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|Oracle® Fusion Middleware Oracle Reports User's Guide to Building Reports
11g Release 1 (11.1.1)
Part Number B32122-03
|PDF · Mobi · ePub
This chapter provides an overview of the example reports in this manual. For information on accessing the demo reports and the data sources, refer to "Accessing the Example Reports" and "Accessing the Data Sources".
The chapter lists the example reports contained in this manual, a brief description of each report, a pointer to the location of the steps to build the example, and an image of the sample output.


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I don't often read the sports pages of a newspaper or a website, but the headline on one of the articles on the BBC intrigued me today. The story is about Carlos Tevez, an argentinian who currently plays for Manchester City.
Apparently, he refused to play as a substitute and then, during a press conference said: "I didn't feel right to play and so I didn't". There's now an investigation going on as he's been suspended, but he has said that's not what he meant. Part of the problem is that english isn't his first language, and therefore he presumably doesn't have the range of vocabulary which would have allowed him to communicate effectively.
Part of it though, is a problem we all share. In a high pressure, time-limited environment, we try and communicate more quickly. Quicker communication often is less effective. Even when there's pressure, or there's no pressure but you're trying to reply on your blackberry before your next meeting, take the time to read over your message before you hit send. It might save you from being in the same place as Mr Tevez finds himself.

subset: commoncrawl


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See and share Beautiful Nature Photos and amazing photos of interesting places
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Robert Browning poems. This is a select list of the best famous Robert Browning poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Robert Browning poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Robert Browning poems.
Search for the best famous Robert Browning poems, articles about Robert Browning poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Robert Browning poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
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That's my last duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Frà Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart—how shall I say?—too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace—all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked
Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech—which I have not—to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark"—and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
—E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretense
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
I chanced upon a new book yesterday;
I opened it, and, where my finger lay
'Twixt page and uncut page, these words I read -
Some six or seven at most - and learned thereby
That you, Fitzgerald, whom by ear and eye
She never knew, "thanked God my wife was dead."
Aye, dead! and were yourself alive, good Fitz,
How to return you thanks would task my wits.
Kicking you seems the common lot of curs -
While more appropriate greeting lends you grace,
Surely to spit there glorifies your face -
Spitting from lips once sanctified by hers.
Christ God who savest man, save most
Of men Count Gismond who saved me!
Count Gauthier, when he chose his post,
Chose time and place and company
To suit it; when he struck at length
My honour, 'twas with all his strength.
And doubtlessly ere he could draw
All points to one, he must have schemed!
That miserable morning saw
Few half so happy as I seemed,
While being dressed in queen's array
To give our tourney prize away.
I thought they loved me, did me grace
To please themselves; 'twas all their deed;
God makes, or fair or foul, our face;
If showing mine so caused to bleed
My cousins' hearts, they should have dropped
A word, and straight the play had stopped.
They, too, so beauteous! Each a queen
By virtue of her brow and breast;
Not needing to be crowned, I mean,
As I do. E'en when I was dressed,
Had either of them spoke, instead
Of glancing sideways with still head!
But no: they let me laugh, and sing
My birthday song quite through, adjust
The last rose in my garland, fling
A last look on the mirror, trust
My arms to each an arm of theirs,
And so descend the castle-stairs---
And come out on the morning-troop
Of merry friends who kissed my cheek,
And called me queen, and made me stoop
Under the canopy---(a streak
That pierced it, of the outside sun,
Powdered with gold its gloom's soft dun)---
And they could let me take my state
And foolish throne amid applause
Of all come there to celebrate
My queen's-day---Oh I think the cause
Of much was, they forgot no crowd
Makes up for parents in their shroud!
However that be, all eyes were bent
Upon me, when my cousins cast
Theirs down; 'twas time I should present
The victor's crown, but ... there, 'twill last
No long time ... the old mist again
Blinds me as then it did. How vain!
See! Gismond's at the gate, in talk
With his two boys: I can proceed.
Well, at that moment, who should stalk
Forth boldly---to my face, indeed---
But Gauthier, and he thundered ``Stay!''
And all stayed. ``Bring no crowns, I say!
``Bring torches! Wind the penance-sheet
``About her! Let her shun the chaste,
``Or lay herself before their feet!
