18 April 2006

Nothing

Well I sat at this keyboard with around a hundred blog posts behind me, felt like writing something but found there was nothing much I wanted to say tonight. "Nothing will come of nothing..." said King Lear in my favourite play by Shakespeare.
I thought I might have a rant about something I particularly detest and that's tattoos - especially tattoos on women - but I'll save that for some other time. Then I thought I might explore a topic to which I have given so much mental energy (and some physical energy too!) since I was a boy of eleven and that's sex - the activity that brought each one of us to this life - but I'm always aware that blogs are live and worldwide and you never know who might drop in and check out what you're saying so I've vetoed this personal reservoir of fantasy and memory, lust, soul-searching and beautiful connectivity. And I thought I might write about something else that's very dear to my heart and that's food - meals consumed, meals cooked, remembered meals that make your mouth water, awful meals, the politics of food, supermarket empires - but I haven't got the energy tonight.
My daughter was hogging the computer again with her frantic "MySpace" adventures, MSN and music downloads. Shirley and I met up in the pub for the Tuesday quiz and I got the highest score 22/25 - entitling me to try to crack the safe and win £270 but my guessed code - 108 was wrong so the pot will grow on Sunday when I join my mates - Roy and Mike for another stab at this monster prize.
I was back to work today after the Easter holidays. Adolescents and A4 paper. The Year 10 had been on work experience before Easter. They now have to prepare speeches about these work placements. I gave them guidelines and a bunch of questions and asked them to bullet point their speeches. After twenty minutes, most had done well - lots of points to make but there were the usual suspects who'd written absolutely zilch - the same kids who never have pens to write with, the ones who arrive late and want to leave early with smug know-all facial expressions that cannot hide the fact that they have done so little in their lives and know almost nothing. I await their pathetic and ill-considered work experience accounts with minimal interest.
I should be mounting the stairs for bed but I have always been an owl - never a lark. This morning I was the grumpiest old sod alive as I turned the key in my ignition, pissed off that I hadn't been able to find the CD/Radio security front panel so I wouldn't be able to listen to the morning news on my way past Sheffield Wednesday's ground to the concrete architectural monstrosity that is both my place of work and my place of torment.

11 comments:

  1. The tattoos...my husband enlightened me about the tattoos, shaped in a V, at the base of a girs's spine. To men, (at least his crowd) it insinuates, "open for business". I'm not sure what women think it means. I still have no tattoos and that part of my body never shows (on purpose, at least), so it would be a worthless expense.

    Food - awful meals...my children would say that you'd read their minds, concerning my own cooking skills and the many meals they merely endure, rather than savor.

    Sex...oh, I had the most lovely dream, last night. Enough so that I wished my husband was able to stay home an extra hour or I was single again, just for one day.

    Congrats on the high score and good luck, later this week!

    The kids...Clay must be molded, constantly, to keep it maleable and workable. Children who do not have constant kneading will go through life constantly needing - needing what they don't have due to their own lack of cooperation and input. It's a shame, but it's sadly reaching epic proportions. A pandemic, perhaps?

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks for your reflections Amy... now you've got me wondering what that dream was about! Dammit!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Lol, never was there EVER a time I thought I would see a picture of my Beloved team's Ground on this blog!

    I applaud you Mr Yorkshire Pudding for making me smile.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Dawn - don't you mean laugh hysterically? Ha! HAAAA! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! And then some men come in a white van to take you away!

    ReplyDelete
  5. My brother was a tattooist. I'm not a fan, but it was fun to watch the 'types' who'd come to get done.

    ReplyDelete
  6. DIRK - I wonder what a tatto of a "dirk thruster" would look like. I bet it would be very popular with the ladies in Roma!

    ReplyDelete
  7. Well.... Feng Shui, doesn't happen enough around here, specially with my husband across the entire country.

    Tattoo's. I love them. I have only one. Of my design. I gave it to myself upon taking the test for my Masters Degree. On my outer thigh where I can cover it if need be.

    My daughter on the other hand has them everywhere except those pictured. She is not a vixen, she just is an anti- everything and her tattoo's are a pronouncement of her anti-ness.

    I am disappointed in mine however, since after waiting till I was 47, going to the most reputable artist on the coast, I wound up with his son, a novice and he made some mistakes. So now I have to find someone to fix it. That was 6 years ago and I still haven't had it fixed.

    Teaching is an eye opener. I taught college for 4 years. Just makes you want to shake your head and throw up your hands. Older students definitly make better students because they-Don't know everything- and are willing to learn

    ReplyDelete
  8. I like imagining what tattoo I would get, were I to get a tattoo. The thing is, I change my mind. Also, I want enamel colors. I think I would be much happier just pasting an enamel ladybug on my arm for a dinner-party, or an enamel frog on my wrist for a literary gathering. Sometimes, I joke about getting a sunflower tattoo all the way up my arm. Really, though, I don't want to get a tattoo, but I do like asking other people about their tattoos. There's often a reason/story involving some rite-of-passage or life-change.

    King Lear is my favorite Shakespeare play, too, at least of the tragedies. It really puts me through the ringer. I can only read it once every few years, and then I need to lie down with a cool cloth on my forehead.

    In keeping with the Shakespeare theme, I would say that you are a nightingale instead of an owl.:)

    ReplyDelete
  9. alas I fear I may have been one of the pupils who makes you so dispirited YP but if you teach an evening class then I will come and make up for everything!

    ReplyDelete
  10. Cliff - you're a very naughty, naughty boy! Get here NOW!...NO, I am not throttling you - just measuring your collar size... NO, I am not kneeing you in the testicles - just dancing! BIFF! BOP! BAM! And that's for the arrogant, the selfish, the self-obsessed cleverdicks who have become a plague within British schools and the wider society! Say "It weren't me!" now why don't you!

    ReplyDelete
  11. Tattoos: too permanent for my liking. I love the artistry of them, however. I prefer mendhi, and those nifty little fake tattoos, although I've never applied on since I do not, as of yet, have a tattoo-worthy body.

    Food: lovely subject. However, not the best if one is attempting to build said tattoo-worthy body.

    Students: I am in awe of teachers and their ability to deal with students. It cannot be the easiest of professions.

    Sex: why is it I think those recollections of yours would make those of us with lily white minds blush?

    ReplyDelete

Mr Pudding welcomes all genuine comments - even those with which he disagrees. However, puerile or abusive comments from anonymous contributors will continue to be given the short shrift they deserve. Any spam comments that get through Google/Blogger defences will also be quickly deleted.