Dawn of the Dead: Quick! Make a Brew for Mrs Brimson.

Picture the scene: a dining room full of munching, slurping and chatter. It’s 7.30am and we’re all having breakfast and looking forward to the day ahead. I said ‘all’ but it should have more accurately been all minus one. Until the door at the back of the room scraped open and it slowly emerged. Fortunately, the children were too engrossed in their pain-au-chocolats and conversations to notice the presence of the undead in the room. It began to move. Cricking, cracking, its lopsided frame seemed to drag itself across the room. The arms hung as if devoid of bone and muscle, only slightly swaying as the legs slid one in front of the other. Hidden by a grey film, the eyes resembled a shark’s in attack mode. Hanging to one side, the head barely moved and no sound came from the drooping lips. Eventually it arrived at the staff table. Pausing, it seemed to be selecting its prey. Who would it devour first? Its colleague of many years, the delicious Mrs DeJean; or perhaps the young, tender esteemed dance teacher, DofE leader and all round superstar, Mrs Trusolve? Maybe it was tempted by the leathery hide of Mr Ewing, cured by hours of lunch duty on the sun-soaked field. Or did it fancy the fatty option offered by the ageing, portly English teacher, whose spare tyres were wobbling in terror? That’s me, by the way. Seconds seemed like anxious hours. Then, movement. But it did not strike. No, it half slid, half flopped into an empty chair, and for the first time, there appeared to be some purpose in its actions. First the cup, then the teabag, hot water and finally, the almond milk. At the first sip, the metamorphosis began. The body cracked itself into shape; the neck straightened, righting the head, and the eyes revealed themselves. One more sip.

“Morning everyone. You all look like you had a terrible night. I slept like a zombie.” Note to self: leave a fresh cup of tea outside Mrs Brimson’s room tomorrow morning.

Super Saturday

So, Saturday: it was a packed day! First, we visited the town of Le Touquet, or Paris plage, as it is often known. We strolled through the busy Saturday morning streets and market, witnessing a brass band attempting a rendition of Proud Mary. To be fair, it was an admirable attempt, and I reckon Tina T would have approved.With a little time to spare and the sun shining, we took the opportunity to go to the beach. Inevitably, the temptation to paddle was too much so most of us splashed in the channel and had great fun. Will, however, decided to channel (proud of my wordplay there - I know, I’m a sad English teacher) the late, great French diver, Jaques Cousteau, and submerged himself. The lame explanation of, “I fell over, sir.” really didn’t wash but how can you not smile when seeing young people enjoying themselves so much? Anyway, the sun soon dried him out, so no harm done and we were ready to head off to our next stop: chocolate heaven!

**Did I tell you Charlotte bumped her head!**

The rest of our afternoon was spent visiting a chocolatier and a boulangerie. Both visits included a talk from the artisan and in the boulangerie, everyone learned the art of shaping their dough, with the magic words, “plip, plip, plip plip.”Remember that when you’re kneading your dough later and then observe as it rises to new, majestic heights.

Both of our hosts conducted their sessions mainly in French and with a little encouragement, our students were soon eagerly practising their language skills. Our hosts were very impressed with the children and complimented them on their excellent behaviour and enthusiasm - we’re very proud of them and hope you are too!

**what was that about Charlotte’s head?**

The final event of the day was crepe making back at the chateau. Two observations: in the stirring department, Sophie was an absolute machine in our team, and Brodie, now known as In-One Brodie, can make a crepe disappear quicker than the human eye can observe.

Well, that just about wraps up Saturday. Oh wait, did you know about Charlotte’s head? Thought so.

Bye for now.

Mr D


Ridgewood High School
French Trip Blog - Chapter 2

We’re having a time fantastique and creating lots of lovely memories. Here’s a few stories we’ve collected along the way; I hope you enjoy them x

Boys and their Toys

You’d think that teenage boys would be too cool for a cuddly, wouldn’t you? Not our boys. They know the only way to get over that paralysing, missing-mummy pang is by snuggling into a cuddly toy. So, what better way to spend those hard-earned euros than on a cuddly, multi-coloured unicorn? Still, Kody’s happy, and that’s all that matters. But why have one cuddly when you two, eh George? And George is not a young man to share his snuggly toys with anyone. So when someone attempted a cheeky stroke on the coach, George released his defensive move, in the form of an odour probably only comparable with the combined effort of twenty skunks. What is the collective noun for a group of skunks? Answers on a postcard, please. Needless to say, the interest in George’s cuddlies waned at this point. Now, we have two George’s on this trip. We are saying no more other than if you think he’s yours, maybe consider revisiting his diet!

