cervical radiculopathy
paresthesia
spondylosis
dermatome
worsening neurological deficits
occiput
pinched nerve
pins and needles
aging wear and tear
the nerve path
clumsy hands
headaches
writing
Cold moon.
Bells clank and clatter
far off on the hills up high.
Above the wild white wonder
as large as the sky.
I departed for a walk
on a winter’s day;
Scattered tufts of frozen blades
guided the way.
I tasted the excitement
on the wind’s frozen air.
No animal moved freely
under my glare.
Children slid, jumped, and threw
their newfound toy.
Ran my hands through the powder
embracing each flake of joy.
The trees groaned under
weights as heavy as a house.
Soon the sun would say goodbye
like dying flames shining on a winter’s grouse.
Their arms wrapped up
against nature’s blanket of chalky dry milk.
Glistening fields of brightness
reflecting the overwhelming beamed sun on silk.
Keeping gifts in mind beyond
the long-passed autumn nights.
The excitement of finite December
filled with hope and delights.
Fall.
The leaves fall.
They embrace the ground.
Their fall is one of love.
They nourish the soil.
The roots return.
Branches stretch out.
The sun warms.
New leaves grow.
Ready to fall again.
Crumpsall.
I was born here.
Today to help someone.
Yet, I feel like a product recall.
Seen some come and go.
One day, we all know.
Directions
I’ve been stuck in standing traffic
After going twice around the roundabout
Unable to find my turn off
I turn into the wrong lane
Heading against the flow
Headlong into you
Playground Blues.
Winner stays on; bell has gone; looks like Champion is our John.
Clock is ticking; defender is nicking; choice of the picking.
Up steps Daz;
gives it to Gaz;
who crosses to Saz.
The goal is gaping; the truants vaping; all of a sudden net is shaking.
The cries are heard from afar; teacher shouts, “nul point”;
Damn – VAR.
Hunt’s Pot (by Pen-y-Ghent)
Beneath the grasses: legs held dangling,
Soft earthly ledges of rich limestone with pure airflow.
The smooth voyage by rail no trouble at all
With striding pathways of steel, through vales of appeal,
across lands cast in green carpets. Beneath cloudless skies
Which beam light into deep crags, the cracked fragmented
Grounds of eternity. Dramatic streams fade from surface
To run a course beyond that of passing eyes, under
Forgotten routes beyond roots. From within the crack
Above life embraces opportunity and greenery reaches upwards
Tumbling automatically without consideration.
Its eagerness to devour air and grow stronger.
Survival of beasts under leafy drapes and salient
Canopies of loath shade across clumsy stacks of statuary shattered stone.
This emerald-laced cauldron sways with breezes lightly.
Winds have bombarded, ice has frozen the past, and much matter
has been dispelled. But today, in the soft sun, this Hunt’s Pot
is Heaven on Earth. Savage not now.
Lost in Nature
Lost in nature, we forgot the time; Chasing mountain hares along a line; Admiring butterflies hanging on fine; This was a day where we forgot the time.
Let out until darkness, we lost our way; Plenty of words we could speak and say; Through flags full of colour we did pray; This was a day we could play our way.
Under stars that shone down on us; Hands in hands feeling the buzz; Taking the moments, each one a plus; Not one feeling deemed superfluous.
These were the places, the times, and the escapes; Swallowed within sprawled landscapes; Every connection spans and takes shapes; These moments, these memories: wonderful escapes.
Holes in the Earth: A Wander
Manchester Victoria train station has a huge map on tiles. It’s part of the historic Lancashire and Yorkshire Railways station. Before split ticket applications. Before multiple rail network and ticket prices. Simpler times. A glorious end point, or a beginning, or an interchange. My Dad worked here many times. He fell off a ladder there too. Dad’s memory hasn’t been right since! Today, Friday, May 30th, a train departed at 07:21 to Leeds. Panda and I boarded it.
