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  ‘You remind me,’ said the woman on the other side, ‘of Alice in Wonderland.’ I had left my belongings back in the other world, including my shoes, and crawled through a tunnel of lights into an Aladdin’s cave of pedagogy. There were no giant, talking flowers but there were: mossy pillows to stand on, the smell of purple flowers and rosemary, the feel of marbles and chickpeas scattered in a box; a large hoop skirt to reimagine ones childhood; bubbles, Lego, Play Doh, costumes and more to explore.  I wrote a postcard, to my eight year old self, Believe in your creativity and forge your own path. I felt constrained by the Curriculum as it came into force in the late 1980s. They had asked us to think for ourselves then trained us how to act: realistic, practical, confined by opportunities we did not understand. At home my existence was one of curiosity and imagination that wasn’t valid in the classroom where they recited, ‘learn this, say this, be th...

This month I submitted a story to the Scottish Book Trust mixing a fairy tale with my journey through the PhD. You can see my entry here. Emma’s Red Coat - Scottish Book Trust If you would like to know more about my work some initial thoughts are published here:- Parfitt, E.L. 2014. Storytelling as a trigger for sharing conversations. Exchanges: the Warwick Research Journal. 1(2).

(based on the genius song "Agony" from Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim) Did I abuse this (educational opportunity) by showing distain? My brain’s feeling mashed up. I might just lose it; tormented I’m reeling from frontal lobe pain! Agony! VIVA’s out of my reach When you’ve had an idea Yet that idea it still defies speech Alone at my desk I sit by the hour Tearing my hair Tense and confused, frequently screaming A song of despair Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-                                          Agony!     Caught my tongue in a draw Trying to write is like trying To fight Je Suis Charlie , and more Agony!                      ...

“There are times in life when people must know when not to let go. Balloons are designed to teach small children this” TP Sorry Terry, if you don’t mind me calling you that, but this is not THE END. You were a lover of words, a social commitator, and in some ways a sociologist and ethonographer. That is, an observer of the lives around you. And we had a good laugh about it all, didn’t we. Weatherwax not so much. When I heard that death had popped by, to say hello to the great TP, my first thought was a reflection on my own insignificance. Generations of people past and present have asked one another the same question Where were you when… ? So a few, or hopefully a many, will be asking today and tomorrow, until we join you sitting by Cronin in a Discworld twist of Valhalla, where were you when Terry Pratchett died? Only they’ve kind of got it wrong. Let me explain why. When I heard you had died (for the record you are my favourite author) I was at Writ...