More of the 50

13. Learn kickboxing.
14. Do a 10K run.
15. Eat tripe.
16. Do an oil painting.

50 at 50

On September 19th I'm 50. I'm completely cool about this fact. My approach to ageing is similar to Woody Allen's, in that I can't help feeling that it's infinitely preferable to the only feasible alternative.

I've decided to come up with a list of small challenges to tick off over the course of my 51st year on this earth. Some of them will involve more effort than others. I'm going to start compiling that list now, with the first few things which sprung to mind as I walked Apollo this morning.

1. Stay alive.
2. Stay within 2lbs of 9 stone 9.
3. Pass my Spanish GCSE.
4. Complete book 3.
5. Sell one of my books.
6. Perfect a cheese souffle.
7. Go to flamenco classes. (God I do sound like an old bird, don't I?)
8. Start doing an activity with my husband.
9. Start doing an activity with my daughter.
10. Start doing an activity with my son.
11. Write in my blog every day. Maybe this blog, maybe another.
12. Spend more time with my friends. (I'll have to sharpen this one up a bit.)

I'll come back to this. Sensible suggestions welcome.

If you drop litter you stay at school until 6pm...

... and the same applies if you don't wear uniform properly or you fail to complete your homework properly. In return, teachers work hard to provide appropriate teaching for every child in their charge and assessment and feedback is careful and targeted. The children come from Hackney primary schools, where many of them were failing before they arrived at secondary school. Last year 10 of their sixth form left in possession of offers from Cambridge University.

In a world where the most stubborn educational statistic to shake, more so than differences in race or gender, has proven to be the social background of a child, this is a cheering story. This is Mossbourne Academy under the leadership of Michael Wilshaw, much beloved of Michael Gove.

Check out the video on this website: www.mossbourne.hackney.sch.uk

Being something of a zero tolerance teacher, I think this is great. I was taught very early in my teacher training that hildren live up OR DOWN to their teachers' expectations of them. It is the first rule of my classroom practice. People think that the idea of imposing strict rules to achieve ends is a right-wing attitude, and I feel uncomfortable sometimes espousing that notion, but if the end goal is that the child's life chances should be enhanced, then surely that is the over-riding consideration. I'm sure that a lot of sneering goes on when Mossbourne is mentioned, but quietly I wonder how many people would like to give their model a whirl.

Oh, no, Shane. No, Shane, no, Shane; NO!

What have you let her do to you, Shane? Weird chestnut hair, taut uber-polished skin around clear dead eyes, eyebrows belonging on a camp waiter... Do you look in the mirror and think "Man, you look young?" Or do you gaze at yourself in fear and horror, the dawning realisation of something beyond your control crystallising in your head? Is that glazed expression really masking blind panic, a 'how do I get myself out of this?' white haze?

You've got to worry about Liz Hurley, mind. I once had respect for her. She was bright, articulate, a bit of a party animal. And then she started believing her own hype. This erstwhile 'most beautiful girl in London' I read about in the early 90s has morphed into some kind of sniffy, over-cooked, age and looks-obsessed celebrity hag who has so far lost touch with what real people (or 'civilians' as she once so memorably dismissed us as being) look like when they haven't made use of the dubious gifts of assorted surgeons, needle-wielders, chemical-peelers, star hairdressers and eyebrow-shapers. You can't look a bit rough and characterful in that world. If you put someone in a shell like that I bet character and humour suffocates and dies. Does she really think she's improved him??? Really?

Well, Shane. I don't think you ever were or ever will be much of an oil painting but you did have bags of character in your face and your over-highlighted hair. I honour THAT Shane.


Oh, and one last thing, Shane...

RUN.

Iain McCallum 1929-2005

Dad died just over six years ago now. I won't pretend that I think of him every single day, because I don't think I do. My mother does think him every day; probably every hour. Everything in her life reminds her of something to do with him. Every month holds a dozen anniversaires; every day a thousand tiny micro jolts of memory.

So no, I don't think of him like that. I don't even, as I used to, see something, read something, hear something and think "I must ask Daddy about that". I do, however, often reflect on things he said, habits he had, aphorisms of his and wonder at how wise he was. (Most of the time; occasionally he got it spectacularly wrong!) I've passed many of his nuggets to my children. Among them:

- Never trust any group who gesture en masse above their heads with a hand shaped like a fist or a slap. Mass violence shows itself.
- Try as hard as you like, but never LOOK as though you're trying. It smacks of desperation and scares people.
- Swear to release pressure. Don't swear AT people. It's unattractive and violent.
- Be nice to every single person you ever meet. It's good breeding. Only ill-mannered oafs feel that there are people of lower status than they, and they can be unpleasant to them.
- If something's worth doing, it's worth doing well. If it's not worth doing, don't do it at all.
- Be yourself. If you try and be someone else, you'll be uncomfortable and you'll always get found out.
- Your body is ony a vessel to carry around your brain. It's nice to have a pretty box, but the present is more important.

Happy Father's Day, everyone.

Sarah Palin. Oh Dear, I seem to be on about her a lot...

She wants to be President.

...


...sorry, I have to go and lie down in a dark room until it gets better.

I'm just going to come out and say it...

I LOVE teenagers. They're funny, sweet, sulky, endearing, infuriating but above all interesting. They speak their minds, don't smarm you (because they haven't learned how to yet) and make you splutter with laughter when they come out with gauche or ill-judged comments which, if you had no sense of humour, would make you give them a detention and register a formal complaint with the authorities.

They get a bad press because there are a small minority who, probably because of circumstances which pre-existed their ability to make a decision, have no idea of, or respect for, the rules of living in a society. If the logic which says 'some teenagers are feral and dangerous, therefore I will avoid them, especially when in groups," were in the ascendant, men would be avoided by all women. Women would be avoided by most women. Dogs would cower and hide from humans. Cats... well, you get my drift.

The ruth remains that the vast majority are hard-working, thoughtful, kind and funny. They love their mothers, but listen to their friends more. And they mostly turn into lovely adults.

So, I'm a teacher and a mother of teenagers, and I say "Up with teenagers!" They make the world a more interesting place to be.

Another reason to loathe Tesco

You wouldn't think there were many more reasons to detest the giant conglomerate stealthily taking control of this country by spreading like a giant slug and suffocating small business wherever it goes, soaking up all objections to its progress and inexplicably leading councils, boroughs and government to gently push away piles of protests from men and women in the street, signing all permissions without demur, precisely as requested, and then rolling over and asking Tesco to slime their tummies.

But no. Apparently it is not enough to take £1 in every £11 spent in the UK. Now it is essential that no one should derive free benefit from its products, EVEN IF THEY HAVE BEEN THROWN AWAY. Tesco has decided to prosecute some poor woman who took a large quantity of ham from a Tesco bin. Apparently the fact of throwing something away does not mean that you relinquish ownerhip of it. Apparently.

Now, I don't know about you, but it is normally precisely in order to relinquish ownership of something that I put it in a bin. The bin is there to facilitate my relinquishing ownership of it. Because otherwise I would be living in an environment which would lead documentary makers specialising in films about mentally ill people who can't throw anything away and live in their own filth to come knocking on my door. If someone else can find a use for my waste, so much the better. The Freegan movement is well-established and I think performs a useful function, keeping down the tide of waste and utilising that for which most of society has no use.

What I see here is the biggest, fattest, most revolting dog I've ever observed in a manger, growling with aggression while cradling piles of past-sell-date ham.

I personally find the concept of Freeganism far less repulsive than this vile, vile giant slug of a corporation.