Hull Pot is surprisingly close to Horton in Ribblesdale village. A reasonable sub-hour wander up a gradual incline lined with stone makes for a decent ascent. The only difficult aspect was to turn left after around 5 minutes of leaving the B6479 (Pennine Way road) onto the Pennine Way footpath, just after Horton Beck, heading away from Brackenbottom. Head straight forward and ignore any left or right turns. Hull Pot is toward the hamlet of Foxup. Horton in Ribblesdale station has a small cafe and ample amounts of lodgings for walkers. We needed neither so trod onward and upward.
Hull Pot (91m/300′ long) is neither ceramic nor cannabis or belly. It is a quaint chasm (18m/60′ wide), opening into a gully (18m/60′ deep) of water and greenery, with thunderous cascading water pouring down a steep face of bare rock. The incredible flow of a visibly disappearing river thumped downward into a gap of glistening rock. Not the sort of place to dangle your legs unaided, yet certainly a place to watch every step. The next one may be your last. Watching Panda on a shortened lead warned me of how simple one step beyond could become fateful. Just a trip over the lead; And then a step to the right; Put your hands on your hips; and pray you don’t fall. No more Time Warp references. Sorry Richard O’Brien.

After the great view, heading as the crow flies towards the visible pathway up Pen-y-Ghent takes you away from Hull Pot‘s waterfall vista. Pen-y-Ghent, devoid of trees, shows the passage of time, weathered and individually steeply rising from a patchworked green landscape. Like Hull Pot, there are collapsed limestone features, just of rock, and streams like the one that submerges at Hull Pot only to re-emerge at Brants Gill Head. Sheep, and lambs during lambing season, are everywhere. They’re either looking for selfies or confused by Panda the border collie not trying to round them up. Today’s climb involved clouds and battering winds at the higher points, only to part for sunshine and calmness as I set off downward again. The view at the summit being somewhat shrouded by rolling clouds.
On the path downward, and barely yards from many passing feet sits another hole (Hunt Pot) in the ground. Again a waterfall slips into the broken gash of earth and a huge volume of water disappears from the ground above. Hunt Pot (60m/197′ deep) is a spot more than worthy of a good sit down, rest, and respite. Butties of radish and prawns, katsu coleslaw, and an avocado alongside a gallon of Vimto did the trick. I tucked into Ben Macintyre’s A Foreign Field, devouring a few pages as Panda rolled around in the grass. Photographs were taken of the hole and its waterfall, at which point, I decided the Ribblehead viaduct (detectable from the peak of Pen-y-Ghent) was now the walk’s targeted end point. That and the Ribblehead station, a few yards away.
Following the footpath, near parallel to the discernible flow of the River Ribble, Panda and I passed through farm fields, traversed High Birkwith, the wild flow of Coppy Gill, Brow Gill Beck, and the charming Cam Beck. Emerging onto Inman Lodge Road (B6479), turning right, the bends of Gauber Road reach Low Sleights Road (B6255) and The Station Inn (1879), at Ribblehead Viaduct. A brew, coconut cake, and a sit down were necessary. I’ve always found this area magical. It has an aura. It always calls me back. The oystercatchers, fossils, viaduct, green, and solace. My fortress of solace.
Batty Moss sits beneath the 24 spans of the Ribblehead viaduct. Modern diesel trains roll over this site and have done since the 2nd of August 1875. The picturesque bridge itself was constructed over half a decade. Over a 100 souls perished during its construction and remains of navvy camps can be found in close proximity. Thankfully smallpox, navvy brawls, and the perils of producing a 400m (440 yards) bridge are less of an issue for a rambler in 2025. The 32 metre-height (104′) may cause the odd person to stumble in awe, on a ground covered in natural potholes and squishy mosses. This sensation is often exasperated by steam locomotives crawling over the vast span of bricks and stone. After a wander seeking fossils within the bridge’s gigantic bricks, Panda and I wandered up to the old station at Ribblehead and hopped aboard a train to Leeds. Manchester Victoria was to be our final stop before home and bed. Feet up. Lovely day.
The 15 miles (24km) of walking can be found here (featuring: 2,464 ft/751m up & 2,231 ft/680m down).
Harmony
Cruel hand deals twisted fate
Not seeking solace nor peace
Dealing a weighted deck of chaos
Shoving detritus unto the face
Only time heals the irate
Drip, drop, drip.
