Thursday, 5 November 2009

My precious. . .

And talking of rings - I lost my wedding ring a year ago tonight. My son and I went to the annual firework display here in Cambridge and later I realised my ring was gone. I have few things that are truly irreplaceable, but that was one of them. Every day, I hate that its gone.

We didn't go to the fireworks this year. Thursday night is football training night and my son opted for that instead. Not that it really matters. Cambridge is firework crazy. There is a massive display every other week.

I drove over to Bottisham to pick my laptop up from Kevin, my new computer support guy. He has had all kinds of nonsense with Dell, of course. An angry letter will ensue. If only I had bought a Mac!

On the way over there I caught a bit of Jeremy Vine on Radio 2 doing a 'Top Ten Bedtime Stories' thing with Michael Rosen. By a spooky coincidence they - and Bea Campbell - were extolling the virtues of Each Peach Pear Plum. Although the whole enterprise was partly derailed by Jeremy Vine's weirdly creepy reading of the book at the end. It frightened the life out of me.

Michael Rosen was great, though. As I have already mentioned, live radio can be daunting, but Rosen was so incredibly articulate and generous about the books mentioned. He is a national treasure.

I watched the first part of my old friend and boss (and national treasure) Andrew Marr's The Making of Modern Britain on BBC iPlayer. It was great. Andrew is just one of the cleverest people on the planet. There isn't much he doesn't know an awful lot about and, more importantly, he he has that rare gift of making that knowledge accessible without making it simple or easy. The sad state of history teaching in this country is a bit of a thing with me at the moment. This programme shows why it is so important.

Although I wasn't sure about Andrew's George Bernard Shaw accent. It sounded a bit like Dudley Moore.

1 comment:

  1. Each Peach Pear Plum gets my vote as one of the best picture books ever. It is hard now to remember what the world was like before the explosion of picture books that followed the Ahlbergs' success. There are other books, Rosie's Walk for example, in which pictures and text work intimately together, but none that I can think of that create a world into which children can so easily enter. I've read Each Peach hundreds of times, often with children who've had problems learning to read, and children still surprise me with the questions they ask and the things they notice. I remember one boy I worked with - a very sad, uncared-for nine-year-old - who came up to me in the corridor one day and said, 'Hey, Mr May. You know that Plum book? I can read it with my eyes closed!' And he did. A class I was teaching once made a joke book for the Ahlbergs and they wrote a really nice, personal letter back.