robinlawrence’s Space

This week saw the arrival of the much anticipated cultural high-light for six year olds: Grandma's Toys - the year one show. Treading the boards for the first time properly was one Trixie Lawrence as the eponymous hero of this fine tale. Three classes of year one's had been rehearsing for several weeks under the directing, choreography and musicianship of their really committed and patient teachers. I managed to see the first show, put on for the early years children and I was not disappointed. Wearing a floral pattern yellow dress, pink hat, trainers and Lexi's old glasses Trixie made her entrance, with the aid of a walking stick and a new Grandma was born! She nailed her first line and was off, helping her intrepid Gang of Four grand children to discover the joys of playing with Grandma's favourite toys instead of resorting to iPads. And this audience member loved it! Grandma gave her Grand children, all of whom we taller than her - obviously the directors were going for authenticity-clues to help them find clowns, clockwork mice and toys soldiers to name but a few. The cast clearly enjoyed doing the show and it did look very good. as well as the high-light of watching my daughter perform there were several other key moments to report where the cast, in the words of another audience member, were able to get away with murder while also entertaining their band of admirers and fans. The school tries to train kids to be resilient at all times and there was plenty of that on show. The perennial anxiety for a Drama teacher putting on a show is always 'Will the cast turn up?' The year one teachers applied a much more pragmatic approach to the non-attenders which was: The Show Must Go On. Hence one character's were read out by the director and Trixie found herself dancing to Lollipop at the front of the stage without the aid of a partner. Resilience prevailed in spade-fulls as puppets who were facing the wrong way were simply turned by their fellow puppets, toy soldiers ordered each other in to the right line and clockwork mice used their keys to move each other about during the best, I am biased, parody of Gangnam Style, 'I'm Wind-Up And I Know It.' Well done to all involved. Status, particularly that gained by parents who have high achieving children is a big aspirational factor in KL. My daughter the doctor or my son the lawyer is a much sought after refrain. How many more lawyers does Malaysia need? For me, watching the year ones my proud refrain was 'My daughter the six year old who, along with her peers has brought great joy to many.' Status or creativity? I know which one I go for every time. Surely we can have both?

These great words were spoken by Arthur Dent in “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy” (a book that should be on the National Curriculum along with The Life of Brian and how to make cheese sauce). And these marvellous words have been bouncing around my skull ever since we began the process to get Trixie’s dependent pass stamped into her passport. The whole process started in early November and has finally reached a conclusion today. My colleague from the Human Resources Dept, and boy have my human resources been stretched over the past four months, phoned me this evening to announce that the Immigration Department have finally found time in their incredibly busy schedule to stick a piece of paper into Trixie’s passport. The passport in question is now residing in school and I will make a special trip in tomorrow morning, yes Saturday, to collect the passport so that I know that this whole thing has not been some cruel Ides of March joke. Seeing is believing. I am looking forward to becoming a believer.

 

In another heady matter this week Edwin has completed paying off the debt on his latest lost hat. Therefore I went to buy hat number four of the year from the highly profitable, mainly due to Edwin, school shop. Where do all the lost hats go? All of his hats have had his name in, clearly marked in black ink. In other ink-based news I have had my tutor group of year 13 students (18 year olds) all taking part in creative design challenges this week. The first one they had a go at was designing a pair of shoes for the delightful Nicki Minaj. (Yes, I had to find out who she was too.) The next one was designing a new skyscraper for KL and today’s was lettering for an agreed film title. It was really impressive to see this gang of 18 year olds getting creative but also having a good laugh with their ideas too. I am certain that Ms Minaj would have appreciated the various stiletto based offering that were put together, but would have plumped for either the Banana Concept Shoe or the His and Hers Equalty Slipper that two of my intrepid, designer-wannabes came up with.

 

Rehearsals for the latest 6thForm examined play continue apace. I have announced to staff in morning briefings about tickets being on sale several times already, but am running out of puns based on the title of the play. I could do with another “Love and Money” based witticism for Monday, please.

