(From) Balls to the HMI

Well, OK. I’ll do something “up” (and “shut up” will fit the bill nicely…) -I’m just not feeling bloggy at the moment, and rather than save you the torture, I’ll keep it brief. But before I go and glower in a corner somewhere…

Saturday allowed me the pleasure of gracing the Lothian Gay and Lesbian Switchboard Gay Ball with my presence - this year the ball took the theme of a Highland Fling –with both a disco and ceilidh, but alas, no tea-dance- and much tartan tat wearing totty of all genders was beheld. Special mention must go to the howlingly drunk, pigeon-chested young chap in a stained vest and “home made” kilt (which to my eyes looked pretty much like a  netball skirt with a tartan tea-towel tacked onto it), the tartan bondage trousered lesbian who couldn’t find which pocket in which she had placed her cash  -something the queuing masses behind her at the bar took with gracious good humour and to the countless multitude who, on seeing  Craig Hill swirling his sporran on the dance floor mouthed silently to their friends, “...isn’t he tiny!”

I am always touched by seeing people dancing with their partners at the ceilidh  - somehow there is something strangely moving about seeing people with their chosen partners, dancing the old dances and “owning “ their culture: the half-remembered dances, gleefully stumbled through; the joyous grins of lovers as they follow the steps of their ancestors; the wide-eyed innocence of it all, as people hold each other close and burl around to the fiddler’s tunes-  it shouldn’t be surprising, or even unusual, but it is.. Must be getting soft in my old age…

Oh yes. Down to earth with a bump.  Today the HMI arrive at the college. A rising sense of panic has gripped the staff  -  vast quantities of paper has been dumped and shredded, classrooms have had the “Changing Rooms” treatment, lesson plans and teaching schedules have been fabricated, students- and staff- “warned” to be on their best behaviour. This burying of bad practice and short-term approach to crisis management reminds me of a squirrel I saw in the Botanic Gardens , burying a discarded cheesy Wotsit – the poor bugger is going to be very disappointed when he comes to digging it up, I fear…

My major contribution to the inspection process has been to buy a new pair of boots…
I figure if the inspection goes badly, I’ll be “let go” and will therefore need new shoes for any interviews.

I think I’ll go back to glowering in my corner now…