Drip, drop, drip, rain begins to fall,
A soggy blanket over us all.
Pitter-patter, drop, drop, plop, it’s quite absurd,
Each raindrop whispers a moistened quiet word.
Many flowers giggle, the trees all prance and dance,
Worms pop up, taking their chance.
A puddle forms, a tiny sparkling sea –
A stranded haven for boats made of leaves, yippee, yippee!
Splash, splosh, splish, what a watery flowing treat,
Raindrops tip-tap-dancing over the street.
Forget not your brolly, dear old chap,
Or just you might drown in your very own lap!
The rain it mocks, it rattles, it laughs, it jeers,
Sneaking down necks, alongside strands of hair, tickling ears.
But oh, dear rain, you do as you must,
For without you, we’ll be dry and towels trust.
So drop, drip, drop, and have some fun,
For when you’re gone and done, out comes the red hot sun.
But until then, I’ll wear a joyful grin –
And a very large bucket hat to keep you from getting in!
The Beautiful Game.
Where do I begin? Half and half scarves.
Following a player just for their win. Or Jack Grealish’s calves.
When had it all changed? Facebook, Twitter, X or whatever.
A platform to say anything, deranged. Modern supporters whatever the weather.
Except no. Not the rain. Not even what they call a small game.
Being begged for final tickets, which makes me insane. Fulham, Madrid, Stalybridge Celtic treat all the same.
King of the Kippax, not anymore. Game pin badges rare as rocking-horse dung.
Paper programmes up-priced to four. Your team wins, “It must be a bung.”
Image right charges, sponsors inflated. The big four, five, six, twenty.
Listen for facts, stop being deflated. No Cup replays, goodbye to plenty.
Entitlement and bitter disappointment. Park football understanding sacrifice.
The faded smells of changing room ointment. Out with the old, no room for advice.
Fields and pitches become housing estates. Bitter chants about empty seats.
Number 47 after traditional 8s. There is no room for crisis, cost of living: no eats.
The modern game for the working class. Prices go up and up and up and up.
Saturday? No. Sunday afternoon? No. Monday night? Pass. Dare you to question what is up?!
Toe the line, stand in line, pay the fine. Point deductions bring into disrepute.
Games from July to June, from Plymouth to Tyne. From five to nine, another substitute.
Automatically offside by the skin of a toe. Away, third and fourth kits in all varieties.
Again, VAR is stealing the show. Dates chugging along as corrections in diaries.
Loyalty bonus? Leaves in a year. Win, lose or draw, never gifted a process freeze.
Question their passion? Falls on deaf ear. Captive audience prices that cause you to wheeze.
Football reformation and regulation without invitation. Bills for teams, fans, agents, and players.
Time to question the rule makers’ instigation. What game will be left for the naysayers?
The beautiful game? The beautiful game. Our beautiful game? Our beautiful game.
Your beautiful game? Your beautiful game. My beautiful game? My beautiful game.
STRONG(ER)
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Really?
Overused and overly spoken dross.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Parodied aphorism!
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Resilience and affirmation for overcoming adversity?
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
“Out of life’s school of war…“
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Twilight of the Idols, an unread book on the shelf I’ve yet to install.
“That which does not kill us makes us stronger.”
Friedrich Nietzsche, I don’t believe you.
Take suffering as an opportunity to build strength.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Kelly Clarkson sang about standing “a little taller.”
“Aus der Kriegsschule des Lebens.—Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich starker”
It never feels that way.
Immigration.
You can’t ever imagine how it feels.
You really can’t.
The worry that shakes the ground beneath your feet;
the storm brewing and paperwork left unfilled.
You have been settled, untroubled by these challenges, unaware of the steps we have yet taken.
You sigh and carry on regardless.
Dreams
“You are never too old to set another goal or dream another dream” – C.S. Lewis
More sleep. More mentoring. More books. More sharing. More new foods. More daring. More paths, yet to be walked. More caring. More cycle rides. More riding. More hugs. More talking. More cuddles. More sliding. More cups of tea. More creating. More cosiness. More time writing. More sunsets. More bearing. More starry skies. More drawing. More laughter. More reassuring. More dog walks. More cooking. More dreams. More learning. More trips away. More cleaning. More togetherness. More feeling. More fun. More dreaming. More devotion. More gleaming. More love. More, more, more.
