Performance-related pay

I have reading about the Medicare/Medicaid demonstration project which has started to reimburse doctors based in part on the “quality” of their care. To incentivize better results, the theory goes, doctors whose patients’ health improved could get reimbursed at a higher rate. Ah, but how to measure quality fairly, I hear you ask…what about all the things that doctors can’t control? Patients who are obese, patients who don’t even bother to fill their prescriptions… Surely a doctor can’t be blamed if these patients fail to thrive? In education, approaches to increasing the precision of performance estimates include using test scores from multiple years of classes (in other words, increasing the sample size for the estimate); combining value-added scores with other, independent measures of teacher performance, such as Headteachers’ evaluations; and calculating scores at a higher level of aggregation (e.g., for all the teachers in a given subject or for all the teachers in a school, which, again, increases sample size). The model would have to be very complex; few teachers would buy into it and, those that did, would probably find a way to game the system. Many resent the intrusion. Some may drop low-performing students. Others may indeed respond to the incentives—for ego or financial reasons—and actually improve their practice to lead to better outcomes. I welcome the ideas but how it will work in practice. So far, there’s not a lot of evidence that using value-added models to evaluate teaching actually improves outcomes for kids in the real world. There’s not a lot of evidence that it doesn’t. Time may tell.

Ed Smith's key learning points

Ed Smith gave us a handful of simple learning points from his own experiences upon which to reflect: 1. Have a go: Ed urged us all to put ourselves out there and be willing to be judged, whether it be drama, music, sport etc. He quoted Larkin, “Supposing no one played tennis because they wouldn't make Wimbledon?” and he urged us not to sit out but remember that there are huge amounts to be gained from ‘having a go.’ 2. Support people that do have a go: He told us not to underestimate just what a difference you can make by encouraging and believing in those that do put themselves out there; such support can make all the difference. 3. Learn to be self-reliant and challenge conventional wisdom: Whilst acknowledging the role that teachers and mentors play, Ed told us that we should be able to find answers for ourselves. We should be curious, he said, and the best teacher will always be yourself. To be really good, we must grapple with the nub of the problem itself and open ourselves up to new possibilities. Drawing on the example of Dick Fosbury, Ed urged us not to imitate what others had done before or follow a textbook; instead, respect conventional wisdom but build on it. 4. Be a renaissance man: Ed argued that instead of giving everything up to be good at just one thing, try to maintain a good balance. He drew on the example of his final year at Cambridge where he not only had one of his best seasons with the bat but also gained a double first in History! If we’re struggling with a problem, we should try something different. Focus in one area breeds focus elsewhere and so he informed us how we can all be renaissance men. 5. If you’re going to do something, do it properly: Ed’s next point was that it’s better to do a short and effective rehearsal, practice, revision session than a much longer and less effective one. He defined “Concentration as the absence of stray thought” and drew on the Berlin Study of the 1980s as an example of the fact that business is not productivity. 6. Time: Ed argued that the masters of their craft have one thing in common: "time on the ball". They are able to take the pressure, give confidence to those around them, create opportunities for their team, and read and control the game. Ed argued that it is anxiety that makes us feel hurried and rushes us. Federer, Fabregas et al are not always in the thick of the action - often unseen, they work hard off the ball, and never forget that their true role is to run the game and create space for others. The mastery of time is about maintaining options; it comes from a clear vision and a confidence in dealing with the challenge ahead. 7. Back love not money: Ed’s final point was that we should focus on expressing ourselves by doing something that we love. The activity is its own reward: “You can’t coach want,” he said. Ed drew on ‘The Candle Problem’ as evidence of the fact that when we do our best, we focus on the task in hand and let the rewards look after themselves. In sum, I think Ed argued the case for a balanced life and, though it might sound boring, finding a delicate balance is a tricky business, but it can lead to success and, what’s more fulfillment.

Ed Smith

Cricketer, journalist and author of: Playing Hard Ball, On and Off the Field, What Sport Tells Us About Life will be visiting my school on Friday 28 September 2012 Graduating from Cambridge with a double first in History, Ed was the youngest Cambridge undergraduate ever to score a century on his first class debut and went on to play cricket professionally for 13 years. He has written three books and produced Inside Sport, his first documentary for BBC1 television. He has also written for various leading publications, including The Daily Telegraph, The Times (as a leader and features writer), The Spectator and GQ.

