How to avoid marking - for teachers and others of that ilk.

Louise S was complaining that she hates marking. Don't do it - simple as that:
How to avoid marking:
1. Don’t use written work – use cards such as true/false, agree/disagree
2. Use Powerpoint and make a quiz
3. Learners create artefacts – posters, models, drawings, time lines, songs, poems
4. Get the learners to write the questions, and the answers
5. Peer assessment – give it back to them to mark amongst themselves
6. Fill in the gaps – cloze exercises, swap to mark
7. Photocopy their answers, project on to screen, and mark as a group
8. Give out the criteria, with tick boxes, and get them to tick when they can do it
9. Don’t set homework
10. Do set homework, and put model answers on the VLE. If they can be bothered to do the homework, they can be bothered to mark it
11. Make multiple choice quizzes, and mark there and then, or later, themselves
12. Use the internet – thousands of tests and things that the learner does, with a score awarded – BBC is full of it.

I like number three best.

The Guardian

I don't think the Guardian are going to print my letter - they didn't ring today - so I'm sharing it the other way:
I love it when the middle classes catch on to what the rest of us have
been doing for years (The gift that keeps on giving: village group
exports recycled present idea worldwide, 12/12/09). We collected
empty coffee jars to fill with sweets during the miners' strike, made
hampers for the protesters at Molesworth, and have been making new
gifts from old things my entire life. My favourite suggestion was
'Send a delivery of logs sourced from a local supplier' - where the
f**k else does one get logs from, Waitrose online? Must go now, off
to clean mummy's car for xmas.Colin Billett
ps - soz, I think I woke up in the wrong newspaper.

Late Autumn (not winter for a week or so)

I had a glorious ride over Wenlock Edge this morning, and back again this afternoon, and a lovely walk in the late afternoon light, just after the sun had gone down. It just reminded me that however hard we try we can never capture it on film. No camera has peripheral vision like a human, and I think mine is almost 180 degrees, nor can it have the depth of focus. To watch the sun go down, to the sound of a young buzzard, the bell of the church striking 4.00pm, the whistle of the steam train and the clatter of the main line train far in the distance, to feel the damp mist on ones face - an artist can only hope to give an impression of this, in music, paint, photograph, prose or poetry. I can only hope to soak it up, and occasionally get a really good shot.

Dawn in Pink

Dawn revealed herself this morning clothed in a luxurious pink. The moon was hovering in the south, a brilliantly white hemisphere and looking like a button in the clear blue sky. We know it to be an illusion; the moon looks so big to the eye, but to a camera it is just a small white dot. Then the sun began to emerge over Hartlebury Common, like a tiny segment of an irradiated orange, growing larger by the second. Within a few minutes the whole of the bright globe had appeared, the sky had become lighter by a significant degree, and the moon began to pale in the new light of day, but still hanging in the sky to watch the show. The clouds formed a wall along the western horizon, and nothing else in the sky but a few wisps that might have been vapour trails, but then again maybe a few sketch lines drawn by some unknown hand. When the rest of the dog-walkers joined me at ten past eight the show was over. By nine o’clock the sky had clouded over, the moon retired for the day, and the sun on it’s lazy journey to that low zenith it maintains so near the winter solstice.

Dogs

I'm more than happy to spend much of each weekend out with dogs; I took two this morning round the beautiful woods in Corby, and now about to set off in the rain with two dogs around the hills and valleys surrounding Bewdley. But I'm never sure which looks best - a nice contrast between a Labrador and Jack Russell, which I had earlier, or a brace of matching Chocolate Labrador bitches, which I'm about to take now? Actually, the latter are a bit of a pain in the bum when they are out, chasing after grandads with hiking sticks, and jumping up young ladies, but they do look sweet.

The new moon

On the top of the hill a row of trees and a barn are silhouetted against the dark blue sky of early evening. Above them hangs the new moon, slightly tilted backwards, with the convex side pointing downwards and to the west, showing where the sun has just disappeared. On the concave side, to the south, at what seems to be the focal point of the curve, is the first bright star of the evening. It was worth putting me wellies on for, even though a trifle chilly up there.

Nayyer asked what I liked best about my walks – my response

Nayyer has asked me what I enjoy most about my walks. I tried asking my significant other, and she said it was meeting my friends and neighbours out early in the morning, but I don't really call this walking, it's just popping out with the dog, to exercise the dog. A proper walk is out for a few hours, and I always go on my own.

