Drama & Performing Arts: Under threat?

The Malory Years

From September 2000 until July 2004 when it began the process of becoming a Government Academy I was Teacher at the above School on the Downham Estate in South East London. It was not far from Grove Park Station and it came under the Lewisham Borough Education Authority although the Postcode was a Bromley Address: BR1. You're confused already aren't you? There was a wonderful air of confusion about the place, it was pure chaos on a daily basis but it worked. I taught English for a year and then a vacancy in the Drama Department became available. So from September 2001 I oversaw the progression of three years of GCSE students through the Edexcel Examination Paper in Drama. I became the only teacher to teach the whole school from Year 7 until Year 9 when pupils chose their GCSE topics. One hour a week of Drama for each pupil but I was on a hiding to nothing. They were bouncing off the walls when they came into the Drama Studio and they were bouncing off the walls when they left the Drama Studio. There was no Morning Assembly at Malory so children just walked straight into their classes after a breakfast of pop and crisps.
It was stressful work but I enjoyed the challenge because no two days were the same. Each day presented different behavioural challenges. I could teach and I had a sense of humour which helped. I have very fond memories of the pupils. Great personalities one and all but they were deprived of a decent education in ostensibly a sink school because despite the best efforts of the teachers, there was too much disruption. Too much disruption from their lives outside, too much poverty and too much poverty of ambition in their home environments.
I don't believe in streaming but Mixed ability does not work in practice in my opinion. Generally, classes are disrupted by poor behaviour and the more able pupils are not able to progress because the teacher is forever dealing with challenging behaviour to be able to teach. Many times I had to abandon lessons due to challenging behaviour and then this valuable time could never be regained. They say youth is wasted on the young, well I believe that education is, at least formal education. A teenager doesn't want to be learning facts and figures. They need encouragement, nurturing in social skills and calmness, responsibility and assertiveness not 'dry' topics for which they will have no use as adults. We have to ask the question is education about passing exams or learning about the world and its people. You cannot do both in my opinion!   
Malory School was taken over in 2004 by Haberdasher Knights Academy and is now a new build. It was a life and experience that I am very grateful for. It was a brutal environment for pupils and teachers. I believe that schools are brutal environments generally and children are actually traumatised by such educational hot housing.
Well that is the Autobiographical Aspect of Shark Fishing in Wales now up to date. I returned to Wales in 2004 and continued as a Supply Teacher back in Wales where the deficiencies of the system and bullying were common place.
In September 2001, my first week as a Drama Teacher revolved around the collective unconscious of 9/11. When 7/7 occurred four years later, this bruised and battered former teacher was self medicating with cannabis outside an Amsterdam Coffeeshop. According to Dutch law I then went insane but I now believe that it is not me that is insane but the world, but no one will believe me.

Christmas Message

I would like to begin this year's Birthday message by thanking the Shark Fisherman of Wales for hosting my real thoughts and feelings about this disunited kingdom of mine. I realise that I have been a drain on Tax Payers' money since 1951 but I didn't have much choice. I was born into this bullshit. You see if I'd had my way, I'd have given it up years ago. I don't think you quite realise the strain. I am just a mother and a sister and a daughter. When the Shark Fisherman contacted me and asked whether I wanted to say what I really felt I thought "What the Hell"! Phillip is being kept alive by the use of cryogenics and I'm doing my level best to keep Charles off the throne. I was delighted to become a Great Grand Mama with the birth of baby Roger. I don't know where they've got this name George from!
It has been another 'anus horribilis' especially for the Royal Portrait Painter 'Sir Rolf'. We don't half pick em eh! If I was to be completely honest with you about this shower of shite aka the Conservative Government, well I'd be here till next Christmas! If I had my way, Dunc the spunk, Gideon, Cam and Clegg would be in the Tower of London. Absolute arseholes! you see it is they and their cruel and austere policies regarding the poorest in society that are causing the ideal conditions for a Republic and Monarchy free United Kingdom. I know that the peasantry have had enough. I'm looking to retire soon. I would hope for a 'bloodless' revolution when it comes. I could meet you at the back door of Buck House with the key if you could promise us an amnesty and free flights to Mystique.  Our days as the Windsors are numbered I'm afraid. With Scotland becoming independent in 2014, we'll no longer have the summer house in Balmoral and I don't know whether my heart is in it really. Well I'll leave you now to go and prepare the annual bullshit broadcast but you know how I really feel. If you were serious about a Republic, then you need to pull your collective fingers out before Charles sticks his royal derriere upon the throne and then 'God Help Us All'.  

