The Secret Life of a Kanga - Mooh

Picture taken by Ms. Jean Brodie, of her favourite pet, the Kanga - Mooh.

Whilst in Scotland my mum said to me that she was sick of my Kanga - Mooh attacking Dougal (Dougal is my mum's Lhasa Apso), and that if I didn't sort it out she would get my Kanga Mooh put down. Dougal is a pampered pooch who is spoilt rotten, which does get really irritating sometimes.

My mum and I argued a little bit because she had been keeping my Kanga Mooh in a cage, and I told her specifically that my Kanga Mooh is a wild animal, and that he needs to have the freedom to run around the house. She lied to me.

I have actually had to keep the life and times of my Kanga Mooh top secret from my friends because of how rare my Kanga Mooh is. I didn't want to alarm any of them. There's not many of them about, you see. Do you know something, he is definitely going a bit funny at the moment though. I think basically he is in need of a mate.

I managed (I don't know how) to bring him back to London with me, two weeks ago now, on the National Express Coach. I had to give him a mild sedative because he is attacking humanoids as well as other pets. He was safe though, in my M&S carpet bag, I did make him very comfortable, ensuring that he had plenty of chedder and milk throughout his little journey.

I am thinking about approaching Justin Hinchcliffe and asking him if he will adopt my Kanga - Mooh. I do trust him, that's Justin, because I have seen the way he is with his other pets.

Kanga - Mooh - rare breed, occasionally found running around in amongst the heather covered hills of the remote Hebridean island of Sparán Tóruidhe.

Too tired for anything else. Got to go back now and feed my Kanga - Mooh. That's if I can find him. He keeps running away from me - he's a little terror!

Another Worthless Wednesday.

Ms. Jean Brodie in Prison in the drama studio.
Where she remained until her death 2008.

It all got a bit too much today. So, I called for patrol. When they turned up, I informed them that I needed to go home.

Me: I am NOT going back in there.
Patrol: Why?
Me: Because I am scared. It's a circus in there and despite what people think I am not Coco the Clown.
Patrol: (in a state of panic) Well, you can’t just leave now. We’ve got no one to cover for you.
Me: (all the blood draining from my face, my lips turning blue) I don’t feel well. I am going to walk to the office now, get my bag, and then, I’m off home.
Patrol: I am sorry but we can’t let you go. (Grabs hold of my arm, with some force, steers me back in the direction of the room)
Me: (I protest) I am not well - I am washed out, I have a migraine and I feel sick. It’s the kids, they’re terrorising me. On top of that they’re not learning anything and I’m not teaching. So, I am going to go home NOW. I need to go to bed. And, get off my arm. It's like you're a bloody prison warder the way you're carrying on.
Patrol: (She gets on her walkie talkie, tells the office what’s going on. What a snitch!)
Office: (irate office staff) Tell Miss M she will have to go back into the classroom, as we have no one to cover for her.
Patrol: You’ll have to go back in there.
Me: I don’t want to go back in there though - it's chaos in there.
Patrol: You have to back in!
Me: But, I don’t want to go back in there.
Patrol: You have to.

Me: I am not going back in there.

Patrol: You have to.
Me: Okay, but I am not going in there on my own. Will you come with me?
Patrol: Okay I’ll come with you, but I can't stay long because there's a fight over in Science.
Me: Thank you, if you could just stay for ten minutes? Please?

Suddenly the drama studio resembles a prison cell. It's got bars on all of the windows and room is small and painted entirely in black.

They wouldn't let me go home today, so I was trapped in there ALL day.

I kept wishing throughout the chaos that Ibn Batutta would return and pick me up, spin me around and rescue me, take me somewhere far away, on the back of his camel, Masum Ali. Instead I had to endure yet more paper planes.

ME: Look guys this is NOT British airways! Can you just STOP, throwing those bloody things at me.

Look what the kids in Hackney did to me......

Good afternoon 8H.

20 minutes of this!

Take your coats off please.

Can you remain seated please.

Can you STOP trying to hang yourself with the blind chord please.

Why? Because you'll kill yourself.

Look, come back into the classroom, now!!!

Can you take your coats off please (I asked them do this 12 times).

Will you STOP playing with the black writing tablet!

Take your dirty feet off that chair.

I've told you about these chairs - they're expensive. Look, if you break that chair, you will pay for it, or, rather your mother or father will. Okay, your guardian then. Your guardian will be sent a bill to pay for any damage you do to that chair.

Where are you going? No, no, no! You are not going to the toilet, you've just had break.

Can you STOP wandering around the room, please remain seated. The lesson has started.