 

And finally a question. Why have I recently been targeted by Persian Rug Sellers? I retired from my brief career as a Home Furnishings Consultant many moons past but have, this week, come under attack by some sort of carpet-based onslaught of offers. The latest missive from the would-be vendors to this won’t-be buyer came into the Lawrence letterbox today. According to the colourful, A5 card the “massive shipment” that is to be auctioned off, with “due consideration given to their age, designs and historical periods”, is “back by demand.” The somewhat authoritarian advert tells me, in no uncertain terms, “DO NOT MISS,” but it tempts me offering Iranian food as well as a “unique lucky draw.” Could the prize be a rug by any chance? This is clearly a serious matter as viewing starts an hour and a half before the actual sale and “every piece MUST be sold.” I am not a man to be tempted though, but just in case anyone really wants to go there is a handy number to call: 1 800 CARPET, just ask for Reza. Mention my name. He is clearly expecting me.

The answer, if you are a nine-year-old boy is approximately 32 minutes. The morning routine in Chateau Lawrence is usually a pretty rigid, fixed timings type one to make sure that Lexi is on the road by 0635 and children and I are away by 0640.  That way we can we can enter the school site before packs of Toyota Yellfires, Mercedes and BMWs vie for dropping off positions. This morning’s house exit went something like this. 

Apparently I am a good customer.  The source of this news?  My Aeon / MaxValu Member’s Card.  So far neither Lexi nor I have received any financial or fodder-based benefits from our Members Cards that we both have.  Occasionally I receive text messages telling about wonderful things that can be done on specific days and times if we spend above a certain amount of money, the latest being a 30% discount for Legoland (other theme parks are available) if we blaa blaa blaa, you get the picture.  Ok I do get a friendly smile from the check-out people when I flash my card, but seemingly nothing else, until yesterday.  As my card was scanned, prior to me buying two loaves and a bunch of bananas the till display came up with the following phrase “Good Customer.”  It was there, in green and black, so it must be right.  I have written before about buying pork at supermarkets and, in particular about how muslim staff on the checkout will refuse to handle ham, pork and sausages (they will handle wine though, strange?) but it got me thinking.  Would my Member’s Card still categorize me as a “Good Customer” under those circumstances?  I feel some research coming on.

I have a bit of routine car maintenance to undertake this weekend in the form of buying two new front tyres for the amazing Hyundai Trajet.  I visited the local tyre place last night and, naturally, the place did not have the tyre size that I needed.  A very helpful guy promised to contact me today with prices and details so I went home never expecting to hear from him again.  I was shocked when a text message arrived at lunch time offering me a menu of tyre possibilities and asking when I would like them to be fitted.  Surprised and pleased I replied saying that I would bring the car this evening or tomorrow morning.

After tea I drove off to the tyre place and, of course the place did not have the tyres, of any make in stock.  Apparently I needed to put a deposit down and then they would be ordered.  The well-spoken tyre man assured me that despite the warehouse being closed the two required tyres would be delivered to the fitting place by 9.00am tomorrow and then it would only take an hour to fit.  So, I cautiously paid a RM50 deposit and went back home.  What are the chances that the two tyres will be waiting for fitting tomorrow morning? 

Another unrelated administration matter is Trixie’s Malaysian permit.  First applied for in August 2012 and then again in November and finally a trip to the Immigration Department in December we are still waiting for it.  The latest hold-up was the photo.  Apparently it was the wrong sort.  I have now supplied the third set of passport photos of Trixie, all of them with the same blue background and Trixie sitting in the same position.  Third time lucky?  The latest estimated return date for Trixie’s passport is Tuesday. 

Which will come first: the tyres or the permit?

