Saturday, July 17, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Don't worry Mum
I'll keep your pillow warm for you.
As you can see, Shelley has his half of the bed clearly designated. All the easier for him to ignore and share my half...
As you can see, Shelley has his half of the bed clearly designated. All the easier for him to ignore and share my half...
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Ann's Amazing Addition
Those of you who have been around V-Blogland for a while will remember that our beloved Vixen Ann had an entire blog dedicated to Mrs Bobby Goren. Sadly, life got in the way of art, and the story left us with a pregnant Mrs BG in prison accused of murdering Nicole Wallace.
Ann has written a new episode (this time in the third person rather than the first person of the original) and I have just posted it on http://aftermajorcase.blogspot.com/
Enjoy!
Ann has written a new episode (this time in the third person rather than the first person of the original) and I have just posted it on http://aftermajorcase.blogspot.com/
Enjoy!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Playing with Bobby
Whether it's games or music, Bobby can do it all.
Air guitar (you're playing right-handed, Bobby)
Whatever the game is, it looks like Eames lost
Aha! Left-handed air guitar
Pin the tail on the donkey, Major Case style
I think Bobby won again
"I'm sorry to look smug, losers!"
No, Bobby, when you play Knock Down Ginger,
you're supposed to run away when you've knocked at the door
Staring down
Don't know who won, but they're being very gentlemanly about it
Looks like Bobby lost this one
Staring down
Don't know who won, but they're being very gentlemanly about it
Looks like Bobby lost this one
Anybody else want to play with Bobby?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Head and Shoulders
This could be a post about our man with a title like that, but it isn't.
Over the last couple of days, there has been a lot of publicity about a primary school headteacher in "East London" who earned £231,400 last year.
The facts appear to be less astounding, with back pay, "overtime" (since when did any teacher get overtime, especially Heads?), advisory pay for the Government and a few other odds and sods added in.
Today I was amazed to discover that the "East London" school was actually my old school in South East London, a place called Tidemill. And I'll bet it was a much tougher place when I was there between 1958 and 1964.
This is the school building, which is just about to be replaced by a new-build, and will then be demolished.
The school is in Deptford, a poor suburb of London, now (but not then) in the London Borough of Lewisham. It was close to the London docks, and was heavily bombed in World War II. Education was not at the top of most people's ambitions for their kids. I remember there was one whole class that was what would today be called Special Needs, where the children, even aged 9 or 10, were struggling to read. But they all could get by before they left.
When I started there, we had two headteachers, one for Infants, one for Juniors. Miss Faithfull, head of Infants, was everything an infants school head should be - gentle, slender, with wispy white hair in a french roll. Everyone adored her. To be invited to her office to read to her was a keenly sought honour.
Then up we went to Juniors, where the head was Mr Parkhouse. He was a big, bluff teddy bear of a man, who took my class in the library once a week to read us Beowulf. We worshipped him. When he had a heart arttack while reading to us in assembly one morning, and died, we were devastated.
Mrs (May) Wellard, the deputy, took over during this troubling time, and kept us calm and focussed. A couple of years ago, I read in the local newspaper that the council which owns the block in which she bought her flat was trying to get a huge amount of money out of her for spurious maintenance work. She was at that time 86. I've heard nothing more - presumably the shock killed the old lady off.
Our new Head was Sheila Lane, a very impressive woman, with all sorts of experience behind her, which she later put into a book. Many years later, she could talk to me about my own and my sister's progress after leaving Tidemill, even though my sister left several years before Miss Lane arrived.
They were all wonderful, and worth much more than they will have been paid. But the one person who was worth more than everyone else put together was our class teacher, Averil Silson. Although she left before we did, she was a major influence in all our lives, with her interest and ability in music being passed on in a big way both to me and to my best friend Jill. She was truly priceless - and still is. In her mid-70s, she is still going strong, and enjoying an active retirement.
I imagine that this headteacher's success is likewise largely thanks to the staff who deliver his plans for the kids at the chalk face. The parents outside the school today have been defending him vociferously. Maybe they are right - but I know I would resent it if my dedicated hard work resulted in my Head being paid a fortune while I struggled to get by, as so many non-teaching support staff do.