Elizabeth Regina 2016 (MXCMILXVVV£$)

Blood

http://sharkfishinginwales.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/damaged-goods.html

http://sharkfishinginwales.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/186th-post.html

 

To continue with the Autobiographical aspect of the Blog, leaving Mystic Dai to his crystal ball gazing I will venture some more navel gazing for your delight and delectation. I had a Blood Test this morning in the local GP's surgery. Three small phials full. I'm meant to ring on Monday to get the results. In 1999, blood played a major part in my life or what went into the blood more accurately. At Llandough Hospital in Cardiff I began a course of six chemotherapy sessions. Large amounts of a yellow substance taking a long time to enter my blood system intravenously. In those days the waiting room at the Haematology department was a miserable affair. All of us sat there, not talking, knowing that we had a shared fate. The converted water mill I had moved into in the village of Meifod near Welshpool was now a distant memory. I was not to hear from Voluntary Arts Wales again! They were probably covered by a six month probationary period anyway as I had worked there four months but I had literally flogged myself to death traversing Wales in the name of the Young Farmers' Clubs of Wales attending endless meetings and dying inside every day from mood swings, low self esteem and general misery. Was the condition in my genes or had it been my binge drinking, smoking and snack eating lifestyle that had caused it? So those two places of work do not hold any fond memories for me. I returned to my two up/two down in Grangetown or rather to my sister's house in Canton because I had 'friends' staying at my gaff. I was in the habit of picking up parasites and free loaders who I mistakenly thought were friends but who were working on my 'weaknesses' as a human being. As one said to the other one "There are givers and takers in this life, which one are you"? Years after I thought why had he made such a remark in the first case. Projection? Blood is thicker than water and I owe my sister a huge debt of gratitude for her endless patience, support and love. I have been a right royal pain in the arse on many occasions but she has solidly supported me perhaps with little choice sometimes. I won't identify her, to avoid embarrassment, but perhaps in this small footnote can I show my appreciation. Thank you Sister! You know who you are! 

At the GP's surgery this morning I was given a card with a number on it and a picture of a bat/vampire type creature. Very comforting! (What were they thinking?) From April 1999 till August 2000 I received treatment for Non Hodgkin's Lymphoma and then what does an undiagnosed Manic Depressive go and do? He packs and leaves for London to start a job as a Secondary School Teacher in a tough school in South East London. The Deputy Head on showing me round said "This is not a job for the faint hearted!" I thought I've just had six courses of chemotherapy and lost all my hair. 'Bring it on'. What really decided my course of action was having returned to Grangetown after the departure of my 'friends', I spent the days reading and dwelling and listening to two Yorkshire terriers scratching the wood off the door, next door. Listening to two toy dogs yelping and scratching all day was too much for this Shark Fisherman so I packed my rod and tackle into the back of the Citroen ZX which I had purchased from the Young Farmers' Clubs of Wales and I headed East along the M4 to the Tropics of Lewisham, Downham and Bromley. 

Mystic Dai

In an attempt to make some money, the shady proprietor of sharkfishinginwales has called upon the services of his old butty
'Mystic Dai'.