Time on the ball

Any sports fan will testify that a world class athlete in his/her pomp is a delight to behold. Ed Smith reflects that the one thing he wanted as a professional cricketer was more time (not years in the game but) he talks about what Pele could make stand still, what Cesc Fabregas has oodles of, what Roger Federer embodies and endorses. The likes of Federer look as if they have all the time in the world to weigh up their next move. They evaluate the field of play in an instant, consider their options and select from their fully honed repertoire precisely how they are going to optimise the impact of what they choose to do next. These people give confidence to the players around them, they create opportunities, they draw pressure away from others and they dictate how the game is going to be played. They are masters of their craft - they are in control. So what is it that that makes these sportspeople so special? One factor is that they have "time on the ball". These principles also apply to leaders and to the organisations that they run. Inspirational leaders, too, have "time on the ball". They are able to take the pressure, give confidence to those around them, create opportunities for their team, and read and control the game. These are leadership qualities to which we should aspire. Even when teaching, when I’m out of form and run down, every lesson seems to arrive before I am quite ready, there’s never enough time, just a fluster of objectives and activities often out of sync. Yet, when things are going well, with all extraneous thoughts gone, it’s much easier to be in a lesson, listen to the students and react to them. The clock is with me, not against me. Smith argues that it is anxiety that makes us feel hurried and rushes us. Federer et al are not always in the thick of the action - often unseen, they work hard off the ball, and never forget that their true role is to run the game and create space for others. Watch Federer again, it’s not only what he does, it’s what he doesn’t do. The head and shoulders always relaxed ready to change direction, never committed to a path he can’t change; it’s not scampering faster that gives Federer time, it’s avoiding committing too early to bad positions…The mastery of time is about maintaining options. Great leaders have time for people at every level of their organisation. Realising that their staff are the most valuable resource, they give of their time - they make people feel special and valued. They have "time on the ball". "Time on the ball" comes from a clear vision and a confidence in dealing with the challenge ahead. It takes real confidence to take a second longer than those around us, to wait for the perfect opportunity, not to rush to leave a mark. Too often we rush to decide whether we’re for or against something before we even know what it is. A little more Federer please…

Auditions

Agonies of indecision. We have moved the parts around, thought long and hard about the chemistry, tried to be fair, tried not to upset.The cast list goes up tomorrow...

And it starts...

Term has started with a bang! Two UVI Prefects took the initiative to wake up the boarders on the first morning of term to the sound of pipes! There were many smiles and some good laughs: a new and creative way to wake up the boys from the depths of their summer slumber, I feel! One of the these Pied pipers has kindly agreed to pipe at my wedding later this year. I am always amazed that I forget just how busy the school day (and night!) is. As well as sucking up my energy, though, it energises me. It is working with and for others that drives, energises and enthuses me. Conversely, the biggest frustration is when we squander that opportunity through apathy or, worse, cynicism. Investing in opportunities to actively participate ensure the focus of our lives is less on the superficial and passive. No matter the task, our depth of involvement will largely determine our depth of satisfaction: involvement fires the spirit and even the essential quality of compassion. My call to action, though, comes with one crucial caveat. I am not a believer in thrills without skills. The feelings gained by gulping down such off-the-shelf experiences are too often trivial. I often tell me students that it is far better to build healthy relationships in which our increasing knowledge of a place, skill, person – or even ourselves – provides an evergreen source of satisfaction. The reason being that there is quite a sense of progress to be had from knowing better than buying bigger.

Independent Schools and Team GB

39% of the medals won by Team GB at London2012 were won by pupils who were educated in UK independent schools, despite only the sector accounting for only 7% of the total school population ('Olympics 2012: third of Team GB medallists came from private schools' Guardian 14/08/2012) It's surely worth exploring why these schools are so successful in fostering success. Coming to the school I am at from the state system, I believe that it comes down to valuing sport as an integral part of the curriculum. Not only that but investing in it too: 1.Time. Pupils in Independent Schools do so, so much more games and PE than in the state sector. 2.Facilities. Schools like the one I'm at invest millions in providing state-of-the-art facilities: sports hall, swimming pool, games pitches, weights rooms, squash, fives and tennis courts etc etc.Plymouth College (Tom Daley's school) is an interesting case in point here. 3.Coaching. Perhaps most significantly of all, Independent Schools invest in quality sports coaching. I would love to see much more of these aspects in the state sector.

