

Brown and Cowen (sorry, but - jeez, what a toad!) suddenly at Stormont. Stones at Altamont. Peter Robinson and Mrs Robinson, milf wife, though nobody's talking about that now, which indicates how seriously everyone is taking it. Ian Paisley, Bob Paisley (of an era, strangely, though of course the wrong Paisley is dead) Gerry Adams and Martin McGuinness keeping those dissidents in check for the time-being. Well, it must be pretty boring going back to watching daytime TV and popping to the shops when you've been used to organising mass bombings and ambushes of the British Army, so the balaclava boys are no doubt itching to get out there again.
Mark Simpson reminds me of Patrick Kielty and his glasses are just the wrong side of fashion-conscious to be very annoying. He tells us - and we have to believe every word he says because he is wearing a nice black coat - that there is no prospect of a return to full-scale violence. The sticking points, according to the lovely Mark, are around policing and justice and those bloody awful parades those weirdos in the bowler hats seem to love so much. Personally speaking, I have always leaned towards the Republican cause, mostly because I never liked parades. Apart from the Rio and Notting Hill carnivals.
4 comments:
History taught in British schools? Well, there's Hitler. And a bit of Hitler. And some more Hitler. Oh, and something on World War Two.
Kinda sexy, old Adolf.
I remember there being a fair bit about Enclosure and the Poor Law. Also, maybe it was a Shropshire thing, but there was a lot about iron and steel - Thomas Telford and that crowd - in my day.
My two are in primary, but they seem to be going reasonably in depth (for their age groups) about the Celts and the Tudors, with some help from BBC online.
I wonder what secondaries are like these days. Probably all proms and lockers.
The Poor Law was probably a bit too contemporary for the Thatcher years. We did a lot on the Western Front too (but nowt on the Celts).
Small wonder we were such twats on continental school trips.
My French teacher in secondary school (Mr Pritchard) once introduced us to a real French person. The wind was taken out of his sails somewhat when it became apparent that he didn't have the faintest idea what the Frenchie was saying. How we laughed.
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