Tim Atkinson's Blog, page 91
October 17, 2011
Play nicely!
Did you see that report in the Telegraph: Twenty Tweets to make your Toes Curl? It makes interesting reading for anyone who regularly uses Twitter, as I do. Based on a Debrett's guide to remaining civil online, the basic premise seems to be that under the PC or Smart Phone cloak of anonymity we can and do say things we'd never dream of saying face-to-face.
Which might, of course, be a good thing. Because sometimes social situations force us to censor what we should be open and honest about saying. ('That cake was, well... frankly dreadful. Please don't bake it again.')
But... Ah, but. They've got a point, haven't they, about online conversations? My elder daughter recently attained the qualifying age for Facebook. (Not that age seems to matter that much; there are kids on there she knows - younger siblings of her friends - who seem to be as young as seven!) Anyway, the point is not all the status updates that she reads are well, as pleasant as they might be. Neither are they all that accurate. She's a strong girl, and with a shake of her head she simply deleted her account when it all got a bit too much. None of the nastiness was directed at her; but she couldn't reconcile the smiles in the corridor at school with the slightly sinister bitching that seemed to emanate from certain people's bedrooms in the evening.
I'm sure it's the same across all forms of social media. Twitter is a lovely, friendly world most of the time but I've witnessed the occasional Twitter spat. And that's not all. As the Telegraph article states, there are a few other things that don't make for very edifying reading: self-promotion (guilty), tweeting about household chores (guilty); 'What Did I Miss?' tweets (guilty); teasers (guilty).
Oh dear. On this evidence I'm going to have to seriously re-think my tweeting policy. On the other hand there are quite a few of the social media solipsism's I don't believe I've ever done, like one-word tweets ('Help!'); tweets about sex or my own personal bête noire: 'I'm bored.' As the article says, 'you're on the internet; go learn something.'
I do believe Twitter is a force for good. Look at the role it's played in mobilising protest movements, even changing governments. And I like online friendships. Twenty years ago you had to make do with the people you worked with, had shared a classroom with or met at the tennis club. Now you can really find those people who share your interests and outlook on the world. It's wonderful!
And so are some of their tweets. Here's a random selection of just three from my recent time-line:
@MikeJarman: what if space is like the groves on an LP. We measure the track from A to B along the groove. Whereas, neutrinos may track directly?
@leni_lava: Fag SIR! Please SIR! me SIR!? (you had to be there!)
@sundayhandbag: Independent schools have always been much better at discipline than state schools. ;) (this in response to my tweet about having read that Sevenoaks School has a Master in charge of Shooting)
All good stuff. And there's plenty more where that came from.
But what about you? What kind of tweets makes your toes curl? And which - or whose - are the best?
Which might, of course, be a good thing. Because sometimes social situations force us to censor what we should be open and honest about saying. ('That cake was, well... frankly dreadful. Please don't bake it again.')
But... Ah, but. They've got a point, haven't they, about online conversations? My elder daughter recently attained the qualifying age for Facebook. (Not that age seems to matter that much; there are kids on there she knows - younger siblings of her friends - who seem to be as young as seven!) Anyway, the point is not all the status updates that she reads are well, as pleasant as they might be. Neither are they all that accurate. She's a strong girl, and with a shake of her head she simply deleted her account when it all got a bit too much. None of the nastiness was directed at her; but she couldn't reconcile the smiles in the corridor at school with the slightly sinister bitching that seemed to emanate from certain people's bedrooms in the evening.
I'm sure it's the same across all forms of social media. Twitter is a lovely, friendly world most of the time but I've witnessed the occasional Twitter spat. And that's not all. As the Telegraph article states, there are a few other things that don't make for very edifying reading: self-promotion (guilty), tweeting about household chores (guilty); 'What Did I Miss?' tweets (guilty); teasers (guilty).
Oh dear. On this evidence I'm going to have to seriously re-think my tweeting policy. On the other hand there are quite a few of the social media solipsism's I don't believe I've ever done, like one-word tweets ('Help!'); tweets about sex or my own personal bête noire: 'I'm bored.' As the article says, 'you're on the internet; go learn something.'
I do believe Twitter is a force for good. Look at the role it's played in mobilising protest movements, even changing governments. And I like online friendships. Twenty years ago you had to make do with the people you worked with, had shared a classroom with or met at the tennis club. Now you can really find those people who share your interests and outlook on the world. It's wonderful!