A couple of early reviews...

http://endofradio.wordpress.com/2012/08/23/of-mice-and-menmerchiston-st-georges-the-space-on-niddry-st-20-22-august/ http://www.broadwaybaby.com/listing.php?id=16483

Feeling proud...

One of the sad things about the Fringe is the quick turn around at the venue (just 5 minutes) which does not allow any time whatsoever to soak up the applause and see the students’ faces after such a myriad of achievement. Anyway, I feel enormous affection and respect for everyone—individually and collectively—for what they have given, the way they entertained and attained. A brilliant opening night. Reviews to follow...

The opening night is nearly here...

I had forgotten that feeling just before the curtain opens on the first night; knowing everything about the cast and them knowing everything about me, stripped of the term-time/classroom style and act.

Flyering at the festival

4 days to go...

At the Edinburgh Festival…2

We’re currently back in rehearsals ahead of hitting the Fringe next week: rehearsing each line, each speech, every movement, changing the pace, working on memory, on voice, on how to move and stand, how to use the new stage, use of eyes, control of hands and feet, keeping heads up, being courageous, clear, subtle, patient, to touch, react, act naturally, take criticism, above all have fun…we’re doing it again and again and again…we need to earn our audience and then our audience’s applause (hopefully!). We’re getting there…

The cruel paradox

At certain points this year, I have gone under: driving myself away, not just from my students, but from friends and family too. I worked harder and harder and, with the best will in the world, the job became everything to me. At points I have even felt resentful and undervalued, ever more conscious of my position and status, more po-faced, more tired, more proud of my service, more running, more proud of my self-sacrifice, more running and, of course, more tired, more marking, more photocopying, more late nights, more time that has elapsed since I last spoke to my friends and family on the phone, more early mornings, more running… However, I am not a better friend, son, fiancé, teacher for all of this, I am unquestionably worse. I know that nobody wants to be mates with me when I have ‘gone under’. As I runner where balance is crucial, I am therefore making a pledge (on the world wide web!) to be more balanced. No longer will I devote my entire life in term time to the school and then recover my sanity, friends and health in the holidays (as I seem to be doing right now)…I see too little of that Real World that my parents talked to me about around the kitchen table as I grew up. I can all too easily go for two weeks without leaving the school grounds, I see too little of Auld Reekie (it may as well be Kabul). True, friends have kindly visited and we have taken them to a restaurant, Murrayfield, a nightclub, but I was seldom absorbed or fully enjoying myself. Being 100% for school does not make for good teaching either. Sometimes I would find my alarm going off at 5am (at the sleep-deprived time I almost feel like this is the central plank of my achievement) and out running in the Pentland hills, in the dark, the pouring rain, with a head torch on, mulling over my lessons and to-do list for the day… My running and obsessions in general are attempts to bring order to an unruly mind. Without an outlet I tended towards reticence, and my reticence can manifest itself as gloominess. Sophie respects this, I think—even appreciates it, in theory, but she struggles, understandably, with the specifics. I run because I need to run, blitzing through mile after mile. Of course, I want to be impressive, a credit to the school, a credit to the profession, I want my school to be immensely proud of me, but sometimes it might be better to run the risk of seeming a little uncommitted or a touch semi-detached, I will try not to selflessly take on everything; but I am sometimes so scared of failure that I daren’t even contemplate it. Before half term in the summer term I was nearly half-spent, over half term I marked 289 scripts for an exam board, I returned exhausted and by the last few weeks of term I was a self-pitying wreck. I am determined not to sell my students, friends, family short in this way. Real discipline, I am beginning to think, is not necessarily driving oneself on; rather, it is pacing oneself (I should know this as a long-distance runner!). At times this year I have been in a puritanically self-obsessed rut, I have found it hard to relax and even wondered whether I should. I did not speak to my friends in London for two months and I did not even notice, until, one day, a rather churlish email came through telling me to sort myself out. The truth is, at the time, (and I have probably only admitted this to Sophie) is that I’m only truly happy when working; reflection brings dangerous thoughts, so, back to burning the candle at both ends. Occasionally I’ll apologise in a postcard to my mates and tell them how much they do really mean to me and justify it to myself by telling myself that I’m only ‘trying’ to do a good job. So, this is me vowing to do better next time. I’ll end with two lines from W. H. Davies who captures everything I have just discussed in his famous aphorism, made even more famous by its use in a Centre Parcs advert. Of course, Davies had an advantage over me; he wasn’t a teacher but a homeless guy: What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.