That is not appropriate language Christopher. I know that your mother would be very upset with you if she heard you speaking like that.

That's disgusting, put it away!

20 minutes later - we have order, they're quiet. I can start teaching now. Fine beads of sweat have started running down my face, my chest feels tight and my head aches. My glasses are sliding down my nose - feels like they're going to fall off the end. The girls are laughing at the physical wreck that I have become. I don't blame them I am a mess.

Okay, now that I have got your attention, all eyes on the whiteboard.

Then some little bastard opens the door and throws an A3 sized paper plane into the middle of the room. Chaos erupts .... they all get up out of their seats run to the door, open it, and run out, down the corridor, all trying to find the little person who threw it.

15 minutes later with the help of two other members of staff we manage to get them all back in.

I start my lesson.

I am already looking for another boj.

My Vision.

Tonight I spent the evening with the Bishop of London (Mr. Highgate eat your heart out). He was doing a service to celebrate the opening of our 'Quiet Space' - a place of prayer and quiet reflection, it's for the kids and staff mostly. A lot of posh folks there, I didn't recognise any of them. Jules Pipe didn't turn up - which is good, coz, like we don't get on see. Less than five percent of the community bothered to turn up, I know coz I was like counting. Disappointing, coz, like this is a space for them. This service was in fact for them. But, they couldn't be arsed to turn-up!

A lot of time and effort went into the planning and preparation of this really special event. I felt great afterwards, I really felt that the ones that didn't turn up missed out on something special and I am not being ironic/sarcastic. The preachings of the Bishop and the other holy guys hit a cord. They've obviously got a knack at saying really hard hitting poignant things. Well, I guess that's why he's the Bishop and I'm not. Tall bloke, had his smock on and shepherds staff to boot. I bet that's more effective than a baseball bat. At least when the mugger runs off you can catch them with the hook bit, you know yank them back with it- definitely more multi-functional than a baseball bat.

The music really made an impact - it was lovely. Thank you Jesus, Mary and Joseph too.

This was just some of the music I heard at the at the service:

Music 1 - performed by Locus Iste - A Bruckner.

Music 2 - Performed by Ruth Palmer - Hungarian Dances 1, 4 and 5: Brahms / Joachim (these were my best pieces, she was a fantastic performer - I felt it).

Music 3 - performed by Philip Fowke - Chopin Ballade 1 in G minor.

Music 4 - God be in My Head - Rutter.

Music 5 - Sung Amen: John Amner.

Music 6 - Philip Fowke - Polonaise in Ab Opus 53 Chopin.

A really great night, thank you to the Bishop of London and to all of the talented musicians that performed tonight. Suddenly I wasn't in Hackney. I was transformed - momentarily.

We even saw footage of Princess Margaret opening our great school in 1952.

Bring it on - I want more of this.

My Mate.

On my recent trip to Scotland I decided that I wanted to get a friend a gift. I think it’s good to treat your friends. Let's them know that they are appreciated.

I had heard that Ben More, a Munro would be a good place to get the first gift. I was brave as it is not the easiest of mountains to climb. But, what awesome views were in store for me once I had reached the summit. It is an impressive mountain. The summit lies at a kind of crossroads in between three ridges. It was craggier the higher up I got, but it was ok because I had my oxygen with me and an extra pair of shoes. I knew I wasn’t going to die.

I went up the Gleann na Beinne Fada route and that’s where I saw it – the stag. I was ready for it. I pulled out my vintage hammer gun, which dates back to the 1850’s. The ammunition was ready I just had to ensure I kept a steady hand when pulling the trigger, which I did. I was successful I’ve never shot a stag before, so I did well. The next problem, or should I say challenge was how am I going to get the stag down this mountain? And, secondly, there’s just not going to be any way this will fit on a National Express Coach.

So, I rang my dad. He advised me to hire a chain saw.

I am not into blood. So, we had to find an alternative way of presenting this gift to my friend. The taxidermist in St. Andrews seemed like the most sensible option.

I am bit worried about my friend as we've not heard from him since we delivered the stag last week, in the dumper truck. I hope he's alright?! He insisted on a gift from Scotland, and he also insisted on something other than rock. Perhaps I should have a bought him a kilt.

I need to apologise to Sue

Sue you're a lovely woman. And, do you know something I look forward to seeing you. I think we have really hit it off. You're off to Canada soon and I'm sure it will be great. You must go on that train with the glass roof.

Sadly, I won't be going tomorrow night. The beast within has returned. Instead I am going to wander around London Fields in my pink ball dress.

Some kids have just walked into the internet cafe - they look nervous. Is it me?

