Right, I’m a bit nervous here. I’ve never Guest Blogged before. Sure, I’ve ranted endlessly on Benignintervention (My site) and yes, I tune into Outofmytree…..  Daily! I’ve probably read YOUR blog a time or two. But this guest blogging makes me quite, ermmmm well nervous!

Let’s start from the beginning. I know the literary legend that is Rebecca from High School. We were in the same Education Set  (apart from maths, I can’t count.) Carr Hill High was all encompassing, and still is. Elitism is not a word that school has ever known. The previous statement is not intended to insult any individual who has attended or taught at the said institution. However, there were some teachers, who have been an inspirational guide, creating amazing results in the children who have attended.

I have a mouth, and I have always been more than capable of using it, but putting down those thoughts on paper, in a sensible pattern is something else. I obviously can’t speak for Bec but my enduring memory of Carr Hill High School was that of a man call Mr Wall……………. Most of our peers did stare at the WALL rather than listen or interact, but I know I found my passion for prose from this man. I’m sure Bec will agree, whenever she gets back from the wrong side of the Pennines, that writing is not a case of paying attention in class, or passing exams, or even divulging in dialogue. It’s having the passion to THINK!

I have spent the last three days THINKING of what to post on someone else’s blog. I don’t want to enrage anyone by posting anything even slightly inflammatory. (If you want to see that kind of thing have a look at www.benignintervention.co.uk )……… (Got my cheap advert in there, Bec!!)

I went to Parent’s evening at my daughter’s school a couple of days ago. She needs to try harder with hand writing. She is eight and left handed. Her mum and I will hear that countless times before Phoebe leaves school in eight years time. I read her books. Last week she was told to write a piece of prose including similies. She wrote a beautiful passage about her Nanna, who passed away last year.

Phoebe likened her hands to soft, warm pillows. Her eyes to dark blue pools. Her clothes to the freshest flowers anyone has seen. Phoebe wrote……As time goes by she can see these things less and less……..

She got marked down because she spelled clothes wrong, What am I thinking, what are you thinking?

Is anyone…………………………….. THINKING?