How many more ways can the directors dream up for Bruce Willis, aka John McClane, to avoid death in Die Hard? Rather than being an edge of the seat action adventure the latest offering should really be reclassified as a comedy, with parents giving guidance to their children along the lines of "Don't worry dear, the Russians don't all sing Frank Sinatra that badly." Lexi and I chuckled along merrily to the opening car chases, variety of shoot outs and amazing co-incidences, with my favourite being the car parked outside a favoured Chechen nightclub. How lucky for Father and Son McClane that the boot contained a fully functioning arsenal and the car was full of enough fuel to allow them to drive overnight to Chernobyl . My favourite section was the Baddy About To Kill Our Heroes section. John and Jack are kneeling, hands tied and time appears to be up for them. However Bruce decides to find something funny, while Jack joins in in order to hide the sound of sawing through their bonds thanks to a well hidden blade. But we all know what the real joke is in the scene, don't we? It is of course the main baddy who not only has smouldering good looks and can dance in a manner that would make Bruce Forsyth proud he insists on eating carrots while doing all this. Yes carrots. Raw carrots in fact. The makers of Die Hard must have given up aiming for anything other than high comedy years ago but adding carrot-eating to the skill set of the arch baddy was a master stroke. Hilarious. After that I lost what little belief I had in the film and scoured each new scene for evidence of fruit and vegetables. Would there be a quick cut away to our pair of lads sharing a sly tomato? How about two unlucky guards being shot while peeling potatoes? Or maybe even the femme fatale doing something unmentionable with an orange, radish and clove of garlic while hiding behind a stick of celery? But how on earth did Lexi andI find ourselves laughing at this rubbish in the first place? I had arranged to go to another school yesterday evening to watch some drama put together by the very marvellous Frantic Assembly. The school was 38 km away from home and so after dropping Rupert back home from a party and leaving Pat and David in charge Lexi and I set off. We arrived in perfect time for the 7.00pm start only to discover that the start time had been brought forward to 6.00pm. Frantic Assembly had emailed me to tell me of the change, but of course I had not checked my emails that day. Drat. Such is life so we consoled ourselves by eating at the extremely good D'Tandoor Restaurant. It turned out that by accident we had arrived on Valentine's Day, yes ever the romantic, and the restaurant had laid on a buffet style arrangement all for RM49 per diner. The main man of D'Tandoor was very keen for us to partake of this fine fare as they had clearly cooked far too much food and it was extremely good. But what to do after such a excellent meal? Well the cinema of course, and Die Hard. We ended up plumping for the Gold Class seats as it was the show that had the shortest waiting time, but did have a relatively hefty price tag of RM55 per seat. But what amazing seats! Leather padded arm chairs that glided back into the recumbent position at the flick of a switch. Duvets were also provided. So comfortable were the seats that I could have dozed off quite easily. Two things did keep me awake though. Firstly the carrot crunching of villains as previously mentioned and secondly the phones belonging to our near neighbours. The bloke next to us's phone went of once, resulting in a Paddington Bear Hard Stare from yours truly. When it went off a second time I had to have a stern word and he ceased his conversation. Eagled eyed Lexi though noticed movements and mutterings coming from under the duvet next to the phantom phoner and faster than you can crunch a carrot she dashed over and removed the duvet from the fidgeting mound to find a bloke chattering on his phone. He did look very surprised, even in the dark. Why do people pay big bucks to laugh at Die Hard and then try to spend hours on the phone? These chaps could have saved themselves a fortune if they had instead chosen to sit in a coffee house and field phone calls there. They might also have then had the added advantage of being able to speak to each other too. All very strange.

