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Friday, 27 March 2020

Update on resources for home-learning!

Hello everyone!  I hope we are all okay and healthy.  If you, or anyone you know, is affected by COVID-19 then you have my sympathies and I'm pretty sure, the sympathy of the rest of the world as well.  These are crazy times.

With that in mind, I'm going to keep this brief.  A lot of parents are experiencing the joys of home-learning.  It can be very difficult to suddenly switch from being a parent to be being a teacher (especially with no training, little sleep and more than enough to worry about beyond education).

We all need a break at times and it can be very tempting to sit the kids in front of the TV and leave them to it.  But then comes the guilt, right?

Well don't worry - I've got you covered.

working from home

My latest writing project is... well, it's actually an essay about the best way to conduct research, two about how to spot and avoid bad assessment practises, and a dissertation on high-stakes testing for young children.  But my latest relevant-to-you writing project is a whole bunch of reading comprehension and creative exercises for children of all ages based on, wait for it...


You can now, in good conscience, sit your little angels down to watch an episode or two in the knowledge that it is actually helping them with their English.

At the moment I have papers for the following shows:

There are more on the way - I am aiming to write one every day.

Best of all, for the duration of the lock-down, they are totally free to use, share, print...

Head over to and look in the Netflix Comprehension folder.  Check the other bits and pieces out while you're there.  There's a lot.  The times tables games are great for two or more people to play together - there's a folder for learning and a folder for revising.  There's even a built-in timer for added challenge!

Look after yourselves, everyone.  Stay inside.  Stay safe.  If you're feeling really low and just want to talk to someone, DM me on Twitter; we can set up a zoom chat!

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Carl Headley-Morris

Thursday, 19 March 2020

Corona Virus / COVID-19 Help

Hello everyone!

I have gathered some bits and pieces to help anyone who is having to home-school their child(ren) in the coming weeks/months.

I will also be live streaming when I can - more details on that later.

I will be posting short (mich shorter) posts more frequently as this whole adventure unfolds.

A note on the resources:

Unless specified, I have not created them myself but I do trust the companies who did.  They have kindly volunteered their resources, usually subscription-based, for free during this time.

As such, I would be really grateful if you would forward them to whoever needs them.  You can also tell them about this blog if you want to.

If you are concerned about assessment or marking, I am working on that.  Watch this space!

In the meantime, head over to:

The resources are split into UK and USA, and then into Year Groups or Grades.

I will keep adding when I can.

Eash your hands and STAY INSIDE IF YOU CAN!

See you on the other side...

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Monday, 16 March 2020

Hello, hello! Since my MA is on lock-down and I am now having to do everything from home, I am more painfully aware than ever of my lack of self-discipline. This week's blog post is a short story. Rather a special one though. It is the first time any work of mine was published in an actual book (the creatively titled Anthology of Short Stories, vol. 2)!

I've updated it a little because these things are never truly finished. But this isn't merely self-love. I will be writing comprehension questions to go with this story and sharing them via Instagram (SVREducation). If you are having to send children home due to self-isolation, feel free to include them in your home learning pack.

Feel free too to critique the story. I wrote it during my undergrad days, so it is far from perfect! Let me know what you think...

The Boy Who Saw an Alien
by Carl Headley-Morris  (2003, updated 2020)

Jimmy was a small boy with very few friends.  He had not been at his new school for very long but in the short while he had been there, he had become known as the token weird kid.

This didn’t bother Jimmy too much.  He was apparently too weird for the bullies to notice, which was nice in its way.  Being left alone meant that he had no distractions in class. With no real friends to discuss the previous night’s TV, or even the weather,  he picked things up very quickly, and as a result, had become the most knowledgeable six-year-old in the classroom. In any room, actually. This served to ostracise him yet further and this led to his being very quiet, a trait that exacerbated his perceived weirdness.  It was a cruel and vicious circle. At least, it appeared so from the outside. From the epicentre, Jimmy’s world was one of inner peace and self-reflection.
This was probably why it happened.

It was a Thursday and Jimmy’s class were about to start their maths lesson.  Jimmy was sitting by himself as usual and a girl handed him his book. As he went to open the front cover, he noticed that he had been given someone else’s book by mistake.  The girl was behind him now so he turned on his chair and pulled at her cardigan. She turned around and glared at him.

