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that there are powers and energies out there which we have no control over.. Have you ever tried to catch a wave??

So for me, instead of using the word Lord i use energy…

I give this to all my friends who are finding life tough right now.

Footprints

One night a man had a dream. He dreamed He was walking along the beach with the LORD. Across the sky flashed scenes from His life. For each scene He noticed two sets of footprints in the sand. One belonging to Him and the other to the LORD.

When the last scene of His life flashed before Him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of His life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times of His life.

This really bothered Him and He questioned the LORD about it. LORD you said that once I decided to follow you, you’d walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life there is only one set of footprints. I don’t understand why when I needed you most you would leave me.

The LORD replied, my precious, precious child, I Love you and I would never leave you! During your times of trial and suffering when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.

Carolyn Carty, 1963

Popularity: 5% [?]

Miep Gies.. Rest in Peace… Your job is done here on earth.. and we thank you for doing it…

Miep Gies, the last surviving member of the group who helped protect Anne Frank and her family from the Nazis, has died in the Netherlands aged 100.

She and other employees of Anne Frank’s father Otto supplied food to the family as they hid in a secret annex above the business premises in Amsterdam.

Anne’s diary of their life in hiding, which ended in betrayal, is one of the most famous records of the Holocaust.

It was rescued by Mrs Gies, who kept it safe until after the war.
……………….

I didn’t know what to say. The only thing I could manage was: ‘That ought to be interesting.’”

Mrs Gies also remembers the day the Franks were taken away and how she went up into the empty annex to find the pages of the diary lying on the floor.

Removing the pages, she did not read them immediately, telling herself at the time: “These may belong to a child, but even children have a right to privacy.”

Miep Gies died in a nursing home after suffering a fall just before Christmas.

source http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/8453331.stm Date 12/ jan 2010

Popularity: 2% [?]

“Frosty the snowman was a jolly happy soul,
With a corncob pipe and a button nose
and two eyes made out of coal.
Frosty the snowman is a fairy tale, they say,
He was made of snow but the children
know how he came to life one day.”
- Christmas Carol

Popularity: 2% [?]

“The Holly King, represents the Death aspect of the God at this time of year; and the Oak King, represents the opposite aspect of Rebirth (these roles are reversed at Midsummer). This can be likened to the Divine Child’s birth. The myth of the Holly King/Oak King probably originated from the Druids to whom these two trees were highly sacred. The Oak King (God of the Waxing Year) kills the Holly King (God of the Waning Year) at Yule (the Winter Solstice). The Oak King then reigns supreme until Litha (the Summer Solstice) when the two battle again, this time with the Holly King victorious. Examples of the Holly King’s image can be seen in our modern Santa Claus.”
- Yule and Its Lore

“Good King Wenceslas last looked out,
On the feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even.
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight
Gathering winter fuel.”
- Christmas Carol

Popularity: 2% [?]

It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness, a poor small little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large, indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he had children of his own. So the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along; poor little child, she looked the picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders, but she regarded them not.

Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savoury smell of roast goose, for it was New-year’s eve—yes, she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out—“scratch!” how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand.

She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her.

She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant’s. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and coloured pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them,
and the match went out.

The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. “Someone is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls,
a soul was going up to God.

She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. “Grandmother,” cried the little one, “O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious Christmas-tree.” And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.

In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year’s sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. “She tried to warm herself,” said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year’s day.

The Little Match Seller a Christmas Story by Hans Christian Anderson

Popularity: 5% [?]

The Oxen – Christmas Poem by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
“Now they are all on their knees,”
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
“Come; see the oxen kneel,

“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,”
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so’

Popularity: 6% [?]

Twas the Night before Christmas Poem

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

Popularity: 30% [?]

“A tale that the poet Ruckert told
To German children, in days of old;
Disguised in a random, rollicking rhyme
Like a merry mummer of ancient time,
And sent, in its English dress, to please
The little folk of the Christmas trees.”

A Little fir grew in the midst of the wood
Contented and happy, as young trees should.
His body was straight and his boughs were clean;
And summer and winter the bountiful sheen
Of his needles bedecked him, from top to root,
In a beautiful, all-the-year, evergreen suit.

