A push too far?

Don’t you just love journalists?   I do, with a passion.  Without them, important and contentious issues would never have the airing they deserve.

In our normal daily lives, we all just get on the best we can.  When something is wrong,  we instinctively log it but because we are just ordinary people our only outlet for discussion is at home, in work, or with friends – or even on a blog like this, albeit a small voice in the cacophony which is the Internet.

And then, out-of-the-blue, an article in the national press which puts a sharp finger on the very issue in question.  In the Daily Mail today, it’s pushy mothers – that dangerous breed of females which can make your very life a living hell when you are on the receiving end of one – especially if you happen to be a teacher in an English public school.

The aforementioned article on pushy mothers in today’s Daily Mail is based upon the scathing attack by Kirsty Young, Desert Island Discs presenter and former newsreader.  Speaking ahead of her new BBC2 show, The British Family, Kirsty Young condemned the way children are forced to live out their parents’ dreams.  How right she is!  There have always been pushy mothers around but they are getting worse – and, they are increasing in numbers.

As I see it, there are several aspects to this issue.

• Firstly, as Kirsty Young quite rightly points out:  ’Most women don’t have careers. They have jobs that they have to do – to pay the electricity bill or buy school shoes.  Choosing to work or not to work is the ultimate luxury and it’s also a mark of how far women have come.’

She is right, of course, especially when it comes to many of the mothers of those children who happen to attend independent schools.  This breed of pushy mother is either trying to make up for the fact that they never had the chance to get a professional career for themselves and/or, because they are paying a lot of money for their children’s education, they want blood in return.

It must be remembered that back in the 1970s, only 5% of all 18 year-olds in the UK went to university; now the figure is much nearer to 50%.  The result of this is that many mothers in the older age bracket, who also had their children at an older age, did not go to university and therefore do not have professional careers.  They might have jobs, as Kirsty Young takes care to point out, but not careers.  Hence, their lives are dominated by the pursuit of the success of their children.

• Then there is the argument that some children need pushing and others don’t.  It’s a case of ‘horses for courses’.

But it’s not the pushing which is the problem – after all a parent is entitled to push their children if they choose to do so – it’s the nature in which it is done.  At boarding school, one hears many a cringing tale of pushy mothers making trouble, usually based on their ignorance of who their children really are, especially if they have been packing off their progeny to boarding school since an early age.  On the other hand, some of these youngsters are very good at lying, especially when parental pressure is on them to work and the parent suspects they have been wasting their hard-earned money.

The result?

Mayhem and long-lasting professional damage for the hard-working teacher in question!

Believe me; it is happening all of the time.

One female colleague, in particular, comes to mind who suffered badly for such a state of affairs, with several pushy mothers.   In one of these instances, after having told the mother at a parents’ evening that she was having difficulty getting any written work in from her lazy son, the mother’s response was to not only accuse the teacher of having a personality clash with her son but she also made an official complaint against that teacher, too – for upsetting her son!

Ideally, of course, children should be left to find their own level in life, without the pushing and only with gentle encouragement and support.  How many young people do we know who were pushed into professions which their parents demanded of them and are unhappy in return?  Surely happiness and health should be aspired to above personal wealth?

Read more at: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1240650/The-modern-disease-pushy-mothers-Kirsty-Young.html#ixzz0bjVSVuO0

• Of course, you can push a child too far and even alienate them.  This clip from ‘You Tube’ would be the extreme – so beware!

Happy pushing, you mums out there!

May we always have a free press and freedom of speech in this country!

'I say, Rupert.... Hold your chin up and put your hands in your pockets, old boy. We're having our photo taken to show those scruffy commoners how to dress properly.'

If you have never experienced an English public school, then you will never be able to grasp how much this photograph (taken from the recent TV programme on Boris Johnson and David Cameron’s time at Eton College and Oxford University) reflects the arrogance and privilege of young public school toffs.

But butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, you might say!

I would say in reply: ‘Don’t be fooled!’

These toffs have been drilled to be quite the charmer with anyone they meet, especially when dolled up in their expensive suits and with a bottle of bubbly in their hands – right from their school days.

But, when push comes to shove, that is, when they want their way, they will use any dirty means to get it – lies, embroilments, back-stabbing, stamping on people, incorrectly reporting back incidents to housemasters or parents when at school…….the list goes on.

And what is worse, these toffs will remain like this throughout their lives as leopards never change their spots.

One might therefore agree that Gordon Brown is right to target the Tory Party as a party of ‘toffs’  in today’s national newspapers. After all, the House of Commons and the House of Lords is littered with them – and that does not include the rest of the English Establishment.

So, where does this selfish, two-faced, Machiavellian outlook on life come from?

Why, from the toffs’ rich mothers and fathers, of course! Remember – like begets like!

Just pity the teachers who had to teach them.

'I say, Rupert. Just love the flowers. Did mumsy trim them for you?'

What’s this I read in The Daily Mail?

The toffs at Eton College are willing to share their boating lake and sports’ facilities with the common lads from the local scruffy comprehensive school?

And – according to their headmaster – they are quite happy to be involved with other schools, too.  As if they have been thinking about it!  And for a long while!  After all, mutual links between independent and state schools are not new – and it is 2009, after all!

Wow!  So what’s going on at Eton College?  Do I detect a warm wind a-blowing through them fausty old schoolrooms?

Or is there something more sinister behind this seemingly wonderful act of benevolence?

So, is this sharing being done out of the goodness of their rich little hearts?

Or is it because the Charity Commission is after their rich little …..?

A Charity Commission who would not hesitate to remove the charitable status of any independent school who dares not to engage positively with the community around them.

So what would it mean to independent schools if they did lose their charitable status, you might innocently ask?

Well, the schools would have to pay more tax, that’s what!  Something they don’t do as much as you think because they are all charities – you know, like Oxfam, Mencap, Mind……except without the good works for the benefit of mankind! You get the message – a charity in name only……but with all the tax benefits.                                                                                                    

So some charity these schools then, you might exclaim!  Greedy, eh?

Yes, I would cry!

And who would benefit from all of this charitable status?

Well, there’s only one answer, isn’t there?  It’s the monied, priviledged middle class of this country, the ones who send their Ruperts and Hermiones to posh schools and who want to ensure that these schools continue to thrive for centuries and generations to come.

After all, like begets like.

Until the financial cord is cut.

Recently, people have been talking about two things: the end of the world and John Cusack. So here are some LOLz about John Cusack. Just kidding. But it makes you wonder — how will the world really go? Natural disasters, global warming, or Kim Jong Il?