“What?” she asked.  There was no malice in her voice.  But there was no feeling in it either.  It was a strange, sort of indifferent tone.  Jimmy called it Jimescent.  

“You gave me the wrong book,” said Jimmy in his own Jimescent tone.

The girl searched through the pile until she found Jimmy’s book.  She handed it to him. As Jimmy was handing back the other book, something happened.   A very strange and a very unexpected something. The girl smiled. It was definitely a smile and it was definitely aimed at Jimmy.  This had never happened before and Jimmy was unsure how to react, so he just smiled back (awkwardly - he hadn’t had much practise) and thanked her.  She continued to pass out the rest of the books and took her seat at the far end of the classroom, which, as far as Jimmy was concerned, may have been the other end of the universe.

Being good at maths, Jimmy finished his work quickly.  In the remaining time, when he should have been colouring in a picture, he thought about the girl.  He had seen her before, of course, she was in his class. But she had never smiled at him. She had never even noticed him.  Why was today so special? Since he could hope to fathom the logic behind the event, he settled for simply thinking about the girl.  She wasn’t especially pretty, thought Jimmy. In fact, as he looked around the rest of the class, she was distinctly average-looking. She was taller than the boys (as were all the other girls in his class, except Amy.  Amy was short.). She had the same plaited hair that was slowly coming free and by lunchtime would become a ponytail. There was nothing special; nothing remarkable about her at all. Except the fact that she had smiled at him.  To Jimmy, this made her beautiful. The bell rang for playtime and Jimmy quickly put together a plan. He would speak to her in the playground.

As it transpired, Jimmy’s plan was proving to be a lot more difficult that he had first thought  No-one ever played with him at playtime so it hadn’t occurred to him that people might be playing with her.  Apparently, she was very popular and half the playground was buzzing around her in an excited swarm of giggles.  Jimmy would have to reach the centre of the throng; get the girl’s attention; and hold, or even generate, a conversation.  He took a deep breath, two or three steps, then froze. What was he thinking? She had spoken to him in near-perfect Jimessence.  She didn’t like him.  She didn’t care about him.  She had probably forgotten all about him!  He was going to make a fool of himself. That was the last thing he needed; to be weird and stupid.  

Then he remembered the smile.  The one thing he could never have expected; the curvature of her lips that had lit up his world.  There was no question about it, he had to speak to her. Even if she ignored him. He might see her smile at someone else; he could pretend she was smiling at him.
Then a second strange thing happened.  The throng of children parted and the girl strode, Moses-like, up to Jimmy.

“Hello, Jimmy,” she said with a cheerful giggle.  “Do you want to come and play with us?”

Jimmy’s face mirrored that of every other child in the playground.  Had he really been invited to play with the popular children? Him? The weird kid?  He didn’t know what to say but eventually managed,

“I, er, I don’t know what you’re playing.”

The girl giggled again.  Giggles, Jimmy realised, sounded so much warmer when they weren’t directed at you.  “Oh, that doesn’t matter,” she said, taking his arm.  “We’re not really playing anything; just hanging out and chatting.  Come on.”  

And that was that.  She dragged him into the centre of her world and he was accepted by association.  It was the happiest moment of his little life.

Throughout the next lesson, Jimmy sat with his new best friend and for the first time ever, didn’t finish his work.  Instead, he chatted. He had never really been very good at smalltalk but he had picked it up surprisingly quickly. They talked about everything.  Favourite animals; worst colours; funniest noises… The girl told Jimmy how she had always wondered by he sat on his own and Jimmy told the girl how he had just come to accept that people thought he was weird.  It was fantastic. Various children asked if he would like to sit with them at lunchtime. The teacher even had to tell him off for making too much noise!

Then the third strange thing happened.

The sky outside became shadowy and overcast.  The birds stopped singing, and a terrible fog masked everything from sight.  It was very eerie. The children fell silent. From out of the clouds, a spaceship emerged and landed in the nature garden, flattening the bird table.  

A door on the side of the ship melted away and a squat-looking alien, in what appeared to be very regal garb, stepped out and into the classroom.  The alien walked straight up to Jimmy and put its hand on his heart.

“Jimmy,” it said in a soothing tone that made the teacher sigh.  “You have suffered much in your short time; more than most. Yet you have not become embittered nor lost hope.  Instead, you have used the cruelty of others to better your self-knowledge. This has not gone unnoticed.  

