This could be the start of a scrapbook made of moments in transit. When I return to a place I’ve not been for some time, a narrative gets triggered by an inner voice. Sometimes it is simply a string of words spun out of the sights, sounds, smells, textures hiding unseen around me. I write down these scraps as best I can. Some get reshaped and these can be shared.

Weaving, absorbing and telling a story This post considers issues raised when teachers become aware of their own voice and the way it sounds. It takes the example of when a teacher needs to tell a story to the class. Obviously, many of the observations will apply to any situation where you find yourself in […]

Il faut lire Jane Eyre de Charlotte Brontë pour le cours de littérature de Mrs Fullerton. Nous avons trois semaines. Mais je résiste à la lecture de vrais livres depuis longtemps.