Request for three kinds of help
9-10 May, Ian
When I was Heidi's age, and even Zoe's age, there
was an astonishing amount of elementary maths that I didn't know. For example,
when I sat my 11+ one run of questions involved arithmetical manipulation of
fractions (along the lines of, say, 2 3/4 divided by 7/8). On the way home
after this my friend Jonathan Bennett and I argued in all sincerity with Mr
Bennett that questions like this were impossible, and we didn't believe his
assertion that there was a procedure for their solution. Surprisingly, perhaps,
we both passed our 11+ and when we arrived at grammar school in one of our first
maths lessons the teacher went round the class asking everyone to work out 2 + 3
x 5; I was one of about half the class who thought the answer was probably 25.
Judging from the Key Stage Two maths book, there is no requirement for Zoe and
Heidi to have the knowledge to get these questions right either. Nor are they
capable of reliably subtracting 156 from 234, and six weeks ago they wouldn't
have been able to multiply 234 by 156 either. And until these past few weeks
Zoe could literally work out 83 x 77, say, in her head far faster than she could
work out 9 x 6 (over numerous car journeys I made her learn her squares and use
if for multiplications amenable to a difference of two squares method). This
isn't a question, of course, of being smart, it's a question of what children
should know at what age. As I said in my last blog, I'm a bit Old School and
think, apparently contrary to the national curriculum, that if we are going to
bother fetching the kids in from the playground (where their best learning at
this age probably takes place) it's more use to teach them arithmetic properly
before any other maths. I know that some of you are experienced teachers and I'd
appreciate any comments or advice on this
topic.
Another recollection I have from my school days, reaching back to an even younger age this time, is of a Ladybird book with pictures on alternate pages (on the right) with facing text (on the left). The one picture that I remember particularly (afraid I've forgotten the rest of the book) was of a boy and a girl looking into the window of a toy shop. The shop window was so colourful and interesting that it lodged itself in my imagination, though if I tried to describe it in any detail now I couldn't. Well, after our maths lesson this morning while Paula was, in the spirit and letter of the government diktat, doing a literacy hour, I tried to get myself lost in the medina wandering round the souks. We all had an hour's walk round by the region of the Kairaouine mosque yesterday, managing to find many of the sights that we were heading for. There is a book of walking tours within the medina here in the Dar (quaintly, they each go from Bab to Bab, or from one gate to another) and, while I judged that trudging around with the book and large fold-out map in my hand was likely to be as futile as it was uncool, I used one of the walks as the pattern for our little tour. We managed to find most of the highlights that I'd read about (the starting gate, the mosque, a renowned medersa, the silver and copper quarter, the shoe stalls, the leather quarter etc) and I returned alone this morning to poke around some more. It was fascinating. It turns out that behind the main drag that has shops selling shoes and traditional clothing there are dozens more selling the same stuff. Each one reminds me of the toy shop picture in the Ladybird book. For a start, the shops are mostly each just one small stall, maybe 8 metres wide by 4 metres deep, and each is densely and colourfully packed with goods. Also, while you can see the merchandise that is arrayed on the street outside the stalls you only really get to see what's in each one as you walk past, so your eye is continually being surprised - as much by the unexpected repetition as the changes. For example, I don't think that before today I've ever walked past so many places displaying nothing other than reels of embroidery thread in more colours than you could quickly name. (I did see, though, where they were serving local women matching materials against garments they had brought with them that they also carry books of different embroided hemming tapes). Similarly, close by in the same quarter, there were rows upon rows of stalls selling only jellabas and hendiras.
Most of the time, especially when I'm on my own, I walk around totally undisturbed by the guide wannabes that the Lonely Planet warns about. Partly this is explained by a recent police crackdown on unlicensed guides. Catching glimpses of myself in mirrored surfaces today, I can see that it's also probably because I look so rubbish - precisely like someone who has spent a long period of time mostly in two flimsy t-shirts, one pair of trousers (equally unfashionable) and ageing reef shoes. Most of the tourists, who are virtually all French, comprise either couples in their Twenties mooching around uncertainly, occasionally stopping to ponder over their map or to take atmospheric romantic photos of themselves, or large groups, looking totally gormless and with even more camera equipment, of average age around 65; these groups, which you often see being shuffled into the larger shops, are always led by a card-carrying guide. So why would the locals bother with me? Mostly they don't, although on our first major excursion we were followed around by a young lad, running absurdly under our heels like a young Michael Palin, who kept telling us that everywhere we were going was closed and/or led nowhere. I think that it's because Paula and the girls look classier than I do these days that we attracted more guide interest. The girls' hair also seems irresistible to the locals, who are constantly touching it. It was on this first excursion that I learned two useful facts about unofficial guides: first, telling them that you don't want or need help has absolutely no effect; second, telling them (in your best French) that you live in the medina, and then being prepared to name your riad, gets rid of them immediately.