And so are some of their tweets. Here's a random selection of just three from my recent time-line:
@MikeJarman: what if space is like the groves on an LP. We measure the track from A to B along the groove. Whereas, neutrinos may track directly?
@leni_lava: Fag SIR! Please SIR! me SIR!? (you had to be there!)
@sundayhandbag: Independent schools have always been much better at discipline than state schools. ;) (this in response to my tweet about having read that Sevenoaks School has a Master in charge of Shooting)
All good stuff. And there's plenty more where that came from.
But what about you? What kind of tweets makes your toes curl? And which - or whose - are the best?
October 14, 2011
21st Century Dodos
Man of many parts (and more than one name) Mr Scott Pack - publisher, author, erstwhile Head Buyer for Waterstone's - is here today as part of an e-tour promoting his new book, 21st Century Dodos.
As you'd expect, the book is about, well, things that have either gone out of fashion or gone out the window. Things like telephones wired into the wall, lemonade in glass bottles that you got money back for returning, that sort of thing. It's the kind of book that will inspire a warm glow of nostalgia, not a little regret and probably a whole lot of additional dodos and Scott - or 'Steve' as he's known for the purposes of this tome - is starting to find out. He writes...
One thing you quickly learn when you write any sort of lists book – mine is a collection of inanimate objects that are in danger of extinction – is that readers are all too eager to tell you what you have missed. 21st Century Dodos has only been out a couple of weeks and already I am receiving emails and tweets from readers who feel I have left something out.
So, for my guest blog post today here are some of the things that aren't in my book.
Combovers. A good call, I think, you really don't see as many of these any more. They aren't extinct - there are still a few buffoons who are self-conscious enough to want to cover up their bald patches but aren't self-aware enough to realise that everyone knows what they are playing at – but the are certainly endangered.
Supercans. I'll be honest, I didn't have a clue what they were till one of my other blog tour hosts, Catherine Ryan Howard, emailed me to point out the omission. They were, apparently, 500ml cans of fizzy pop that were popular for a short period in the early 90s. But not popular enough it seems. Although at last count the Facebook group asking for their reinstatement had a massive 44 'likes'. I admire such loyal dedication.
Afternoon Closedown. I include the evening closedown in the book – the fact that television used to shut down just after midnight, with each station having its own signing off routine – but completely forgot to mention that it once did the same thing in the afternoon. For a couple of hours every weekday afternoon there was simply nothing on the telly. Beggars belief now.
Of course, the book is packed full of stuff I actually remembered to include. Things like white dog poo, C&A stores, rotary dial telephones, typewriters, teletext and half-day closing. The things I missed out will just need to go into volume two.
You can buy 21st Century Dodos here. To find out more about it, take a look at some of the other stops on Scott's e-tour. He was here yesterday, and he'll be here tomorrow. Catch him while you can. He's a busy man.
As you'd expect, the book is about, well, things that have either gone out of fashion or gone out the window. Things like telephones wired into the wall, lemonade in glass bottles that you got money back for returning, that sort of thing. It's the kind of book that will inspire a warm glow of nostalgia, not a little regret and probably a whole lot of additional dodos and Scott - or 'Steve' as he's known for the purposes of this tome - is starting to find out. He writes...
One thing you quickly learn when you write any sort of lists book – mine is a collection of inanimate objects that are in danger of extinction – is that readers are all too eager to tell you what you have missed. 21st Century Dodos has only been out a couple of weeks and already I am receiving emails and tweets from readers who feel I have left something out.
So, for my guest blog post today here are some of the things that aren't in my book.
Combovers. A good call, I think, you really don't see as many of these any more. They aren't extinct - there are still a few buffoons who are self-conscious enough to want to cover up their bald patches but aren't self-aware enough to realise that everyone knows what they are playing at – but the are certainly endangered.
Supercans. I'll be honest, I didn't have a clue what they were till one of my other blog tour hosts, Catherine Ryan Howard, emailed me to point out the omission. They were, apparently, 500ml cans of fizzy pop that were popular for a short period in the early 90s. But not popular enough it seems. Although at last count the Facebook group asking for their reinstatement had a massive 44 'likes'. I admire such loyal dedication.
Afternoon Closedown. I include the evening closedown in the book – the fact that television used to shut down just after midnight, with each station having its own signing off routine – but completely forgot to mention that it once did the same thing in the afternoon. For a couple of hours every weekday afternoon there was simply nothing on the telly. Beggars belief now.