“My people have, for many years now, invited people like you to join our race.  Some are grown-ups but most are children, not very much older than yourself. I have come to offer you what I offered them - a place where you can live as an equal among your peers.

“You do not have to accept.  You have every right to decline my offer and remain here on Earth.  But my being here requires a great amount of energy and I cannot stay for long, so I must have your answer now.”

Jimmy looked around the room at all of the astonished faces.  His new friends. How long would it be before they grew tired of him?  Wasn’t it possible that he was merely the latest novelty, to be ignored and forgotten by next week?  And this other place the alien was talking about, it sounded very nice indeed.  

He looked around the room again.  Surely, not all of the children would grow tired of him?  Even if most stopped talking to him, surely there would be one or two who would still be his friends?  He thought for a while, his child-brain trying to weigh-up the huge gamble. Was it worth the risk? He looked at the spaceship and had almost made up his mind.  Turning back to say goodbye, he saw the girl. She was smiling at him, her eyes glossy with growing tears.  

“Jimmy?” she asked, quietly.  

Jimmy walked up to the alien and said something that no-one else could hear.

The alien returned to its ship, turning at the doorway.  “One thing, Jimmy,” it said. “I must reverse time a little.  None of your friends will remember having seen us this day. It is for the best.  Farewell, Jimmy. We will never meet again.”

And with that, the spaceship faded from existence.

The girl ran over to Jimmy and hugged him, the tears now falling from her eyes.  “You chose us,” she said. “Thank-you!”

Jimmy held her close.  “I chose you, he whispered.”

She smiled at him again and the clock on the wall stopped ticking.  Jimmy broke away from the embrace and noticed that the entire room was locked in time.  The girl’s that perfect, life-altering smile, was frozen in place.  

The room began to spin and melt away.  Jimmy guessed (correctly) that the alien was reversing time.  He wondered just how far back it would go. Perhaps just before the spaceship arrived.  He would have to try and remember what they were talking about; so much had happened in the past three minutes, he had quite forgotten.  Then the world turned a bright white and Jimmy felt a tug pulling him into unconsciousness.

He was shocked to find himself sitting alone at the beginning of the maths lesson.

“Oh well,” he thought, “living out the day won’t be all that bad.  At least I know that it ends well.”

The girl stepped up to his desk and threw a book onto it.  Jimmy went to tug on her cardigan and then he read the name on the cover.  He froze and his lip started to tremble. It was his book.  

The girl took her seat at the far end of the classroom and Jimmy started to cry.

@Mr_M_Musings | | |

Monday, 9 March 2020

The Importance of Being a Heretic

Amid the mass-hysteria of loo roll shortages, I have decided to cough loudly in front of important people in order to justify self-isolation. It's given me some much-needed time to catch up on housework... and YouTube (more one than the other, if I'm honest). As a result, I should be able to get back to a more regular schedule of blog posting. Fingers crossed! This week I am talking about being a maverick; about breaking the rules; and about why we should be teaching children how to argue.
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Empathy is not endorsement
Hold strong opinions weakly
Listen to understand

Regular readers might remember the week I mentioned my favourite podcasts.  If you haven’t read it, it’s here - they aren’t academic; just fun. Anyway, one of those podcasts, Conversations with People Who Hate Me uses a particular phrase that has struck a chord and got me thinking.  The phrase in question is:

Empathy is not endorsement

The message behind these four words is, I think huge.  Especially in the current awkward climate of post-Brexit Britain.  I have a friend who still refuses to speak to me purely because I asked questions about his political belief system.  I didn’t criticise it; I didn’t judge it; I just asked questions about it. And I know I am not the only one.

Perhaps it’s a reflection of having to read so many academic articles and exercise almost constant criticality, but I have seen the benefit of being one of those people who questions everything.  Or, at least, I am now far more likely to want to interrogate sources of an argument rather than blindly accept or dismiss a point of view.

There is another phrase which sort of applies here but is easily misinterpreted:

I have strong opinions that are weakly held

On the surface, this seems like a rather woolly stance.  If you’re going to have an opinion, then you should live or die by that opinion, right?  Except that an opinion is not a belief or an ideal. It’s a conclusion you have reached based on the evidence available.  Therefore, it should be changeable if different evidence comes to light. Holding strong opinions weakly allows you to be passionate but adaptable.

