More than Writers

I’m starting to feel old. Our eldest got married last year. Married! It feels like only five minutes since we brought him home from the hospital, wondering if we were up to job of caring for this tiny scrap of humanity with the lung capacity of a budding opera star. I’m surprised our postman didn’t go off sick with a bad back. For the next couple of weeks we were inundated with cards and presents: cute little outfits (mostly in varying shades of blue), teddy bears twice the size of our son, rattles designed more with the fist of a sturdy two-year-old in mind. Along with the piles of welcome goodies came reams of advice, some of it not so welcome. Make sure you put him down on his back / front. Establish a four-hourly feeding routine / let him feed on demand. Put him on the potty from day one (really?) or let him do things at his own pace. There’s lots of advice on offer when it comes to my writing, too. One of the things I’ve appreciated about being part of the Asso...

  My writing self Thirty years ago when I first started working, I decided that most teachers fall into two categories – bossy, organised types or dreamy, creative ones. I concluded quickly, and reluctantly, that I was the latter. It was a lonely moment. There aren’t many of us. Even today most colleagues are the sort who have shredders and put next day’s date on the board. If I had a few extra minutes at the end of the day, I’d be double mounting a leaf rubbing or writing a model calligram (or stuffing my shredding pile under the bookcase). When the Head brings the chair of governors round, I’m the one cross-legged in a patch of sunshine cutting out ladybirds. I quickly learned though, that those who are respected in teaching, as in most jobs, are those who are organised – they plan ahead, they meet deadlines, they keep their word. They’ve set their emails to read “Science Co-ordinator” or “Phase Leader” under their name so they, and others, know who they are. ...