But a trouble came into his heart one day,
When he saw that the other trees were gay
In the wonderful raiment that summer weaves
Of manifold shapes and kinds of leaves:
He looked at his needles so stiff and small,
And thought that his dress was the poorest of all.
Then jealousy clouded the little tree’s mind,
And he said to himself, “It was not very kind
“To give such an ugly old dress to a tree!
“If the fays of the forest would only ask me,
“I’d tell them how I should like to be dressed,
“In a garment of gold, to bedazzle the rest!”
So he fell asleep, but his dreams were bad.
When he woke in the morning, his heart was glad;
For every leaf that his boughs could hold
Was made of the brightest beaten gold.
I tell you, children, the tree was proud;
He was something above the common crowd;
And he tinkled his leaves, as if he would say
To a peddler who happened to pass that way,
“Just look at me! don’t you think I am fine?
“And wouldn’t you like such a dress as mine?”
“Oh, yes!” said the man, “and I really guess
I must fill my pack with your beautiful dress.”
So he picked the golden leaves with care,
And left the little tree shivering there.

“Oh, why did I wish for golden leaves?”
The fir-tree said, “I forgot that thieves
“Would be sure to rob me in passing by.
“If the fairies would give me another try,
“I’d wish for something that cost much less,
“And be satisfied with glass for my dress!”
Then he fell asleep; and, just as before,
The fairies granted his wish once more.
When the night was gone, and the sun rose clear,
The tree was a crystal chandelier;
And it seemed, as he stood in the morning light,
That his branches were covered with jewels bright.
“Aha!” said the tree. “This is something great!”
And he held himself up, very proud and straight;
But a rude young wind through the forest dashed,
In a reckless temper, and quickly smashed
The delicate leaves. With a clashing sound
They broke into pieces and fell on the ground,
Like a silvery, shimmering shower of hail,
And the tree stood naked and bare to the gale.

Then his heart was sad; and he cried, “Alas
“For my beautiful leaves of shining glass!
“Perhaps I have made another mistake
“In choosing a dress so easy to break.
“If the fairies only would hear me again
“I’d ask them for something both pretty and plain:
“It wouldn’t cost much to grant my request,
“In leaves of green lettuce I’d like to be dressed!”
By this time the fairies were laughing, I know;
But they gave him his wish in a second; and so
With leaves of green lettuce, all tender and sweet,
The tree was arrayed, from his head to his feet.
“I knew it!” he cried, “I was sure I could find
“The sort of a suit that would be to my mind.
“There’s none of the trees has a prettier dress,
“And none as attractive as I am, I guess.”
But a goat, who was taking an afternoon walk,
By chance overheard the fir-tree’s talk.
So he came up close for a nearer view;
“My salad!” he bleated, “I think so too!
“You’re the most attractive kind of a tree,
“And I want your leaves for my five-o’clock tea.”
So he ate them all without saying grace,
And walked away with a grin on his face;
While the little tree stood in the twilight dim,
With never a leaf on a single limb.

Then he sighed and groaned; but his voice was weak
He was so ashamed that he could not speak.
He knew at last that he had been a fool,
To think of breaking the forest rule,
And choosing a dress himself to please,
Because he envied the other trees.
But it couldn’t be helped, it was now too late,
He must make up his mind to a leafless fate!
So he let himself sink in a slumber deep,
But he moaned and he tossed in his troubled sleep,
Till the morning touched him with joyful beam,
And he woke to find it was all a dream.
For there in his evergreen dress he stood,
A pointed fir in the midst of the wood!
His branches were sweet with the balsam smell,
His needles were green when the white snow fell.
And always contented and happy was he,
The very best kind of a Christmas tree.

Popularity: 8% [?]

I first posted this on the 31st December 2008.. I feel compelled to re post it tonight xx In memory of a loved one xxx

Obituary

My parents told me about Mr Common Sense early in my life and told me I would do well to call on him when making decisions. It seems he was always around in my early years but less and less as time passed by until today, sadly, I read his obituary.

Please join me in a moment of silence in remembrance. For Common Sense had served us all so well for so many generations.

Obituary

Common Sense

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.

He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, life isn’t always fair, and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place.

Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a class mate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Aspirin, sun lotion or a sticky plaster to a student; but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar can sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realise that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion;

his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason.

He is survived by three stepbrothers;

I Know My Rights, Someone Else is to Blame, and I’m a Victim.

Not many attended his funeral because so few realised he was gone.

If you still remember him pass this on.

If not, join the majority and do nothing.

Author unknown

Popularity: 4% [?]

Up on their brooms the Witches stream,
Crooked and black in the crescent’s gleam;
One foot high, and one foot low,
Bearded, cloaked, and cowled, they go,
‘Neath Charlie’s Wain they twitter and tweet,
And away they swarm ‘neath the Dragon’s feet,
With a whoop and a flutter they swing and sway,
And surge pell-mell down the Milky Way.
Betwixt the legs of the glittering Chair
They hover and squeak in the empty air.
Then round they swoop past the glimmering Lion
To where Sirius barks behind huge Orion;
Up, then, and over to wheel amain,
Under the silver, and home again.

Walter de la mer.

Asha now also knows witch witchWitch, Witch

Witch witch, where do you fly?
Under the clouds and over the sky.