So I think that gives the first reason – the solitude. Out walking for a few hours, albeit with my dog, is my best opportunity for a bit of quality time with myself. I work with people all day, and live in a home with other people. As much as I love all of them, it really is nice to have some time on my own. And being out of doors is a sure guarantee of getting no distractions, no interruptions, and a wonderful way of clearing the mind.

The second follows on, and it is the sheer joy of being outside, in the elements. To feel the sun on ones face, the rain, the snow, to see the mist over the river, to feel the cold and the heat on ones cheek, gives one a feeling of being truly alive. I've good boots, a set of waterproofs, a map and a compass – I'm ready for anything. Take a picnic lunch and a flask of coffee, and al fresco lunch, sitting on a log, is the best place to be.

The next is the pleasure in a physical activity, especially one that gives a pleasant relaxation and an ultimate fatigue. Nothing better than going to sleep tired or truly exhausted. I'm not very often exhausted, in fact I don't remember the last time, but getting plenty of good quality exercise all helps one relax. When my head hits the pillow at night I am almost always asleep in a few seconds – literally. I never have chance to think of anything, since I'm so soon in the land of dreams.

Given that I take pictures so regularly, it seems obvious to me the sights and sounds of the countryside are a huge part of the attraction. Think of the flora – through the seasons I see the snowdrops, then the bluebells, the wild garlic, the hawthorns, the summer flowers of the meadows and forest, then the seeds and berries, the falling leaves of every hue, and back to winter. The birds are always with me, and each one a different song. Then the seasons themselves – the frost, the snow, the fierce winds of early Spring, the warm rain, the bright sunshine, the soft yellow light of Autumn. Early morning and twilight are both brilliant times for 'seeing things in a new light'. It doesn't matter how many times one sees the same things – the same trees, the same ponds, the same hills – each time it will look different.

There are other aspects, of course, but these are the favourite bits. Sitting all alone, on a tree trunk, drinking hot coffee from a flask, admiring the view, listening to the birdsong, and resting after a good stretch of an hour or so – for what more could one ask, eh? Of course, I could always do a short ramble if anyone cared to join me. But the best bit is the solitude – a man and his dog, as Alison D said, I think.

Slugs

Slug in the lettuce - agh! Actually, the slug was crawling along my hand, so I can only assume it came from the lettuce. I love organic food - and safe in the knowledge that I've been eating slugs and caterpillars and assorted tiny fauna for years. Mother washes hers in salt, but I ain't quite so fussy. But again, I thank her for raising me to have no fear. Poor slug was dashed to the floor, and the dog snaffled it up. Was this a fast end to our tiny friend, or is it now washing around in the juices of Ruby's intestines? It's probably dead by now, and I doubt if it had much in the line of pain. The lettuce is in my sandwiches for the morrow, maybe with a few bits of live matter.

Just for fun - the longest sentence in the book

From The Captive - 447 words in one sentence. Mme Vedurin's furniture:
A sofa that had risen up from dreamland between a pair of new and thoroughly substantial armchairs, smaller chairs upholstered in pink silk, the cloth surface of a card-table raised to the dignity of a person since, like a person, it had a past, a memory, retaining in the chill and gloom of Quai Conti the tan of its roasting by the sun through the windows of Rue Montalivet (where it could tell the time of day as accurately as Mme. Verdurin herself) and through the glass doors at la Raspelière, where they had taken it and where it used to gaze out all day long over the flower-beds of the garden at the valley far below, until it was time for Cottard and the musician to sit down to their game; a posy of violets and pansies in pastel, the gift of a painter friend, now dead, the sole fragment that survived of a life that had vanished without leaving any trace, summarising a great talent and a long friendship, recalling his keen, gentle eyes, his shapely hand, plump and melancholy, while he was at work on it; the incoherent, charming disorder of the offerings of the faithful, which have followed the lady of the house on all her travels and have come in time to assume the fixity of a trait of character, of a line of destiny; a profusion of cut flowers, of chocolate-boxes which here as in the country systematised their growth in an identical mode of blossoming; the curious interpolation of those singular and superfluous objects which still appear to have been just taken from the box in which they were offered and remain for ever what they were at first, New Year’s Day presents; all those things, in short, which one could not have isolated from the rest, but which for Brichot, an old frequenter of the Verdurin parties, had that patina, that velvety bloom of things to which, giving them a sort of profundity, an astral body has been added; all these things scattered before him, sounded in his ear like so many resonant keys which awakened cherished likenesses in his heart, confused reminiscences which, here in this drawing-room of the present day that was littered with them, cut out, defined, as on a fine day a shaft of sunlight cuts a section in the atmosphere, the furniture and carpets, and pursuing it from a cushion to a flower-stand, from a footstool to a lingering scent, from the lighting arrangements to the colour scheme, carved, evoked, spiritualised, called to life a form which might be called the ideal aspect, immanent in each of their successive homes, of the Verdurin drawing-room.