``Shall she whose body I embraced
``A night long, queen it in the day?
``For honour's sake no crowns, I say!''
I? What I answered? As I live,
I never fancied such a thing
As answer possible to give.
What says the body when they spring
Some monstrous torture-engine's whole
Strength on it? No more says the soul.
Till out strode Gismond; then I knew
That I was saved. I never met
His face before, but, at first view,
I felt quite sure that God had set
Himself to Satan; who would spend
A minute's mistrust on the end?
He strode to Gauthier, in his throat
Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth
With one back-handed blow that wrote
In blood men's verdict there. North, South,
East, West, I looked. The lie was dead,
And damned, and truth stood up instead.
This glads me most, that I enjoyed
The heart of the joy, with my content
In watching Gismond unalloyed
By any doubt of the event:
God took that on him---I was bid
Watch Gismond for my part: I did.
Did I not watch him while he let
His armourer just brace his greaves,
Rivet his hauberk, on the fret
The while! His foot ... my memory leaves
No least stamp out, nor how anon
He pulled his ringing gauntlets on.
And e'en before the trumpet's sound
Was finished, prone lay the false knight,
Prone as his lie, upon the ground:
Gismond flew at him, used no sleight
O' the sword, but open-breasted drove,
Cleaving till out the truth he clove.
Which done, he dragged him to my feet
And said ``Here die, but end thy breath
``In full confession, lest thou fleet
``From my first, to God's second death!
``Say, hast thou lied?'' And, ``I have lied
``To God and her,'' he said, and died.
Then Gismond, kneeling to me, asked
---What safe my heart holds, though no word
Could I repeat now, if I tasked
My powers forever, to a third
Dear even as you are. Pass the rest
Until I sank upon his breast.
Over my head his arm he flung
Against the world; and scarce I felt
His sword (that dripped by me and swung)
A little shifted in its belt:
For he began to say the while
How South our home lay many a mile.
So 'mid the shouting multitude
We two walked forth to never more
Return. My cousins have pursued
Their life, untroubled as before
I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place
God lighten! May his soul find grace!
Our elder boy has got the clear
Great brow; tho' when his brother's black
Full eye slows scorn, it . . . Gismond here?
And have you brought my tercel*1 back?
I just was telling Adela
How many birds it struck since May.
*1 A male of the peregrine falcon.
HEAP cassia, sandal-buds and stripes
Of labdanum, and aloe-balls,
Smear'd with dull nard an Indian wipes
From out her hair: such balsam falls
Down sea-side mountain pedestals,
From tree-tops where tired winds are fain,
Spent with the vast and howling main,
To treasure half their island-gain.
And strew faint sweetness from some old
Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud
Which breaks to dust when once unroll'd;
Or shredded perfume, like a cloud
From closet long to quiet vow'd,
With moth'd and dropping arras hung,
Mouldering her lute and books among,
As when a queen, long dead, was young.
That was I, you heard last night,
When there rose no moon at all,
Nor, to pierce the strained and tight
Tent of heaven, a planet small:
Life was dead and so was light.
Not a twinkle from the fly,
Not a glimmer from the worm;
When the crickets stopped their cry,
When the owls forbore a term,
You heard music; that was I.
Earth turned in her sleep with pain,
Sultrily suspired for proof:
In at heaven and out again,
Lightning!---where it broke the roof,
Bloodlike, some few drops of rain.
What they could my words expressed,
O my love, my all, my one!
Singing helped the verses best,
And when singing's best was done,
To my lute I left the rest.
So wore night; the East was gray,
White the broad-faced hemlock-flowers:
There would be another day;
Ere its first of heavy hours
Found me, I had passed away.
What became of all the hopes,
Words and song and lute as well?
Say, this struck you---``When life gropes
``Feebly for the path where fell
``Light last on the evening slopes,
``One friend in that path shall be,
``To secure my step from wrong;
``One to count night day for me,
``Patient through the watches long,
``Serving most with none to see.''
Never say---as something bodes---
``So, the worst has yet a worse!
``When life halts 'neath double loads,
``Better the taskmaster's curse
``Than such music on the roads!
``When no moon succeeds the sun,
``Nor can pierce the midnight's tent
``Any star, the smallest one,
``While some drops, where lightning rent,
``Show the final storm begun---
``When the fire-fly hides its spot,
``When the garden-voices fail
``In the darkness thick and hot,---
``Shall another voice avail,
``That shape be where these are not?