More than this.
Master
How do we master the theory and put it to practice? Can’t let the search for answers distract us.
Those educated guesses, insights accumulated; control learned to halt ourselves frustrated.
Who will believe in our ways forward?
Guide from the sea, our lost raft, shoreward.
Daring do.
Daring do.
Boldness brought about by fate;
The chutzpah of the moment, raging inflate.
Determination by the bucketload;
Jaw strutting out, standing proud and bold.
Destiny unknown, holding your nerve;
Fearlessness to catch the serve at every swerve.
With courage and dauntlessness;
Batting away fear with dabs of recklessness.
Petty safe ground abound and found;
Hopes and dreams sound around yet downed.
Compliance of darkness swept aside, under a mound;
Chasing away gloomy twilight, each and every black hound.
Unseen Variable
It’s not the thing you see and know. It’s the thing they see and know.
It’s the shadow across broad daylight, revealed in radiant rays of newness
It’s the stillness of the pond on a windy day and what lies beneath.
It’s the calm skies ahead of a mighty mammoth of a storm.
It’s the drumming of Earth’s heart, rattling along lines far below the surface.
It’s the invisible rays passing from great solar storms passing through unknown to all.
It’s the grit under tyres and the silt beneath that spins the wheels above to new angles.
It’s the push of the wind against the flow of traffic slowing down the morning commute.
It’s sounds unheard yet given to the air, triggering an avalanche of unlocked actions.
It’s the soliloquy spoken softly to an absent audience ahead of silent auditions.
It’s an array of unseen variables that tangle hairs and twist cotton threads.
It’s not the thing you see and know. It’s the thing they see and know.
FOR QUEEN & COUNTRY
Fought for Queen and Country
Drives a van for Asda
Battled sandstorms, landmines, and budgets readily
Pumping oil from near Basra
Why did they serve?
Away from family for months and days
Eddie Stobart rejecting tank commanders
Bodies fed on greedily by strays
Bills at the floor of the doors as bailiffs panders
Vulnerable as all.
Criminal courts ripping up old yarns
Furiously cashing in on earned medals
Looters dashing from farms to barns
PTSD, shellshock, forgotten jacketed, outcasted rebels
Witnessed the fall.
Owen, Sassoon, Armitage, Duffy, or Agard
Signed up with support lacking equipment
Stories lost, retold, or given little regard
Brutally shown reality of near-empty shipment
Exposed to much more.
War to war, always the same
For King, for Queen and service to crown
New players in the same old game
Faded uniform blends to funeral gown
The end begins.
Ex Nihilo
Something from nothing,
Yet nothing was something;
So something was
And therefore, nothing can be.
Omnipotent presence
Surely was something;
How can nothing birth something?
Why would something grow from nothing?
Ignorance and wrath in stark contrast,
Ever the contradiction;
Biased omnibenevolence to some,
With all powerful ignorance damning many.
The chicken, the egg, the old conundrum;
Which came first?
Faith in science and science in faith,
Each with parts unravelled.
Weather the storm.
I don’t want to talk about someone in the past tense;
The here and now will do.
Hearing, lustening, feeling across the range of sense;
Being around people presently through and through.
Seeing memorials, farewells, and gatherings of goodbye;
Flowers lay, horse and cart pulling away.
Knelt down by stone, looking up at the grey sky;
Unspoken words not ever able to say.
Wretched dreams unlived and walks unwalked;
Guidance and advice, unable to be dispensed.
Nattering and talks left silent, untalked;
Unable to place arms, no hugs against.
Worry and fear of you no longer near;
Push it aside and stand tall together.
Until the time comes, we must live out every year.
Weather the storm whatever the weather.
Tree Fall.
Amongst the space of a lonely field,
Towering into winds never before perceived,
For many a century, the wood stood unpeeled,
History’s hardest winds never before conceived.