Lawrence's plus Lady Brigg and Lord Charlesworth returned to KL yesterday after a few days at the bracing East Coast, Dungan to be precise. They say that the weather is variable at this time of year and they are right. We travelled east in a mixture of storms and sunshine and then spent the first morning enjoying a continuation of the previous night's tempest. The resort that we stayed at, Ulek Beach Resort, was sandwiched between two large areas of nowhere and had the sea in front of it. We stayed in a wooden chalet arrangement that had one double bed and very soon after had three mattresses added to it. Consequently there was not a great deal of room in the place - always a challenge after a long drive and a busy term. We did manage two sessions of swimming / paddling in the choppy sea, a trip into the next biggest town, Kuala Terengganu, which had a rather splendid beach and park as well as a completely fruitless mission to try to buy some beer. It would seem that although the weather can be pretty wet the whole area, being very Muslim Malaysian, is dry, booze speaking. Our spirits were not daunted though as we enjoyed going pink on the beach, mainly because of the wind not the heat of the sun. We decided to return to KL a day earlier so that Rupert could go to a party today and this also gave us the opportunity to experience the a very particular form of restaurant chaos on the drive back. It is a long way to drive so when I spied Hailin Kopitiam and its claim to be selling coffee roasted in just the right way I thought that we had to stop there to see if the reality matched to hype. In the restaurant's favour the food and the coffee was very good. The only slight drawback was the chaotic way in which the place was run. I am used to there being loads of people working in shops and restaurants usually getting in the way of each other. Hailin Kopitiam took this to a new level. The ordering system involved us filling in an order pad with the numbers that corresponded to what we wanted. Seemingly we then had to give our piece of paper to any passing waiter, resplendent in black and orange. Having done this we all sat back and waited. Things were clearly not going to go well when the manager arrived and set about trying to clarify what we had ordered and then, smiling, filled in the form again. He dashed off and we started our wait. Fifteen minutes later three sets of knives and forks arrived, for our party of seven, plus a till print out of our order. After twenty minutes of waiting David's tuna sandwich arrived, the waiter crossed off the item from the print out, and David set about eating and finishing in five minutes. After thirty minutes our drinks began to arrive. Clearly relishing the challenge the drinks makers made the most complicated of our drinks first and an iced lemon tea arrived, plus Lexi's pink grapefruit smoothie. A further five minutes passed and the children's chicken nuggets were delivered and suitably crossed off the list. Just as they finished them their accompanying chips were delivered, while we still waited, those of us who had ordered coffee, to see if they really did roast coffee in the way that we wanted it. Finally, five minutes after everybody else had finished their food Lexi's chicken curry and my nasi lamak were delivered. While waiting for our food to arrive in a random order I looked round the restaurant. Fellow diners all wore quizzical and confused looks and took to examining the fare that was delivered to them clearly considering whether, against all likelihood that what they had received was in fact what they had ordered. Yes the food and the drinks were great, but the organisation of the place was shocking. As we waited we saw countless staff picking up brightly coloured and doubtless delicious drinks and meals from the preparation counter, taking one step forward and then stopping and thinking to themselves, "Where do I take this?" Full but frustrated we left nearly an hour and a half after popping in. I made a point of praising the owner for the top quality coffee that, when it did arrive, and after I had sent it back to be made just how I really did want it, did taste great, but the whole experience was so haphazard that I suppose I should consider ourselves lucky that we actually did get what we ordered. My parting words "Great food, great coffee, terrible service." I hope they can cure the problems there before customers start walking out or Gordon Ramsey arrives.