Of course, the book is packed full of stuff I actually remembered to include. Things like white dog poo, C&A stores, rotary dial telephones, typewriters, teletext and half-day closing. The things I missed out will just need to go into volume two.
You can buy 21st Century Dodos here. To find out more about it, take a look at some of the other stops on Scott's e-tour. He was here yesterday, and he'll be here tomorrow. Catch him while you can. He's a busy man.
October 11, 2011
Vital Statistics
I'm not a numbers man. I never was any good at maths at school (in spite of having a grandfather who taught the subject). I'm good at getting the correct change in shops, that kind of thing. But abstract numbers? Algebra, for instance? Nadda.
It's the same with those random numbers you used to get in the good old/bad old days of Miss World contests and the like. I couldn't give a fig for whether Fiona is a forty-four, twenty-three, thirty-two or whatever as long as she looks as though she's happy in her skin. (I concede that she might not be with figures like that, but the point is the numbers don't mean a thing.)
But there are some stats you can't shirk. In spite of shunning the dark arts of SEO, stopping checking my see-saw-ing up and down the blogging rankings and such things, Blogger went and made it so darned easy to see how many people read your blog that it's difficult to avoid. It's the first thing you see when you sign in. And as much as the eye is drawn to those keyword searches (who did want to find 'Alice Robert's Boobs' on my blog eh? Come on, come on - I know you're out there) you can't help but see the stats.
Normally, they're not that interesting, especially on a Sunday. Last week, having blogged about meeting David Hasselhoff on a train things were a little different. (Should I tell them? I mean, those stats are competitive y'know: trade secrets and all that. Oh, what the hell!) Normally I might expect a couple of hundred page views on a Sunday, tops; last week more than doubled that. But that was nothing compared to the day before yesterday. The day before yesterday was the day the stats went crazy.
It started like this. I was lounging on the sofa looking at the TV schedules on my 'phone when I noticed Stephen Fry's 'Planet Word' series was discussing swearing. I'd written a post about swearing on Friday. A few people had read it; some had commented. As posts go, it was doing well because I'd already enjoyed some great feedback. But I thought I'd like a bit more. So I tweeted a link to the post along with a reference to Stephen Fry's programme. And to @stephenfry himself.
Within minutes he'd retweeted it to his three million followers; within seconds of that, the stats went wild. My pageviews doubled, then doubled again. In the space of ten minutes they went from 242 to over 2000 and just kept on climbing throughout the evening. In under twenty four hours the post gained over ten thousand pageviews and was re-tweeted by in excess of thirty people. Never, in the field of human blogging was such rubbish read by so many, thanks to so few.
I wouldn't even say it was my best post. Not by a long way. But it's become far and away the best read. Not all of the attention has been welcome. A certain Mr 'C*nt' has been less than subtle in his comments, for example. And it hasn't gained me even the slightest pecuniary advantage either. (I thought at the very least a couple of folks might click the link to one of my books, but no. Lies, damned lies and statistics, eh?)
But it was enormous fun. Great sport on an otherwise quiet Sunday evening. I can't claim any of the credit for it, I know. I know precisely who's responsible. It's this man.
Thanks Mr Fry. Oh and if you ever fancy re-tweeting this link anytime, I'd be very grateful:
Go on... you know you want to!
October 9, 2011
Shadows of a Stranger
You know how it is when you meet someone famous and only afterwards remember all the things you should've told them. Like Mr Hasselhoff, I'm in *ahem* the movies myself as it happens. Oh yes, we could've swapped luvvie anecdotes; compared notes on our producers; moaned about the size of our respective trailers.
Or not, in my case. Because my first (and probably last) foray into the world of the moving kinematograph is limited to being a lowly chorus member on the backing track for the excellent, up-coming Indie thriller Shadows of a Stranger. Ok, so it's not Baywatch; and no, Mr Hasselhoff, my singing didn't reunify Germany. But it might send a few shivers down the odd spine... intentionally, this time. Here's a video diary by the producers including clips of the recording. If you look very carefully you might see your humble correspondent. But I wouldn't bother. The sopranos are much prettier...
Or not, in my case. Because my first (and probably last) foray into the world of the moving kinematograph is limited to being a lowly chorus member on the backing track for the excellent, up-coming Indie thriller Shadows of a Stranger. Ok, so it's not Baywatch; and no, Mr Hasselhoff, my singing didn't reunify Germany. But it might send a few shivers down the odd spine... intentionally, this time. Here's a video diary by the producers including clips of the recording. If you look very carefully you might see your humble correspondent. But I wouldn't bother. The sopranos are much prettier...