This night, your great winds blew, relentlessly,
Shaking all umbrellas as they wandered,
And sweeping side to side shattered panes carelessly,
Macintosh jackets thought as squandered.
Stood upright, resistant to gales,
Arose squelching sounds to tree roots,
Battered and blustery heaped on, it fails,
Tougher than a pair of old boots.
Creaking and leaning, sinking deep into,
The tree sought to stand hard on the land,
The air blew and grew as the storm did brew,
Tanned tree’s fanned roots sank into sand.
The turbulent gust gave more bursts of force,
Fierce furious and volcanic blasts slammed,
No longer the tree could hold its long course,
Rammed into it and cause it to be dammed.
Tempestuous savagery caused the tree to turn,
Leaves leapt into volatile and quarrelsome air,
Down went all branches as the trunk turned up fern,
Slumped down, did it all without but a prayer.
The ruinous remains of life situated across,
Soon, dies down the storm of the night,
New horizons lay out for its coating of moss,
Once upright, now fitted tight, susceptible to parasite.
The adaptive bole will adjust as best,
The sideways makeover, an alteration,
Its fruits shall bear once more upon its crest,
Should it steady in its newfound acclimation.
Like yesterday
Was it yesterday we last met? Or, the week before? What? Over four years?! Unbelievable! It feels just like yesterday.
A new place with a new arrangement? Feels homely and familiar. I’ve never been here, yet it fits like a glove. Incredible! It feels just like yesterday.
Older paws and fresh tails. New photos and shirts and books and electronics. Similar but different games. Same old, same old. It feels just like yesterday.
Same voices, different figures. Hearts and minds open or closed. Warmth, deeply felt friendship. Experiences gained through tales and moments unmatched. It feels just like yesterday.
Hugs, handshakes, and cheers. One for the road. A night cap. A natter. It all matters. It’s irrelevant until it’s relevant. A proud writer talking to a writer. Audiences growing. It feels just like yesterday.
Congratulations and commiserations. Job done. Here’s to another one. Not too many years away next time. Days instead. Open doors and invites. It feels like it will be tomorrow.

Reflected.
Morality is an argument. Conscientious decisions trouble. Choices a barrage of beratement. Unearthed memories lay in rubble.
Wicked temptation twists contemplation. Rightfully wrongly, lyrics of living. Shrouded silk on slivered sensation. The sieged scattered soul of sacred sieving.
Reflection reigns readily within contrast. Thoughts tumble twist, blast, and clash. Tumultuous turmoil thrashes out the past. What once was, and what no longer is, rests in ash.
Triumphant yesterday smoulders in the mirror. Grounded mortar spills from split seams. Consider it, nor will it deliver and trigger a shiver. The remains of the day gleams no further dreams.
Pryce Writer.
Ever since the cinematic cover of the Aberystwyth Mon Amour noir novel caught my eye, I’ve needed to wear glasses. That isn’t so true. I have never worn glasses. Also, not true. I have worn sunglasses and safety goggles, as well as some sort of cinematic enhancement framed device. I have never worn spectacles due to an eyesight problem. Not that wearing glasses should be frowned upon. You can also frown without eyewear. One author, and probably a few more were glasses. Nobody judged them, or perhaps they did. I cannot be responsible for everyone. I wouldn’t want to be, either. Malcolm Pryce, the author of the Louie Knight series wears glasses and has great vision.
Mr Pryce, lectured at Oxford, published online videos (The Oxford Writer) for aspiring writers, worked in advertising and other such pleasantries on his path to becoming an author and inspiration to a walking tour in his childhood hometown of Aberystwyth. If you are lucky enough to read reviews or listen to them, you will see phrases and words such as:
“This is Crime Noir with a hefty dose of pastiche” – Girl with a Head Stuck in a Book, Amazon
“… with a dollop of Monty Python and a zest of The Dam Busters – is a riot.” – The Guardian
“Throw in some veterans, hidden identities and some really good ice cream and you have a story that can barely be believed” – Eco Witch, Waterstones
“…the off-kilter imagination that made Aberystwyth Mon Amour such fun is firing on all cylinders again.” – The Independent
“…such cadence, such panache and such abundant comic talent…” – Daily Telegraph
Many writers want a page turner, but as the author highlights, future writers should aim for much more in the imagined reviews of their future imagined texts.