The Baron de Charlus and young students

Another of my very favourite bits from the book - the Baron, with white hair and black moustaches, confesses to be past forty. Only four more years and I shall be able to claim the same.

“The spectacle of all that laborious little world is very pleasant to an
old stick like myself. I do not know them,” he went on, raising his hand with an
air of reserve—so as not to appear to be boasting of his own conquests, to
testify to his own purity and not to allow any suspicion to rest upon that of
the students—“but they are most civil, they often go so far as to keep a place
for me, since I am a very old gentleman. Yes indeed, my dear boy, do not
protest, I am past forty,” said the Baron, who was past sixty.

Supper time - Sunday 1st November 2009

I might have been a little over-ambitious, and the dog might get lucky tonight with plenty of left-overs. But Lulu says she misses my suppers, so for Lulu, this it tonight's menu: minestrone soup with garlic bread; roast chicken (for the omnivores), roast potatoes, carrots, cauliflower in cheese sauce, broccoli and butternut squash; bread pudding with vegan custard (or maybe cakes left over from Sally's workplace). Now all I need is the remains of my dwindling family to come and eat it.

A sort of ps - I've made another broccoli and stilton soup for another day - broccoli going cheap in the co-op today.

Pinch, punch, the first of the month

It was cold, wet and windy on the hills this morning - marvellous. A big coat, a big pair of wellies and me father's hat; all snug apart from the rain running down my coat and soaking my kegs. My left leg got soaked walking up the hill, and the right leg got soaked walking back down again - perfect symmetry. The wind is blowing up from the south. I'm off to eat a hearty breakfast before Meeting - it may be a long one, but knowing Bewdley, I doubt if anyone knows whether there is a business meeting or not.

And the dog is soaking, although she has had a rub with a towel.

Another day in paradise

I didn't even have to force my self out of bed this morning - eight thirty and I was ready for the world. The sun shining in the alleyway just outside of my bedroom window was just wonderful, with a mist visible at the end. Dog and I had a leisurely stroll around the Golden Valley.

Voyages of Discovery

Another one from The Captive, and one of my favourites. Elstir and Vinteuil are fictional characters, but actually quite really to us fans. The former a painter, the latter a composer, with a notorious daughter, just like me (the daughter bit, not the composer bit).

The only true voyage of discovery, the only fountain of Eternal Youth, would be not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to behold the universe through the eyes of another, of a hundred others, to behold the hundred universes that each of them beholds, that each of them is; and this we can contrive with an Elstir, with a Vinteuil; with men like these we do really fly from star to star.

A little quote

'One remembers an atmosphere because girls were smiling in it.' - The Captive

Louise had another party - the last of England

This really was the most glorious moment of the month. Me and dog were out walking in Wyre Forest, in Ruskin land, and just turned off on to a footpath we hadn't used before. It started to rain hard, but a very fine rain. The sun was shining brightly, creating a wonderful show of light and misty haze, which I'm afraid the picture does not do justice.

A few minutes before this we had the funniest encounter. Ruby the labrador was hounded by two Staffordshire Terriers. The woman was telling her dogs to 'Leave him alone, be nice...', ect. I said 'It's a bitch'. And then I looked at hers, and the one growling at Ruby was definitely a bitch, and I asked if she had two bitches? 'Two girls" she replied. 'Mine's a bitch too' I told her. 'Oh, a girl' she says. I'm screaming inside my head 'It's a bloody bitch!'

August Bank Holiday

I did offer the back seat of my tandem to anyone who wanted to join me, but no takers. I went off into Shropshire, and as usual forgot how grueling it is. A long uphill to Button Oak, and then Pound Green, but straight down to Arley after that - first stop. Then up the hills the other side of the river to Shatterford, and down through Trimpley. Last stop back in Bewdley with puppy who missed me while I was gone.