My parents are a little barking.

They once rang me, my mum was really excited because they had just bought me a house. I was over the moon, at first.

Me: Thanks very much, you kept that one quiet. When can I pick up the keys?

Mum: Well the thing is darling, it's not actually in London.

Me: What do you mean it's not in London? Well, where is it then?

Mum: You tell her Peter.

Dad: It's in Heckmonwike.

Me: Where's Heckmonwike?

Dad: It's in Yorkshire, it's a little terrace house in Yorkshire. In West Yorkshire actually.

Me: But, dad I work in London.

Dad: Yes, that occurred to me too. Errr it was your mother's idea. In fact you speak to her, Isobel.

Mum: Well, we thought you could move there.

In retrospect I should of held onto the house, but I didn't, I told them that I didn't want it. So I am obviously more barking than them.

I've had three houses the last one was in Salford on one of the roughest council estates in the North West. We were advised to buy bars for all of the down stairs windows and doors, which we did. I hated that place - I was always scared. Going home on the bus from school was an ordeal for everyone. The kids on the estate did the most terrible things. Throwing stones at the bus driver, pulling up and ripping all of the seats on the bus. Intimadating the old ladies. They were just grotesque creatures. There was no humanity in them at all. They were beasts. Basically, I will take anyone on - but, even 'I' could not get into a battle with those fucking little bastards. Too much Salford inbreeding. They are as rough as hell.

One day I went a bit bonkers I was just sick and tired of the constant thieving that was going on so I decided to pay them back.

I had been drinking red wine so that gave me confidence to pull it off.

I pulled out (on my own) all of the furniture in my house putting it onto the driveway, that's the three piece suite, the dining room table and four chairs, the coffee table the book shelves, everything. I sat on my sofa on the driveway and invited passers buy to drink wine with me. I thought it was time that they saw that I didn't have anything worth stealing.

This is about the level

"I'm not a Surrealist. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality. The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint always whatever passes through my head, without any other consideration".
Frido Kahlo

I am like a frog without any testicles

My poem.

I am like a frog without any testicles.
I am like a mechanic without a car.
I am like a composer without any talent.
I am like a dancer without any legs.
I am like a teacher without any students.
I am like a writer without any punctuation. Actually my punctuation is bad.
Instead I am a drunk with a hangover.


I am missing my mum basically. I love the woman to bits. I've only been back in Hackney a week and I am really homesick.

Whilst I was in Scotland Justin told me to contact the Perth Tories, which I did. I offered my services to them but they didn't call back, nevermind. I just got on my bike went cycling around the North inch. Lots of swimming in the outdoor heated pool. It's good but not as good as the Hackney Lido - now that must be the best outdoor pool I have ever swam in. I bloody love it, to me it's the best thing about Hackney.


Went out with Kate yesterday, she's my nurse friend, very funny woman. She graduates in August. We've decided that we are going to live together. We've worked out that we can probably buy a flat in Wanstead (fingers crossed) for two hundred thousand. It'll be a one bedroom flat, she can have the lounge. Whenever I tell my parents that I am going to be moving in with someone new my mother usually goes very pale, followed by 'are you sure that's good idea?' Maybe I should save Kate now and come clean and tell her the truth.

My mum is upset with me because I have fallen out with Justin. She really likes him she thinks the sunshines out of his arse. He's a good boy really.

Anyway not much happening in Hackney. I bought a vintage pink ball dress yesterday, which I am wearing now. I have had a few funny looks from people. It's not really appropriate dress wear for this internet cafe. I don't care. Some of my students have seen me they looked a bit embarrassed. I think it's a beautiful dress.

Pissed off! John Bird is standing as an Independent candidate for the London Mayor.

I really enjoyed reading John Bird's article 'Get Your Rear into Gear'. Too tired to do a critique of it - but, here's a quote from it - "We have to find ways of taking back politics from the politicians ... by broadening the concept of politics to include activities at all levels of society." We have apathy amongst voters because people are sick of the stage managed spin. Let's have a serious, open and honest dialogue. The fewer voters the more damaging it is for the health and well being of our democracy.

I am exhausted, I have been walking around Hampstead all day. In Golders Green now I am travelling up to Scotland tonight.

Divided loyalties - I want John Bird to be the London mayor. He speaks the language that I understand. Basically, he wants to make politics more accessible. Why should it be reserved for the 'chattering classes'? Politicians should be 'drawn from different social backgrounds' - making Westminster a place which is much more reflective of the society it serves.

I am shattered - I wish I could go to bed.

John Bird we need to see and hear much more from you.