I have been a teacher for many years and so many of my students have done nice things for me..they are just nice people. I retired last year and was a substitute teacher this last school year. In June a teacher I had just subbed for a half day needed emergency surgery and I was asked to go in and finish her year. Good thing it was in an area I knewEnglish and Social at the grade 9 level. The kids were pretty goodsome were a handful but most of them were very accommodating. They were also writing important provincial exams at the end of the year and were getting stressed out about it. As I was getting them ready to write their exam, I took a few moments to thank them for welcoming me into their classroom and making my jobwhile not easy.at least a rewarding experience. One boy who seemed to complain about everything.thanked me for taking ownership and preparing them for final exams. I had recognized that his argumentative nature was his way of dealing with stress and tried not to let it affect my teaching. That mostly worked. There was a time when I told him, quite loudly, that if he had spent his time getting ready to do assignments instead of arguinghe could have been finished days ago. He just nodded his head and got to work. It was a nice gesture that he was able to thank me for doing my job.that he recognized that some things were out of his control and to just get on with it. A life lesson that I am still learning, by the way. Every day lately, I have had something nice happen to me with my students. I am feeling blessed. The time she took thanking the students for welcoming her probably took Pick the correct answer from the following options: - A few minutes - not enough information - four hours - eight days
A few minutes

(Question)
If you turned on the TV towards the end of 2002 you could have been forgiven for thinking that Britain had gone absolutely horseshit mental. Every week, it seemed, another pretty young girl from a nice family, who was happy and popular and always did well at school, was being kidnapped or murdered by what the Sun newspaper cheerfully termed 'evil paedo scum'. Naming and shaming was as popular a feature in the Murdoch press as Page Three girls and discounted holidays to Butlin's. Of course you can't blame parents for wanting to keep their children safe; that's pretty much the job description of a parent. And, on the face of it, the tabloids were doing a public service in warning us about the paedophile menace lurking in our midst. The problem came when it turned out that a huge number of these concerned tabloid-reading parents were also absolute fucking morons. For every story of an actual sex offender being driven from their house by a baying mob there was one like that of Dr Yvette Cloete, a doctor at the Royal Gwent Hospital in Newport, South Wales, who returned home from work to find that a group of 'concerned parents' had daubed the word 'paedo' on her front door in bright red paint. Dr Cloete was a consultant paediatrician. Easy mistake. If you're an absolute fucking moron. And so it was that one hung-over morning, after reading yet another story about vigilantes who had threatened to stone Maxine Carr, the girlfriend of Soham killer Ian Huntley, to death during her high-profile trial for perverting the course of justice, I decided to set up a website parodying this collective national madness. The result of two or three hours of hung-over labour was thinkofthechildren.co.uk, a spoof campaign site which claimed to offer a handy online guide for crazy vigilantes of all stripes to co-ordinate their crazy vigilante efforts. Although there are a few parts of the site I'm still a bit proud of, the majority of it was, I freely admit, satire of the lowest order. After the end of this story, the narrator seems to be a little: Pick the correct answer from the following options: - self-deprecating - arrogant - not enough information - prideful
(Answer)
self-deprecating

I had seen it before, those fuzzy, furry leaves and stalks, with the pretty, star-pointed purple flowers, but up until that moment that I saw them sitting in a basket at the market stalls, I admit I had never taken notice of it as a food. It grow along cracks in stone walls and along the roadside near my home in Settignano, which is blooming with spring goodness right now: robinia (black locust) trees, wild garlic (three-cornered leek) and even elderflowers are already bursting. I asked the vendor just to double check, "Is this borage?" "Si," Came the answer, "Borragine." He confirmed. "I've had it in ravioli," I started to say, "Brava!" He said, as if we were about to start a guessing game on what could be done with it. Actually, there's a lot that can be done with it. If you can use it as a ravioli filling with ricotta, then you can imagine it taking the place of spinach in gnudi, too, but also soups or frittata or stirred through polenta. I learned that the flowers are just as delicious, if not more interesting, for their delicate cucumber-like flavour people told me of their use in salads or cocktails like Pimms, and someone even mentioned she freezes them in ice cubes, what a pretty idea for those first warm nights when you can dine al fresco, homemade cocktail in hand. Then there's risotto and of course the fritters, much like these ones. Or you can simply deep fry the clusters of buds that haven't yet burst open like these deep-fried robinia flowers. borage and ricotta crepes The problem, I was thinking, as I took home my bag of borage, is that I can't decide what to make. There's simply too much choice. I consulted two of my favourite books that also happen to be cookbooks. Patience Gray's Honey from a Weed and Luigi Ballerini's A Feast of Weeds. Both had wonderful ideas for borage (and indeed many other edible, foraged plants). What did he eat? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - famous recipe - not enough information - homemade meal - A recipe from his book
A recipe from his book