Cakes and Being XL. It was Trixie's birthday on Tuesday and to help her celebrate with her class I decided that it would be a fine idea to allow her to bring some cakes in to school. This nice idea of course involved work as both Lexi and I are far too tight to even consider buying cakes and, well homemade cakes look and taste so much better, don't they? I followed the good old stand by recipe for sponge cakes (4, 4, 4 to two eggs) and scaled it up to seven eggs. You can never have enough cake. Being in a rush, as always, I ended up making the mixture far too wet and so, when fully cooked,the buns themselves had sort of flowed over in to one another, resembling cooked bread rolls rather than fairy cakes. A swift application of melted chocolate and shake of coloured bits and our six year old couldn't tell the difference. They must have tasted ok as the tray came back from school empty. During the making I had three small children hanging round offering to take on the most important job in the whole baking process: licker. I don't remember ever teaching our lot about this vital job so am becoming convinced that the spoon-licker / bowl-licker job is something that is more nature than nurture. The idea for cakes came courtesy of Trixie's teacher who mentioned cakes and birthdays when on a walk on Sunday morning. It was a Pink Walk in aid of a variety of breast cancer charities in Malaysia and so at 8.00am Malaysia time (8.15 real time) a large squad of teachers and their off-spring plus a spattering of students went for a stroll round Bukit Kiara. The donations hat was passed around and Rm800 was raised by the pink t-shirt wearing masses. Back in school on Monday it was officially Pink Day, continuing the fundraising efforts. All students and staff were encouraged to wear the official Pink Day t-shirts or just pink and make a donation. I managed to find a dreadful tie with pink in it and chucked in more cash for a good cause. And so it was a bizarre sight as the festivities started with a Pink Day warm up on the school field. Most of the Primary School and many of the Secondary teachers all focused on the dance leader as she got us to jig and stretch round to such up-lifting melodies as Gangnam Style. I did my best not to feel silly sporting work clothes and that awful tie doing semi-aerobics. Luckily I had Trixie and Edwin to give me back up and credibility. Rupert seemed to have melted away somewhere. Packs of year nine boys watched on self consciously secretly wishing they were taking part. I would have thought that all this moving and shaking would have reduced me by a few weight pounds as well as money pounds, but apparently not. Last week I saw a polo shirt, reduced to RM59, in a Desa Park City sports shop and so bought it. Size XL. Colour black. Fine. Last night I tried it on and could hardly breathe. I looked like William Shatner's Captain Kirk in his nothing left to the imagination Captain's shirt. I took it back and, embarrassingly tried on a 2XL instead. It was only marginally better. It was then that I noticed a very important label on the garment 'Asian Sized.' While Malaysian male colleagues would look like body-building hunks in their XL shirts I looked like I had laundered mine on a boil wash and then eaten 16 cream cakes. Note to self: Always read the label. I write this on the plane to Thailand and have just had a thought. What size t-shirt did I order from the Drama festival organiser? XL. Time to breathe in.