Graph by: spartan914 via Graph Jam Builder

Graph by: evanescencefan91 via Graph Jam Builder

Graph by: EternoAprendiz via Graph Jam Builder

I don’t wish to take on the anger of the high and mighty but the article in today’s Daily Mail on Salman Rushdie’s chequered love life leaves one asking just one very simple question, which only Sir Salman himself would be in a position to answer.

Rugby School looking across The Close, the playing field where according to legend the game of rugby was invented.

How much of his dysfunctional lifestyle was influenced by his school days at that ancient of English public schools, Rugby School?

A school which has a bloody recent and past history of arrogance and bad behaviour amongst its pupils.

A school with a long history of unfavourable publicity in the national press: drug-taking, sexism against girls at the school, fights between sixth form pupils in the school bar, and pupils being expelled for having sex on the hallowed turf of The Close.   And who is behind leaking these stories to the press?  Clearly persons on the inside; persons who probably have a well-founded grudge against the school.

And this doesn’t include situations going on behind the scenes, situations which insiders manage to keep to themselves to prevent them from getting into the public domain: baseball bat-wielding fights between boarders and local teenagers, fights between pupils and locals on rugby trips abroad, pupils out of their trees on vodka, and derogatory name-calling of locals in the streets around the school.  And what of the sometimes appalling behaviour in the classroom and boarding houses which has contributed to a teacher’s head rolling in consequence – from false accusations to job losses?  And what of the suicide of two housemasters in recent times? How much of their pain was caused by unruly pupils?

So where does a part of this bad behaviour stem from?  Why from a faction of demanding, over-bearing and stinking rich parents, too busy coining in the money to give the time of day to practising some decent manners and passing them on to their progeny. And a school all-too-ready to listen to and act upon, without question, the sometimes blighted opinions of its pupils, against its own staff.

The local community, however, saw through this school as a place for rich toffs a long while back.  Why else is there an extensive history of crime perpetrated against the property of the school and its members?

Why else have there been burglaries, attempted burglaries and thefts, prowlers and torched cars?  And what about the drug deals and assaults which occur in the very public streets around the school?  No wonder the school has installed a comprehensive close circuit television system, instigated clandestine security checks by plain clothes policemen, and hired security firms with vicious dogs to prowl the school at keys times in its calendar, particularly when rich parents roll up at the school.

Such is a modern day boarding school in a working class town.

Was it like this when you were at school, Sir Salman?

Read more at: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1221203/Actress-Pia-Glenns-stinging-attack-Cowardly-immature-dysfunctional–Salman-Rushdie-just-got-prostitute.html

Has everyone gone to China?

Great news!  My head of department is off to China for six months!  To a school which has close ties with Eccentric School.com.

The rumour is he’s been elbowed out from his managerial position.  Well, why else would Eccentric School.com advertise his job in the Times Educational Supplement? He says he may or may not come back after the six months is over.  What a strange thing to say, especially as his head of department’s post will not be waiting for him when he gets back!

The department is full of experienced and talented teachers who could, to the very last one of them, have easily stepped into his shoes - and done a better job in the process.  And apart from that, there is a very generous financial allowance attached to the job.  But were they interested?  Hell no!  They recognise a heavily ‘poisoned chalice’ when they see one.

From my own point of view, I will be looking forward to the day when the constant stream of unhealthy, unprofessional situations which have dogged me since I arrived at the school no longer come my way.  And why is that?  Because the perpetrator will be thousands of miles away, out of sight, out of mind.  Bring it on!

So……

• no more being shouted at when one of my experiments goes wrong (although the kids love it!)
• no more being tutted at or eyes raised to the ceiling at me when I express an opinion
• no more being dragged into his office to have trivial things thrown up in my face because he doesn’t like something I’ve said, written or planned, even though there is nothing wrong with what I have done
• no more blaming me for everything which goes wrong in the department
• no more emails being written to my colleagues behind my back which blatantly map me out as someone who is difficult and unapproachable. No wonder some of my colleagues openly ignore me or try to put me down in company!
• no more keeping my emails in a special folder, as if he is building a portfolio against me – something he doesn’t do for anyone else in the department
• no more forwarding my emails on to the Director of Studies each time something happens which he perceives I have done wrong, incorrectly, not to his liking etc.
• no more doing a load of work for him with no word of acknowledgement, let alone a word of thanks
• no more being regularly picked on or clearly targeted in departmental meetings, resulting in my feeling slapped down, humiliated or criticised in front of my colleagues, when they know me to be a good, hard-working teacher
• no more changing my teaching room or exam papers I’ve lovingly prepared without the decency and professional courtesy of telling me beforehand
• no more putting every new pupil joining the school mid-term into my classes because he knows I have effective materials to help them catch up on the work they have missed
• no more telling his department that he is going to delegate out some of his workload (for which he is very handsomely paid) so that he can concentrate more on his school basketball team!
• no more negative ear-bashing on every issue under the sun, making us all feel unappreciated and professionally incompetent
• no more unhappy technicians, constantly under his over-critical eye and over-burdening demands to do his work for him
• no more unhappy teachers in his department

Oh, God!  I could go on.  But you get the picture?

Funny these things only happen with him and no-one else I have direct professional contact with, isn’t it?  And no wonder I spent two weeks agonising over his professional appraisal which I had been asked to do last summer term.  And why?  Because I knew that if I suggested the things which needed to change in the department (like putting some schemes of work into place!), he would have made my life even more of a hell than it already was.  So what did I do? I backed out, purely out of fear.

So. The sooner he goes to China, the better we will all be for it.

He’s got away with being a bully for far, far too long.

But at least he has now got his comeuppance – by being exiled to a school in China. Bring it on!

Canon Fodder

FOX NEWS IS PORNOGRAPHIC:

We don’t have to take pornographic mail, why should we have to take FOX?  All that phony-baloney religious programming is offensive, too.  I want the freedom to choose.  Give me “a la carte” cable.  I don’t want to pay for pornography.

 NOTHING IS HOLY IN THE “HOLY” LAND:

Any claim to “holiness” in ownership of the “Holy” Land, by any constituent of any side, is preposterous.  People of every persuasion have been killing each other over this crap hunk of real estate for thousands of years, to no apparent resolution, pretty much to malign purpose, and to the point of certifiable mental disease.

Their feuds are mindlessly generational, and they routinely dishonor their prophets and messiahs.  Peace is an illusion, reason is a poor orphan; “right” is confused with “rite;” and “hope” is just a word.

