'It is nought good a slepyng hound to wake'

The Warden

This week has been one of repeated tribulations in which whatever I have done, satisfaction has simply eluded me; I should add that these trials are not borne of professional concerns but have occurred quite naturally. In short, the root of the problem is, in fact, my roots – they simply will not stop growing and I am currently mediating a look somewhere between a full Melvyn Bragg and a Tory Grandee of the Thatcher Years. As any self-respecting Londoner would confirm, my barnet is starting to get impressive.

Action is now required and the various shears have been duly purchased; in a valiant attempt to demonstrate their efficacy, Mrs Warden proceeded to cut a large and seemingly necessary patch of hair from the side of her head; her desire to ‘thin’ her hair duly achieved, we now have a need for sun-tan lotion to prevent any unnecessary burns to her delicate skin in a area surrounding her new 'bald' patch. Experience can be a cruel master.

Turning to more serious matters, life at the College has continued apace during Lockdown and it has been a joy to be able to drop in and out of lessons virtually over the week. It is impressive to see how quickly both pupils and teachers have adapted to lessons happening on-line as well as the ease, or perhaps mastery, with which both parties are able to navigate their way through a relatively new medium of school. The social advantage of this live teaching is easily visible, and both sides of the monitor screen are reporting the benefits in providing contact but also in advancing learning. In the media, the term ‘remote learning’ is in vogue, but this fundamentally implies that learning is located, or perhaps restricted, to the physical space in which teaching normally happens.

As lessons here testify, learning – an intangible process at any time – is firmly rooted in and with the pupil and is facilitated, supported, and advanced by distanced teaching.

The College may be temporarily closed to all but Glenalmond is open at home.

The Dog

You can please some of the people all of the time, and you can please all of the people some of the time, Himself, however, never seems to be quite happy. Let me illustrate my point: for half of the year, he expects me to sit to attention and look at him in dutiful awe as he throws more money than sense into the air. This I do and, as some form of token reward, every now and again, I am privileged to lurch off to fetch the outcome. Now, it would seem I am also expected to loll around - but not move, mind you – while he stares at some large square thing without any real odour. This is quite boring, and every time I pop over to see if he is actually alive, he seems more than a little irritated – especially if he is talking at the un-smelly square. I suspect with his new cockapoo hair-do, he’s probably suffering and simply expressing his discomfort at me.

Never mind, while sleeping dogs lie, they tend to plot their revenge.