Witch, witch, what do you eat?
Little black apples from Hurricane Street.

Witch, witch, what do you drink?
Vinegar and good red ink.

Witch, witch, where do you sleep?
Up in the clouds where the pillows are cheap.

And the french one… C’est une sorciere

which i will type the words in sometime to…

Popularity: 9% [?]

Bats are nice
Bats are fat

I like Bats, I like Bats.

I dont know why nobody seems to like bats.
I think bats are nice.

Popularity: 8% [?]

“Schools are an utter waste of young life.

By the way, if either Simon Schama or David Starkey are reading this, they should cover their eyes now. “I am not a historian. I am a children’s author,” Deary says. “I’ve got no qualifications in history. And that’s a massive advantage in reaching my audience. Because historians like Simon Schama and David Starkey just stand on television and lecture you. And when they write books, they’ve got the same lecturing voice. But mine is more: ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve found out! It’s shocking!’”

More than this, though, Deary is profoundly opposed to schools. That is, to the institution of school itself – to the extent that he will never accept an invitation to give a talk in one.

“I get 200 requests a year and the answer is no,” he says. “I detest schools with a passion. I’d rather cut off my left arm and eat it with Marmite than go into a school. And I don’t even like Marmite.

“Schools are an utter waste of young life. Learning things that will never be any use to you. The only reason they are there is to keep kids off the street. They were a Victorian invention. The Industrial Revolution took kids from their families and made the parents work in factories long hours. Then they said, ‘we can’t have these little kids working here.’ So what do we do? Lock them all up in the same room all day and we’ll call it school. I spent hours learning trigonometry, physics, none of which prepared me for life. Relationships, talking to people, managing money, planning your career, how to help someone who has cut their leg open. I have had to learn these things by default.

Terry Deary, the creator of the Horrible Histories

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/6120942/Horrible-Histories.html

Oh soooo true!

Popularity: 5% [?]

I’m bringing home a baby bumblebee,
Won’t my mommy be so proud of me?
I’m bringing home a baby bumblebee.
Oo!  Ee!  It stung me!

I’m squishing up my baby bumblebee,
Won’t my mommy be so proud of me?
I’m bringing home my baby bumblebee.
Oo!  Ee!  It’s all over me!

I’m licking off my baby bumblebee,
Won’t my mommy be so proud of me?
I’m licking off my baby bumblebee.
Oo!  Ee!  It tastes yuckky!

I’m throwing up my baby bumblebee,
Won’t my mommy be so proud of me?
I’m throwing up my baby bumblebee.
Oo!  Ee!  What a mess by me!

I’m cleaning up my baby bumblebee,
Won’t my mommy be so proud of me?
I’m cleaning up my baby bumblebee.
I think I’ll go and get another!

Asha ended up in tears distraught after it, but i wanted to save the words for the future.

Popularity: 4% [?]

Didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor
A beautiful day, we had lunch on the way and all for under a pound you know
But on the way back I cuddled with Jack and we opened a bottle of cider
Singing a few of our favourite songs as the wheels went around

Do you recall the thrill of it all as we walked along the sea grand
Then on the sand we heard a brass band that played the Diddlely-Bump-Terrara
Elsie and me had one cup of tea then we took a Paddler boat out
Splashing away as we sat on the bay and the wheels went ’round

Didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor
A beautiful day, we had lunch on the way and all for under a pound you know
But on the way back I cuddled with Jack and we opened a bottle of cider
Singing a few of our favourite songs as the wheels went around

Wasn’t it nice, eating chocolate ice as we strolled around the fun-fair
Then we ate eels in big ferris wheels as we sailed around the ground but then
We had to be quick ’cause Elsie felt sick and we had to find somewhere to take her
I said to her lad, what made her feel bad was the wheel going ’round

Didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor
A beautiful day, we had lunch on the way and all for under a pound you know
But on the way back I cuddled with Jack and we opened a bottle of cider
Singing a few of our favourite songs as the wheels went around

Elsie and me, we finished our tea and said goodbye to the seaside
Got on the bus, Flo said to us, oh isn’t it a shame to go
Wouldn’t it be grand to have cash on demand and to live like this for always
Oh it makes me feel ill, when I think of the mill and the wheels goin’ ’round

Didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor
A beautiful day, we had lunch on the way and all for under a pound you know
But on the way back I cuddled with Jack and we opened a bottle of cider
Singing a few of our favourite songs as the wheels went around

Da-da-da-dee, da-da-da-da-dee, da-da-da-dah-dah-dah

Popularity: 38% [?]

We have all been quite ill since last Wednesday. Asha started antibiotics on Thursday, and is still coughing like an old woman. Steve and I have taken it in turns to stay awake, but at times, both of us have so wanted to just sleeeep.

