Rosetinted

It was this time last week, when I began to write my previous week’s blog post, having promised myself that I would begin to write weekly. This is my promise to me, as I work out- publicly, no less – my purpose on this revolving ball. Of course, You scold ( You is very much a figment of my imagination) ‘you’re a teacher and your purpose should be tied up alongside that.’  I chuckle, and agree: for all intents and purposes that should be the ticket, but I can’t quite get with that program , there must be more. I don’t really want my funeral to be a eulogy, in front of the 5 people who managed to tolerate me through life,  of how I managed to be kind to a few children and managed to cope through a largely failing (in my opinion) education system.  I always hoped for more.  I blame my childhood; you cannot indoctrinate an impressionable mind with ideas of divine purpose and predestination without inducing a few ‘ideas above your station’.  Which leads me to another thought that has preoc

I said that I would write every Sunday, that is now the new regime. The plan was to use my commute to work, to conjure some witty and adroit text that would have the readers rolling in the isles. However, during my 9 minute walk to work, where I walk down an alleyway that perhaps I should avoid, my mind has been drifting elsewhere.  On Monday, I cheered some emigrating geese as they flew off in formation and for a moment I was captured in the rapture of nature. On Tuesday, I speculated about the lady litter picker, who tidies other people’s mess, all alone before 8am. She is donned in litter tongs and mask and heroically carries out her Sisyphean task. On Wednesday, I wondered how the human pooer is, and whether they’d left a log down my alley. I wonder if they were eating well, healthy and fibrous with a scatter of sweetcorn or had the junk food got the better of them, only observation would reveal the truth. On Thursday, I spent a few too many moments caught up in the futility of w