Storytelling at campfires from the times of men (with women and kids) living in caverns and caves has evolved time and time again. Curiosity, causality and conflict have spread in life and text, equally. Page one, the hook raises a question. Raising more and more questions, answering a few or all, whilst raising more adds to anticipation as we go from page to page. The page turner, so to speak. Causality must propel, and progress needs resistance, like conflict or things that go wrong.
Scenes set tones, moments and a stage that action can live from. The reader reading a book imagines scenes, unlike those at the theatre or movies where actual reality or computer-generated imagery causes a scene to lead to another scene and every sequel afterwards. The finale is the end. Stories within stories lead to novels. Ian Fleming famously set his 007-vehicle Goldfinger in three parts. Part one: Once is happenstance. The sequel: Twice is coincidence. The finale: Three times is enemy action. Fate delivered in text.
Emotion in reading can be tragic. Readers are drawn to it. Stories can help us experience something life cannot always guarantee and help us connect to our hearts and minds. Writer Malcolm Pryce evoked a twang of curiosity and desire to know more, when he mentioned On The Art of Writing by Cornishman Sir Arthur Quillar-Couch. This Bodmin-born poet, novelist and critic pushed for short, sharp, succinct English to be used by writers to draw in readers. Concrete words are easily connected to and visualised. Abstract terms and jargon can be difficult to access for many readers. The simplest of words can generate a dramatic effect.
Beyond these paragraphs, other key topics included:
- · story definition.
- · plot coupon.
- · habit
- · never give up
- · Vlad the Impaler was a memorable and model baddy
- · morbid curiosity
- · In the Realm of the Senses (Japanese)
- · the need for suspense (to arouse curiosity)
- · Thisness
“A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit”. – Richard Bach, author
Much more will be learned from Mr Pryce. I’ll save it for another day…
That Reading Thing: First Notes
That Reading Thing: Lesson One
Humorous friendly, laid-back learning environments matter. High expectations and totally safe workspaces must be guaranteed.
An investment in education of £192 gets an individual access to That Reading Thing for around 7 weeks. My journey began on April 26th, 2023. Armed with several instructions and a few printed materials, I opened the guidebook sent by Tricia Millar. The course has been recommended by experienced colleagues, external assessment and a variety of reviews are available globally.
Each topic is split into sections. The first section is titled, “How do you teach a teenager to read?” This featured a background, some decoding and a briefing on struggling or confident readers approach unfamiliar words. The 24-minute-long online training video advised how to make phonics age appropriate. Tricia Millar (not from Orange is the New Black, different spelling of course!) mentions the work of Professor Diane McGuinness (University of Florida) and linguistic phonics, or speech to print phonics. Teenagers, as highlighted by Tricia Millar, who cannot read or struggle to read are often humiliated, embarrassed, and subject to social stigmas. That’s where That Reading Thing began. It fills a gap.
Struggling readers may have given up reading for meaning and may substitute similar-looking words for alternatives, e.g., vitamins in place of victims. Some may look for words within words and not actually be able to make any sense of morphology in the first place. There are skills we need. We must read left to right, as learned in English as a kid. Words can be thought of as whole objects by some learners. Knowing how to segment and blend is a learned skill. Those syllables and words don’t just appear in our heads at birth. Sounds and voices are key. Sounds can be spelt with 1-4 letters. Graphemes are like that. Those spellings of sounds are pesky. Accents are normal, too. Things that look the same but sound different happen, yet the likelihood of one sound of the other is more feasible. Break bread on a beach. The former word has a sound uncommon, to the middle word bread, which is still far less common than the sound ‘ea’ in the beach. Some sounds will also look differently. ‘Ee’ sounds can spelled as ‘ee’, ‘i’, ‘e’, ‘y’, ‘ea’, less so as ‘e…e’, ‘ey’, ‘ie’, ‘ei’, ‘eo’, and super rare in ‘ay’, ‘is’, ‘oe’ and ‘ae’. The phoenix’s foetus beats a pizza for its babies and their keys. Dialects can impact this, too. Remember, some rules have outliers like station to ration. Rules in reading are wasted effort. It is better to focus energy in other ways…
Here, I went for a coffee. Then, back to That Reading Thing, with Tricia Millar, and we glanced at the 6 key ingredients of That Reading Thing. Removing labels is key, smashing away the past. She prescribes, “You don’t have to know anything we haven’t learned together” for a good reason. The clean slate is often needed. What happened before, isn’t constructive to confidence and learning. By saying this to a student, you set high expectations and agree that “you do have to know what we have learned together”. We’re enabling the students to make progress and remove stigmas. A positive effect should see a student attend class, be punctual and feel secure in their learning environment.