Asha has spent some time watching films, listened to some audio books in welsh and english, done some arts and craft stuff, and used the computer for her educational games, which she continues to enjoy.

We have also made silver mugs as in “Little Bear”

little bear mugs

Two on the box.

and she can now tell the difference between a blue tit and a great tit. She knows the three types of Swan, and there differences, Not sure if she can tell them apart yet.. We dont get Swans in our garden, to test her with

She has loved reading some of my ladybird books, and enjoyed us reading to her. She is particully fond of “beauty and the beast” i find this bizzare, as it scared me witless as a child. – it is good to know, i am doing well in not passing on my own fears tooo much!

We have made her spare bed up, and changed her curtains, made paper swans, and beautiful spring scenes. In fact considering the fact that all steve and i really want to do is sit and fester, we have done loads… Asha is a lot brighter today, but still not at all right.

asha on her teddy bed 1

this almost gives you an indication of her dolls and teddys!

Oh we have also rang granny up. Asha was keen to phone Granny to speak to her. Asha had a great laugh with grandad though. The last few times Granny and Grandad have rung, Asha has been busy and not wanted to speak to them. It is great she wanted to ring them yesterday.

Tonight Asha wanted me to read a specific book, and at the end of the book, there is a picture of an ark. Tomorrow she wants me to make an ark with her!

Popularity: 23% [?]

We just seem so busy, that nothing is getting done!

Steve and I sat down last night and decided on a daily schedule. Lets see if we can keep to it!

One of our problems is that we are out soo often, and when we are in, jobs such as chopping wood, cooking food, and getting ready for the next day, all need to be done. As well as finding time to spend with Asha. This means some days, it can be 10 pm, before we get to breath. Combined with the cfs, its no wonder i am currently exhausted.

Anyway, what has Asha done since last wednesday then?

Read the rest of this entry »

Popularity: 30% [?]

Its Saturday. Steve and I had uni this morning, Asha went on a play date to J. She loves playing with A , E and K. Asha is one of these children, who when she is content, and feels safe somewhere, she will just get on with playing. Like me, Asha feels safe at J’s house.

After our rather successfull, but demading tutorial, for our welsh course, Steve and I both took it in turns to fall asleep at home. I needed it. Read the rest of this entry »

Popularity: 33% [?]

At 6 pm she fell asleep, at 9.40, Steve went upstairs, and this is her sleeping!

Just another book mum...

At 23.30 I went into see her, she was sat with ALL her books on her bed, and told me “Mummy I need some new books, see”

Now please bare in mind this child who needs more books has a 6 foot high by 4 foot wide bookcase in her bedroom… with 6 shelves FULL of books. Another 3 bookcases in the living room, full of books, and more boxes of books in the “library room” Which she regually can be found “sorting out”

ARGH… And I bought her a new book today.. Which is really very very pretty. Rainbow Sea, A sparkle book.isbn : 1740470893

Kids!

Popularity: 24% [?]

Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud “Tut-Tut!”

Said A to B, “I don’t like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!”

“I disagree,” said D to B,
“I’ve never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O.”

C was vexed, “I’m much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I’m made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape.”

“He’s right” said E; said F, “Whoopee!”
Said G, “‘Ip, ‘Ip, ‘ooray!”
“You’re dropping me,” roared H to G.
“Don’t do it please I pray.”

“Out of my way,” LL said to K.
“I’ll make poor I look ILL.”
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.

“U know,” said V, “that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I’m half as young as he.”

X and Y yawned sleepily,
“Look at the time!” they said.
“Let’s all get off to beddy byes.”
They did, then “Z-z-z.”

– Spike Milligan

As a little one, I used to love this…

Popularity: 9% [?]

The GCSE system is supposed to educate people. And sometimes it does: facts and skills and methods and systems can all be picked up in the course of preparation for the exams. There are still plenty of good teachers and bright students. But if a desire for education gets in the way of the procedure – the “assessment objectives” that Francis Gilbert identified last week in his article about A-levels – then education loses. Like the all-important procedures that define call-centre operations, the means becomes the end. The purpose of a GCSE is the GCSE itself, and anything truly learned is a happy accident.

Which is good news for call centre managers, as a generation of youngsters learns that sticking blindly, rigidly to a syllabus or a procedure is the way to success and contentment. WB Yeats said that education is not the filling of a bucket, but the lighting of a fire. From many students today, proudly clutching their A* grades in English literature, the only response will be: “Yeats? Nah, we haven’t done him.”
(Source: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2008/aug/22/schools.gcses)

“Education is not the filling of a bucket, but the lighting of a fire”. yeats

Popularity: 26% [?]