The people of the “Holy” Land are primarily useful to International Capitalists as trade route and pipeline handlers – since ancient times.  Their demographic division is a matter of greed supported by superstition.  Their migratory waves have pushed each other back and forth from Baghdad to Cairo for six thousand years.  Don’t let ‘em kid you, the protagonists have been a blood thirsty bunch for a mighty long time – no foolin’.  The “Holy” Land has always been incredibly harsh and savage; and its peoples have never been any different.  This is a piece of earth that people kill and die over repeatedly.

In practice, “god” – whatever Her, His, or Its name is – is a “get out of jail free” card for murder, and a justification for crimes against humanity and the planet.  Most cultures condone and/or pardon violence done to the “Alien Other.”  Fathers teach sons, who teach sons, who teach sons how to hate.  In that sense, the peoples of the “Holy” Land are not unique – just amazingly obsessive about that little crap hunk of real estate.

Who’d be so damned stupid as to stick his big old idiot foot into that “holy muck?”  Perhaps, a megalomaniac, a psychopath, or a sectarian nut.  In the “holy” land, Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed sang about morality, peace and love in mind-numbing chorus.  In the Sixties, the Beatles sang, “Give peace a chance.”  In the Seventies, John Lennon added, “All you need is love.”  Of course, nobody listened to any of those do-gooders, and we now sing, “Waist deep in the Big Muddy, and the Big Fool says to Push On!”

It’s very hard to believe that any respectable or self-respecting god might have any interest and/or want to claim any responsibility for the disastrous generational holocaust in the so-called “Holy” Land.  Self-deception is, indeed, the fundamental core value of the human race.

 PEOPLE LIKE GOD LIKE SUPERMAN:

People like god for the same reason they like Superman.  They’re looking for a he-man hero savior who will kill all the bad guys and make the world safe for puny mortals.  People like a quick fix and gods and superheroes can, at least imaginatively, give them one.

A child may dream, “If I was god/superman, oh, the changes I would make!”  An adult knows this will never happen, and if it did, they probably couldn’t handle it.  However, adults can and do choose to believe in an all-powerful, all-knowing god/superhero who will (eventually) “make everything better.”  The child says, “Close your eyes real tight and make believe with all your might.”  Adults pray for deliverance.

People apparently don’t want to work for deliverance.  They want it delivered; in fact, expect to receive it by hand from their imagined, and of course invisible, giant god/superhero in the sky (by and by).  It requires determined ignorance and dogged superstition to resist reason and responsibility.  Science has to be suppressed and rejected so that it won’t threaten the house of cards.  Regular, preferably daily instruction in ignorance and superstition is mandatory.

People may wean from Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy to embrace an even grander imaginary friend and benefactor with whom they may never share a single real word or thought, either.  They accept the secondhand word of a person declaring him/herself to be expert in a book of largely anonymous secondhand anecdotes.  The book was gathered from a multitude of completely unverified sources over several thousand years of political, social and philosophic revolution, weeded, edited, and reissued as a certified collection of largely anonymous secondhand anecdotes now purported to be directly inspired by the imagined invisible cloud being, god, superhero.

Ignorance and superstition are encouraged by the bland, if fanatic, reassurance that “all’s right in god’s world, or will be made so” (sometime).  The self-interested and often greedy people who deliver this message may actually believe the claptrap that they preach.  However, they cannot deny their venal interest in resisting any and all freethinking, diversity, or dissent.

A venal leadership inevitably yields vengeance and oppression.  Throughout history, such leaders have been the instigators of hatred, prejudice, bigotry and violence on a worldwide scale.  As for dead, dead’s dead – even a dog knows it when he sees it – and you can’t get much more empirical than that.

Thomas Paine taught us that reason, no matter how resisted or reviled, is the only path to truth.

 RINGADINGDING:

Okay, I don’t like Star Wars.  I can’t accept George Lucas as my personal lord and savior, and parts I-III, and V-VI suck.  Retitle the series: Cliché Bores.  I do like Lord of the Rings, Tolkein didn’t pretend to wisdom.  However, I take issue with Peter Jackson’s film version: it didn’t matter in the books, but on gigantic screen, the military ineptness of all the principals is strikingly awful.  Consider:

• No moats, and obviously no drawbridges, on any of the castle-fortresses!  Attackers walk right up to the walls and the front door without effort.
• The major fortresses back against cliffs, inviting attack from above.  The attackers display their ineptitude by not discovering and using such major weakness; the defenders by not noticing when they built the stupid joints.
• No gauntlet or enfilade towers.  Attackers rush to the front door, bust it open and they’re in.  Very stupid.  Even primitive motte and bailey castle approaches were through narrow gate passages with arrow loops to shoot invaders in them, and flanked by towers to fire at enemies from all sides.
• No horse or anti-personnel traps in the perimeter, not even sharpened stakes or concealed pits with spikes in the bottom.  The whole horde is on your doorstep at once.  “Oh, god, we only have stew for five!”
• No ship obstacles or defense nets in the harbors – landing parties always welcome, bring your own beverages.
• No dock defenses, not even a guy with a hammer; just hop off the boat and waltz right in, without so much as a teamster organizer in your way.
• No battle formations!  The armies line up in impressive scowling mobs and then run at one another, crashing into an every man-woman-thing for him-her-itself melee.  Subtlety, thy other name is idiot chaos.
• No security screens, no spies out gathering information of any kind – not even, “How’s the weather down there, Gimli?” when Gimli the Dwarf complains of not being able to see the enemy; he should be so special?
• No guerilla sorties – no harassment tactics.  No attacks on supply lines.  No need for supplies?   Orcs carry everything needed for one big overwhelming it’s a done deal battle?  That’s self-confidence, or more evidence of how militarily (at least) dumb they are; echoes of George W. Bush, Halliburton and the Republicans in Iraq.
• No boiling oil/water/Greek fire.  I’ll give them the Greek fire since Middle Earth is theoretically before that, but it’s clear to see why M.E. didn’t survive long enough to benefit from Greek inventiveness.  No one exercises much imagination in stopping the bad guys, not even starting an avalanche when the baddies are walking at the bottom of a big honking mountain talus slope that’s ready to slide at a wisp of wind or the touch of a hairy little Hobbit foot.

