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Post by Steve Hopwood on Jun 14, 2008 18:04:32 GMT
Happy highlights of the week: A tale of cruelty that should not be inflicted on any child, anywhere. Prepare yourself for something horrible. Weds afternoon: Gareth has finished his GCSE exams so I had arranged a trumpet\piano practise, piano and gr 6 theory lesson with him during the afternoon. After that, we were to go to school to pick up his 13 year old sister, Cara, for a practise for her grade 2 cornet. Gareth's girlfriend, Sarah, was doing her final exam that afternoon, so we were picking her up as well. Cara and Sarah are both chocoholics. I told Gareth we would stop at a shop on the way to school to buy them both a bar of chocolate. "You can't." said Gareth, "Sarah is trying to cut down on chocolate, but if you offer her a bar she will eat it. Someone has to be strong, so I will tell her you were not allowed to buy her a bar." I pointed out the cruelty of Cara sitting in the front of the car munching a Mars bar whilst Sarah sits in the back pining, but Gareth was determined. Not providing Cara with choc was not an option. I often pick her up after school for a practise and choc is always involved. It is part of the routine. ;D Sarah took it very well when I handed Cara her Mars bar and Gareth explained why there was none for here. He got slapped around a bit, but she didn't insist on being taken home immediately rather than back to Gareth's. Nor did I hear the sound of breaking crockery whilst I was rehearsing with Cara, so I assume they are still an item. Gareth can be hard. _______________________________________________ Sarah came out of school first and cuddled up on the back seat with Gareth. Cara emerged a few minutes later, looked disdainfully at her brother, grinned at me and said, "Have you seen what's on the back seat? Minging." ________________________________________________ 18 year old Imo is an attractive young lady. I teach her, along with her sisters, during my rounds on Friday night. She was going out afterwards to see a film with her friends - 'The Happening' or some-such. A scary film, according to Imo. Explained Im, "I hate scary films. Well, I like them, but I hate them." "I know what you mean," I responded, "and you have friends to cling on to if you get scared, so that is ok." Imo explained that at frightening moments, she will simply grab hold of the nearest individual to come to hand. In the kitchen afterwards, waiting friends confirmed this. "We make her sit in the middle of us," explained one of them, "and this usually works. Occasionally she lunges either forward or backwards, and we have to drag her off some unsuspecting stranger." Hehe. Somebody might have enjoyed a pleasant surprise. I hope he was young and good-looking ;D ______________________________________________ Good to know that our 'A' level students are so mature. It poured with rain from about 3.30 pm on Friday. It was the best summer rain - huge ploppy raindrops but lovely warm temperatures. 17 year old Vicky was a bit damp when I arrived for her lesson. "Get caught in the rain, did you?" I asked. Vicky shuffled around a bit, then decided to come clean and explained, "My friend Sophie decided she was going to go home, put on some shorts and wellies and go outside for a good splash. 'Oh yes, can i come too?' I asked, and Sophie said she had spares of everything, so I spent the last couple of hours splashing in the rain. I only just got home." Wonderful.
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Post by Steve Hopwood on Sept 15, 2008 23:16:45 GMT
Me to 10 year old Lucy tonight: "I haven't eaten a child all day, so I am hungry. Get that bit right or horrible things will happen to you. Mwaaaa haaa haaa haaa." Lucy to me, with the kind of level look that only a 10 year old is capable of: "Steve, the laugh needs working on." Hey ho.
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Post by Dulciana on Sept 16, 2008 8:44:58 GMT
Two nine-year old pupil of mine were having a discussion between lessons about this black hole thingy that's been in the media recently. One was concerned that the world was going to end soon, but the other started quoting Revelations to him, and pointing out how the world couldn't possibly end yet as the Son of Man hadn't returned yet. The amusing thing about this was that the child quoting Revelations is a Muslim!
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Post by Dulciana on Sept 18, 2008 0:04:41 GMT
Another one. 7 year old announces what he's just realised is the Very Best Thing about piano lessons. "I get to get away from my sister for half an hour..."
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Post by Steve Hopwood on Oct 7, 2008 23:06:14 GMT
20 year old Alex arrived for her grade 7 theory lesson this morning. Early on, she announced, "I need a tissue" and rummaged in her handbag. There was a giggle, followed by, "I have put my slippers in my handbag. Can't think why. Ah well, I may as well put them on" followed by a removal of her shoes and donning of her slippers.