October 7, 2011
Does it matter if your children hear you swear?
The obvious answer, of course, is 'yes'. It sets a bad example; do as you would be done by and all that sort of thing.
But in the light of a report out this week claiming that swearing provokes a physical stress response I'd like to explore the less obvious answer - not 'yes' but 'no'. Not 'no' in the sense that you want to teach your kids (by example) to be indiscriminately 'effing and blinding' at every opportunity, nor because you want your baby's first words to be a lot less cute than 'dada'. 'No' in the sense that they might learn some important lessons if they hear you swear; and 'no' in the sense that they might not then grow up with the absurdly puritanical belief that the mere utterance of an obscenity condemns the speaker and sends fearful shivers down the spine of the listener.
I suppose I'm a little defensive about swearing. I don't think any words should ever be totally off-limits; that way lies the slippery slope of censorship. And having taught in schools where swearing was treated as an offence the equivalent of regicide I suppose I've grown a little blasé about the whole thing. Don't get me wrong - the 'F' word especially when used as noun, adjective, adverb and the rest (a la Billy Connolly?) in a single sentence still makes me shudder. But only in the same way any crass use of language would and frequently does (viz. 'would of', 'bored of' and that political bête noir of mine, the 'keynote speech').
Ultimately, I believe it doesn't matter that much if the children hear you swear. But what does matter is your reaction to it. They need to learn that certain words in certain situations will be unacceptable. But not that certain words are harmful, like hocus pocus utterances, and get stressed out the moment that they hear them.
And how better to teach them that than by example?
But in the light of a report out this week claiming that swearing provokes a physical stress response I'd like to explore the less obvious answer - not 'yes' but 'no'. Not 'no' in the sense that you want to teach your kids (by example) to be indiscriminately 'effing and blinding' at every opportunity, nor because you want your baby's first words to be a lot less cute than 'dada'. 'No' in the sense that they might learn some important lessons if they hear you swear; and 'no' in the sense that they might not then grow up with the absurdly puritanical belief that the mere utterance of an obscenity condemns the speaker and sends fearful shivers down the spine of the listener.
I suppose I'm a little defensive about swearing. I don't think any words should ever be totally off-limits; that way lies the slippery slope of censorship. And having taught in schools where swearing was treated as an offence the equivalent of regicide I suppose I've grown a little blasé about the whole thing. Don't get me wrong - the 'F' word especially when used as noun, adjective, adverb and the rest (a la Billy Connolly?) in a single sentence still makes me shudder. But only in the same way any crass use of language would and frequently does (viz. 'would of', 'bored of' and that political bête noir of mine, the 'keynote speech').
Ultimately, I believe it doesn't matter that much if the children hear you swear. But what does matter is your reaction to it. They need to learn that certain words in certain situations will be unacceptable. But not that certain words are harmful, like hocus pocus utterances, and get stressed out the moment that they hear them.
And how better to teach them that than by example?
October 4, 2011
Perfect Sense
Unsure how to 'follow that' as they say, and being in a sort-of 'Hollywood star-struck' state of mind, I'm going to upload a film trailer for you today. It stars Ewan MacGregor and looks rather good. Oh, and I get paid (a pittance) every time you watch it.
I wonder if David Hasselhoff had anything to do with it?
I wonder if David Hasselhoff had anything to do with it?
October 1, 2011
Don't Hassle The Hoff
So there I am, minding my own business yesterday morning waiting for my train home from The Mads Awards to start. A few minutes before the scheduled departure a tall American boards and begins scrutinising the seat reservations. His young companion quickly discovers her seat is opposite mine and the by now familiar looking American settles down beside her. I text Sarah, just to let her know I'm on the train; I'm on my way home. And sitting opposite David Hasselhoff.
Being English, I say nothing and carry on reading the 'paper. Being American, Mr Hasselhoff starts a conversation. With me. And during the course of the journey from King's Cross to Grantham we talked about my glasses (he liked 'em, wanted some the same!), trains versus planes, his recent marriage proposal, his South African holiday (he even showed me his pics on his lap-top), the Knight Rider convention he was attending, the panto he's doing and all manner of other things.