I have often told my students that on day one of teacher training would-be teachers have to swear an oath. The made up ritual goes something like this: Each new potential entrant to the noble profession troops up solemnly to the front of a classroom where there sits a traditional teacher’s desk. On the desk is a pile of books. The new recruit places their right hand upon the pile while raising their left and utters the following words “I swear to give all my students a hard time.” On Tuesday this week I was heading up to the Drama floor in the lift along with two students. Getting into the same lift, on floor two was a colleague, of many years experience at my school. She stopped the lift, reminded the boys in no uncertain terms of the rules of the lifts (students may use them after 1545 only) and then oversaw their exit from said lift. It made me think. Did I have the mean streak necessary to ensure the extraction of students from lifts? I was put to the test today, but more of that later. I have involved myself in the Middle Years Development Group since my arrival at my school, and it is a fascinating work group to be part of. This week we asked the enlightening, but also frightening question of what do we want children to be like at the end of year nine in our subject areas? Teachers are all guilty of being ruled by the demands of the exam board and when combined with the OFSTED Overlords teachers can easily find themselves a very long away from such questions as those we have been encouraged to ask ourselves. But fundamental questions about what we are teaching, how students learn best and is what we are doing the best way of doing it need to be asked regularly of ourselves as well as of our students too. On a completely different note while in the Middle Years Group I accidently sat on a chair that was splattered with water. Result? A wet bum. The tropics though is a good place to get a wet bum as a few moments out in the sun after the meeting and my bum was once again bone dry. Thank goodness for hot weather. Kids, particularly secondary school kids, are the same the world over in many ways. Yesterday one of the Drama studios was being used for a school board meeting so as to prevent the possibility of my year tens charging into a gathering of very important people I put a notice up telling the class to go to the dance studio instead for their lesson. Things happened that made me a couple of minutes late for the lesson and when I walked into the dance studio I was not in the least bit surprised to see that there were no students there. Knowing exactly what had happened I walked back to the Drama studio and saw all twelve students sitting in the Important People Chairs that had been specially placed in a square therein. I asked the class whether they were able to see notices, let alone read, and they assured me that they had all made a mistake and not seen my note. All except one student who gave me the priceless answer of “ Well Mr Lawrence, I did read it, but I thought I’d follow everyone else because they were all going into the studio.” Bless her! Today I was overwhelmed by administration in connection with next week’s trip to Thailand for a mass drama spectacular. As requested I had emailed Air Asia with the names, passport numbers, birth dates, passport expiry dates, nationalities and loads of other stuff about the gang who are going on the trip. Air Asia emailed me to let me know that I should now check in online to confirm the flight. And guess what information they wanted me to input? The names, passport numbers, birth dates, passport expiry dates, nationalities and loads of other stuff about the gang who are going on the trip. But it got better as the website would not let me input more than five people who are going on the trip (there are twenty in our party). It was getting too much so I had to resort to the final solution. Phone Air Asia Group Bookings number. It took ages to find the number on their website and then even more ages while I waited to be connected to an agent. Amusingly while I was waiting the message that was on loop announced “All of our sales agents are busy due to overwhelming response to our promotions.” It is no wonder that Air Asia is overwhelmed if they overwhelm their customers. Finally when I got through to a human being I was assured, I quote, “You can check in at the airport, maybe. And maybe there will not be a charge to check in.” Maybe? Maybe? Now I really was overwhelmed by Air Asia’s promotions. Wish me luck next week. And so back to my mean streak. What did I do with the boys who I found in the lift earlier today? One of them said he had a lift pass and another was the injured lad’s Sherpa. What about the other two though? I put it to them that they were trying it on and abusing the system. After further lecturing their metaphorical tails appeared to be between legs they promised not to do it again, on pain of being unceremoniously ejected if I caught them again. My mean streak is developing, but still has some way to go. Day off again tomorrow, Friday. That is the third Public Holiday in two weeks.

 

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And is there a better reason for having a Public Holiday than celebrating what would have been his 1443^rd birthday?  It does feel a little bizarre to be having a day off on a Thursday and then go back to work for one day on a Friday, but who am I to say no to a day off?

 

 

Today’s day off action, with Pat and David, affectionately known as Lord and Lady Brigg, saw Lawrences and Their Worships tackling the centre of Kuala Lumpur in full tourist mode.  Having checked that we had the requisite amount of pocket money carefully stowed deep in our pockets to avoid petty thieves we departed from Kepong station and were on our way.  Clearly we made sure that we followed all the required rules of travel on the train: we bought our tickets, ate nothing while in transit and did our best not to commit any acts of indecent behaviour.  Thinks: what would the train guard do if we did commit any acts of indecent behaviour on the train?

 

Getting off the train at Kuala Lumpur station we made for Chinatown and lunch at The Platinum Restaurant of Petaling Street.  We had munched there a couple of times previously, once, most memorably with my school.  It serves good value and tasty fresh Chinese food, including real pork, and is always busy – another good sign.  The fish that the place serves are clearly very fresh as they swim around in tanks prior to serving.

 

After lunch we set about buying tourist stuff from the various stalls and hawkers.  Outside every stall a vendor was standing trying to attract our attention to their various wares and to persuade us that we really did need to buy their handbags, watches, sun glasses, Hello Kitty rubbish or chestnuts.  David quickly completed his souvenir buying: three fridge magnets for RM10.  Rupert managed to find, of all things, a Mr Bean teddy that he took to and got a good price for.  Edwin and I then took the plunge and responded to a bloke who was trying to sell us football shirts.   Edwin had his eyes on a new Barcelona shirt while I wanted to buy shirts for a gang of Wolverhampton five-a-side footballers who I used to play with.  The vendor tried to show me numerous potential shirts and sizes but experience told me that the price was the thing to get sorted first.  He started at RM45 per shirt and this then went down to RM35 and he got very excited when I asked for five shirts.  I then offered RM100 for the five shirts and stuck to my guns for a few moments, and won!  I am now the proud owner of five XL Malaysia football shirts that will soon find their way to footie mates.  Edwin is delighted with his Barcelona shirt, which included shorts, for RM25.  The only problem with haggling though is that I wonder now whether I could have got six shirts for RM100?