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Post by Steve Hopwood on Oct 18, 2008 22:36:32 GMT
It has been a rich week. Hang onto the contents of your stomach. I accompanied Harriets's A2 sax recital on Thursday. She played brilliantly and will have achieved close to top marks. There are not many Harriets in this world - mad keen grade 8 sax, grade 8 violin in a few weeks, grade 6 piano. I adore her. After the recital, her older sister came up to me and said thanks. She followed this with, ""She loves you to bits. She would not be doing what she is now were it not for you," Awwwwwwwww ________________________________________________ This afternoon, Saturday, and several hours spent with another young musical maniac, 15 year old Emily. Clarinet, piano, theory. Last week, we talked about texture. This week, a question about it had come up in her GCSE music class. Em was the only one able to answer. Telling me the story today, she said, "Afterwards, my friends asked me how I knew the answer. I told them it is because I have the best piano teacher in the world." Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww __________________________________________________ Remember Ant of original Awwwwwwwwww fame? Pinned me in the kitchen of her home and pointed out that she was now 7 and expecting her piano lessons? If you don't remember, check back in this thread. Ant is 9 on Tuesday. Eeeeeeeeeeeelkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
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Post by Steve Hopwood on Oct 22, 2008 22:35:13 GMT
Trust me, the pupil I describe here is a highly intelligent, talented 15 year old. The dipstickery herein described came about as a result of tiredness. Working through a 2007 grade 5 theory paper, Amy came across that part of question 1 that required her to write out a treble clef chord in the 'Alto C clef' (Why? Who the h-e-l-l cares if she can do this ridiculous exercise is the subject of a different debate). Amy very carefully transcribed said chord into the bass clef. Amy is a reasonable pianist and very good cellist. After working her way through the whole of q1, I said, "There is a choc for you if you can spot the really embarrassing mistake you just made." There followed a couple of minutes of intense scrutiny of the answers Amy had just written. Occasional anguished cries of, "Come on, give me a clue." were met with a hard-hearted, "Not if you want the choc." Finally, there was a cry of despair and the sight and sound of Amy banging her head against the table. After a minute or so, she roused herself, rubbed out the original answer and replaced it with the correct answer. Amy is petite. I know bigger 10 year olds. Even so, I wasn't inclined to argue with her when she glared at me and growled, "Tell anyone what just happened and you die." Actually, she got more than just the one extra choc. I felt she had earned it.
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Post by Steve Hopwood on Oct 27, 2008 23:17:13 GMT
Marisa is 13 tomorrow. I promise she is not a spoiled brat - in fact she is a total delight. "What pressies have you asked for?", I enquired. There followed a very modest list of demands. After a pause came this classic. "But what I really, really NEED is a new phone." "Why?" I asked. "Has your existing one died?" "No" came the reply. "It is a year old."
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Post by Steve Hopwood on Nov 21, 2008 23:41:26 GMT
It is the Grimsby music festival weekend and I am the accompanist again. I love this event. Jo has been singing since my first visit there; I look forward to seeing her each year; she has a wonderful personality. Out first meeting of the weekend went thus: Me: Ehup Jo. Wonderful to see you again. Jo: Ehup Steve. M: Give me a speed. J: Dum di dum erm um don't really know. M: Hey ho. I will start. You know what to do if I am wrong (the response I was expecting was, "Keep going and wait for you to catch up". I should have known better.) J: Yep. Give you a slap. We performed. This was on the stage at Grimsby Town Hall, so Jo had a long way to walk back to her seat. I couldn't resist telling the audience about the recent exchange. I noticed the adjudicator listening attentively. At the end of the story, said Judge turned around and gave Jo a double thumbs up. They are ganging up on me at this festivel. ;D
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Post by Steve Hopwood on Nov 26, 2008 1:03:05 GMT
Same festival, and the class for songs from musicals\shows for kids aged 10 and under, held inexplicably at 6.30 pm. Ok to start at that time, but a little late when you contemplate the finish time for such babies. So, come 7.30 and The Adjudication. Kids are nearly asleep. Up jumps Judge Andrew Padmore, full of beans and twice as lively. Now, I have huge respect for AP. He is brilliant. He is also very kind - I would set him lose with a group of kids anywhere under any circumstances. Except 7.30 pm in a cold night in Grimsby (and nights can be very cold in Grimsby) with a class of U11's, when he will send any child in the world to sleep. Andrew wittered on at a level way above any normal child could possibly understand, so kiddies started to droop. I happened to be watching one such kiddie. She drooped into her mum's arms. Without actually being able to hear the words, I saw mum give her little one a fearful nudge and snarl, "Sit up and listen." Said little one sat bolt upright and snarled back, "I AM LISTENING". No she wasn't, but who could blame her?
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Post by Steve Hopwood on Mar 29, 2009 22:28:27 GMT
Stood in the hallway of 13-year-old Marissa's home, the conversation somehow worked around to what she would become aged 18. "So," asked Dad of his offspring, "what sort of girl will you be aged 18?" Came the reply, "A mature, well-behaved and confident young adult." "What"!, said I, "not a gum-chewing, rebellious place where satan lives-raiser?" The reply was instantaeous. "Nope. Don't like chewing gum."