The lovely Hayley - his 'daughter' as he introduced her to me, tongue-in-cheek - and I discussed the Rugby World Cup among other things and she'll be up this morning watching her beloved Wales take on Fiji. And before I left the train David's nephew, Nick, had organised photos and autographs for Sally and Charlie.
I alighted at Grantham feeling rather dazed, like I'd woken from a rather odd but pleasant dream. So I checked my 'phone. And there were the pics...
Nice guy, the Hoff. And he doesn't mind a bit of hassle.
Being English, I say nothing and carry on reading the 'paper. Being American, Mr Hasselhoff starts a conversation. With me. And during the course of the journey from King's Cross to Grantham we talked about my glasses (he liked 'em, wanted some the same!), trains versus planes, his recent marriage proposal, his South African holiday (he even showed me his pics on his lap-top), the Knight Rider convention he was attending, the panto he's doing and all manner of other things.
The lovely Hayley - his 'daughter' as he introduced her to me, tongue-in-cheek - and I discussed the Rugby World Cup among other things and she'll be up this morning watching her beloved Wales take on Fiji. And before I left the train David's nephew, Nick, had organised photos and autographs for Sally and Charlie.
I alighted at Grantham feeling rather dazed, like I'd woken from a rather odd but pleasant dream. So I checked my 'phone. And there were the pics...
Nice guy, the Hoff. And he doesn't mind a bit of hassle.
Dont Hassle The Hoff
So there I am, minding my own business waiting for the train home from the Mads awards to set off. A few minutes before the scheduled departure a tall American boards and begins scrutinising the seat reservations. His young companion quickly discovers her seat is opposite mine and the familiar looking American settles down beside her.
I text Sarah, just to let her know I'm on the train; I'm on my way home. And sitting opposite David Hasselhoff.
Being English, I say nothing and carry on reading the 'paper. Being American, Mr Hasselhoff starts a conversation. With me. And during the course of the journey from King's Cross to Grantham we talked about my glasses (he liked 'em, wanted some the same!), trains versus planes, his recent marriage proposal, his South African holiday (he even showed me his pics on his lap-top), the Knight Rider convention he was attending, the panto he's doing and all manner of other things.
The lovely Hayley - his 'daughter' as he introduced her to me, tongue-in-cheek - and I discussed the Rugby World Cup among other things and she'll be up this morning watching her beloved Wales take on Fiji. And before I left the train David's nephew, Nick, had organised photos and autographs for Sally and Charlie.
I alighted at Grantham feeling rather dazed, like I'd woken from a rather odd but pleasant dream. So I checked my 'phone. And there were the pics...
I text Sarah, just to let her know I'm on the train; I'm on my way home. And sitting opposite David Hasselhoff.
Being English, I say nothing and carry on reading the 'paper. Being American, Mr Hasselhoff starts a conversation. With me. And during the course of the journey from King's Cross to Grantham we talked about my glasses (he liked 'em, wanted some the same!), trains versus planes, his recent marriage proposal, his South African holiday (he even showed me his pics on his lap-top), the Knight Rider convention he was attending, the panto he's doing and all manner of other things.
The lovely Hayley - his 'daughter' as he introduced her to me, tongue-in-cheek - and I discussed the Rugby World Cup among other things and she'll be up this morning watching her beloved Wales take on Fiji. And before I left the train David's nephew, Nick, had organised photos and autographs for Sally and Charlie.
I alighted at Grantham feeling rather dazed, like I'd woken from a rather odd but pleasant dream. So I checked my 'phone. And there were the pics...
September 29, 2011
Bicycle
You know that chap whose radio show I was briefly on last Monday? You do - I was 400 miles away in Scotland (in a castle, dontcha know!) and still they found me. Anyway, he's even further away this morning - 1000 kilometres to be precise - in Neustadt, Germany and he's cycling home. Yes, cycling. That's some commute. You can follow the epic cycle ride by having a look at his twitter stream (@rodwhiting) or that of his colleague @yellowbellyLou. Of course, it's all in a good cause - in this case, Children in Need. And if you'd like to, you can donate here.
Talking of Children in Need there are still some copies of the charity anthology Tiny Acorns available - and at the bargain-basement price of just £5.99 including P&P! Not only does it contain top-notch writing by a variety of new and established authors, but the entire creative writing course that in many cases inspired them. And talking of writing, my very good blogging friend Steerforth has asked me to tell you about his forthcoming writing class in North Wales, including expert tuition in blogging. You can find out more about that right here.
Anyway, good luck to Rod Whiting and the team on their cycle ride.
