Let it be known : January has been cancelled! To many, the snow has outstayed its welcome, like an eccentric uncle who stays for Christmas and whose flatulence and jokiness was , at least, different ; now, he's not only tedious but a downright nuisance. The economy is in even more dire straits, shops are stripped of soup and bread, teachers are all bunking off and worried parents are forced to resort to playing with their offspring.
Even left-wing Plaid Cymru AM Leanne Wood - one of the few politicians I have any time for - has joined in with the teacher-bashing, claiming they had a week off last year ( must've been part of RC T only) and that pupils should congregate in Community Centres where teachers can perform minor miracles of education with the equipment there : mostly, in my experience, consisting of tables , chairs and a few pool tables.
Teachers do not make the decision to close schools, so her attacks are misdirected. Decisions are made by Heads in consultation with local authorities. I would imagine that Health and Safety played a major role, as well as the fact that school buses weren't running and still aren't in RCT. Parents are only too willing to use litigation nowadays, so think of a situation where pupils are allowed to go to schools whose yards resemble ice rinks. The same parents who are complaining about schools shutting , would probably be first to sue if little Stephanie or Benjamin broke a leg or two on school grounds.
Herding pupils into Community Centres is ludicrously impractical, given the lack of space and resources there. Likewise, reviving the former practice of teachers reporting to local schools would be merely an exercise in child-minding ; though perhaps that's what Ms. Wood had in mind.
With the help of cat litter scattered over our Close, damp start and a mouse-eaten blanket over our car overnight, I was taken to the train station for the Cardiff City game last Saturday. After my wife suggested it, cat litter seems to have caught on and one chapel in Canton had spread it all over steps and path. Local mogies had yet to make their offerings.
In Cardiff, I bought a pair of hiking boots and when the assistant asked what they were for I should've replied - ' Everyday use round town.' I wished I'd worn them on my trek to Chapter for a pint pre-game ; the streets were lethal and , for once, Cardiff has had it worse than Merthyr, for ice if not for snow.
Despite the problems (especially for older people) the Big Snow does bring us out of ourselves. People chat more readily at my local Post Office, some with clear memories of 1947 and drifts to get lost in. There is always 'More on the way' , even when it's snowing outside and I'm privileged to get priority when it comes to a loaf : passed under the counter like some illicit food during post-war rationing.
This one's from my book 'Poems for Underage Thinkers', published by Pont -
THE BIG SNOW
Three feet and the whole village
discovers its legs, dead spiders
are spilled out of green wellies,
people smile at each other,
remembering teeth and dentures
are meant for more than chewing,
amazed that a whole world
exists without roofs, unseated
they stroll down the main street
daring hellos to everyone
they meet, paying courtesy visits
to their abandoned cars,
hardly anyone working and no-one
on the phone chasing them up.
Another few feet and they'd be hugging
complete strangers, kissing cheeks
French-style and melting piles
with laughter, taking gran's shopping
uphill by sleigh-power, snowballing
the earnests who trek wearily home.
Even left-wing Plaid Cymru AM Leanne Wood - one of the few politicians I have any time for - has joined in with the teacher-bashing, claiming they had a week off last year ( must've been part of RC T only) and that pupils should congregate in Community Centres where teachers can perform minor miracles of education with the equipment there : mostly, in my experience, consisting of tables , chairs and a few pool tables.
Teachers do not make the decision to close schools, so her attacks are misdirected. Decisions are made by Heads in consultation with local authorities. I would imagine that Health and Safety played a major role, as well as the fact that school buses weren't running and still aren't in RCT. Parents are only too willing to use litigation nowadays, so think of a situation where pupils are allowed to go to schools whose yards resemble ice rinks. The same parents who are complaining about schools shutting , would probably be first to sue if little Stephanie or Benjamin broke a leg or two on school grounds.
Herding pupils into Community Centres is ludicrously impractical, given the lack of space and resources there. Likewise, reviving the former practice of teachers reporting to local schools would be merely an exercise in child-minding ; though perhaps that's what Ms. Wood had in mind.
With the help of cat litter scattered over our Close, damp start and a mouse-eaten blanket over our car overnight, I was taken to the train station for the Cardiff City game last Saturday. After my wife suggested it, cat litter seems to have caught on and one chapel in Canton had spread it all over steps and path. Local mogies had yet to make their offerings.
In Cardiff, I bought a pair of hiking boots and when the assistant asked what they were for I should've replied - ' Everyday use round town.' I wished I'd worn them on my trek to Chapter for a pint pre-game ; the streets were lethal and , for once, Cardiff has had it worse than Merthyr, for ice if not for snow.
Despite the problems (especially for older people) the Big Snow does bring us out of ourselves. People chat more readily at my local Post Office, some with clear memories of 1947 and drifts to get lost in. There is always 'More on the way' , even when it's snowing outside and I'm privileged to get priority when it comes to a loaf : passed under the counter like some illicit food during post-war rationing.
This one's from my book 'Poems for Underage Thinkers', published by Pont -
THE BIG SNOW
Three feet and the whole village
discovers its legs, dead spiders
are spilled out of green wellies,
people smile at each other,
remembering teeth and dentures
are meant for more than chewing,
amazed that a whole world
exists without roofs, unseated
they stroll down the main street
daring hellos to everyone
they meet, paying courtesy visits
to their abandoned cars,
hardly anyone working and no-one
on the phone chasing them up.
Another few feet and they'd be hugging
complete strangers, kissing cheeks
French-style and melting piles
with laughter, taking gran's shopping
uphill by sleigh-power, snowballing
the earnests who trek wearily home.
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