Next term’s play

Together with the producer, I have made a decision on the text for next term’s play—this wasn’t straightforward either! Do we have the right actors, will the school like it, is it too easy/tricky, verse or prose, demanding enough, big cast or small, classical or modern, English or foreign, a musical, what did we do 3/4/5 years ago?? So, ‘The Real Inspector Hound’ it is…right, let’s go for it…

Producing and directing

Without doubt, this is one of the most challenging, all-consuming but fulfilling experiences I have had whilst teaching. The time, effort and discipline needed from every member of the team is so intense that my Headmaster often says that it is like running a boarding House for a term. Hats off then to those Housemasters I know that also direct school plays! It often seems that the producer has just as hard a time as the director too because drama does not always have the same status as other activities in schools. The rehearsal schedule, for example, is such a headache: booking rooms, spaces, designing the set, costumes, tickets, programmes and then the clashes and conflicting loyalties. Can we risk the rehearsals going awry because the lead actor also runs the CCF? What about sport? Do we want the lead to end up with a broken leg and black eye from rugby? Is the rugby an acceptable risk? Is it fair on the rest of the cast? If he commits to the play does will that affect whether or not he is picked for the 1st XV? That’s not fair either. Such professional disputes are just part of the course. Feeling concern for everyone’s sensitivity but tough enough to take control of the whole group and make it happen, without, of course, losing their goodwill and the sense of creative fun which is what it’s all about.

stag dos 2

Having been in touch with the Groom’s list of stags, I have received an eclectic range of responses: first, (and this is perhaps owing to the recent films Bridesmaids and The Hangover I and II) expectations that a trip to Las Vegas is de rigueur; second, pleas to avoid any “extravastaganzas” and keep cost to an absolute minimum; third, a request for more of a creative stag and an insistence that learning a “skill” (such as cooking) is a bonding experience. Of course, I intend to be the best best man I can be and I’ll do whatever the Groom prefers; however, when it comes to mine, I’m determined to buck against the high-stakes stag. Outlandish? Possibly a spot of cannoning and zorbing. Ironic? Perhaps a pub crawl in Dalston; night out in Glasgow. Low-key, affordable and just a ‘larf’…imagine that?! Anyway, back to the 800-long email chains…

Stag dos

When asked by a parent how I would be spending my summer holidays, I told them that one of my jobs was to arrange a friend’s stag-do as part of my best man duties. “Willy straws, L-plates, very dodgy Chippendales from East Kilbride and a drunken minibus ride home is what I can remember from mine” she told me, “but last year I had the best week of my life. We spent a year planning it’ she continued. “We flew into a castle in the Balearics by helicopter, had Michelin-starred caterers and a fireworks display after supper.” To say I was taken aback would be an understatement, on a number of counts. “It’s the kind of upscale romance that girls dream of for their honeymoon, not a hen do,” my fiancée (thankfully?) reassured me. But the more I explore the options, the more I am coming to realise that stag dos are, like weddings, a distasteful concoction of social standing, taste and popularity! Surely the stag is supposed to be much more inexpensive and insignificant compared to the “I do”?!