Well, I could think of more, but this appeared the most obvious, so there it is.  A friend once said, “If the communist menace [so-called] was as monolithic and efficient as described by our leaders, we’d be dead; fortunately they turned out to be as screwed up as we are.”  So, root for Frodo, and pray his fellowship survives its own ineptitude.  Given the collapse of communism and Bush’s record in Iraq, I guess it’s realistic after all. – 6-22-05

Off the Banks of Goldman Sachs.

Industry Cash Flowed to Drafters of Reform
http://www.commondreams.org/headline/2009/07/21-5

House Committee Approves Kucinich-Sponsored Measure to Keep Single-Payer Option Alive
http://www.commondreams.org/video/2009/07/21-1

LAST WORDS: 

Whenever we come to the Book of Revelations we must always ask the same question, “Who wrote this crap?”

Well, here we are again; another year over and it’s Speech Day. Hurrah!

In most schools, this important day of the academic year is known as Prize Day or Prize Giving but in the public school sector it has a grander name, Speech Day, which is more apt because that is indeed what it is – one long line of speeches, with just the shortest of time spans given over to the dishing out of prizes to pupils.

The day usually starts off with the arrival of the prize winners and their parents at the designated venue. It is a chance for the pupils to dress smartly for a change and for their parents to don their best, best designer outfits and expensive shoes – and oh, of course, to roll out the Bentley or Aston Martin, the family car they wouldn’t normally be seen dead in, just in case the local ragamuffins damaged it. And what do the teachers wear? Well, just their academic hoods and gowns – a chance to show off who went to Oxbridge or the University of Nowhere.

There is always, of course, a dignitary of some note or other who will preside over the distribution of prizes, their national importance being directly proportional to the social pulling power of the headmaster himself – an author, an MP, some high ranking bloke from the armed services or the church, a famous old boy (never a famous old girl, especially in the top public schools) or even royalty if the school has that sort of connections. And then the speeches – long and extremely tedious:

• from the Chairman of Governors – always taking the safe mid-line approach, nothing contentious here, so much so that by the end of his speech (always a ‘he’) you wonder why the duffer got up in the first place;
• from the visiting dignitary - using flowing, glowing and all-knowing language about the ‘wonderful’ pupils and their school. ‘How lucky you are’ and ‘It wasn’t like this in my day’ are favourite and timeless sayings;
• and then the Demon Headmaster – brace yourself – for a potted version of the year’s events and achievements and plans for the future, never brief and certainly never interesting. It’s just laborious lip service to his role as top dog. The best bits, which teachers discuss in their huddles later on, are the ones which involve subtle hints of the controversies which have occurred over the year – the overstated appreciation of a colleague who is leaving the school under a cloud, the award of a prize to a rude or badly-behaved pupil, a troublemaker no less, or gushing references to a pupil who has brought shame on the school in a more public manner. But do not forget the public school mantra – that everyone deserves a second chance and forgiveness! And then the ebullient praise to individual departments such as art, music, drama and sport for their magnificent achievements that year, forgetting that as outwardly showy actvities that this is exactly their brief! The headmaster has forgotten, yet again, to mention those hard working departments in the backgound – such as science and maths – the trainers of tomorrow’s engineers and scientists, doctors and dentists, and vets! No mean feat, one would think!

A recent article in The Telegraph reckoned that low achievers deserve prizes, too. What poppy cock! What would be the point of doing that? Are not the low achievers in public schools the trouble makers, the liars, and the blaggers who say they will improve next time and continue to be lazy or wilfully disruptive?And remembering that the Demon Headmaster tells the pupils that they can be ‘anything that they choose to be‘, then under-achievement is not even on the radar at Eccentric School.com!

But all of this pettiness aside, once the tedious speech-making is over, the proceedings then move on to the best part of the day:

Yar, Yar! Cheers, everyone!

• drinks with parents either in boarding houses or in some central space, around a jolly good game of cricket for instance. This year, despite the crippling credit crunch, the champagne was flowing like water which goes to prove that the bubble culture is alive and kicking for the affluent English middle classes. The champagne also makes the chore of remembering the names of parents and praising up their offspring when one shouldn’t a little more palatable, especially if one lands up going home with a spare bottle which matron has secretly distributed to the house tutors once the parents have moved on to their Fortnum and Mason picnics. One gets the immediate impression that the parents at Eccentric School. com seem totally detached from the financial heartache of the credit crunch which has destroyed so many lives thus far. No having to sell the third car or second home for them, if you please, or even foregoing the sixth family holiday abroad this year!

• and then time for wandering around the exhibitions and displays of every and any nature – art, design, music, sport, polo, the CCF – the list is seemingly endless. And seemingly tedious, too?

Finally, here is an extract from ‘The Grim Rupert‘ (Lesson 23) which gives a brief insight into how Speech Day in some public schools can be quite a scary experience!

• If anyone recognises which English Public School this might refer to, then please contact this blog!

Speech Day was held on the very last day of the summer term.
It was a frightening and intimidating experience.
Teachers all gowned up in their rainbow colours, and furs of their alma mater,
And parents in their best bib-and-tucker, and real tans,
With their Mercedes, BMWs, Jaguars, and Bentleys parked precariously outside.
A prime target for the smash-and-grab brigade, in a working class town.
All packed into the Speech Room, with just a few spare places for prize-winning pupils,
Almost as an after-thought.
Teachers in a multitude of rows of wooden benches, severely tiered on the stage;
Parents in a multitude of rows of plush chairs, softly tiered in the auditorium.
Teachers and parents, face-to-face, almost nose-to-nose.
Eyes everywhere: sensing, searching, and checking no one face was glaring at another.
Teachers acutely aware of parents who’d given them a hard time with their incessant aggressive complaints,
And of their progeny who’d made their lives a misery with their incessant aggressive behaviour in the classroom.
Like, engendering like.
Parents aware of teachers, whose work they were constantly dissatisfied with,
And pupils who were the cause of the problems in the first place, with their arrogance and rudeness.
Tension was in the air.
England! Oh, England!
Is this what you are so proud of when you boast your education abroad?
And then, the proceedings start.
The tall, emaciated headmaster stands up to lord it over his fee-paying clients, to waffle on about this-and-that
And how well the school was doing.
And wasn’t he and the governors clever at achieving it all?
And then the nudge to her left, a slight twist of the head, a swivel of the eyes to see what was up.
A piece of paper, a pen, and a whisper of an instruction.
She stiffened for several seconds, looking straight ahead at the sea of eyes, seemingly on top of her,
Afraid they were watching what she was doing, what she was thinking.
Could she do it?
Could she bend her head to write, knowing hers would be the only one to move
Amongst a blur of motionless bodies?
Fuck it!
Of course, she could.
‘Projected length of headmaster’s speech’.
15 minutes, she thought?
Number of times he mentions the term ‘Faggs Foundation’.
40 times, she thought? Or maybe even 50?
She filled in the form,
And passed it on.
And then the school song.
Loud,
War-like,
Victorious and proud.
In Latin.
Teachers who criticised the school, singing loudly and forcefully as if they enjoyed it,
As if things were never amiss.
And then, at the end, a smartly-dressed figure, bedecked in Italian high fashion,
Searching,
For the piece of paper with times and names on it: the sweepstake concerning the headmaster’s speech,
The sweepstake, which would have annoyed him immensely.
And the figure?
Not a rank-and-file joker who’d seen it all before, or one who was bored with the proceedings,
But a well-respected one.
One who had the head’s ear.
One who had influence.
Teresa, a housemistress.
The one who’d taken over from Vivian!