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Post by Steve Hopwood on May 2, 2009 11:15:53 GMT
I have some 'A2' recitals to accompany next week, and have just had a rehearsal with one of them. 'Rhythmically challenged' would be a good description of this child, so the rehearsal lasted 90 minute - a heck of a time for a 17 year old. A gobsmacked Emily stood at the end with a copy of her music in hand, asking, "What have I done with the sonatas? I had them only seconds ago." Well, she was very tired. Getting into the car, I heard her say, "Oh mum, you will never guess what I just did." There followed a few seconds of silence then peals of laughter. I am sure the car was shaking as it was driven up the lane. ;D
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Post by Steve Hopwood on May 11, 2009 21:59:36 GMT
Sunday afternoon, teaching in houses in the villages surrounding Gainsborough. The following exchange took place with 13 year old Marisa: My usual, "Has anything really nice happened to you this week?" elicited the response that Dad had returned her iPod, confiscated a month ago as punishment for repeated top-volume shouting in the back garden. "Oh dear," I replied, "How did you cope for a month without your iPod?" Big grin. "No problem. I have a spare. For goodness' sake, don't tell him, or next time he will confiscate my phone, then I am in real trouble." ;D ;D _____________________________________________________ Much later in the afternoon, I described the situation to 14 year old Katy and asked which of the two she would most dislike having confiscated. The reply came without hesitation, "My phone. Mt life would end without it." ____________________________________________________ In between, I pitched up in a tiny hamlet. Lincolnshire specialises in these - a handful of houses dumped apparently at random by some superior deity for reasons none of the rest of us can comprehend. The village is home to 6 under 14's, two of whom (sisters) I teach. 11 year old Lizzie frequently has Becky in tow, so our lessons are frequently trio affairs. These kids all play together. There is something about tiny hamlets kids; in my experience, they are uniformly lovely. This bunch are no exception, and I have met them all individually. It seems that all the parents' houses are open to all kids in the village. Sunday, it was Lizzie's turn to be host. In trooped Lizzie for her lesson, followed by three of the others. "Ehup guys," said I, "are we having a party? Make yourselves at home". They did. I was sat on a chair on Lizzie's right, so the others dragged chairs from the dining table and arranged themselves on her left. I did a quick head count. "Ok, so Steph (older sister) is not going to want to join in because her lesson is next, but that leaves one missing." Molly chimed in with, "She is joining us in a minute. After Lizzie's lesson, we are going to play with the bhoy." I found out subsequently that one of the hamleters had bought one of these and it was proving something of an attraction to the kids. Sure enough, child no 5 wandered in a few minutes later, saw there were no chairs available, meandered into another part of the house and returned dragging a chair behind her. It looked a little heavy, so I helped her out. My lessons in this house usually include Daisy and Kit. Daisy is an Indeterminate Species Mutt; Kit is a Labrador pup. Typically, one is on my right, the other on my left, each with a head in my lap whilst each hand scratches whichever one is on the relevant side. This time, I was abandoned in favour of the girls, so I at least had some hands-free time. Now, nobody reading this would expect 4 unoccupied children to sit still and quiet for 30 minutes. I sure didn't, and was uncertain about how to exercise crowd control in a suitably pleasant and happy manor; I have not been in quite this position before. ;D Granted, one of them suddenly leaped up an announced, "I am going to get Scratch." Scratch turned out to be a rabbit, who curled up in her lap and went to sleep. That apart, the girls were perfect. They were so quiet that I found myself involving them just to make sure they were still happy; we had some laughs. There was a downside to all this - the chocs thingy. With little ones like Lizzie's, they follow this pattern: one for playing their prepared material to me at the start of the lesson; one for some misc success during the lesson; one at the end for putting up with me. Now, I cannot give to one child without also giving to any other that happens to be lying around. I know I don't have to, I simply cannot leave them out. Expensive do, Sunday pm at Lizzie and Steph's. ;D
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Post by Steve Hopwood on May 31, 2009 21:44:16 GMT
Pitching up at the above house, I am usually greeted by Goose and Duck, Goose and Duck were inseparable. Our greetings usually started with, "Ehup Goose and Duck" followed by much ecstatic quacking. Ok, we never quite got onto head-scratching terms, but we were getting there. Today was different. "Ehup Goose and erm err Gosling?" Hiss cheep. "Ehup Goose and Gosling," Hiss hiss cheep "Beautiful Gosling you have there, Goose" Hiss hiss snap hiss snap cheep "We will chat again, yes?" Snap hiss snap hiss hiss snap hiss cheep You have already guessed the explanation. Sadly, Duck had died and Goose was lonely, so the family brought in a Gosling to make up the gap. It was lovely to see how Goose looked after Gosling. I would not like to be a potential predator faced by an irritated Goose. It seems there are a batch of goslings in the incubator. I look forward to meeting them all soon.
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Post by Steve Hopwood on Oct 2, 2009 22:32:18 GMT
I pick up a year 13 from school on Friday pm and take her back to her home for a lesson. On arrival, she goes off to change and I take Louis into the garden to play with his ball. Louis is a little doggy with a huge fondness for ball chasing, but not the possessor of long legs. The garden is very long, so we progress up and down it in a series of ball-throws. All of these trips are accompanied by Chicken. Chicken is the tamest of its breed I have ever met. Apparently super-glued to my right foot, Chicken moves forward when I move forward and back when I move back. All the while telling me about her week. "Cluck cluck squawk cluck squawk................3.........................." Were it not for the distance involved, I would tell Chicken to contact Geese for a good natter. Hey ho. Life is never perfect.
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