Special Teachers

It seems a little disloyal to my parents to highlight the weaknesses of an education which asked of them so much self-sacrifice and self-denial, but during my time at prep school, only one teacher stands out: John Gibson. The pastoral side of the school was second to none but there was no real intellectual excitement or tension. I felt an unspoken bond with JG who was as big standing up as he was lying down, always wore black and a severe man. As a result of which, the bond remained largely unspoken, but a teacher—especially one so into sport—being seen to be sharply critical, funny with an intellectual life of his own made a big impression on me. He taught Maths (and to this day I cannot help but feel it was the wrong subject), ran the tuck shop (a significant figure for any prep school boy) and coached sport, but he nurtured us as if his life depended on it. At the age of 10 I wasn’t really sure what was going on but knew that something was and I liked the smell of uncompromising contempt: he was often very cutting and brought a personal edge and combative partisanship into school with him every day (indeed, I seem to remember that he refused to take his half day which every other teacher took in order to open the tuck shop and coach sport). Heady stuff for an unresolved and uncouth boy from Yorkshire; sadly, JG died far too young, giving weight to the line, ‘only the good die young’. More importantly for my future as a teacher, I was taught History by an extraordinary man, an infamously bearded man. Still a dear friend and guru, he had a first-class degree from Oxford, partnered one of the Housemistresses of the girls’ boarding houses and is rumoured to have played semi-professional football between school and going to Jesus (how we loved the gossip). In his manner and his method, he zapped me with the real stuff: he made me THINK. I watched his every move. Here was a teacher and Housemaster, a model teacher of a kind, who played up to his caricature (beard, glasses, grunts, gestures, word choice, cackles). When he performed in House concerts we often mimicked him—not in open mockery; rather, in supporting affection for his dedication and commitment. For him that was an acceptable part of the game. What was unacceptable was not taking things seriously. Slacked and he savaged you. I approved of his expectation. He had an intellectual life of his own and it was plain for all to see. He talked not only History, but Literature (a huge Hardy fan), politics, current affairs, sport; he was a true renaissance man. He made us feel like we could be intellectuals, indeed, that we were already. His main purpose was to fascinate you in any number of pursuits, to capture your interest. If you took things seriously it bred confidence and thus fun in the process. If you became absorbed, as I did, you loved it—and very often this meant cerebral things. From him I developed the enduring belief that perception, the art of reading people, lies at the heart of a good historian, and indeed, a good teacher. Though he vigorously used to claim otherwise, he knew women too: brainless beauties were overrated! He was of course right. Intellectual compatibility was everything then I would always have something in my head and the beginnings of an interior life. His love of the vocation still burns in me and makes me want to be a Housemaster. BY the time I left school (in 2003) I was well on my way to becoming a teacher—not that I would have dreamt of admitting it to my friends.

Role models

Teachers often base their practice, consciously or unconsciously, on the models they best remember from their own school days. Or on the models they most value. I am no exception, except that I think my parents influenced me a great deal. Both police officers straight from leaving school at the age of 15/16, I saw what they put into the job and, as I grew up, I discovered what it took out of them (in my Dad’s case this resulted in his being ill in his early fifties: it was stress-related). Seldom did they talk about work per se, albeit they captivated me when they did, but every evening without fail we sat around the dinner table and talked. They were, and still are, loving and interested parents. There are areas in which they are uneducated (history, language, literature--neither had been as fortunate as me in terms of their schooling. This is written without a shred of criticism or embarrassment; it is simple fact); I suspect this is part of the reason they decided to send me to a fee-paying school. What’s important, though, is that they introduced me to so much of the real world which would otherwise have been closed to me. Though not teachers in the strictest sense, they encouraged sensitivity to emotion, concentration, absorption and a sense of wonder. I genuinely think that underpins everything.

More reflection

As the dust settles on the end of term, I’m still in end-of-the-year stock-taking mode, so, why am I bothering with this blog? Well…do I value thoughtfulness? (Yes.) Would I like to think of myself, or be described by others, as a thoughtful person, or a thoughtless person? (Easy choice.) It’s true that in some mechanical sense we’re all thinking all the time, but in my experience, as a teacher, the act of writing gives shape to thought, helps to generate thought, and allows me to have, once the first thoughts are down, second thoughts: elaborations, further questions, shifts in point of view. Thinking well isn’t something that ‘Just Happens’. Thinking well is a discipline which can be improved, like any other skill-based discipline, with practice and attention to process. Furthermore, it was only when I started teaching that I realised that I seldom thought for myself. While explaining things to my students, I faced the fact that I had not felt or thought as honestly as I could have. So, this is a means to reengage with my own intuitive truths. That’s one answer. Ever since I started Teach First I have kept a teaching journal (we had to). For the first two years I was pretty good but since joining my school my writing wasn’t sustainable. However, I do find it cathartic and helpful as a vehicle of thought. The presence (implied or actual) of an audience doesn’t really affect me too much; I am quite happy just to explore my thoughts which hopefully, somewhere along the line, have a point and a direction. So, now for something completely different…(I'm going to take a break from the curriculum dialogues and give my brain a little breathing room...)