Guides, official or unofficial, seem to me to be unnecessary. At the risk of tempting fate, and contrary to what the books say, it seems to me that there is no realistic prospect of anyone with any sort of sense of direction getting seriously lost. (I know, I know: my nemesis will be upon me.) And there are plaques all over the place in Arabic, French and English that tell you more than I could remember about the medina's notable districts and institutions. Furthermore, if you do want to buy anything I'm told you'll get charged more if you have a guide with you.
I anticipate that over the coming days and weeks I'll be doing a lot more cruising around the medina, both with and without the family, and I have a couple of unresolved conundrums. First, I'm loathe to get a camera out (the tourist thing) but I do want to have a clutch of photos to leave with. I think I may defer this until our last week or two but I'm quite itchy to start snapping sooner. Secondly, there are one or two spots, the tanning vats being a good example, where to get the best views I really need to treat more constructively with the shopkeepers on terms that place me in the sales-fodder category.
The subject of photographs brings me to the second area in which I'd like your help. I have a blog comment from Shaun and a pile of emails about problems seeing the snaps and movie clips in these blogs. I've received advice from the company that makes the software I use (iBlog) and re-published several entries with changes that they recommended. But I think that there are still some issues out there and I'd like to know more about who can see what. There are more variables than you might think - as well as the browser that you're using (IE, Firefox etc) and platform (XP, Win 98, mac etc) and version of the pages (some people couldn't see the pics before but can now, while others used to be able to see the movies but can't any longer), there's the randomising software factor - for example, Adi tells me that she often can't see a photo when first calling up a page but can see it after re-loading it. I would be really grateful if you could post your experiences, successful or otherwise. The most convenient format is if you use the comments but since virtually everyone prefers emailing I'm happy with that too. Do let me know. (And many thanks, by the way, to everyone who has sent me an encouraging email or text about the blog.)
Here's a photo that we meant to post previously of Zoe on the flight deck just after we landed in Fes:
Now that we have had a couple of Arabic lessons my emerging lexicon gives me some new communication options here. This morning I walked past one of the very few young guys to call out in English (inviting me to come into his pharmacy and see all of his scents, very cheap, no obligation). Well this time, in the manner of a Parisian waiter, I replied in Arabic. (If there were ever a "Bar Abbas v. Jesus"-style popular vote on the one-winner-only preservation of either Parisian waiters or, say, malarial flies, would the waiters be safe?) I'm also on Arabic pleasantry terms with our respectable-looking Arabic neighbours. This is just about as far as I hope to get with the language.
My final request for help is a real longshot: if anyone can locate the Ladybird book with the toy shop picture in I'd be incredibly grateful.
Ian
Another recollection I have from my school days, reaching back to an even younger age this time, is of a Ladybird book with pictures on alternate pages (on the right) with facing text (on the left). The one picture that I remember particularly (afraid I've forgotten the rest of the book) was of a boy and a girl looking into the window of a toy shop. The shop window was so colourful and interesting that it lodged itself in my imagination, though if I tried to describe it in any detail now I couldn't. Well, after our maths lesson this morning while Paula was, in the spirit and letter of the government diktat, doing a literacy hour, I tried to get myself lost in the medina wandering round the souks. We all had an hour's walk round by the region of the Kairaouine mosque yesterday, managing to find many of the sights that we were heading for. There is a book of walking tours within the medina here in the Dar (quaintly, they each go from Bab to Bab, or from one gate to another) and, while I judged that trudging around with the book and large fold-out map in my hand was likely to be as futile as it was uncool, I used one of the walks as the pattern for our little tour. We managed to find most of the highlights that I'd read about (the starting gate, the mosque, a renowned medersa, the silver and copper quarter, the shoe stalls, the leather quarter etc) and I returned alone this morning to poke around some more. It was fascinating. It turns out that behind the main drag that has shops selling shoes and traditional clothing there are dozens more selling the same stuff. Each one reminds me of the toy shop picture in the Ladybird book. For a start, the shops are mostly each just one small stall, maybe 8 metres wide by 4 metres deep, and each is densely and colourfully packed with goods. Also, while you can see the merchandise that is arrayed on the street outside the stalls you only really get to see what's in each one as you walk past, so your eye is continually being surprised - as much by the unexpected repetition as the changes. For example, I don't think that before today I've ever walked past so many places displaying nothing other than reels of embroidery thread in more colours than you could quickly name. (I did see, though, where they were serving local women matching materials against garments they had brought with them that they also carry books of different embroided hemming tapes). Similarly, close by in the same quarter, there were rows upon rows of stalls selling only jellabas and hendiras.