Reasons for Mrs Duff not missing Mr Duff - Part 1

There have been numerous reports on the Stourbridge Matters FB page of the strange sight of a middle-aged (I’m being kind) woman cartwheeling and back- flipping around the Norton area, while jubilantly exclaiming, “He’s gone, he’s gone!” Members of this esteemed, select group (not!) have been somewhat perplexed by this inexplicable behaviour. Fear not: this is all perfectly normal and the explanation is simple. It is merely the celebratory behaviour of Mrs Duff, following Mr Duff’s departure for a few days, although secretly, just among you, my friends, I think it is more of a hysterical release of despair, as Mrs Duff struggles to contemplate the next four days without her god-like husband. I’m dead. And if know Mrs Duff, you know it too.

Here comes the bit where I try to redeem myself. So, it’s hot, really, really, hot, swelteringly hot, and while sat at dinner, a colleague says, “It’s a good job we’ve got fans in our rooms.” Cue Mr Duff’s brat-like outburst: “Fan! You’ve got a fan? Why haven’t I got one? That is s:::o unfair: pfft!” And I’m not accepting offers from kind colleagues either. No, if there isn’t a fan in my room, I’ll martyr it out. If Mrs Duff is reading this, she’ll know what’s coming. Of course there’s a fan in my room! A great big desk fan, unmissable to anyone with the most minimal of attention and awareness. At home, we call this the bloke look, something I may have mentioned in previous blog posts. Anyway, although I’m sure Mrs D is pining for me, at least she has a few days of not having to find things for me, which are in clear sight and would only be more obviously there if they could speak and announce their location. Mind you, even that would be a problem because as I am frequently reminded by the beloved Mrs Duff, “You never listen!”

Electrical Aid Short Circuits Mr Ewing

Do you know how many residential school trips Mr Ewing has done? I do. Do you want to know how I know? I’m telling you anyway, because he keeps telling me! 50… that’s right: 50! And has anyone, staff or student, ever brought a 10 metre extension cable with them on any of those 50 trips? How many? That’s right: 50! I only realised the level of incredulity, confusion, total discombobulation being experienced in that magnificent Ewing brain when a series of sparks and smoky sizzles danced around that mighty temple. Momentarily, the eyes glazed over and all sentience seemed lost. If you remember C3PO malfunctioning in Star Wars you’re not far away. And just like in the film, the return journey was similar: the flickering of eyes, jerking of limbs and mumbled utterances. It was only when he managed a coherent phrase that we knew recovery was on his the cards. That “Attendance matters” slowly evolved into simple attendance related sentences, before a full recovery was evident, with the introduction of the interrogatives: “Did you know that if you’re absent for…? So, what have learned from this episode? 1. Don’t bring an extension lead on Mr Ewing’s 51st residential. 2. Attendance saves lives!

Stay tuned for more stories. We’re on our way to the snail farm; I’m expecting a few headline splash stories!

Bye for now.

Mr Duff

Ridgewood High School
Au Revoir

Greetings from the sun-baked M25! We’ve made excellent time so far and just stopped for breakfast. Most of us were going to go for a Maccies breakfast, until Mr Ewing placed a gargantuan order which wiped out every pre-cooked egg, muffin and patty in sight. He’s a growing lad, which must be why he needed a top up of two grab bag packets of crisps for dessert! Not really. He hasn’t eaten the crisps, yet. Don’t worry: an emergency delivery arrived and everyone has been fed, although we did have to restrain Mr Ewing from the screens. How is that man not full?

In other news, Mr Duff has just realised there’s a disco on Sunday and he hasn’t packed his party frock or dancing shoes. Will he make it to the ball! Stay tuned.

Thank you to everyone who waved us off this morning. Your children are being their usual excellent selves and we’re looking forward to a great few days ahead with them. Try not to miss them too much; we’ll be back soon.


Best Wishes

Mr Duff

Ridgewood High School