• The clip below is taken from the film ‘If’.
• Are you surprised that this Speech Day landed up in a riot?
• Going back in history, such riots are known to have occurred at the odd public school here and there; on such occasions, even the army had to be brought in to quell the naughty school boys!
• Incidentally, the weapons at the end are provided with the courtesy of the Combined Cadet Force (the CCF), a curiously quaint and ancient public school tradition!

An appraisal system should be a regular, integral and important part of any teacher’s career. Without it, vital opportunities to progress, in both a personal and professional sense, are missed.

With this very simple concept in mind, consider the appraisal system at Eccentric School.com.

• You arrive, well before your allotted time, at the Demon Headmaster’s office, nervous. 
• On being seated on one of his sofas, you realise he is fumbling with your paperwork. 
• He is silently apologetic because his body language has quickly given the game away – he hasn’t had the time to read the multitude of forms you have carefully and lovingly filled in, several days in advance of the interview, as per instruction.
• You semi-forgive the poor man because you recall he’s been here-there-and-everywhere, had this interview, that interview, expelled this boy, that boy……etc, etc, etc.
• Then, you remember that this is your appraisal. All things professional rest on this meeting, for the next two years – what he thinks of you, what he’s got planned for you……etc, etc, etc. You stare at the man, remaining motionless.
• You then quickly consider the gossip you’ve gleaned, some of the crazy comments the Demon’s made to your colleagues in their appraisal interviews:                                              

            Demon Headmaster: What shall we talk about?
            Appraisee 1: Dumbfounded silence.
            Secret thought: Now that you’ve come to mention it, what about the way you treat your staff?

            Demon Headmaster: Are you afraid of me?
            Appraisee 2: Dumbfounded silence.
            Secret thought: Bloody hell, yes! Can’t you see me quaking in my boots? Or are you blind as well as cruel?

            Demon Headmaster: I have your happiness in my hands. 
            Appraisee 3: Dumbfounded silence.
            Secret thought: I didn’t know I had any here! May I have it back? Today. Please?

            Demon Headmaster: Do you trust me?
            Appraisee 4: Dumbfounded silence.
            Secret thought: Of course, I don’t! You are the Demon Headmaster, almighty and powerful and dangerous! 
            Don’t you know anything about the abuse of power?

• You bump back down to earth, wondering what sort of outrageous comment he’s going to come out with this time – for you. You commit, in a new thought framework, to being a little firmer with the man. Where others have failed, you might succeed. 
• But your plan fails before it has time to get off the ground. The Demon Headmaster has already launched, without so much as any significant word from you, into his singular diatribe. 
• Your throat is cut before you’ve even had time to raise your hand to defend yourself. Well-being, his favourite mantra, has all but been forgotten.
• Finally, you realise that all of this professional destruction has occurred over a period of just four minutes; a bolt-on feature in one’s career. 
• This attacking approach to appraisal might be fine for some but for many good professionals, this is simply just not good enough. You realise that appraisal at Eccentric School.com.is really just a game of Hit-And-Miss, with a heavy emphasis on the Hit. 
• Thereafter, depression is guaranteed to quickly set in.

 
If only appraisal at Eccentric School. com was like this……

What a laugh!

Have you heard that Dinner at the Demon Headmaster’s is an hilarious affair? Admittedly, he is a generous and ebullient soul, opening the doors of his palatial home on a regular basis to provide wonderful food and wine to his hard-pressed and grateful staff. But at what psychological cost to those present? 

This is the pattern of his behaviour, no matter what, who, when or why: 

The Demon's banging on a bit, ain't 'e? Do you think 'e's lost it?

1. Once the polite chat and pre-dinner drinks are over and everyone has been carefully guided to their pre-allocated places at the dinner table, the fun immediately begins. One can almost feel the excitement….no, tension….in the air. What will he do tonight? Will it include me?

2. Initially, he might begin the table conversation by pontificating on some topical area or another, albeit in a congenial and uncontentious manner. Everyone listens politely, nodding their heads in agreement, secretly wondering how long will it be before he launches into his infamous and most dangerous phase – picking on unsuspecting individuals. To do what, you might ask? Well, anything really. Whatever takes his fancy.

3. During this third and most annoying phase, one is suddenly and unwillingly whisked away from the good food, drink and conversation with one’s neighbours, whilst a book – of poetry, no more, no less – suddenly appears from the depth of the Demon Headmaster’s pocket or from the top of the sideboard behind. As the seemingly inoffensive item winds its precarious way around the table, like a hot potato or the parcel in ‘Pass the Parcel’, one’s eyes quietly meet those of fellow diners. Everyone is immediately silent. And then, in perfect union, the diners recoil in horror, like the slow-motion ripples of a Mexican wave.

But there’s no point in hiding behind one’s fellow diners! The Demon has already called out your name to read from the book, before you’ve even had chance to gulp down another swig of wine – for Dutch courage, you understand.

4. Sometimes, the table conversation will turn to a particular topic or theme, like romance or a favourite place one has visited. Under these circumstances, one can guarantee that his favourites will be invited to relay how they met or married, or where they spent their favourite holiday – you get the picture – whilst those not in that hallowed circle will be ignored, particularly if they are divorced or single. For these poor creatures, the notion of a relationship or a holiday or even visiting a favourite place is not given any credence at all! 

Recently, one colleague, often trapped in this demeaning way, gained the admiration of her fellow diners by meeting the Demon’s fire with fire, by offering to sing a song before she could be asked to do anything else; in doing so, she cleverly headed the Demon off at the pass. Apparently, she sang a song about a donkey but whatever that had to do with the theme of dinner conversation is anybody’s guess! Another colleague even keeps a miniature book of poems, carefully secreted away in her handbag so that if she is ever called upon, out-of-the-blue, she is ready and awaiting! 