 

I honour of Muhammed’s big day there were several blokes standing around near to the Central Market handing out flyers and pamphlets encouraging us passers by to convert to Islam.  Curiously they were offering joining inducements in the form of Subway cookies, bottles of fruit perfume and cakes.  Should other world religions follow this lead to attempt to influence potential joiners thanks to the giving of unctions and sweetmeats? 

 

PS I have enjoyed a cold lager this evening, but did not raise my glass to Muhammed as I knew he would not appreciate the gesture.  Happy birthday to him though and thanks for the day off.

 

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 I have changed the way I wash my hands.  More specifically I have instituted an additional stage in the post wash, drying phase, all thanks to an assembly at my school led by some determined year 12s.  It might seem a small thing but I am convinced it will catch on.   This potentially world-saving process results in fewer paper hand towels being used and thus fewer trees being cut down etc.  Our enthusiastic year 12s divided the upper school audience into two sections and got the two sides of the hall chanting the mantra “Shake and Fold.” Their leader followed this with a demonstration of how to wash, shake drips from one’s hands and finally how to remove all the excess moisture from said mitts thanks to folding the half-used paper towel to extend its absorbency.   Daft though it may seem and jokes aside it appears to have caught on with our students.  My year nines and tens today were happy to exchange tales of how they have reduced their paper towel use overnight thanks to this lifestyle change.  I too have joined the movement by adding an extra two shakes into my drying cycle while reducing the volume of paper I remove from the Arkwright’s till-like dispenser in the Drama loos.  Are you a shake and fold person?

 

 

(Clearly this process should not be confused with the launch in 1979 and the subsequent 1980 TV advert which encouraged us all to “Do The Shake and Vac” in order to put the freshness back.  For further information why not visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shake_n'_Vac)

 

And so it was with extremely clean hands that I went to KL International Airport yesterday to collect Lexi’s Mum, Pat (aka Grandma Sausages), and David who had been due to arrive on Monday.  Their first flight had been delayed by 24 hours due to snow but they arrived safely in KL to be greeted by Trixie and I and packs of sharp suited limousine meet and greet people.  These lads and lasses were wonderfully tailored; all sporting sharp suits, including very impractical jackets, and ties.  Curiously they appeared to be standing around and not meeting anyone but instead seemed to simply be there to field an unending battery of mobile phone calls.  One driver had three phones on the go, all of which were used at different times as we waited.  Trixie and I decided to wait with these fine folk as their position afforded the best view of the arriving masses.  It also had a metal railing which Trixie enjoyed being lifted over to run out to Grandma so that big cuddles could be exchanged at the right moment.  All very sweet.

 

Today the children had their Student Led Parent Conferences – very grand title.  These were 40 minute sessions in which all three Lawrences took me to their classrooms, along with Grandma and David, and they showed us the work that they had been doing plus got us to do some of the activities that they had done in lessons. With Trixie we had a go at matching rhyming cards, learned how she wrote stories thanks to rolling picture dice and chatted to her teacher. With Rupert we all learned about his story writing, how to do division in five different ways, details about the Flor do Mor, as well as watch how Bart Simpson could jump out an aeroplane thanks to Rupert’s ICT skill.  Finally Edwin spent a long time showing us how his class had studied gravity and resistance thanks to hurling parachutes off the school parapet, learned co-ordinates while playing battleships and then made daft sentences thanks to conjunctions.   All in all a good day.