Big question

Well, a big question for me, anyhow: what prompted my parents, police officers who (day and night) lived and breathed the local community, to send me not to the local school but to a small independent school in North Nottinghamshire? Yes, true, it was at least North Notts, but my parents were Yorkshire born and bred, and from a very different position from the public school tradition. Also, as far as I can recall, we did not know any people from public schools, apart from the family lawyer. I guess I have always reflected on the fact that a fee-paying independent school is hardly in tune with my family’s background. My parents are not snobbish and not in the least interested in the family going up-market. Perhaps my parents lived the social pressures in the local community and sensed that this was not what they wanted for their son. Certainly, the whole reason I have been as fortunate as I have is because my parents got me out of the failing state schools (and they were failing state schools in the 1990s) of South Yorkshire. I have no doubt that this has been the key to my life. For a long time, and though during my time at University it often elicited gasps of horror from my dad, I was not comfortable with this. I reflexively dismissed private schools as elitist: a cause of inequality; institutions so pernicious that they should be abolished (and this is one of the major reasons I did Teach First, which I think probably encouraged my already half-formed distaste for a certain kind of public school self-satisfaction). I have, before now, found that politically incorrect, but I feel certain that most of the kids in my neighbourhood back home had much more intelligence than me, but did not have the advantage of a good education. Due to the failure of the public schools central state model, they haven’t had the opportunity to develop their minds and study at University, for example. I wonder where I would be if I’d have gone to Doncaster Academy in its comprehensive heyday? Although I’m still (hypocritically) liable to take sideswipes at private schools, I am no longer quite so complacent in my thinking about the state education system in the UK. This is something Niall Ferguson talks about in his final Reith Lecture on civil society--he too, a beneficiary of private education. Ferguson’s thesis goes even further, arguing that it is not a case of the developing world, especially Asia, transforming themselves politically and economically; rather, it is due to the degeneration of Western institutions and their quality. He sees these are two quite separate phenomena. That is, he argues, it’s not because China is growing more rapidly that we are managing our affairs less well; rather, the biggest threat to Western civilisation is complacency. And, I have to say, regardless of Ferguson’s political and ideological position, he is right in warning against thinking that our schools, legal and political systems are fine.

Worth listening to… BBC - Radio 4 and 4 Extra Blog: Niall Ferguson: Reith Lecture pt.4 - Civil and Uncivil Societies

At this year's Edinburgh Festival...

End of the academic year

The school's grounds are empty now, apart from a few lets from the National Youth Orchestra Scotland, but these young people aren’t quite as rowdy as the boys at my school! Term is over. Those teachers that live on site are squirreled away in their homes starting to do what ‘normal’ people do in the ‘real’ world! Outside, where there are normally people in movement all day every day, the birds have more or less taken over. If only the summer sun would bake down on the empty fields; so far all we’ve had is rain and the Water of Leith looks like it might burst its banks at any moment. Over in the Memorial Hall, some girls from NYOS are rehearsing, and the sound is carrying over to my flat. The end of term was marked with a farewell dinner/dance for those staff who were perhaps reluctant to let go of the year, or who wanted the chance to say goodbye before heading off to do whatever it is that they will be doing this summer. This was great fun! I've always felt strange about the end of the year. The start of school is a pure pleasure, a fresh start, a time of anticipation and eagerness, a chance to renew ties and catch up. The end of the year is pretty awesome too, bringing closure and perhaps some sense of satisfaction, but it is also tinged with regret, both for being what it is (as opposed to what it might have been). I always think of Edith Piaf whenever I contemplate regret and her potent rolling ‘Rs’ in ‘Non, je ne regrette rien,’ that even Major Ewing would be proud of! And then, of course, there is the saying of goodbyes. I've never been good at saying goodbye. I tend to shuffle and mumble and feel like whatever words I can come up with are inadequate to the occasion. If I can find a plausible excuse for ducking out, I'm gone and would much rather pen something on a card. An esteemed colleague in my department tells me that the all-time mega-über-maximum-full-tilt goodbye lyric is ‘A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning’ by Donne. It’s certainly artful and beautifully realized: As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say, "The breath goes now," and some say, "No," So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; 'Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. Moving of the earth brings harms and fears, Men reckon what it did and meant; But trepidation of the spheres, Though greater far, is innocent. Dull sublunary lovers' love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it. But we, by a love so much refined That our selves know not what it is, Inter-assured of the mind, Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss. Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion. Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two: Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do; And though it in the centre sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Like the other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I begun. Anyway, I’m going to say goodbye for a few days as Sophie and I are heading to New York for a few days’ exploring to celebrate the end of term…