They've certainly got the weather for it.
Talking of Children in Need there are still some copies of the charity anthology Tiny Acorns available - and at the bargain-basement price of just £5.99 including P&P! Not only does it contain top-notch writing by a variety of new and established authors, but the entire creative writing course that in many cases inspired them. And talking of writing, my very good blogging friend Steerforth has asked me to tell you about his forthcoming writing class in North Wales, including expert tuition in blogging. You can find out more about that right here.
Anyway, good luck to Rod Whiting and the team on their cycle ride.
They've certainly got the weather for it.
September 27, 2011
Are you hot-housing your children?
As a child, I was never really much of a joiner. I was in the cubs, but not the scouts; the only school sports team I played for was at cricket, that well known 'team-game for eleven individuals'; I sing in choirs, but also perform regularly as a soloist. I suppose I'm something of a loner; I'm happy with my own company; I'm seldom if ever bored and can occupy myself happily for hours.
Although he's only three, Charlie's showing some of the same tendencies as me. Thankfully, he's a lot more sociable - he'll talk for hours to anyone which sometimes makes trips to the park a little worrying - but he's got a vivid imagination (like his dad) and can play creatively for ages.
A book published this week claims many parents are guilty of 'hot-housing' their children - filling every waking hour with some structured session or other, from yoga to baby salsa. The authors of 'Too Much, Too Young' argue that babies are being turned into mini-adults by relentless schedules taking them from one activity to another until bedtime. Despite being in Scotland yesterday following a Christening party at the weekend, BBC Lincolnshire tracked me down for an opinion on the matter (I've got plenty of those) and you can hear the brief interview on BBC iPlayer (zoom to 2 hours 44 if you'd rather not listen to the rest of Rod Whiting's excellent show).
In short, I'm firmly in the 'unstructured play' camp. It's a cliché but Charlie really is as interested in the boxes as the toys that come inside them; we make stuff out of rubbish and he plays with it for hours. Like everything, classes can be good but the old motto 'everything in moderation' should prevail as far as I'm concerned. And I am concerned. I'm concerned that an overly structured day - whether at home, at nursery or school - leaves less and less room for creative play and imagination.
I've seen it myself in twenty years working in classrooms: children used to expect to have to take the initiative with their school work; now they're increasingly guided to the point of virtual straight-jacketing by teachers terrified of a dip in the school's results and consequent visit from Ofsed. And it's a tricky situation to row back from. Structure, entertainment, guidance/hand-holding soon becomes an expectation. And it's absence becomes, not an opportunity for the imagination, but mere boredom.
Where do you stand on the issue? Is 'unstructured play' a euphemism for benign neglect? Or is doing nothing an essential part of every day?
Although he's only three, Charlie's showing some of the same tendencies as me. Thankfully, he's a lot more sociable - he'll talk for hours to anyone which sometimes makes trips to the park a little worrying - but he's got a vivid imagination (like his dad) and can play creatively for ages.
A book published this week claims many parents are guilty of 'hot-housing' their children - filling every waking hour with some structured session or other, from yoga to baby salsa. The authors of 'Too Much, Too Young' argue that babies are being turned into mini-adults by relentless schedules taking them from one activity to another until bedtime. Despite being in Scotland yesterday following a Christening party at the weekend, BBC Lincolnshire tracked me down for an opinion on the matter (I've got plenty of those) and you can hear the brief interview on BBC iPlayer (zoom to 2 hours 44 if you'd rather not listen to the rest of Rod Whiting's excellent show).
In short, I'm firmly in the 'unstructured play' camp. It's a cliché but Charlie really is as interested in the boxes as the toys that come inside them; we make stuff out of rubbish and he plays with it for hours. Like everything, classes can be good but the old motto 'everything in moderation' should prevail as far as I'm concerned. And I am concerned. I'm concerned that an overly structured day - whether at home, at nursery or school - leaves less and less room for creative play and imagination.
I've seen it myself in twenty years working in classrooms: children used to expect to have to take the initiative with their school work; now they're increasingly guided to the point of virtual straight-jacketing by teachers terrified of a dip in the school's results and consequent visit from Ofsed. And it's a tricky situation to row back from. Structure, entertainment, guidance/hand-holding soon becomes an expectation. And it's absence becomes, not an opportunity for the imagination, but mere boredom.
Where do you stand on the issue? Is 'unstructured play' a euphemism for benign neglect? Or is doing nothing an essential part of every day?