The combination of strong beliefs weakly held, and empathy is not endorsement should, I would argue, be taught from a very early age.  This is where heresy comes in…

In a move that might be somewhat disappointing to a few of you, I am not talking about standing against the orthodoxy of the church.  No, I am talking about a Radio 4 panel show from years ago. It was hosted by Victoria Coren Mitchell (of Poker fame) and centred around the idea of unpopular opinions being shared and discussed.  

In one episode that sticks in my mind, the topic up for debate was music piracy and whether or not it should be a crime.  More recently, they have used topics such as climate change, Eurovision and public apologies.  The point of the show is not to score points but to play devil’s advocate and explore opinions that are very different from your own.

I know a lot of teachers do this already, but how often do we allow children to disagree in a positive way?  Schools are a hotbed of ‘say sorry to each other’ and ‘just stay away from each other’ (Primary schools, at least, I don’t know about Secondary).  That’s nuts! That doesn’t teach children the art of agreeing to disagree, of exploring the other side of the argument, of accepting that, perhaps, neither of you is ‘right’ because the problem is actually too big to be reduced to a binary outcome.

I say, let the kids argue.  Let them disagree. But teach them how to listen respectfully.  Instead of ‘no, that’s wrong because I heard….’ teach them how to say ‘that’s interesting.  Why do you think that?’ Better yet, assign them tasks where they have to argue convincingly for the side they disagree with.  Pair them up with ideologically diverse children (it can happen, even in Primary school). Remind them that they don’t have to convince the other person; that they shouldn’t enter the debate to shout the other side down; that a louder opinion is not a better opinion; and, most importantly, that understanding is better than winning.  If they’re entering the conversation with the sole aim of explaining why their opponent is wrong, then they have already lost.

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I was once asked a really useful question by my amazing wife (who is not now nor has ever been a school teacher).  We were talking about my classroom and I was saying how I asked a lot of questions and that my assessment for learning was pretty good.  I was having a brag, let’s call it what it is! Anyway, my clever wife stopped me in mid-flow and asked how I listened to the responses. She followed this with:

Were you listening to respond, or were you listening to understand?

And that’s the third part of the puzzle.  We can accept that playing devil’s advocate doesn’t mean we’ve sold our soul to the other side.  We can agree that our opinion, though strong, may be subject to change, but if we are not listening with the intention of understanding the argument presented, then we may as well all go home because what’s the point?  

Listening to understand takes time and may require follow-on questions like ‘what do you mean by…’ or ‘I’m not sure I understand…’ or even the scariest of them all, ‘I don’t know what that means; can you explain it to me?’  I have found that people, especially people who call arguing debating, hate to appear foolish or uninformed. Obviously, you need to know your stuff if you’re going to discuss it, but you can’t know everything and you should be confident enough to admit to it when there are gaps in your knowledge.  In my experience, it calms things down and reassures the other person that you genuinely are trying to understand their viewpoint. This doesn’t mean that you will adopt it, but you are at least listening.  

So what?  Why is this a thing?  Well, over the past few weeks I have been posting about behaviour management systems and how to stop playground problems before they happen.  This is key to the whole thing. If you can teach the children how to discuss problems instead of arguing beliefs, then a lot of the underlying tension goes away.

Obviously, this is useful as a teaching tool (for persuasive writing etc.) but I feel it is also one of the most valuable citizenship skills we can teach.

So there we are.  I’m going to leave it there.  If this has piqued your interest, then the paper Let's Argue! By Steve Metz is a good follow-up read.  Also, this article by Valya Telep is quick and related.  

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Thanks so much for reading this far.  I’m going to be reaching out to Year 6 teachers in the UK soon for some research and possible focus-groups.  If you would be interested, please leave a comment or contact me on Twitter. In the meantime, have a great week!

Carl Headley-Morris

@Mr_M_Musings | | |

Monday, 2 March 2020

The scariest thing I ever did: A World Book Day Special

Welcome, welcome!  It is every parent's least favourite day of the year this week.  World Book Day is once again upon us!  If you listen carefully, you will just about make out the collected sighs as unprepared parents flock to the supermarket to spend too much money on a polyester onesie or a cheap Hogwart's robe.

If you listen closer still, you'll hear little bits of teachers die as the eightieth child comes dressed as a film character having never read the book the movie was based on.  Ah, World Book Day.  When we throw timetables to the wind, swap classes, attempt whole-school projects, have a little panic attack and remember the good old days of concrete lesson objectives and definitive subject-based teaching.

