It's RF RF RF Ranting Friday

Yay! Finally. Some things to rant about. Luckily for you guys this has been a week full of little things that have ticked me off. So you now get to hear about them. Man, you really are lucky.

Okay firstly it has to be those freakin' evil pigeons again. They're back and this time it's definitely personal. They're not cooing, they're saying 'you, you, you.' I mean it. I'm trying to go back to sleep at 6.30am and they're saying 'you, you, you, get up, up, up.' They sit on whatever ledge they can find right outside the bedroom window and they make sure they tick you off before you've even started your day.
Soon everywhere will be covered in silver shiny tape, though there are those birds that are getting cocky, those daredevil birds that have grown a pair of giant pigeon balls and now think they can take on the silver tape. They are no longer scared of its shininess or the way it flaps and rustles in the wind. They're gaining in confidence and ready to take over the balcony, maybe then, the world!

I'm a little book obsessed these first few months in 2015, and I know that's not a bad thing, it's an awesome thing, it's just that when you're putting everybody else's already-published books before your never-going-to-get-published-if-you-don't-edit-it book, then you are shooting yourself in the foot, walking a dangerous line, being a lazy bitch. Pick one, they're all true. But at least I'll be a well-read lazy bitch. That's something, right?

Why do people ask me really stupid questions, when, I might add, I'm in the middle of teaching a class? Do I look like I want to be harassed by your ridiculous musings at a time like this? I have seven preschoolers dancing on the carpet. Can't it wait until I'm done? The answer is no, it can't, they must ask right now for optimal pissedoffishness.

'Are they listening to Samba?' I hear her ask one of the other teachers. (By the way, she doesn't even work in this room, she's just come to skive from the baby room.) I just carry on dancing with the kids.

'Why are they listening to Samba?'

I hear her. I ignore her, because it's a stupid question to which the only answer can be: why not?

Then she makes it more direct. 'Helen, why are they listening to Samba?'

I give her the look that says I'm-teaching-a-class-ask-me-afterwards-or-not-at-all. Yes, I do have a look for that. But she doesn't take the hint.

'Do you understand what they're saying?'

At this point I give up and turn off the music.

'Do you understand what they're saying?' she asks again.

'No. Not really.' (But I don't have to. It's music, it's universal and it's beautiful and it's about sound and feel as much as understanding lyrics. How many English speaking lyrics do you understand from your favourite band or artist? Or scrap that, from your least favourite artist? Why do you think we have lyric sites? Because half the time it's impossible to tell what they're singing. And besides we never fully understand what a song means, it means different things to different people, adding to the beauty of song. People draw their own meanings and only the actual song writer can ever truly know what they intended it to be about, but then once it's released, it's meaning automatically changes into whatever the person listening to it feels. It is always evolving and changing. And if understanding what they're saying is a prerequisite of music then most people wouldn't be able to go to the opera, or listen to anything from any other culture or Country. And the world would be a terrible place.) But of course, I can't say all this, so I hone it into another look and try not to be angry.

'Do you speak the language? Do you understand what they're saying?'

There she goes again ticking me off at the end of four back to back lessons when I'm exhausted and sweaty. What I want to reply with is: 'Are you fuckin' serious?' But instead, I reply with - bearing in mind, the kids are still there and I'm still teaching a lesson - 'No. I don't, but I don't have to. I expose the children to music from all around the world, in order for them to hear different languages, different sounds and different instruments.'

'Oh right. Well P***a probably understands.' She says, as though I'm a moron for not understanding.

P***a's Spanish you idiot. Of course she would understand, though the child has made no such connection because the child was just enjoying listening and dancing to the wonderful music and the child is three.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

So from stupid questions to a question I will pose to you. Why do people have to constantly move when they're talking on the phone?

This mini rant is dedicated to the woman who circumnavigated the bus stop at Old Street Station yesterday, about eight times whilst me and the little man I pick up from school waited for our bus. And every time she passed back around us on her short orbit she kept having to dodge around the little man as though he was in the way. At least pace, but not constantly circle us. It felt really weird to be caught in the middle of that. But worse, I had another lady on the telephone at the other side of me that was just walking back and forth. Ahhh, just somebody keep still.

Okay then, I think I'll leave you with that. Enjoy your Friday and the weekend. May it be full of new things to rant about, family and friends, and milk because I want cereal!

Too-da-loo

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