Confutatis Maledictis

Given that there is a sizeable stratum in most schools of thugs, chavs, oiks and orcs, schoolteachers keen to enforce decent standards of behaviour face a tough challenge. One teacher seems to have found an effective solution - he straps sits the pimply perps down and makes them listen to some of his poetry Mozart. Verdi, Elgar and Bach also feature in his arsenal.

"It helps them see they are part of something bigger that will enhance their life chances if they become a net contributor, rather than detracting from it," says Head Teacher Brian Walker of West Park School in Derby, "When it's finished, there's no anger or resentment, because it's not a punishment, but pointing out the consequences of their behaviour."


You 'orrible lot is lis'nin' to The Marriage of Figaro, and yer gonna enjoy it. Or else.

I am not sure about this strategy. Associating classical music with punishment is hardly a way to get people to appreciate it, unless the Head Teacher subscribes to the Stockholm Syndrome. On the other hand, I can think of many pieces of classical music which would constitute serious punishment, were people forced to listen to them. Most things by Bartok or Wagner or Stockhausen would fall into this category. Being forced to endure even a small part of any opera by Britten would constitute a breach of the Geneva Convention, whereas forced audition of anything by Harrison Birtwhistle would be a serious offence under the UN Convention of Human Rights. Against such threats, the kinds of things schoolchildren favour - the vilest rat rap music, the most insipid contemporary R&B, or the most self-absorbed drones of student indie bands - would be a walk in the park.

Rugged Grandeur

Norfolk doesn't have the spectacular hills of Scotland. And if you want twee choc-box English villages, you'd probably do better in Devon. Sure, the vernacular brick-and-flint architecture of this part of the world does something for me, but is perhaps not for everyone. But what really does it is the vastness of the sky, and, on the coast, a remorseless expanse that at the same time dwarfs and energizes the the visitor.

So, over the recent holiday, we put aside hearth and home,
and, spurning the floshpits of Cromer
headed out west. Here, for example, is Holcombe Beach on 2 January.

The vastness of this chilly expanse (note dog in left foreground for scale) can hardly be captured in a simple photo. The sea - ah, the sea! - we never actually reached it. It's somewhere off to the right.

The next day we went birdwatching on Cley Marshes, at the reserve run by the Norfolk Wildlife Trust. Mrs Crox and I had been just once - eighteen months previously - but resolved to make more of our membership this year.

Now, that's what I call vastness. Here is Crox Minima with our handy 10x50 bonculars:
and the both of them together at the hide, looking out at the avifauna.
This time, Crox Minor (right) is using the bonculars, whereas Crox Minima (left) is using, as a 'scope, my old Canon A1 SLR with a Tamron 500-mm mirror lens on a dinky tabletop stand. With the help of my cable release and some old Fuji 1600 film I had hanging around the place, I took pictures of some shorebirds which were definitely lapwings, and some smaller ones that weren't. If any of these pics come out anywhere near decent, I'll scan one or two and post them. We also saw ducks, swans (including a black one) and Crox Minima swears she saw a barn owl.

To minimise further family squabbles I have ordered another pair of 10x50 bonculars, and we're looking forward to going birwatching when the weather is less chilly.