Here Mystic Dai introduces himself to the readership of sharkfishinginwales

I will refer to myself in the third person cos it sounds a bit poncy and impressive like:

Dai is descended from an ancient line of crystal ball gazers. I can also read palms as long as your hands are clean. Tea Leaf reading at a push. After an unfortunate experience with a Ouija board in Trebanos I no longer offer this service. I spent many years as a postman but realised very early on that I had 'the gift' because many of my work colleagues would refer to me as 'spooky'. I gave up delivering letters for telling fortunes at Barry Island pleasure emporium in 2003. Ten years of sheer hard graft have brought me to the attention of the South Wales Echo and the Glamorgan Gem.
Please ignore any references to charlatanism should you choose to google my name. Feeling lucky Punk? Leave your contact details in the comments box below and I will get back to you telepathically if of course your aerial is pointing towards Wenvoe! I don't cover the other side of the Bristol Channel at this stage. I can also offer a 'gwasanaeth yn y Gymraeg' as long as you are not a 'cyfryngi' up yer own arse or one of the gravy trainers working at the National Assembly. Hwyl Fawr from Mystic Dai.

Thanks to Mystic Dai for that introduction. Any readers and followers of this exceptional and unique blog who would like to avail themselves of these supernatural services please click the donate button on the blog and I will retain 10% of all monies donated so don't be a tight arse. Cheers. 

Dear Dai: Agony Uncle to the poor and infamous!

 

To spice the blog up a bit, the Shark Fisherman of Wales is introducing a new Monthly Feature.

 

Dear Dai:

Agony Uncle to the poor and infamous

(as opposed to the rich and famous)

Without any formal counselling qualifications apart from an evening class in 'Abnormal Psychology' at the Cardiff Centre for Lifelong Learning, Dai or Dai Cap to his enemies and associates will be offering a none too confidential advice service through the blog pages of his oppo 'Sharky'. He is inviting followers and readers of the Blog to send in any queries, problems or concerns generally relating to life.

Dai says
"There is one Proviso! No Sexural questions please. I am very limited in my extra curricular activities so any advice proffered will be based on hope over experience".

Dai is also able to answer letters written in Welsh as long as its not that academic correct Welsh. Bratiaith welcomed in other words.

So fire away with your general queries and questions about life and its challenges in the comments box below and Dai Cap will do his level best to answer them.

Enjoy Yourself!

enjoyment

ɪnˈʤɔɪmənt/

noun

noun: enjoyment

1. 1.

   the state or process of taking pleasure in something.

   "the enjoyment of a good wine"

   synonyms:

   pleasure, entertainment, amusement, diversion, recreation, relaxation; More comfort, relief, delight, happiness, merriment, gladness, joy, fun, gaiety, jollity, satisfaction, gratification; liking, zeal, relish, gusto; informalrec; humorousdelectation; datedsport; rarebeguilement "he has brought enjoyment and happiness to millions"

   antonyms:

   displeasure

   • a thing that gives pleasure.

     plural noun: enjoyments

     "one of his particular enjoyments was campfire singing"
2. 2.

   the action of possessing and benefiting from something.

   synonyms:

   benefit, advantage, use, possession, ownership, blessing, favour, exercise, endowment, availability More "the enjoyment of one's rights"