Over the last couple of days, there has been a lot of publicity about a primary school headteacher in "East London" who earned £231,400 last year.
The facts appear to be less astounding, with back pay, "overtime" (since when did any teacher get overtime, especially Heads?), advisory pay for the Government and a few other odds and sods added in.
Today I was amazed to discover that the "East London" school was actually my old school in South East London, a place called Tidemill. And I'll bet it was a much tougher place when I was there between 1958 and 1964.
This is the school building, which is just about to be replaced by a new-build, and will then be demolished.
The school is in Deptford, a poor suburb of London, now (but not then) in the London Borough of Lewisham. It was close to the London docks, and was heavily bombed in World War II. Education was not at the top of most people's ambitions for their kids. I remember there was one whole class that was what would today be called Special Needs, where the children, even aged 9 or 10, were struggling to read. But they all could get by before they left.
When I started there, we had two headteachers, one for Infants, one for Juniors. Miss Faithfull, head of Infants, was everything an infants school head should be - gentle, slender, with wispy white hair in a french roll. Everyone adored her. To be invited to her office to read to her was a keenly sought honour.
Then up we went to Juniors, where the head was Mr Parkhouse. He was a big, bluff teddy bear of a man, who took my class in the library once a week to read us Beowulf. We worshipped him. When he had a heart arttack while reading to us in assembly one morning, and died, we were devastated.
Mrs (May) Wellard, the deputy, took over during this troubling time, and kept us calm and focussed. A couple of years ago, I read in the local newspaper that the council which owns the block in which she bought her flat was trying to get a huge amount of money out of her for spurious maintenance work. She was at that time 86. I've heard nothing more - presumably the shock killed the old lady off.
Our new Head was Sheila Lane, a very impressive woman, with all sorts of experience behind her, which she later put into a book. Many years later, she could talk to me about my own and my sister's progress after leaving Tidemill, even though my sister left several years before Miss Lane arrived.
They were all wonderful, and worth much more than they will have been paid. But the one person who was worth more than everyone else put together was our class teacher, Averil Silson. Although she left before we did, she was a major influence in all our lives, with her interest and ability in music being passed on in a big way both to me and to my best friend Jill. She was truly priceless - and still is. In her mid-70s, she is still going strong, and enjoying an active retirement.
I imagine that this headteacher's success is likewise largely thanks to the staff who deliver his plans for the kids at the chalk face. The parents outside the school today have been defending him vociferously. Maybe they are right - but I know I would resent it if my dedicated hard work resulted in my Head being paid a fortune while I struggled to get by, as so many non-teaching support staff do.
Fly Spray, Anyone?
Imagine my shock this morning when I found that our least favourite insect had an interview in my daily paper, The Guardian.
Apparently he is appearing on stage at The Old Vic Theatre in London (artistic director Kevin Spacey).
How dare he be in the same city as me? How dare he be on stage somewhere that I could go and see him (you'd have to give me a lobotomy first, though I'd rather have Lobotomy...) and VINCENT IS NOT!
Life is so unfair.
Apparently he is appearing on stage at The Old Vic Theatre in London (artistic director Kevin Spacey).
How dare he be in the same city as me? How dare he be on stage somewhere that I could go and see him (you'd have to give me a lobotomy first, though I'd rather have Lobotomy...) and VINCENT IS NOT!
Life is so unfair.
Infinite Variety - Infinitely Gorgeous
He is a work of art, and needs appropriate titles.
Delicate handling (doesn't have to be delicate...)
Concentration
Beefcake
Love that profile
Wall-sized man in front of man-sized wall
Subtle expression with lips
Perfect knuckle sandwich
Love this profile even more
Intensity with frown and fingers
Collared
Monday, July 12, 2010
The Beautiful and the Bizarre
Bobby's expressions are many and varied. Some speak to you, some you just want to speak about. Here is a selection.
Bemused.
The Strong Wrist of Desire.
"Huh?"
"Mmmm."
"Wake me up when they've finished."
"Moi?"
"I can't believe you said that."
"This is boring - I wish some of my Vixens were here."
Captions, please?
"Oh, no, not again!"
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