In which I get very cross at The Cross
So it’s all change here at English Towers, then. September brings that most alien of sounds… the bloody alarm clock, startling me out of bed at 7am whilst simultaneously alerting Bert to the possibility that breakfast-providing people might be conscious. This starts the pacing, the head-butting of our bedroom door and the pathetic whining – more efficient than any alarm clock to stop you returning to your pit. Yes, I know, back to the real world and all that, but when you’ve had nearly three months off it’s a shock, I can tell you. Anyhoo, #1′s new school (the one containing all the bigger boys) is a whopping 27 miles away, and he and his mate, J, (you know, his Dad C’s got the boat upon which we had such a lovely day) need to get down to The Cross (that’s the Dublin Road crossroads to you English people) to catch the Bus Eireann at 8.06am precisely. I know it’s 8.06am as yesterday I got there at 8.05am just as it pulled up:
‘But wait!‘, I cried, ‘C isn’t here with J yet – can you wait two seconds?’ ‘Nope‘, came the self-important reply, even as he was pushing the button to shut the door in my face, ‘my official time is 8.06am and I must depart’.
Oh, I thought, that’s a pisser, especially as the clock in my car only just clicked to 8.06am as I got back in, but then I headed C off at The Cross and he went hurtling after the bus like a Galway version of Jensen Button and managed to catch the bus up and deposit his child. This morning, then, we were all huddled at the bus stop bright and early at 8.00am. No way we were going to let the same thing happen again. at 8.10am we were a bit worried that we might actually have missed him after all, at 8.20am, we were anxiously craning our necks towards Dublin, and at 8.30am, C decided to put the kids in the car and drive them to school himself, lest they didn’t make the journey by 9am.
A bit put out, especially after Mr Jobsworth wouldn’t even wait half a second yesterday, I decided to call the bus station. Now I don’t know if Bus Eireann’s interview questions include: ‘ do you faithfully promise to not give a shit about our customers’, ‘can you answer the phone in a caveman-type manner that sounds a bit like ‘ugh’ and ‘can you do your best to sound half-arsed and completely ignorant’, but if so, this one passed with flying colours:
Bus Eireann Genius: ‘Ugh’
Me: ‘Er, hello? Is that the bus station?’
Genius: ‘Ugh’
Me: ‘I’m calling about the Dublin Bus. It didn’t seem to turn up this morning’
Genius: ‘Hmph traffic… meh nothin’ we can do… ugh out of my hands mumble’
Me: ‘So is this a regular occurrence? In future is there any way we can find out if he left early or is delayed? A phone number maybe?’
Genius: ‘Ugh… sniff… traffic… no guarantee… harumph’
Me: ‘Oh, okay then, thanks so much for your time and for making your position so clear’
Genius: ‘Meh’.
So okay, at least I know where I stand: Bus Eireann don’t give a sod if my child gets to school on time, there appears to be no way to judge whether the driver has arrived half a millisecond early and rocketed off to the next stop before we’ve arrived, or whether he’s been caught in traffic and yet to turn up. Well you know me, I’ve rifled off a strongly worded email, which will no doubt make absolutely no difference and whether my child makes it to school or not will continue to be a total lottery. Ah, rural life eh? And you thought it was all sheep and green pastures…
The Friday Photo: #1 and the school rules
So yesterday we got a pack through from #1′s new school. After nearly having heart failure at the book list (you have to BUY their text books! All of them! For the whole year! In advance!!!) and the uniform list (how can one child possibly wear that much clothing? It would be like Joey in Friends when he wears all Chandler’s clothes at once: ‘and I’m going commando…’) we look at the Code of Behaviour.
Me (reading aloud): ‘Explicit demonstrations of a sexual nature between pupils are strictly forbidden’.
#1 (looking worried): ‘Phew, thank goodness for that’.
