Time for the new academic year to get going. Behind us, as I took this shot, the latest clump of aspirants, our objects of care for this year — the new students. Ivy tries to outline the scale of it all to colleague Mark. I think we’re ready for the whistle.
As Our Glorious Leader mumbles, fumbles and bumbles, people with lives to live get on with their jobs. For the first time since 8th March, I got to be in a room with other people, and taught. As it happens, I was teaching other teachers, the good folk of Manchester Grammar School, a venerable establishment that has been around in some form or other since 1515. In the grim year 2020, this felt like an explosion of humanity.
Being 42 