The One With the Snooker And the Phonics

We are still having a daily struggle with the boy and his reading. He loves books and he loves stories, but the moment you sit him down to do his reading from school it’s like you’re torturing him.

His ‘mark making’- which is bloody stupid trendy talk for writing- is getting much better. Currently it’s all about drawing pirate treasure maps, with X marks the spot, so that’s one letter he can do.

But the reading isn’t going anywhere. Granted the reading books from school are piss boring, but he’s not even trying. There’s only so much ‘Sam has the nut. The Nut is up the tree. Sam goes up to the nut’ that I can stand, so no wonder the boy buggers about rather than read that lot.

So on the advice of other Mums I’ve started trying to engage him in looking at letters and words in everyday life; cereal boxes, signs, shopping lists, DVD covers and captions on the TV.

So last week, when the snooker was on, I pointed out the player’s names to the boy on the screen. This didn’t inspire any interest in him until Judd Trump was playing.

Now someone on the telly called ‘Trump’ is the height of sophisticated comedy to a 5-year-old boy.

‘Those players are called Ding and Trump’ I explained

‘Trump?’ the boy said with his eyes wide with wonder. ‘Trump?’

‘Yes. His name is Judd Trump.’

‘Trump’ he was really laughing now ‘Mr Trump’.

‘Yes Mr Ding is playing Mr Trump’

He was rolling around on the sofa now holding his sides.

‘Ding and Trump’

Hysterical.

He went over to the TV screen and pointed to the name ‘Does that say Trump then?” he asked

I joined him and sounded out the letters as I ran my finger along them. Luckily Ding and Trump sound out beautifully and aren’t ‘tricky words’ - which is bloody stupid trendy talk for words whose letter sounds don't then sound like the word when they're 'blended' - which is bloody stupid trendy talk for using the letter sounds to read the word. 

He was still giggling about it all when he went to bed about half an hour later.

So this got me thinking. Maybe the only way to get the boy interested in phonics – which is bloody stupid trendy talk for learning your letters – is to teach him rude words.

Not really bad rude words. Not your four letter eff’s and jeffs. Just some mild schoolboy stuff. After all his main vocabulary currently consists of not just trump but bum, poo, wee, winky, boobies, stinky, smelly and pants, so why don’t we write them down and sound them out? We could spend a pleasant afternoon together trying to ‘blend’, stinky, bum and poo.

Yes I’m that desperate for him to read.

Shall I call social services or do you want to do it?

The One With the Guilty Pleasure

I never used to like January.


Christmas was my favourite time and I had to wait a whole year for it to come round again. It was cold. It was dark in the mornings. It meant going back to work. It was frankly miserable.


But now I don't mind it at all. 


It's still twelve months until Christmas and its still cold and dark but it's no longer miserable because....


The darts is on!


I blooming LOVE the darts. 


I watched the "proper" PDC darts on Sky with Phil Taylor and the like before Christmas and that's great. After all those guys can really play. They're banging in 180's and 11,10 and even 9 dart finishes all over the place.


But the darts that are truly my guilty pleasure are the rubbish BDO darts from Lakeside which started on BBC2 yesterday.


Until you get to the final these guys are playing glorified pub darts. The 180's are few and far between and they regularly get down to needing double 1 to check out! Hubby says the ultimate score in the rubbish darts is 26, as it shows just how inconsistent the player is, by getting the 1 and the 5 either side of the only 20 they can muster with 3 darts!


Indeed every time the guy calling out the scores says "22" or "37" in that long drawn out style only darts commentators can do, there's a definite feeling that you could play just as well. 


My Granddad played darts for the local British Legion team when I was young and one of my earliest memories was being stood on a box in the parlour and being taught how to play darts on a Saturday afternoon! As an aside my Uncle bought a snooker table from my Mum's club book (does anyone still have club books?) and we used to set that up after final score had been on and we'd had tea. I'd then spend the evening being taught how to play snooker!


I do love those memories of a miss-spent yet supervised youth. After all there's nothing like a bit of snooker or especially darts to sharpen up your mental arithmetic!


What I really love is the pantomime theatrical element to darts. All the players walk on to their own theme music, accompanied by a dolly bird on each arm. They all have nicknames like Scotty Dog, The Wolf Man and The Count causing the crowd, to woof, howl or dress up like Dracula. 


You haven't lived until you've seen a bloke in a cape come on stage to a rave track which starts "This is my territory be on your way" and chuck plastic bats into the crowd, just to play darts! 


So I'm looking forward to wallowing in a week of Martin "Wolf Man" Adams and Ted "The Count" Hankey talking the big talk, walking the big walk and then only getting "58"! I do highly recommend it to banish your post Christmas blues. It is possibly the funniest thing on television all year. 


The final is on Sunday and January will only be half over but never fear, there's no need to be down.


The Masters Snooker starts that day......


All together now...


LADIES AND GENTLEMEN LETS PLAY DARTS.......