   A Saturday morning conversation with my dear neighbour has identified something that I've known intuitively for a long time and that is 'I don't know how to enjoy myself'. He identifies that people from a Welsh Non-Conformist background tend to have this inability to enjoy life and when they do it manifests as hypocrisy because they are doing something which they feel is not right or not proper. He said that the Irish know how to enjoy themselves but generally the Welsh don't. I questioned this in respect to original sin and the 'mea culpa' http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mea_culpa  of the Catholic faith and he said that when they came to Cardiff and Liverpool, they were released from that.! Physically yes but emotionally and mentally I wonder.   As I use this blog post as a form of catharsis, forgive me if I continue to investigate this further. I think if I can remember the last time that I 'enjoyed myself' apart from masturbation was in 2005 when I was released from conformity and regimentation and I over indulged on cannabis and ended up in prison. I'm wondering now whether the guilt I was experiencing whilst smoking did not allow for full enjoyment and whether I was actually creating tension in my mind and body. Many people smoke to relax! The relaxant properties soon wore off for me and I realised that my mental state was heightened by its use. This goes for alcohol as well. If I went out discontented I would return angry. Mellowness begets mellowness. I am not relaxed and I am not mellow. I perceive 'enjoyment' to be a selfish pastime. It must be the repressed communist inside me which says if everyone is not enjoying themselves, then it isn't enjoyment. I was never in the kitchen at parties because I never went to parties. If I know that there is a drinks gathering I will find a way to avoid it because I don't want to make small talk with a soft drink in my hand, I want to make big talk with a treble Jack Daniels in my hand but I will not allow myself to 'enjoy myself' because there always appears to be a payback with enjoyment. My neighbour is 76 and he knows how to enjoy himself. He has hobbies, he dances and he will go to public houses. I cannot seem to derive enjoyment from things other people seem to derive enjoyment from. Most normal people would seek fun and fresh air, an amusement park perhaps, I go and look for Wigan Pier. As mentioned in a previous post, the two great oppressions of my youth and adolescence were school and chapel. I didn't want to go to either but I had to therefore as an adult I distrust formal education and formal religion. It leaves an emotional scar well into adult life. I used to drink and smoke because I thought that these substances would allow me to enjoy myself but they didn't. They just heightened the tension inside me. I'm wondering whether this is why I have such an aversion to Christmas and the New Year because they are packaged as holidays where everyone will enjoy themselves but I now know that not everyone enjoys puritanical dourness like I do, so why should they all enjoy the end and beginning of year festivities. We are all different! The Roman Empire knew that to placate the populace, bread & circus was the order of the day. Whilst I enjoy football and supporting my tribal team I am aware that I am playing the game of the Metropolitan Elite and being distracted by the important thing in life which is the way this country and the world is being run. Manchester is a wonderful City but I escaped from it yesterday. I ran to Piccadilly Station through all the Christmas Shoppers passing the statue of Queen Victoria. It was her Albert that introduced the tradition of Christmas Cards and Trees. This time of year is a huge distraction to people. Another two weeks when the populace won't engage in REVOLUTION, spiritual or otherwise. Then its back to work so we cannot then plan for a Spiritual Uprising in this country because we are too busy looking after the nuclear family. The 2.4 children is the stumbling block to community progress. Easter Cards and Bunnies. Long Summer Holidays. Got to keep the kids entertained and amused or our lives will be made hell. All this is Manna from Heaven for the 'Uppercrust' to borrow my neighbour's phrase. We are too busy doing things that will gratify ourselves and our families in the short term rather than thinking longer term about the sustainability of communities. Not enough people are actually talking face to face about the things that matter. We are super skilled at doing it through social media but that's another thing that can be controlled by our Feudal Barons. Perhaps people are pissed off by other people who say "Well you can't do anything about it!" So they keep their opinions to themselves. So this vast impotence sweeps the feudal land and our students are the only ones who are left to person the barricades but then they are swayed by the words of the Dean and Vice Chancellor "What will this do to your future?" We have no future if we carry on like this or at least a very impoverished one. What happens that one Christmas in the future when there is nothing in the shops?

The Road to Wigan Pier

I read the book in my twenties and finally I have made the pilgrimage. I liked Wigan town centre immediately. It was wide. The fact that it was grey and drizzly mattered nowt. I was expecting to see Dave Whelan (Chairman of Wigan FC)  from the top of the double decker bus! It took 1 hour and 15 minutes to get there from Piccadilly Gardens.

 

I had seen the signs for the Pier but thought I would look for the book first, see if I could pick up a copy in one of the many charity shops or perhaps find it in the Library. No success in either but I saw a copy in the Museum of Wigan life. This was a nice, cosy, little Museum, homely even! It utilised video to its best and I followed the history of the Wigan Casino avidly before plucking up the courage to ask directions to the pier.  It wasn't far. It was walkable. The lady told me that there was nothing there, no museum or heritage centre. All there was, was a crap filled canal and a pub called 'The Orwell'.