``Has some plague a longer lease,
``Proffering its help uncouth?
``Can't one even die in peace?
``As one shuts one's eyes on youth,
``Is that face the last one sees?''
Oh how dark your villa was,
Windows fast and obdurate!
How the garden grudged me grass
Where I stood---the iron gate
Ground its teeth to let me pass!
Verse-making was least of my virtues: I viewed with despair
Wealth that never yet was but might be--all that verse-making were
If the life would but lengthen to wish, let the mind be laid bare.
So I said, "To do little is bad, to do nothing is worse"--
And made verse.
Love-making,--how simple a matter! No depths to explore,
No heights in a life to ascend! No disheartening Before,
No affrighting Hereafter,--love now will be love ever more.
So I felt "To keep silence were folly:"--all language above,
I made love.
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave!
You need not clap your torches to my face.
Zooks, what's to blame? you think you see a monk!
What, 'tis past midnight, and you go the rounds,
And here you catch me at an alley's end
Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar?
The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up,
Do,--harry out, if you must show your zeal,
Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole,
And nip each softling of a wee white mouse,
Weke, weke, that's crept to keep him company!
Aha, you know your betters! Then, you'll take
Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat,
And please to know me likewise. Who am I?
Why, one, sir, who is lodging with a friend
Three streets off--he's a certain . . . how d'ye call?
Master--a ...Cosimo of the Medici,
I' the house that caps the corner. Boh! you were best!
Remember and tell me, the day you're hanged,
How you affected such a gullet's-gripe!
But you, sir, it concerns you that your knaves
Pick up a manner nor discredit you:
Zooks, are we pilchards, that they sweep the streets
And count fair price what comes into their net?
He's Judas to a tittle, that man is!
Just such a face! Why, sir, you make amends.
Lord, I'm not angry! Bid your hang-dogs go
Drink out this quarter-florin to the health
Of the munificent House that harbours me
(And many more beside, lads! more beside!)
And all's come square again. I'd like his face--
His, elbowing on his comrade in the door
With the pike and lantern,--for the slave that holds
John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair
With one hand ("Look you, now," as who should say)
And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped!
It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk,
A wood-coal or the like? or you should see!
Yes, I'm the painter, since you style me so.
What, brother Lippo's doings, up and down,
You know them and they take you? like enough!
I saw the proper twinkle in your eye--
'Tell you, I liked your looks at very first.
Let's sit and set things straight now, hip to haunch.
Here's spring come, and the nights one makes up bands
To roam the town and sing out carnival,
And I've been three weeks shut within my mew,
A-painting for the great man, saints and saints
And saints again. I could not paint all night--
Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air.
There came a hurry of feet and little feet,
A sweep of lute strings, laughs, and whifts of song, --
Flower o' the broom,
Take away love, and our earth is a tomb!
Flower o' the quince,
I let Lisa go, and what good in life since?
Flower o' the thyme--and so on. Round they went.
Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter
Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight,--three slim shapes,
And a face that looked up . . . zooks, sir, flesh and blood,
That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went,
Curtain and counterpane and coverlet,
All the bed-furniture--a dozen knots,
There was a ladder! Down I let myself,
Hands and feet, scrambling somehow, and so dropped,
And after them. I came up with the fun
Hard by Saint Laurence, hail fellow, well met,--
Flower o' the rose,
If I've been merry, what matter who knows?
And so as I was stealing back again
To get to bed and have a bit of sleep
Ere I rise up to-morrow and go work
On Jerome knocking at his poor old breast
With his great round stone to subdue the flesh,
You snap me of the sudden. Ah, I see!
Though your eye twinkles still, you shake your head--
Mine's shaved--a monk, you say--the sting 's in that!
If Master Cosimo announced himself,
Mum's the word naturally; but a monk!
Come, what am I a beast for? tell us, now!
I was a baby when my mother died
And father died and left me in the street.
I starved there, God knows how, a year or two
On fig-skins, melon-parings, rinds and shucks,
Refuse and rubbish. One fine frosty day,
My stomach being empty as your hat,
The wind doubled me up and down I went.
Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand,
(Its fellow was a stinger as I knew)
And so along the wall, over the bridge,
By the straight cut to the convent. Six words there,
While I stood munching my first bread that month:
"So, boy, you're minded," quoth the good fat father
Wiping his own mouth, 'twas refection-time,--
"To quit this very miserable world?
Will you renounce" . . . "the mouthful of bread?" thought I;
By no means! Brief, they made a monk of me;
I did renounce the world, its pride and greed,
Palace, farm, villa, shop, and banking-house,
Trash, such as these poor devils of Medici
Have given their hearts to--all at eight years old.
Well, sir, I found in time, you may be sure,
'T#was not for nothing--the good bellyful,
The warm serge and the rope that goes all round,
And day-long blessed idleness beside!
"Let's see what the urchin's fit for"--that came next.
Not overmuch their way, I must confess.
Such a to-do! They tried me with their books:
Lord, they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste!
Flower o' the clove.
All the Latin I construe is, "amo" I love!
But, mind you, when a boy starves in the streets
Eight years together, as my fortune was,
Watching folk's faces to know who will fling
The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires,
And who will curse or kick him for his pains,--
Which gentleman processional and fine,
Holding a candle to the Sacrament,
Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch
The droppings of the wax to sell again,
Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped,--
How say I?--nay, which dog bites, which lets drop
His bone from the heap of offal in the street,--
Why, soul and sense of him grow sharp alike,
He learns the look of things, and none the less
For admonition from the hunger-pinch.
I had a store of such remarks, be sure,
Which, after I found leisure, turned to use.
I drew men's faces on my copy-books,
Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge,
Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes,
Found eyes and nose and chin for A's and B's,
And made a string of pictures of the world
Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun,
On the wall, the bench, the door. The monks looked black.
"Nay," quoth the Prior, "turn him out, d'ye say?
In no wise. Lose a crow and catch a lark.
What if at last we get our man of parts,
We Carmelites, like those Camaldolese
And Preaching Friars, to do our church up fine
And put the front on it that ought to be!"
And hereupon he bade me daub away.
Thank you! my head being crammed, the walls a blank,
Never was such prompt disemburdening.
First, every sort of monk, the black and white,
I drew them, fat and lean: then, folk at church,
From good old gossips waiting to confess
Their cribs of barrel-droppings, candle-ends,--
To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot,
Fresh from his murder, safe and sitting there
With the little children round him in a row
Of admiration, half for his beard and half
For that white anger of his victim's son
Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm,
Signing himself with the other because of Christ
(Whose sad face on the cross sees only this
After the passion of a thousand years)
Till some poor girl, her apron o'er her head,
(Which the intense eyes looked through) came at eve
On tiptoe, said a word, dropped in a loaf,
Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers
(The brute took growling), prayed, and so was gone.
I painted all, then cried " `T#is ask and have;
Choose, for more's ready!"--laid the ladder flat,
And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall.
The monks closed in a circle and praised loud
Till checked, taught what to see and not to see,
Being simple bodies,--"That's the very man!
Look at the boy who stoops to pat the dog!
That woman's like the Prior's niece who comes
To care about his asthma: it's the life!''
But there my triumph's straw-fire flared and funked;
Their betters took their turn to see and say:
The Prior and the learned pulled a face
And stopped all that in no time. "How? what's here?
Quite from the mark of painting, bless us all!
Faces, arms, legs, and bodies like the true
As much as pea and pea! it's devil's-game!
Your business is not to catch men with show,
With homage to the perishable clay,
But lift them over it, ignore it all,
Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh.
Your business is to paint the souls of men--
Man's soul, and it's a fire, smoke . . . no, it's not . . .
It's vapour done up like a new-born babe--
(In that shape when you die it leaves your mouth)
It's . . . well, what matters talking, it's the soul!
Give us no more of body than shows soul!
Here's Giotto, with his Saint a-praising God,
That sets us praising--why not stop with him?
Why put all thoughts of praise out of our head
With wonder at lines, colours, and what not?
Paint the soul, never mind the legs and arms!
Rub all out, try at it a second time.
Oh, that white smallish female with the breasts,
She's just my niece . . . Herodias, I would say,--
Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off!
Have it all out!" Now, is this sense, I ask?
