Another day at work.

You can't open your eyes without being bombarded by countless calls for changes in education. The calls are not unjust. It's a shambles. It's been a shambles for the last 15 years and then some and the proposed changes, which essentially see state education becoming a privately funded entity are worrying for many reasons. But that tirade I'll save for another moment in time. Today I'm more concerned with early years provisions.

I work in a nursery, in a ward that has two very concerning trends, one is high unemployment and the other is a high birth rate. At present, every nursery in this ward has nothing less than an 18 month waiting list, a list that once a child reaches the top of, they are in the final stages of eligibility for said nursery place. Independent nurseries in this area have closed due to funding cuts and due to staff and space restraints, contingency services such as crèches are next to non-existent. Which means there are a growing number of children who will begin school at age 5, without having any real stimulation outside of the home and minimal interaction with children their own age.

I had a conversation with a colleague about this and she was overcome with dismay. As a parent and a champion of education, she was saddened that children would be thrown into the schooling system in such a raw state, asserting that having a proportion of students in a class who are new to social interactions, new to formal learning and new to routines outside of the home, can affect not only their social development but also their examination progress, the bullion of today's education system. She laboured this point, wondering how this proportion would affect a teachers expectations and the overall development of a class. I agreed but before I did. I trawled through the folder of families that are waiting for nursery places, analysed their social circumstances and then wondered if this level of inadequate provision was prevalent in all wards across London.

There is a £45 million jackpot on the table for tomorrows lucky lottery winner. I'm thinking of buying a ticket and if I win, I'll open a nursery.


- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Location:The office.

On being an ass.

I have a tendency to act like an ass. A colossal ass. I can't help it, it's the result of my inability to complete thoughts before acting coupled with a lack of fundamental understanding of the consequence paradigm. Whenever I behave in such a manner, my mind instantly creates a back story for my actions - a flamboyant and fictitious work of art so full of inaccurate facts and hyperbole that it warrants a place on the cover of some tabloid.

I think the reason my mind does this is because it hold a certain image of me, an ideal K, and whenever I behave in a way that contradicts this ideal, my mind becomes dumbfounded and in order for the ideal to be preserved and to avoid my mind entering a state of implosion, a world of tales is created. My mind appears to have an undeserving delusion of grandeur. Unhealthy? I think so.


The ideal K, like all ideals, is nothing more than a projection of hopes and a rummage through the possibilities of a situation. Nice. However the downfall stems from knowing that you are several thousand leagues below this ideal and it is that inescapable truth that my reality confirms but my mind cannot compute.





- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.

Three things I learnt this week (insomniacs edition).

1) Hard and impossible are polar opposites. 


2) Distraction wears many masks.
 

3) Sleep isn't a human right but it should be. 








- I write in order to avoid talking, for you see as a human, I suck at talking.