The area was surrounded by garages and a huge drive thru Dominoes Pizza Emporium. I was nearly run over by a motorist belting into one of the many out of town experiences dotted around this historical site. If the local council don't feel its worth investing in Orwell's heritage, what hope?

 The town library was space age, there was a fairly upbeat feel to the town centre but surrounded by the dark satanic mills, it felt like the town didn't really want to be associated with this part of its Industrial and Social History.  

I was confused, here was a place that could have had a heritage centre and a museum about George Orwell but instead were the symbols of how the 'working class' used to destroy themselves by hard graft and heavy drinking.

Once again I returned to Manchester under a doom laden cloud of my own making

Museum of Science and Industry

Well I am becoming more familiar with Manchester. I am still posturing, pretending to be a Playwright. I am still fulfilling my role as loner, free spirit. This morning I went into the Museum of Science and Industry. Last night I had a conversation in the Hostel with someone who was into the vibes and energies of places. He told me that he felt that Liverpool to him felt a little bit soulless and the centre of the City, Liverpool 1 was set up to take your money! They've extended the shops down to the Mersey. It certainly is different to how I remember it as an adolescent. He said that Liverpool as a city was now about making money and that Manchester was about making money and having fun. This gentleman was a man of Cornwall and I have met a number from the West Country who come up to Manchester for the 'fun'.  As Founding Father and CEO of the Campaign against a Capitalist Christmas I have to say that the Christmas market in Manchester does have its merits. It blends into its surroundings and appears to create good cheer, in the streets around the Royal Exchange Theatre, the Headquarters of Cottonopolis.. On Albert Square there are Dutch Stall Holders selling Bulbs and assorted Garden Ephemera. I suppose all cities are about making money, creating money, generating money but as an Arty type it leaves me cold. Well Everton beat Manchester United 1-0 last night and the supporters from all over the world were pretty gutted when they returned to the youth hostel for middle aged men, from the Theatre of Dreams.

I didn't like the ambience of the Museum of Science & Industry! I was early and they don't let you round until 10.00am although the Gift Shop and Coffee shop are open earlier. I was churlishy grunted at by the illegitimate love child of Paul Scholes and handed a coffee, he must have detected my semi-scouse accent.  It was one of the windiest days of the year and I try and find some inspiration or stimulation on Thursday mornings before my class last thing on Thursday afternoon. As a former employee of the Museum of Welsh Death also known as Saint Fagans I keep a keen eye on how Museums bring their worlds to life for the Tax Payer. Well in short, they don't. Here there was row upon row of Spinning Jennys and Machines associated with the Cotton fields back home. There were pictures of fat cat industrialists who made it all happen. This industry was built on the back of slavery and modern day slaves were cleaning the exhibits as I went round. The fact that they were black made the image all the more disturbing and striking. The powers and principalities were blowing up a gale outside and my mood was darkening as I made my way around the engineering sheds accompanied by Japanese tourists and schoolchildren. If the idea was to create the atmosphere of what it must have been like to have lived and worked in the Industrial Revolution in Manchester, well then it succeeded as opposed to the Imperial War Museum North which in my opinion goes for style over substance. Museums should really hire me as a Curator because I know what I'm talking about. I feel the vibe man! I feel the energies of places immediately! I know who is in a bad mood and a good mood immediately and if they are in a good mood I put them in a bad mood. Museum Wardens and Art Gallery attendants have a pretty soul destroying job but it is not difficult so perhaps like pushy personal shoppers in airports, they could come up to you and give you potted histories of the exhibits instead of standing there, glowering waiting to shout 'Do Not Touch'. I notice in my dotage, that when people meet me for the first time, they either recognise a kindered spirit, another lost soul who is completely fucked off with the world or they encounter a threat to their status quo maybe for the exact same reason. Who knows?