I'm being cynical.  I love World Book Day.  I don't love the amount of Roald Dahl propaganda (more on that here) that's touted around, but everything else I'm pretty much hot to trot.  

It was on World Book Day, during a whole-school project-in-a-day that I did the scariest thing I have ever done as a teacher.

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Ignore the destination.
Enjoy the ride.
You will arrive here you need to be; 
not necessarily where you wanted to be.
Let go...

In the usual timely fashion (the Wednesday staff meeting) we were told that Friday would see the whole school working on a joint project that was to be finished by 3pm that same Friday.  The whole school would be off timetable; there would be no PE coach.  The whole day was to be given over to the WBD gods, including an unnecessarily protracted whole-school assembly where everyone in a costume would parade around the hall.

The whole school project was based around each year group re-telling Little Red Riding-Hood in a variety of ways.  The usual - Reception would create story maps; Year 1 would re-write it from the wolf's point of view, blah, blah, blah...  Year 6 was to write it up as a newspaper report.  And I'll be honest, that was the last I thought about it.  It was Year 6 in March - I had revision sessions to teach.

Enter Friday (why do they bother setting WBD on a Thursday?  Does any school actually host it on a Thursday?) and the sudden cold sweat of a teacher who had totally forgotten that a whole-school project would be due by the end of the day.  I had remembered my costume though (a rather clever one, if I do say so myself)

Yup, that's me...

So, enter the children.  Many of whom were dressed very casually in their own clothes - a compromise we had established provided they brought in a story they had written in which they were the main character (gotta have that evidence for writing!).  We took the register and then I stood in front of the whiteboard and took a deep breath...

With no other plans in mind beyond 'we have to write a newspaper report by the end of the day', I looked at the children, took a deep breath and asked:

"Has anyone heard anything about that break-in last night?"

No context.  No lead-in.  No explanation of concept.  And I was met with totally blank faces.

So, despite the voice in my head telling me to at least give them a bit of a hint, I continued.

"Come on people, wake up.  There was a break-in and a murder last night.  Somebody must have heard something.  If we don't write this story, the others will."

I'll admit, there was a lot of silence.  There were some giggles.  I picked on a child - one of the creative ones.

"You're always on the socials, you must have heard something."

A bit more silence.  Then...

"I heard it wasn't a murder."

I could have cuddled her.  

"Oh?"  I said.  
"Yeah, it was a cover-up," she said.
"But they found a body," I led. 
"It was an assassination!" 
This was shouted from the other side of the room from the boy who was forever playing Assassin's Creed 

It was met with some giggles.

Giggling.  I had two choices: ignore them or use them.  In improvisation there is a wonderful tool call 'yes... and'.  It's fairly simple.  You take any concept given to you and you say 'yes... and...'  This allows for momentum to build and a world to be created.

So I went with it.

"Don't giggle," I told the three boys, "I know his ideas are out there - we all remember the 'aliens ate my dog' fiasco, but every now and again, the crazy ideas are the accurate ones."

This did a couple of things.  1) It involved the giggling boys in the narrative - they now had an active role to play and their characters giggled at outlandish ideas.  2) It reassured the assassin boy - and by extension, the rest of the class - that ideas would be validated.

Yeah, he carried on.  My source told me that Special Ops were looking for some information.  They've been watching the house for a while now.  I guess they found something.
Go On

This is why I love kids.  Give them some space and they will create a world.

Interesting, I said.  Get on to your source; see if you can get any more information.  

"Mr M...?"  The first chink in the world we were building.  One girl had used my teacher name - this would not do.  If I was going to create a newspaper office (oh, I had decided to make the classroom a newspaper office), then there was no place for a teacher.  

"I've told you," I said, "call me chief.  Mr M is my dad's name."

Now they all knew my role.  Most of the class had cottoned on to the fact that we were a newspaper office.  Most of them were on board.  They still didn't know it was Red Riding Hood, but I had an idea for that...

Turns out I didn't need it.  One of the girls piped up:

Chief, she said - in full character - gotta love 'em! - did they find anything in the house?

This made my heart sing.  They were looking for ways to develop the narrative.  They might not have seen it that way, but that's what they were doing.  It was like that scene in Hook when Robin Williams starts to pretend there is food on the table and then there is.  We were creating magic.