Multi-sensory, “say the sounds” approaches give tools to the student whilst the teacher be clear with their sounds. Sting-free error correction needs to be applied. Turning negative responses to more encouraging and positive approaches. Show the error, say something (show and tell), and ask a question to prompt the student to respond using their own knowledge to correct or work out something is amiss. Teaching-free zones can be applied. There’s no need to explain everything. This isn’t a science-based approach to English. This is an enabling ploughing-on mission that allows pace-setting. Discussions come later. Answer questions quickly. Stay on track and use scripts, but not that of scripted teaching. Stay efficient and allow students to respond to the unfamiliar by using independent learning.
Another coffee was needed. I supplemented my coffee with a Tunnock’s caramel wafer. Other wafers are available but few are as satisfying as the 30 grams of wafer, layered in 4 parts of caramel, wrapped in milk chocolate. Much like this snack, words and literacy teaching comes with its own layers. As a teacher, we allow the student to ascend a mountain, and talk them over crevices and ledges as and when they get stuck. At the top of the mountain is their first novel. We coach building and spelling a short and long word. Visual clues, charts of sounds and puzzle cases follow. These help to read short or long words when a student is stuck, overhanging a precarious drop. Support comes in a harness, but little more. They need their hands, cams, nuts, draws, slings, carabiners, crampons and ropes. “Say the sounds, tell me what you hear.” Words that I have heard from these videos included: sprag, hodmandod, blunge and tintinnabulation. The takeaway point of the second video was simple: allow conversation to develop long word understanding.
In closing, my notes are not for profit, duplication or to undermine the course. They’re here for my own use and to encourage others to subscribe or buy the informative course at That Reading Thing.
Glossary:
Comprehensive: including something or other fully, or dealing with all or nearly all elements or aspects of something.
Decoding: the ability to apply our knowledge of letter-sound relationships, including knowledge of letter patterns, to then correctly pronounce written words. Words we don’t know when we read them are often words we don’t know when we hear them.
Enable: give (someone) the authority or means to do something; make it possible for. For example, enable someone to read /ɪˈneɪ.bəl/.
Grapheme: a letter, or group of letters, that acts as the smallest unit in a written language.
Latent knowledge: knowledge that only becomes clear when a person has an incentive to display it. Things that some students don’t already know that they already know.
Syllable: a unit of pronunciation having one vowel sound, with or without surrounding consonants.
That Reading Thing: Lesson Two
“I don’t know is a fine answer.” – Tricia Millar, That Reading Thing
I knew education was powerful, but this was incredible. The course on That Reading Thing resumed after lunch. It was my personal choice. I was enjoying the experience and Wednesday’s timetable was forgiving. So, off I delved, deeper into the well-organised lesson content of assessment, building with charts and reading/spelling of short words… Here Tricia Millar reminds me that a Fairtrade bag arrived with foundation sound charts, a “try it” board, multisyllable spelling board and boards to note words that sound the same, but look different. The training manual and a Zippa Bag full of pens, a pointer pencil, some fine tipped dry wipe pens, sticky notes, and puzzle pieces.