No fishing

Here's an interesting Saturday afternoon story. Walking south down river we found a small scrap of land, unused for years and covered in nettles, that is now surrounded by barb wire, complete with a big sign. Five young lads were nevertheless fishing - but look who's coming - the landowner, who chased them off. Isn't the river big enough for all of us?

The Baron and strange morals.

I keep thinking of this one, even though I've gone on to a new volume. The concept of normality:

At present the fondness—whether Platonic or not—that M. de Charlus felt for Morel merely led the Baron to say spontaneously in Morel’s absence that he thought him very good looking, supposing that this would be taken in all innocence, and thereby acting like a clever man who when summoned to make a statement before a Court of Law will not be afraid to enter into details which are apparently to his disadvantage but for that very reason are more natural and less vulgar than the conventional protestations of a stage culprit. With the same freedom, always between Saint-Martin du Châne and Doncières-Ouest—or conversely on the return journey—M. de Charlus would readily speak of men who had, it appeared, very strange morals, and would even add: “After all, I say strange, I don’t know why, for there’s nothing so very strange about that,” to prove to himself how thoroughly he was at his ease with his audience. And so indeed he was, provided that it was he who retained the initiative, and that he knew his gallery to be mute and smiling, disarmed by credulity or good manners.

Charlie gets a lesson in French families

The Baron de Charlus enlightens Morel in the matter of who's who:

“There are a certain number of outstanding families,” M. de Charlus had told him, “first and foremost the Guermantes, who claim fourteen alliances with the House of France, which is flattering to the House of France if anything, for it was to Aldonce de Guermantes and not to Louis the Fat, his consanguineous but younger brother, that the Throne of France should have passed. Under Louiv XIV, we ‘draped’ at the death of Monsieur, having the same grandmother as the king; a long way below the Guermantes, one may however mention the families of La Trémoïlle, descended from the Kings of Naples and the Counts of Poitiers; of d’Uzès, scarcely old as a family, but the premier peers; of Luynes, who are of entirely recent origin, but have distinguished themselves by good marriages; of Choiseul, Harcourt, La Rochefoucauld. Add to these the family of the Noailles (notwithstanding the Comte de Toulouse), Montesquieu and Castellane, and, I think I am right in saying, those are all. As for all the little people who call themselves Marquis de Cambremerde or de Vatefairefiche, there is no difference between them and the humblest private in your regiment. It doesn’t matter whether you go and p—-at Comtesse S—t’s or s—t at Baronne P—‘s, it’s exactly the same, you will have compromised yourself and have used a dirty rag instead of toilet paper. Which is not nice.”

Take 1

Take 1
Originally uploaded by coopfs

My boy, the one without the beard.

Take 1

Take 1
Originally uploaded by coopfs

My boy, the one without the beard.

Back to Balbec, and the stations on the little train.

The Baron de Charlus is berating Charlie Morel, having ascertained that he has him under obligation. In doing so the narrator gives some excellent words on the theme of jealousy:
"I know that in so doing,” he went on, in order not to let it appear how deeply certain scenes had humiliated him, “you are guilty merely of having let yourself be carried away by the jealousy of others. But how is it that at your age you are childish enough (and a child ill-bred enough) not to have seen at once that your election by myself and all the advantages that must result for you from it were bound to excite jealousies, that all your comrades while they egged you on to quarrel with me were plotting to take your place? I have not thought it necessary to tell you of the letters that I have received in that connexion from all the people in whom you place most confidence. I scorn the overtures of those flunkeys as I scorn their ineffective mockery. The only person for whom I care is yourself, since I am fond of you, but affection has its limits and you ought to have guessed as much.” Harsh as the word flunkey might sound in the ears of Morel, whose father had been one, but precisely because his father had been one, the explanation of all social misadventures by ‘jealousy,’ an explanation fatuous and absurd, but of inexhaustible value, which with a certain class never fails to ‘catch on’ as infallibly as the old tricks of the stage with a theatrical audience or the threat of the clerical peril in a parliament, found in him an adherence hardly less solid than in Françoise, or the servants of Mme. de Guermantes, for whom jealousy was the sole cause of the misfortunes that beset humanity. "

After quite a few nights of trying, I finally captured the owls on video. No tripod tonight, so a bit shaky, but still wonderful.

If it wasn't for the dog I would be stretched out on the settee watching a movie. Instead I've been out watching the rabbits scurrying for cover, the ponies racing around the fields, looking out for the barn owl, and seeing the night sky on fire. Glorious time.