"Yes!"  I said.  "They found a sort of coat thing.  It was red.  Not sure if that was blood or..."
"Oh," came a sigh of realisation from the back-left of the room, "It's Red Riding Hood."

Now, this was a problem.  It would break the world we were building.  Solution?  Yes... and.

"What's that?" I almost leapt on her.  "You know something?"
"I was just saying that it's like Red Riding Hood."
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This kid wasn't playing.  To be fair, she was on the spectrum, so she was probably relieved to have worked out what the heck was going on.  But I couldn't let the whole thing be derailed and turn into a lesson.  How dull.

So, again, I used it.

"Who?" I asked.
"You know," she began, still not quite getting it, "Red Riding Hood.  She went to see her grandmother and met a wolf.  It's that story, isn't it?"
"Hmmm..."  I said, desperate not to let the world collapse.  "It certainly sounds similar.  But dammit, this is real life, not some silly fairy tale.  People are dead!"

Then, from the most unlikely of places, the final piece of the puzzle fell into place.  I'll admit, until this next part, I was thinking that I might have to break role and admit defeat - go to the board and start structuring an approach.  I didn't want to, but they weren't getting it as much as they needed to.

Then it happened.

One of the 'troublesome' boys; one of the group who thinks it's far cooler to derail than join in, uttered the following words to his friend, hoping I wouldn't hear:

"It was terrorists."

I locked eyes with him and asked what he said.

I got the usual replies, nothing; sorry, I was just...  I was having none of it.

"Tell me what you said."

It's fair to say, at this point, I don't think anyone knew if I was in teacher role or newspaper editor role.  The atmosphere was a little on the tense side.  I used it.

"Damn it," thumping the table, "you have information and, by God, you're gonna share it. Now. what.  Did.  You.  Say?"

He looked a little sheepish.  I felt a little bad (not too bad, I was still in role).

"I said they were terrorists."

There was a silence.

"Oh my god," I said.  "That's huge."
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And the whole thing exploded.  The room became this bustling news office with groups of children working on different aspects of the story.  Some chose to work in solitude, writing up character profiles; some worked in pairs or threes, hot-seating others for interviews.  One asked if they could write the adverts for the paper (I wasn't going to allow it, but they asked in character and said that the paper had to make money somehow otherwise there wouldn't be a paper for people to read - that's persuasive!).

It was noisy.  It was chaotic.  It required a lot of bringing people together for newsroom briefings and team meetings.  We got through a lot of blu-tac and flipchart paper.  I had to trust the kids who asked for a Chromebook to do some research.  It was glorious.

By the end of the day, we had more than enough front pages to display and a totally fresh take on the Red Riding Hood story:
'Scarlet' - real name unknown - had been persuaded to join a terrorist organisation.  She was on her way to meet the grandmaster (codename: Grand-Ma) in a secret location.  Little did she know that Agent Black of WOLF (the World Organisation of Low-life Finders - a division of Special Operations at MI5) had been on her case ever since he came across a missing person's report that seemed odd.  
On that fateful day, he was watching the safe-house when Grand-Ma was left alone.  Agent Black entered the house; there was a fight and a single gun-shot.   Agent Black then waited for Scarlet to arrive to arrest her and take her in for questioning.
Unbeknownst to Agent Black, the terrorists had been watching him.  They sent their hitman, Jack Lumber (see what they did there?) to apprehend Agent Black.  
There was another fight.  Agent Black was rushed to hospital but Jack Lumber got away and is currently wanted and considered armed and dangerous.  
Scarlet was arrested and taken in for questioning.

There were complaints about using terrorists as a plot device - but my defence of that is that everything came from the children.  This was their story.  Is it sad that their everyday lives feature such things?  Yes.  Is it great that they can use those influences to create riveting literature?  Absolutely.

So that's my World Book Day story.  I encourage you all to let go and have the children lead the way.  If it all comes crashing down, who cares?  Think of what you'll learn along the way!  

Thanks for reading.  I've recently posted a Twitter poll asking how long a blog post should be - I'd be really grateful if you could let me know how long is too long.  I tend to get carried away!

Have a great week and I'll be back next time with an exploration of why being a heretic in the classroom is a good thing.

Until then, be kind and smile at strangers!

You Da Best

Carl Headley-Morris

Update on resources for home-learning!

Hello everyone!  I hope we are all okay and healthy.  If you, or anyone you know, is affected by COVID-19 then you have my sympathies and I...