“You don’t know what you don’t know.” – Socrates, Greek philosopher
Through the window, I could see shadowy figures taking their positions. Tools are required. Students should each have a project folder, lesson pieces from TRT2, and their minds. They also need to be placed and engaged. To start, an assessment will help titrate where to begin. During assessment, teachers will note how fast or slow they move with a student. The words to be read are noted on a yes, no, and best answer sheet, with space for notes. There are 3 pages in level 1. The online TRT2 website has multiple levels and pages, working in a sequence from a foundation to advanced level. Tricia Millar ploughs through examples, featuring child actors and scenarios. The video reinforced that many students will not know why they have been sent to literacy invention.
I was finally holding a new map. Explaining to new learners that you are learning about them and following your own guidance will be freeing to the student who joins your intervention. Always planning ahead and showing the steps will reassure the student of their future journey. The students should take ownership of the flow of a lesson. Their tools and charts are in their hands. Repetition and reminders about the sound, not the spelling, are useful. We must engage their ears. Circle options for those who need extra support.
“you can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.”- Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
There it was. Placed before me looking as expert as ever, video examples of lessons in action. Introduced. Explained. Unwrapped. Delivered with error correction. Minimal support. In some first lessons, throw in a few free answers if the student needs encouraging. There is no harm in support. Checking sounds likes b and d side by side could narrow out some interpretations of those letters. If a student chooses a letter like ‘l’ to sound ‘ll’ then simply ask that he, she or they find an alternative sound from the choices. Make sure they know that the two sound the same. No technical terms and no micro-teaching. Simples. Practice and action need to be forward in motion.
Saying sounds, telling you what the student hears, and allowing students to connect to words will empower them. Unearthing habits to aid visual learners to use their ears is crucial. What’s the first, second, third, blah, blah, blah sound that you hear in the word blah, blah, blah? Now spell it. Using words to double-check sounds is a good idea. Consonant clusters and blends need separating with some students. Signalling the individual letters and encouraging every sound to be drawn out will encourage the student. The student may spray, spring and splinter their way to the word, but puzzle pieces can be used. Spellings can avoid your cake being published on cakewrecks.com.
That Reading Thing: Lesson Three
Building with puzzle pieces, reading and spelling long words, and decodability and reading sentences would be the focus of today’s work. Decodability itself is a word that needs decoding, unpacking, and all the ability in the world to follow. The videos ground out, repeat and stress the need for confidence, skills, and habits to push on in their complex coding.
That Reading Thing: Lesson Four
Rhotacized schwa, anyone? None here. Just ‘sh’, ‘th’ and ‘ch’ accompanied by split vowels, foundations and extra support lesson briefings.
That Reading Thing: Lesson Five
Here be dragons, or… look the same, sound different, and sound the same, look different, as well as the rest of the advanced levels. Breaking up syllables with lines, the use of word visuals on tables and other tips were noted. Adding context to new words often helps. Kakorrhaphiophobia featured: fear of failure. See: κακορραφία (scheming, evil planning). From kakós, ’bad’ + rháptō, ‘to sew’ + –ía. Learning unusual graphemes is something to keep in mind for future learning. And, to avoid failure.
That Reading Thing will return…
…in the That Reading Thing: Lesson Six & Conclusion/Review, which shall get a more catchy title.
Just us.
Just us.
No-one else.
Those who matter in the distance.
Those who care, held close.
Our thoughts in your thoughts.
Your warmth together.
Just us.
Two peas. One pod.
Wrapped up snuggly.
Joined. At the hip.
Together.
Stronger as one.
A union led by destiny.
No pressures. No worries.
Challenges to face together.
Fearless and relentless.
For us.
Hope and glory, in lands, over the seas and by green trees.
Bound at the hands.
Rings on.
A bond. Embraced.
One.
Vellichor
The scent pours off of you, slipping away from your soul, wriggling away, pulling you down to the hole.
The depth opens up wide, snarling ruthlessly snide, ripping darkness from below, confirmation that hopes lost and lied.
The pages tear from the spine, torn away in time, words failing to be read, all shrouded in grime.
You lay on the shelf, emitting bad health, your pages full of wise wealth, yet all pass your stealth.
Daylight comes and goes, your words nobody knows, inside treasures like a rose, you slip away on endless rows.
The dust on your front and back, tightened and slack, no hands to pick you up and put you on back.