Brand new key

Me having fun in Betty's garden, and my mates having fun in a Bewdley car-park.

The second funniest thing this year, maybe

The glorious month of May

Another ramble around the foothpaths and byways, and another day in paradise.

Buttercups

The fields this week are full of buttercups, and getting more and more each day.   The backdrop of green seems almost covered with the tiny yellow blooms, and never looking so lovely.

From Drop Box

And the sun in the evening casts lovely shadows over the paddocks.

From Drop Box

From Drop Box

Slow Trains in Bewdley

On Saturday I went to watch the trains, mainly for some footage to put with the lovely Flanders and Swann.

On the footpath

Instead of keeping to the usual paths, I headed south with a map and the sun to guide me, and encountered more than a few obstructions, in the form of big hairy beasts. The gorgeous views, the dandelions, and the bluebells made it worthwhile.

Spring again

This little corner of the world is in full bloom, from the carefully tended gardens to the wide open fields, and the woods absolutely brimming with bluebells.

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Get your own

Corby Railway Station

I went for a ride on Lily's bike, on Sunday afternoon, to shoot the new station.  Lovely job, and it will be great when we get some trains.

Ride my bike

I took the Ma B for a little ride this afternoon. Ruby came too.

Sunset from Bewdley

Hoodies

And to think, Sam got stopped driving my car because she had her hood up.  What would the West Mercia constabulary make of this lot?  And for all my black friends - don't be scared, they're only Catholics.  Or perhaps, be really scared!

Oh, and thanks to The Guardian, who don't know I've stolen this, and probably not too bothered.

Legrandin

I'm nearing the end of The Guermantes Way, with parties at the Duc and Duchess, Prince and Princess, and leaving our narrator to savour the delights of the drawing rooms. But one of my favourite passages is from near the very beginning, when he meets Legranding in the street. 'Youthful candour' is the description of the narrator, and something I could easily aspire to.

Read on:

Before reaching Saint-Loup’s, where he was to be waiting for me at the door, I ran into Legrandin, of whom we had lost sight since our Combray days, and who, though now grown quite grey, had preserved his air of youthful candour. Seeing me, he stopped:

“Ah! So it’s you,” he exclaimed, “a man of fashion, and in a frock coat too! That is a livery in which my independent spirit would be ill at ease. It is true that you are a man of the world, I suppose, and go out paying calls! To go and dream, as I do, before some half ruined tomb, my flowing tie and jacket are not out of place. You know how I admire the charming quality of your soul; that is why I tell you how deeply I regret that you should go forth and deny it among the Gentiles. By being capable of remaining for a moment in the nauseating atmosphere—which I am unable to breathe—of a drawing-room, you pronounce on your own future the condemnation, the damnation of the Prophet. I can see it all, you frequent the ‘light hearts,’ the houses of the great, that is the vice of our middle class to-day. Ah! Those aristocrats! The Terror was greatly to blame for not cutting the heads off every one of them. They are all sinister debauchees, when they are not simply dreary idiots. Still, my poor boy, if that sort of thing amuses you! While you are on your way to your tea-party your old friend will be more fortunate than you, for alone in an outlying suburb he will be watching the pink moon rise in a violet sky. The truth is that I scarcely belong to this Earth upon which I feel myself such an exile; it takes all the force of the law of gravity to hold me here, to keep nie from escaping into another sphere. I belong to a different planet. Goodbye; do not take amiss the old-time frankness of the peasant of the Vivonne, who has also remained a peasant of the Danube. To prove to you that I am your sincere well-wisher, I am going to send you my last novel. But you will not care for it; it is not deliquescent enough, not fin de siècle enough for you; it is too frank, too honest; what you want is Bergotte, you have confessed it, high game for the jaded palates of pleasure-seeking epicures. I suppose I am looked upon, in your set, as an old campaigner; I do wrong to put my heart into what I write, that is no longer done; besides, the life of the people is not distinguished enough to interest your little snobbicules. Go, get you gone, try to recall at times the words of Christ: ‘Do this and ye shall live.’ Farewell, Friend.”

The funniest thing I've seen this year

The Shropshire Hills

It was a bit chilly on top of Clee Hill, but a glorious view.  Sarah, Ruby and Colin.

Colin at the piano

I haven't posted anything for ages, but always busy at something. I need a bit of piano practise, me.

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.