Ooh,ooh, ooooh! Pick me!


In school children instinctively seem to want to put up their hands, even when you’ve not asked a question. It’s most bizarre. Then when you do ask them they’ve forgotten what they  had their hand up for. The classic teacher line is “I’m only going to choose children who are sitting nicely.” That’s the cue for them to sit up straight, appear intelligent, like they’ve thought of a really good answer. Or at least one they think you would approve of.

Often  I say, “I’m not choosing anyone who is shouting out, or screwing up their face at me”. It’s funny to stop for a minute, look at their faces and just watch them about to pop! They make a variety of interesting noises in order to charm you into choosing them. I’m a bit mean, I choose the children who don’t have their hand up and ask them what on earth I was talking about. They have no idea either.

Nowadays we have training on how to choose children so they all get a chance to answer. There is no opting out, even at 5.   The “in thing” is lollipops with all 30 names on which the teacher picks out at random. The children feel like they’ve won the lottery when their name is read out…until they realise they have nothing to say, or what they were going  to say was silly, irrelevant or a request for the toilet.  I tend to teach them early on that well known phrase ” I don’t know”.  It comes in very handy.

So, here is number 2 in my series of Pick Me poems. I’m hoping you Pick Mine and read it thoroughly in case I ask you questions on it later.

Ooooh, oooh, ooooh! Pick me! 

If only my teacher would pick me

I always put up my hand

I scuffle and jiggle

Screw my face up and wriggle

And look like I understand


She tells me to “Shush!

There’s no need for that noise,

 sit straight, cross your legs,

turn around”

I’m so desperate to speak

Hear my voice, just a squeak

This hand is not coming down!


She’s seen me again,

But passes me by

I bet she thinks I am thick

I am going to burst

I have to be first

If I’m not I might just be sick


I don’t know the answer

Or the question she asked

 I just love putting up my hand

It feels great in the air

As I wave at her there

Floating off in my own dreamland


If she asks me, I will say “I forgot”

And look down like I’m sheepish and shy

Surely someone will tell me the answer

 I’ll look good if I can reply


If only my teacher would pick me

She tries not to catch my eye

Perhaps I should stand

Make a point and DEMAND

That she gives me a chance to reply


That’s it! I’m done, my hand’s coming down

I shall no longer try to impress

Ask Alfie or Mabel

And see if they’re able

To get selected with more success


If only my teacher would pick me

Instead of ignoring my plea

I’ll hold my breath till I’m red

And pretend I am dead

Next time she will have to choose me!


Pick Me

One day I shall write a book. An agent would probably suggest that I chose the title once the book has been written. However, I like my title and while you’re waiting for the content of my book I’ve written a series of poems with the same title to keep you entertained.

I feel a bit of a fraud because at school I was quite often picked for the team. Unless of course it was a maths or cookery competition, which fortunately for me we never had anyway. To be honest I  dreaded being picked for the (especially cross country) team because competition made me very nervous and jittery. I have a few medals in my cupboard. Not Olympic ones, in case you were considering burglary.

I feel for the child who never gets picked. I feel for the adolescent or adult who doesn’t get picked too. We can all learn a lot by not getting picked.

 Pick Me

If only my teacher would pick me

I always try to look keen

Though I can’t play in goal

Or dribble the ball

 I’m dying to be on the team


If only my teacher would pick me

I’ve got all the kit and the gear

I’ve watched the tv

They look quite like me

Except for the spots and the fear


I’m convinced my teacher will pick me

I’ll get better with practise no doubt

I can run up and down

And shout “Pass!” really loud

Surely this time he won’t leave me out


Why doesn’t my teacher pick me?

So I can experience this beautiful game

I am denied every time

The opportunity to shine

And miss out on money and fame


If only my teacher would pick me

I’d feel wanted and part of a team

But I’m left on the shelf

To play a game by myself

And be man of the match in my dream.



Snot Funny

Apparently there are millions of blogs out there in the sky somewhere. Down here on earth humans all over the place are writing them. Mine is going to be a funny one. Which is why my first post is called Snot Funny. Because it’s snot been funny so far. Good start. I imagine lots of blogs are funny without realising it.

Starting a blog and a web site by yourself, with no geek or techy friend, or cash in the bank to pay someone else, is harder than ironing or washing the floor. Housework is really hard work. I read blogs and web sites every day. Who has time to build and write these things? Can’t a lovely helpful nerd design a robot to do it? You have to search various (appropriate) pictures, which you think someone else might like, then you have to think of a strap line, title, menu, caption. Save this, delete that, preview, publish. Come up for breath. I stare at my computer wondering if it’s glaring back at me and wishing I’d just give up now.

I’m not sure this is going to be my thing.  I struggle to decide how to have my steak cooked, so deciding on colours, backgrounds, images and fonts might mean this blog gets published sometime in 2019. Hilarious. I’m happy with that.