(Q).
I end this small run of blog posts with the question posed by Professor Brian Boyd at the beginning of our evening: Do we want to close the achievement gap? We know we can close the gap. It's been done or almost been done before in Scottish education, but the answers have been ignored as they pass us by. The simple clue is this: poverty is single biggest predictor of achievement, and according to research (Hammonds sic, reference required), aged 10, a child living in poverty is 60% less likely to get to university. Boyd borrowed from his own mother's report card to ask us what kind of education we desire. Is it the academic success at all costs route, or is there another option we need to value as much, if not more? His mother's report card, one that prevented her from becoming a secondary school pupil in Glasgow, is filled with G and FG, until the last point: Character and conduct - excellent. What kind of pupils do we want to develop in Scotland? What do we value in our assessment system? Opening up opportunity for all is a tough game to play when the examination system rewards only certain types of behaviour, few of them related to what the Curriculum for Excellence says we stand for. In his own small community in East Kilbride, three secondary schools enter a period of meltdown as the local rag sets about creating its own local league table of performance, with those three 'teams' in competition for the top spot (or at least not the bottom one). Therefore, we must stop basing "the gap" largely on attainment. First of all, Boyd would like us to remove the traditional, and non-sensical academic/vocational divide. Is the law or medicine degree we value not vocational? (Are all General Practitioners not Plumbers, as Dr Murray on the panel suggests?) When did Boyd borrow from his mother's report card? A. until the last point: Character and conduct - excellent B. before the report card prevented her from becoming a secondary school pupil C. after the report card prevented her from becoming a secondary school pupil D. not enough information
(A).
C

(Q).
Thank you for the a2a! I have a habit of making mental errors; some funny, some not. This one just happens to be funny. We had "open critiques" in art school. The idea was A- to point out how we could do it better, and B- to toughen us up for the advertising world. It's brutal, cruel, and cutthroat, and get ready for your stupid clients to ruin your tasteful design and fuck it all kinds of up to put a picture of their ugly-ass crotch dropping on there, or a huge starburst that says "SALE SALE SALE!". You had to learn not to care, and do your fulfilling artwork on the side. It's just a job; nothing personal. We were in the middle of a critique, and it was turning ugly. The only time our professor would jump in was if it turned personal. It had. He laid back and let us fight it out, until someone told the girl we were critiquing that "with your taste from growing up in a trailer park, looks like you'll be working for the Auto Trader" (a shitty, newsprint magazine that people sell used cars in- the worst of the worst design jobs). Before our professor could comment, I blurted out "For fuck's sake, Mom." I was about to say "tell them to break it the fuck up!" until the laughter started. Then I realized I'd called my professor, who had an MFA and spent 20 years in advertising at Saatchi and Saatchi, "Mom". He responded with such amazing, quick wit; "Ms. Hood, I admire your devotion to your mother; just remember she stays home while you come to class." I caught hell for it that entire semester. Luckily, we (almost) all had pretty tough skins, so it was amusing, even to our somewhat staid professor. He wrote on my end of semester assessment "Respectfully, Not Your Mom." I still keep that assessment to remind me to wear life like a loose garment. We all say stupid shit sometimes; just laugh at yourself and enjoy the silly moment. How does the student feel after calling his professor Mom? A. Embarrassed but silly B. Mad C. Upset D. not enough information
(A).
A

(Q).
Marnie Sleightholme was well chuffed when she got the chance to be carnival queen, and she couldn't give a shit if it was true what folk were saying about her only getting picked because she'd had her right arm ripped off. Ever since the accident, Deborah Bullock had been using twice as much make-up to disguise her rage. Marnie being picked as carnival queen had only made her pile it on even thicker. Deborah Bullock told anyone who would listen how it was a complete piss-take to give the job to a cripple. 'Imagine getting a wedding cake covered in frosty decorations and shit like that, but it's already got a big chunk bitten out of it. Well, that's exactly how it is.' Deborah Bullock had dreamed of being carnival queen since more or less the start of primary school. She used to tear their pictures out of the newspaper and dress up to look like them, and tell Marnie she never could because she was too fat and ugly even to pretend. It was Deborah Bullock's on-off boyfriend who'd been driving the car Marnie had been sitting in when it veered off the road and crashed into a tree halfway down Back South Lane. It was pointless trying to hide the truth. There was only one reason anybody went down Back South Lane at that time of night, and the flashing blue lights illuminated the exact location for the whole town to see. When Marnie came round in a hospital bed, the first face she saw was Deborah Bullock's. She felt an ache in her side and blinked her eyes. The room was bare and cold. There was an empty chair in the corner. Deborah Bullock slapped some cheap flowers down on the bed and leaned in. She smelled of talcum powder and nicotine. 'Do you want the good news or the bad news? The good news is you've finally lost some weight. The bad news is, they've chopped your right arm off. So you're still a fat bitch.' Who visited Marnie in the hospital? A. Marnie's mom B. not enough information C. Deborah D. Deborah's boyfriend
(A).
C