Curiously, some of his favourites at Dinner turn out to be the Bad Guys, those who are in managerial positions putting unnecessary pressure on others or not giving professional support to colleagues when they should do. Like the old-school housemaster of a mixed boarding house, who always takes the side of his misbehaving boarders and their mis-informed, blind parents, against you – backstabbing you in the process, never even asking you what the other side of the story is, whatever that might be. It’s ‘the pupil is always right’ and ‘you are always wrong’. End of story. 

And now, as a final word on the whole issue of Dinner – listen up, Demon Headmaster! If you really want to give a great dinner party, then take a look at this for style:

In his seemingly restless quest to transform Eccentric School.com into one of the best schools in the world (pigs might fly), the Demon Headmaster is determined to cut down to size everything and everyone in his way, including what should be one of his most treasured and respected assets – the older, wiser and more experienced members of his teaching staff. Clearly, his genius has turned to madness.

Increasingly, in between the rushing around and hard work, these older teachers find themselves huddling in small, secretive groups to discuss what is going on around them.

Mostly, their whisperings are about their increasing feeling of being under-valued by the senior management, with the Demon Headmaster leering down at them from the top of the big steaming pile.

Not that one always looks for appreciation but it would occasionally make a change from being side-lined and ignored, whilst one has got one’s nose constantly to the grindstone keeping the school afloat – the pillars of the school, so-to-speak.

And then there are the other times, when their whisperings express outrage at the derogatory comments made about them, as a group, in open forum – in front of their younger colleagues.

The implication is loud and clear – the older members of staff are outdated in their skills and therefore of little use to the Demon Headmaster’s quest to dominate the world. Although this lack of skills is nowhere near the truth – after all most of these teachers have been employed by him – it’s the verbal and psychological grinding down which hurts. And worries. The older teachers are firmly on his radar.

From active career to enforced retirement, to the grave...all in just a blink of the eye at Eccentric School.com?

And then came the news which substantiated still further the worries of this threatened group – the new pay scale. The intention of this scale is to ensure that teaching staff reach the top of the pay scale by the age of 45 years of age.

Sounds good?

Not really. The message is loud and clear – when you reach the top of the scale you either lump it and like it or you move on to another school. The Demon Headmaster wants the older teachers out.

No wonder depression is setting in!

The Demon Headmaster alias The Little Green Pixie

If one could stand still and look up for just a brief moment at the magnificent main buildings of Eccentric School.com, one would immediately get the impression that the place exuded the calm ambience so characteristic of the English way of life. How wrong they would be! As one would imagine, when around a thousand people live closely together on one, relatively small, plot of land, it doesn’t take much encouragement for mayhem to erupt. But all undercover, of course, to maintain that oh, so important, Veneer of Calm.

Tales of boys parading around late at night getting up to any untold mischief, keeping others from sleeping, and girls sneaking into boys’ dormitories for the night until early dawn, abound in boarding schools such as these. And who could blame them when they are so far away from the steadying influences of home life? This is why the senior management are often grumpy, red-faced and stressed, trying to sift through and sort out the misdemeanours of misbehaving teenagers. It is for this very reason why one should aim to stay away from it all, not even to spend the time of day asking about the ins-and-outs of exactly what has gone on. Living on site in a boarding school has got to be as bad as a mummy’s curse; once sucked in, there is no turning back.

Recently, The Demon Headmaster gave what the head of sixth form called an X-Rated Blast, where he verbally ripped out the innards of the poor sixth formers, basically telling them they were losers, in a heartless and thoughtless effort to impress upon them the need to get good exam results in the summer. No wonder the pupils turn to their creature comforts as a form of quick escape – including frequenting their smoking dens, all fitted out with chairs and tables, and other such homely paraphernalia, which they have carefully secreted away amidst the surrounding luscious wooded greenery!

A Smoking Den

Quite frankly, colleagues are fed up with the repetitive tactic employed by The Demon Headmaster, with virtually everyone at the school. This well-practiced repertoire begins at the start of the week when he gives both pupils and staff a rollocking for being this-that-and-the-other. Then, by the end of the week, he is full of praise and other such glossy expletives, telling whoever-it-is how wonderful they are!

After the X-Rated Blast to the sixth formers, he eventually realised that he had over-stepped the mark of good reason, somewhat. So what did he do? He sent an email to his senior management and housemasters, at the dead of night when all good people should be sleeping, to explain the mental anguish he was going through as a result of his over-zealousness for getting good exam grades! In his email, he even had the gall to ask his over-worked managers to pay extra care to those sixth formers totally stressed out by his heartless rant – and after he had created all the damage in the first place!

And what was the basis of all of this unnecessary upset? Why, the League Tables, of course. End of story.

With all of this going on around me, I know when something is Not Quite Right. So what can I do to preserve my professional sanity? Just play The Game, of course. And I have perfected it rather well, in so many cynical ways. When my Year 11 class recently went on study leave, I knew that I had to smile sweetly at them as they fired insults at me about my teaching, what I said, what I did, about anything, really; whatever came into their over-privileged, adolescent minds. I even told them that I would miss them all. There was even a tiny tear in my eye, albeit a crocodile one. But the tear and smile soon evaporated, as every last fugger disappeared out through my classroom door. For the last time.

And because teaching staff get fed up with the perpetual arrogance and rudeness of some of these rich kids and their over-demanding parents, the more they seek revenge in their own, small way.

Like the colleague who finds, and then destroys, deliciously, any books or papers or files belonging to any pupil who has ever given her angst. 

I’ll have to try that one……

so sweet......

As a professional teacher, what does one think and do when the headmaster tells his teaching staff that he is going to put a stop to staff not doing any work in their school holidays? Will one be forced to monitor and log the long hours spent at home during the holidays marking books, planning lessons, searching the Internet for information, and preparing teaching materials, just to satisfy the unreasonable and random rantings of a megalomaniac? Surely not! And besides, where is it written in a teacher’s contract that they have to work in their holidays, even though good professionals always will, and willingly, spend many hours engaged in such activities? If you have a contract, that is.

And then, surprisingly, he admitted that he recognised that there was great unfairness in staff workload, both within and between departments. This admission is fine but surely such differences are hard to control as they are symptomatic of the subject taught and the personality traits of the individual teacher concerned. Is it therefore fair to give a bollocking to an economics teacher or a business studies teacher because their subject is only taught in the sixth form and not to pupils below these years?