Most of the time, especially when I'm on my own, I walk around totally undisturbed by the guide wannabes that the Lonely Planet warns about. Partly this is explained by a recent police crackdown on unlicensed guides. Catching glimpses of myself in mirrored surfaces today, I can see that it's also probably because I look so rubbish - precisely like someone who has spent a long period of time mostly in two flimsy t-shirts, one pair of trousers (equally unfashionable) and ageing reef shoes. Most of the tourists, who are virtually all French, comprise either couples in their Twenties mooching around uncertainly, occasionally stopping to ponder over their map or to take atmospheric romantic photos of themselves, or large groups, looking totally gormless and with even more camera equipment, of average age around 65; these groups, which you often see being shuffled into the larger shops, are always led by a card-carrying guide. So why would the locals bother with me? Mostly they don't, although on our first major excursion we were followed around by a young lad, running absurdly under our heels like a young Michael Palin, who kept telling us that everywhere we were going was closed and/or led nowhere. I think that it's because Paula and the girls look classier than I do these days that we attracted more guide interest. The girls' hair also seems irresistible to the locals, who are constantly touching it. It was on this first excursion that I learned two useful facts about unofficial guides: first, telling them that you don't want or need help has absolutely no effect; second, telling them (in your best French) that you live in the medina, and then being prepared to name your riad, gets rid of them immediately.
Guides, official or unofficial, seem to me to be unnecessary. At the risk of tempting fate, and contrary to what the books say, it seems to me that there is no realistic prospect of anyone with any sort of sense of direction getting seriously lost. (I know, I know: my nemesis will be upon me.) And there are plaques all over the place in Arabic, French and English that tell you more than I could remember about the medina's notable districts and institutions. Furthermore, if you do want to buy anything I'm told you'll get charged more if you have a guide with you.
I anticipate that over the coming days and weeks I'll be doing a lot more cruising around the medina, both with and without the family, and I have a couple of unresolved conundrums. First, I'm loathe to get a camera out (the tourist thing) but I do want to have a clutch of photos to leave with. I think I may defer this until our last week or two but I'm quite itchy to start snapping sooner. Secondly, there are one or two spots, the tanning vats being a good example, where to get the best views I really need to treat more constructively with the shopkeepers on terms that place me in the sales-fodder category.
The subject of photographs brings me to the second area in which I'd like your help. I have a blog comment from Shaun and a pile of emails about problems seeing the snaps and movie clips in these blogs. I've received advice from the company that makes the software I use (iBlog) and re-published several entries with changes that they recommended. But I think that there are still some issues out there and I'd like to know more about who can see what. There are more variables than you might think - as well as the browser that you're using (IE, Firefox etc) and platform (XP, Win 98, mac etc) and version of the pages (some people couldn't see the pics before but can now, while others used to be able to see the movies but can't any longer), there's the randomising software factor - for example, Adi tells me that she often can't see a photo when first calling up a page but can see it after re-loading it. I would be really grateful if you could post your experiences, successful or otherwise. The most convenient format is if you use the comments but since virtually everyone prefers emailing I'm happy with that too. Do let me know. (And many thanks, by the way, to everyone who has sent me an encouraging email or text about the blog.)
Here's a photo that we meant to post previously of Zoe on the flight deck just after we landed in Fes:
Now that we have had a couple of Arabic lessons my emerging lexicon gives me some new communication options here. This morning I walked past one of the very few young guys to call out in English (inviting me to come into his pharmacy and see all of his scents, very cheap, no obligation). Well this time, in the manner of a Parisian waiter, I replied in Arabic. (If there were ever a "Bar Abbas v. Jesus"-style popular vote on the one-winner-only preservation of either Parisian waiters or, say, malarial flies, would the waiters be safe?) I'm also on Arabic pleasantry terms with our respectable-looking Arabic neighbours. This is just about as far as I hope to get with the language.
My final request for help is a real longshot: if anyone can locate the Ladybird book with the toy shop picture in I'd be incredibly grateful.
Ian
Posted: Wed - May 11, 2005 at 02:26 AM
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Published On: Feb 08, 2006 06:20 PM
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Published On: Feb 08, 2006 06:20 PM