Time for reflection

I occasionally ask my students, by way of taking stock, to complete a certain reflective exercise. And since I’m blogging again, I thought this was as good a time as ever to do it myself. It’s a reflection in the form of three questions: Where are you right now? Where are you trying to get to? and How are you going to get there? Where are you now? Well, I'm three years down the line. When I started, it was probably the most productive period in my writerly life. I started out wanting to reflect on my Teach First journey, my highs and lows and what I learnt along the way. Since then, I have even begun to try to find a way to make it work as a tool in my classes. And that has happened a little (see www.merchistonenglish.blogspot.com). I'm reading more than I ever have, but I'm reading differently. Aside from the marking, I tend to read tweets, headlines, ideas, RSS feeds, aphorisms; I have articles that people have recommended to me coming in by the dozens each day, but I'm having trouble even getting round to opening books. I've got a stack of brand new books waiting for me by my bed, and there are so many things going on in my head that I don't have time to get to them. At some point I'm going to have to take a deep breath, back off, make some decisions about boundaries, but perhaps tomorrow; it’s still fresh and exciting. Where are you trying to get to? I think this is an essential question for me, and I don't really have an answer for it yet. I'd like to be able to find a sustainable pattern. I've always run—I run first thing in the morning—light, dark, snow, hail, thunder—without fail. I run for about an hour, which is enough to have the desired effect and not so long that I'm really ever tempted to skip it. I'd like to be able to find the blogging equivalent of that rhythm. During my time on the Teach First programme I managed about three to four posts a month, but I don't think that's sustainable in my current role, given that I have other responsibilities as a teacher, a student, an assistant Housemaster, fiancé, friend etc etc. Plus I need to eat, sleep and I have a pile of coursework marking waiting for me, and I'd like to have them done before the weekend. So the time that I am spending doing this is time I'm spending not doing that and I’ve already found juggling those aforementioned responsibilities a challenge. I feel like I haven’t chewed the fat with some of my closest mates in too long…so, following on from the last post, I’m lowering the bar just slightly. How are you going to get there? Just one thought really: I want to use blogspot.com as a space to talk to myself, and to anyone else who is interested about whatever I want to talk about.

At the Edinburgh Festival...

Book to come and see us at the Fringe this summer. Info and links below: http://www.edfringe.com/whats-on/theatre/of-mice-and-men http://www.facebook.com/#!/OfMiceAndMenByMerchistonAndStGeorges

2 years off…

It's been nearly two years to the day since I've posted anything. I could make lots of excuses, if excuses were called for. To say that the nature of my current role, while interesting, while challenging, while incredibly rich and various, is busy would be an understatement of significant proportion. My Grandma told me that if I stayed at something long enough, it would eventually get easier. That holds true in some cases. I can, for example, throw together a pretty accomplished meal in 10 minutes before supper, without burning something or injuring myself, whereas before the odds were against me getting it done without breaking into a First-Aid box! But I am just finishing my 4th year of teaching, and I've got to say, whatever else it is, it isn't easier! The teaching part is always interesting and always challenging in a good way. It's the stuff that's going on around the edges just keeps getting more complex: assistant housemastering, coaching rugby, refereeing matches, parents’ meetings, marking, arranging Gifted and Talented events, directing plays, emails, teachers’ meetings, running clubs, prep duty, meetings with students, writing UCAS statements, inviting various visiting speakers, exam marking for external exam boards, organising and running trips, getting engaged (!), running half marathons, setting up a current affairs breakfast club, raising money for charity, completing a MA, running leaderships days and events, deciding that a breakfast club is too much of a commitment, backpacking around Africa, running mock-Oxbridge interviews, moving flats, attending various CPD events, weekend duty, chapel services, library visits, tutoring, emails. And then there's blogspot.com, with no posts for two years, which my [now] fiancé has been onto me about recently. One obvious and predictable dynamic about not writing is that with each day, week, month, YEAR that goes by in which I haven’t written, the subtle pressure grows that says that ‘the next one better be a good’un!’ which raises the bar, which creates performance anxiety, which leads to avoidance, which is where I’ve been for the last two years! So what I'm doing here is making a conscious effort to lower the bar. This is not going to be my most memorable post, but it's going to be the post that gets posted today. I've got a lot of things to talk about… So there, I’ve done it. I didn't really know where I was going, not really sure where I've been, don't know what's coming next, but that’s ok!