.’
‘You can’t deny that a child, regardless of age, should not be allowed prolonged frustration.’
‘Why should I tell her to stop singing? A coffee shop is a public place.’
‘Thankfully there is no end to a child’s capacity to make its message heard.’
‘We try not to undermine Kirwin’s winning mindset by pressuring him to appear gracious.’ (@NinerRobSFO)
(in a cafe, to child) ‘Make some crumbs and put them in a pretty pattern.’
But is it any wonder the HM feel so threatened by the children of others? These tiny socialites have aspirations way beyond my own, and a focus on lifestyle that blows mine out of the water:
Aghast. Daughter (two-and-a-half years old) asked husband at bedtime this eve, ‘Daddy, what’s a Buche de Noel?’ HM Level Ten: COMPLETE. (@Tootingbaby)
My three-year-old just announced in Aldi that he’d like dressed crab for his lunch. (@beckyuk)
In our house today, Mum: Salmon bagels for lunch. Five-year-old reply: Have you got any dill? (@clucks)
Children report in casual tones that they had foie gras and game casserole for lunch. (@ginandting)
(HM to toddler in buggy) ‘They don’t have the sushi you like, darling — can you bear to try a different one?’ (@zvjlawrence)
My eight-year-old son talking to friends, ‘My favourite ice cream flavour is salte
d caramel with peanuts.’ (@fionamocatta)
Me: Would you like one of these little biscuits? Five-year-old boy: They’re called macaroons. (@SamanthaNevill5)
However, with the prodigy status comes the inevitable tantrums and fury. And the HM must be forced to deal with this in a day’s work:
(child, about six years old) ‘I can’t be expected to live like this.’
‘You’re in my mind and IT’S VEXING ME.’ (teen to HM)
Christmas meltdown from our four-year-old because the honey wasn’t ‘Manuka’. (@Toriatastic76)
‘I’m two steps from walking out!’ (approx. six-year-old)
(child about eight years old) ‘I don’t want a pain au raisin, I WANT an almond croissant.’
(child about seven years old) ‘Mummy, sometimes I feel like I don’t belong in this family.’
‘I bet you wouldn’t treat Dad like this.’ (furious and clearly very spoilt teenager)
And praise God that the discipline is swift and effective:
‘Darling, don’t scrape your chair. It makes your presence over-known.’
‘Close your mouth, darling, no one wants to see your masticated food.’ (@maccagraeme)
‘It’s not a nasty thing, she just feels threatened by people on the Victoria Line.’
‘Stop that! Or everyone at the table will think less of you.’ (to young child)
‘They reward and punish with hugs. A punish hug lasts only two seconds. But it’s what they call loving discipline.’
My eight-year-old grandson has started a poetry blog. (@GazWeetman)
The never-ending danger of living is a huge worry for the HM and in the wrong mood they can get shockingly defensive:
‘I think it’s perfectly fair to be suspicious of any man over 30 who doesn’t have an up-to-date CRB check.’