Or was he talking about the ‘Old Guard’, the ones who’ve been at the school for many years. Cleverly, these male teachers have steathily engineered a lighter timetable for themselves, which involves very little teaching of their subject to younger pupils, being almost exclusively directed towards sixth form pupils – the icing on the teaching cake, no less.

And now to the point – how does the headmaster intend to put a stop on those teachers who choose not to work in their school holidays? Tag them? Follow them? Visit them in their homes? Or just simply dish out holiday tasks, homework maybe, which he would then take in to mark or assess, so-to-speak? What craziness is this? Rats wanting to leave a sinking ship immediately comes to mind and, after a recent night out with some colleagues, it looks as though dissent amongst the ranks, management or otherwise, is more rife than appearances would at first suggest. It seems that colleagues are keeping a firm lid on their disgust and disquiet, only willing to get it off their chests when safely behind locked doors with their most trusted friends. Whatever transpires, these are interesting times!

It was also rumoured recently that it’s not just the headmaster who’s losing his marbles. The deputy head took two whole days to respond to and rescue a female colleague from her screaming and dysfunctional male head of department after she had emailed for some help. The head of department had arrived unannounced in her room, as was his normal want, to start ranting at her pupils without a by-your-leave or explanation as to his behaviour. The department is clearly in crisis, with two members of staff already off to pastures new at the end of this academic year. If all of the tales of unprofessional behaviour are true, any female head of department behaving in such a manner would have been sacked a long while back. But not this man. And what about the slack deputy head?

And then, there is the housemaster, whose time off this year has become quite legendary: his wife is ill, his children are ill, he has to take his wife to the doctor, his children are…etc…etc…. Then, whilst his young and willing assistant continues to run the house in his frequent absence, he announces, on the back of simply nothing except a poor reputation amongst his colleagues, that he has a new job at a prep school – as headmaster! Talk about the ‘Gift of the Gab’! But this is the norm, in schools like this.

So, what’s the answer to our frightening dilemma?

Why, just give in, that’s what!

After all, our well-being is paramount!

And there he stood, small yet extremely influential. A screaming megalomaniac, spitting vehemently into the microphone, in front of hundreds of expectant parents. Hesitant cries of ‘Yes’ suddenly broke out around the room, like repeating gun fire, in answer to his enforced question ‘Can you all hear me?’ The bags under his eyes, certainly visible from the back of the large hall, were grim reminders of his incessant insomnia. Does he really only need between two and four hours of sleep a night? Or is it just bravado, so that he can be haughtily compared to the distinguished likes of Sir Winston Churchill, Margaret Thatcher, or even Adolf Hitler?

And pigs might fly.....

His ranting about how each pupil could ‘Be What They Wanted To Be In Life’ must have been heartening to the parents standing there with their offspring, coffee cups in hand. But what did it mean for those hard-working and embarassed Teachers present at this parents’ meeting? Already adept at pulling the wool over parents’ eyes to a ‘Certain Acceptable Degree’ as to how well or not-so-well their child was doing at school, The Rant would have certainly grated the pits of their churning stomachs. They knew instinctively what would have to happen next. Even more lying on their behalf to keep parents off their backs!

So! Who is this Little Green Pixie, whose over-encouragement and over-optimisim is breeding a generation of young people for whom failure is not an option and therefore, by default, an impossibility? Who is this little man who is rocking The Boat of Common Sense? Does he not realise that the more he tells these Little Darlings that they can achieve everything and anything they want, the more their teachers will look like The Failures when the pupils eventually fail to come up to such high expectations? Apart from this, surely all children must be allowed to fail at some point in their lives, in sensible accordance with the Law of The Human Jungle?

The Little Green Pixie has already told me my inter-personal skills are unsatisfactory. Who does he expect me to be? Mother Theresa? Little does he know that I don’t give two figs for his hurtful game of words. After all, such accusations could only have come from one source – my head of department - who despises me. He’s also, in open forum, berated several of us for not having reached career goals which would in his eyes be of an acceptable level. Rather cheekily, he asked us to question why we had failed ourselves in this respect. Has he forgotten that I have done all the management jobs I ever want to do, thank you very much, and that I am just Biding My Time, albeit with great gusto, until I retire from teaching? And what of well-being at work? What is this concept he keeps banging on about, as if it was of his own invention? It really does not exist at all in this school, except in his own crazy little mind and his curriculum vitae for ‘Who’s Who?‘

So, do we know this nasty Little Green Pixie, boys and girls? Yes, of course we do.

It’s the Headmaster  – the one we are all growing to fear and dread.

Here’s a thought – is there any point in spending several tens of thousands of dollars on your reception and wedding et al, when the key component to your wedding night i.e Mr Music Maker is almost an afterthought and comes in the form of:

a) a laptop with an obligatory mp3 player
b) an inexperienced DJ (whom you’ve never met until 30 minutes before your wedding)
c) an inexperienced DJ who doesn’t know how to work the crowd, what they want or take a cue and play something appropriate
d) b and c
e) *insert your own bad DJ experience here*

Updated Jan 6 2010: A good DJ is invisible throughout the night, but central to the events of the night. Groom singing and Best Man on the guitar not included.

Most of it stem from putting your faith in megalomaniacs who run a big DJ business but have no interest in the consumer’s interest. They send out their cronies to do the dirty work, charging (sometimes reasonable) a fee that supposedly reflects the DJ’s experience and skill. But to your despair, the DJ who turns up at your 30 tables, $60,000 gala fest (with guests from Europe and the Americas thrown in) is a pimpled young punk who sports a baseball cap worn backwards whose idea of a floor filler is the Macarena. Or something.

Anyway my point is, a lot of couples do not put enough effort into the smaller details. When I say smaller, I mean smaller amounts of money. Just because you’re not spending thousands doesn’t mean it isn’t important. A good DJ might not cost you an arm and a leg but they’re essential to your wedding night. Couples fall into different camps; some believe paying more would mean relieving themselves of a stressful night, some believe in doing some legwork prior. We fall into the second category.

Of course, that’s not to say all is rosey. Up until three weeks ago the only DJ we had in mind was the much-maligned (and I still stand by their pretty shabby repute) Mobydisc. They’re like your Maccas of the wedding industry. If you need a DJ, they’re there. Cheap, fast but not always reliable. I’ve read some horror stories from Wedding Central where couples went through points b and c in real time and lived to regret it.