Me: ‘Mobile phones are prohibited during all in-school activities, including class and will be confiscated if found switched on, regardless of whether it is being used or not’
#1: ‘Ooh, harsh’
Me: ‘Hair styles must avoid extremes of fashion and must conform to accepted rules of cleanliness, tidiness and safety’
#2 (snorts) to his big brother: ‘Heh, that rules you out, then’
#1: ‘Shut up Doofus’
Me: ‘Pupils must present a neat and tidy appearance at all times’
#1 (chronically incapable of tucking in a shirt or choosing matching socks): ‘Uh oh’
Me: ‘No facial piercings are allowed’
#1: ‘What about nipples, then?’
Me: ‘Hmmm… probably rules nipples out too – why, have you got something to tell me?
#1: ‘Nope, my nipples are a temple’
Me: ‘Okay, next one: Tattoos are strictly forbidden’
#1: ‘What, even on your johnson?’
Give me strength.
Goodbye carefree childhood, hello teenage angst
So I think I’ve said before that the school the children attend is a good old fashioned Irish preparatory school. They have boarders, and Matrons, and get to play in the woods and have proper lunch and cricket and rugby and stuff. #1 has spent two happy years there and today was his last day. He was tremendously sad, although this was slightly offset by being allowed to stay over yesterday for the leavers’ party, which seemed to include a day out to some mad place where they did ‘bog jumping’ (yes, really, in a peat bog – he still has it under his nails), an assault course, a proper outdoor barby (‘I had a burger…and a hotdog with loads of onions…ooh, and some really nice marinated chicked…ooh, and lemonade…’) and then back to the school for a specially arranged late night swim in the outdoor pool (a lovely detail was that the staff on duty used their car headlights to light the pool for them) and very little sleep afterwards, no doubt. This was a wonderful, memory-building last night for #1 and his friends, something they’ll no doubt tell their children about.
So it was with a certain melancholy that we took our places in the beautiful hall (I especially love it that one of the paintings shows a magnificent greyhound) for #1′s very last Prizegiving Day. Well, there were prizes for this and prizes for that, and I have to admit I’d kind of zoned out a bit and then… hang on, was that #1′s name I heard? Yes! And I could see him weaving his way up to the front to receive The Senior Music Prize, no less. I could see #2′s face all smiley and proud as he clapped double hard for his big brother. And then, shortly after, once again to receive The Latin Prize!!! Afterwards, breathless and red faced, he came rushing up clutching a distinction certificate for History too. Not to be outdone, #2 got a certificate for swimming – he is just coming up to his senior three years now, so I can see there’ll be some healthy competition on the prize front in years to come.
So on to senior school, then. Many new challenges ahead. And honestly? This school’s been the making of him (and continues to do a great job with #2). They arrived, uncertain in a new country and frankly unhappy to be joining a new school, and he leaves a confident, happy, sunny teenager. He’s still our mad professor, but he’s taller. And more argumentative. Happy days.
The Friday Photo: Lights! Camera! Er… fractions!
So, there was much excitement at the schoool this week. The children were strangely interested in being at school early and, frankly, I didn’t blame them. An enormous film crew descended upon the 200 year old pile, magically taking it back in time to the 1930s. It was really quite bizarre, when picking up your children, to bump into a 1930s schoolgirl, complete with bobbed hair and pinafore dress, or park up next to a beautiful old car on the drive.
The far end of the cricket pitch was a mass of trailers, catering wagons and trucks full of equipment, and the fellas tell me that some of the interior was repainted and altered as well. They’re miffed that it was supposed to be a girl’s boarding school as some of the senior girls got paid (yes! Paid actual money!) to be extras (‘and they got to use the catering wagon’ added #2, huffily). I did, I admit, have a very interesting conversation with one of the make-up ladies (who let me have a look in her see through make-up bag… woohoo!) so I could tell you what film it is that they were shooting, which incredibly famous and rather beautiful actress is starring and who the director is, but sadly I would imagine it’s top secret so I’d have to kill you.