While Michele had already made up her mind (she had other wedding aspects to worry about), I took it upon myself to find a company with better repute. I really didn’t like the feedback I’ve read about Mobydisc. Even other DJ companies (probably not as large scale as Mobydisc, but popular none the less) didn’t like being put in the same bag as Mobydisc as they consider it an insult. Note, this is not my opinion, but an observation I’ve made after spending a copious amount of time on wedding forums. And yes, men do spend time on these forums, it’s not just women as suggested by the threads that starts off with “Girls, my FH is getting pink shoes. What do you think…” (Note: FH = Future Husband)

That said, Mobydisc aren’t all that bad. But they’re pretty much a hit and miss. I’ve also read some couples who had an awesome wedding because they got the good DJs and couldn’t stop raving about them. More power to them. But I wouldn’t risk it because the last thing I want is a crying bride.

A bugbear of mine (many couples will share my sentiments) is not finding a DJ who’s willing to meet with you weeks/months before your wedding. The wedding DJ market is saturated with the frat boys, has-beens and perhaps even a failed dance DJ. Many couples start searching for a DJ pretty much just how most people do these days – a Google search. Trouble is, most people do not look past page three.

Of course I did the same as well, until I stumbled upon Wedding Central. It was there, after spending hours of labourious browsing, I found a DJ who not only encourages couples to meet him, is a relatively active member of the Wedding Central forums, and comes recommended by many couples who’ve gone with him. Best part is, he’s based in Melbourne.

This evening, Michele and I meet him to put a face to his name. I spoke to him yesterday. He sounds knowledgeable and has DJed in our reception several times and even knows the interior well enough (a plus). Great sense of humour (he’s got good retorts and I haven’t laughed so hard reading emails in awhile) and sounds like a top bloke.

Of course, I’ll update this post when I return home.

UPDATE

We met up with Bruce Harrison over hot chocolate and were pleased to discover he’s pretty much how his website, phone conversations and short exchange of emails is – an extension of himself.

We were looking for someone who genuinely cared about his trade and I’ve read nothing but good stuff about Bruce from Wedding Central. Oddly enough, Bruce takes it upon himself to be (relatively) active in the forums. It wasn’t so much because he was there to market himself (he’d be foolish not to), but it was the way he was encouraging couples to shop around and giving out DJ shopping advice. He insists couples meet the DJ beforehand (which I wanted), is extremely professional (he turned up in a smart shirt and jeans and is very well spoken) and came across as a very honest and knowledgeable person (which I liked). On top of that, he has a very good track record, feedback, genuinely funny man to have (he’ll make a good friend), and his rates aren’t over the top.

Bruce also has a no commitment policy and will meet couples as often as they want at no extra cost. I thought that strange, as the big kahunas in the DJ business do not, a) meet people, b) tell couples which DJ they’ll have till a week before and c) go out of their way to facilitate.

If that wasn’t enough, Bruce also has a Public Liability Insurance which some DJs out there do not have or display clearly on their websites. Good thing to have for a peace of mind, both for the couple and Bruce himself.  Lastly *gasps* just so happens Bruce has also DJed in our reception several times, so we were on the right page the entire evening.

I cannot recommend Bruce enough. And I’m saying this even before Bruce has turned up on my wedding day.

Melbourne wedding DJ prices are definitely on the steeper side when you compare it to prices in Adelaide, Perth or Brisbane. With Bruce, Michele and I are extremely rapt to have found someone who loves making people happy, takes pride in what he does and goes the extra mile to make it happen. The wedding is still months away but I’m already looking forward to it. With the wedding DJ sorted out, Michele and I can concentrate on other aspects of the wedding.

PS: Bruce did not point a gun to my head while I wrote this update. If anything, he’d probably throw a PS3 controller at my head. Oh sorry mate did you need that to clear the last stage boss? :O

Image from purepartydjs.com

for more from Jared: http://anotherworldradio.com/2007/12/04/episode-4/

and to see some of Jared’s writings, drawings, comics, and other creations, contact him via email, at smartturkey@hotmail.com.

Why does all meaningful thinking that I do, come in the shower???

A thought crossed my mind about imperfections. I am always amazed by the arrogance of humans (including myself) about our overstated optimism and confidence about our abilities, luck, looks, sex appeal and brilliance. The thought rose up in a context of business when I was thinking about why people charge a fee for services provided or for repairing a product you bought or repairing a mistake like in a restaurant. It is because it is an imperfect system. In nature, there are no imperfections. If there is a yin, then there is a yang to counter it to keep the balance. If you change one variable, another one steps in to maintain the balance. There is NO question of repair.

If more sharks suddenly start populating in an area, then Nature figures out how to increase the population of fish, or another predator for sharks (human waste, ships, pollution or infighting) to retain the balance. It is not repairing the situation unlike everything that humans create. If we create something, then it is guaranteed it will need repair. Perfection is not an absolute value. The human body is perfect (imperfections are created by humans, mind you). The water currents are perfect (distortions are created by humans through pollution etc).

If you are a human being (I hope you are!) and you make something, then guarantee yourself that it is imperfect. I find it funny how we trumpet our own glory when we “fix” a problem and them tom-tom to the whole world (or to anyone who will listen) that we fixed a problem and this is how we did it, blah blah …

Having the confidence to succeed is another thing altogether. Thinking you’re “it” is what bugs me. I see many such people in my daily life and quite honestly, I’ve found that all those people are delusional. For instance, on “Kitchen Nightmares” on Fox, Chef Ramsey deals with a Sebastian who runs Sebastian’s (see the theme?) in Burbank, CA and is so convinced that his menu is the best that it is clear he is delusional. He is arguing with the Ramsey who owns the most expensive restaurant in London and many others globally.

I feel if you cross the tipping point of confidence, where you start to believe in the BS you say a little extra, then you become disconnected with reality. You being to feel that everything you say or do has an immense impact, when in reality others around you are clearly able to see that what you’re doing is irrational and unsustainable. It could be in your personal or professional life (is there a distinction anymore?). In relationships, if you constantly rub the other person wrong with your over-exuberant-confidence believing that you’re impressing the other person etc., then all you’re doing is disconnecting yourself from that person. At work either as an employee or a business owner, if you continue to trumpet your “perfection” or your achievements, then pretty soon you start buying into your own idea, stop listening to others and end up in chaos.

I can’t think of a single example in Nature that comes up as imperfect. I challenge you to prove me wrong (oh, me and my “perfection”!).

Imperfections thy name is Human.

- Harsha