A fine way to paint soul, by painting body
So ill, the eye can't stop there, must go further
And can't fare worse! Thus, yellow does for white
When what you put for yellow's simply black,
And any sort of meaning looks intense
When all beside itself means and looks nought.
Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn,
Left foot and right foot, go a double step,
Make his flesh liker and his soul more like,
Both in their order? Take the prettiest face,
The Prior's niece . . . patron-saint--is it so pretty
You can't discover if it means hope, fear,
Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these?
Suppose I've made her eyes all right and blue,
Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash,
And then add soul and heighten them three-fold?
Or say there's beauty with no soul at all--
(I never saw it--put the case the same--)
If you get simple beauty and nought else,
You get about the best thing God invents:
That's somewhat: and you'll find the soul you have missed,
Within yourself, when you return him thanks.
"Rub all out!" Well, well, there's my life, in short,
And so the thing has gone on ever since.
I'm grown a man no doubt, I've broken bounds:
You should not take a fellow eight years old
And make him swear to never kiss the girls.
I'm my own master, paint now as I please--
Having a friend, you see, in the Corner-house!
Lord, it's fast holding by the rings in front--
Those great rings serve more purposes than just
To plant a flag in, or tie up a horse!
And yet the old schooling sticks, the old grave eyes
Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work,
The heads shake still--"It's art's decline, my son!
You're not of the true painters, great and old;
Brother Angelico's the man, you'll find;
Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer:
Fag on at flesh, you'll never make the third!"
Flower o' the pine,
You keep your mistr ... manners, and I'll stick to mine!
I'm not the third, then: bless us, they must know!
Don't you think they're the likeliest to know,
They with their Latin? So, I swallow my rage,
Clench my teeth, suck my lips in tight, and paint
To please them--sometimes do and sometimes don't;
For, doing most, there's pretty sure to come
A turn, some warm eve finds me at my saints--
A laugh, a cry, the business of the world--
(Flower o' the peach
Death for us all, and his own life for each!)
And my whole soul revolves, the cup runs over,
The world and life's too big to pass for a dream,
And I do these wild things in sheer despite,
And play the fooleries you catch me at,
In pure rage! The old mill-horse, out at grass
After hard years, throws up his stiff heels so,
Although the miller does not preach to him
The only good of grass is to make chaff.
What would men have? Do they like grass or no--
May they or mayn't they? all I want's the thing
Settled for ever one way. As it is,
You tell too many lies and hurt yourself:
You don't like what you only like too much,
You do like what, if given you at your word,
You find abundantly detestable.
For me, I think I speak as I was taught;
I always see the garden and God there
A-making man's wife: and, my lesson learned,
The value and significance of flesh,
I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards.
You understand me: I'm a beast, I know.
But see, now--why, I see as certainly
As that the morning-star's about to shine,
What will hap some day. We've a youngster here
Comes to our convent, studies what I do,
Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop:
His name is Guidi--he'll not mind the monks--
They call him Hulking Tom, he lets them talk--
He picks my practice up--he'll paint apace.
I hope so--though I never live so long,
I know what's sure to follow. You be judge!
You speak no Latin more than I, belike;
However, you're my man, you've seen the world
--The beauty and the wonder and the power,
The shapes of things, their colours, lights and shades,
Changes, surprises,--and God made it all!
--For what? Do you feel thankful, ay or no,
For this fair town's face, yonder river's line,
The mountain round it and the sky above,
Much more the figures of man, woman, child,
These are the frame to? What's it all about?
To be passed over, despised? or dwelt upon,
Wondered at? oh, this last of course!--you say.
But why not do as well as say,--paint these
Just as they are, careless what comes of it?
God's works--paint any one, and count it crime
To let a truth slip. Don't object, "His works
Are here already; nature is complete:
Suppose you reproduce her--(which you can't)
There's no advantage! you must beat her, then."
For, don't you mark? we're made so that we love
First when we see them painted, things we have passed
Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see;
And so they are better, painted--better to us,
Which is the same thing. Art was given for that;
God uses us to help each other so,
Lending our minds out. Have you noticed, now,
Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk,
And trust me but you should, though! How much more,
If I drew higher things with the same truth!
That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place,
Interpret God to all of you! Oh, oh,
It makes me mad to see what men shall do
And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us,
Nor blank; it means intensely, and means good:
To find its meaning is my meat and drink.
"Ay, but you don't so instigate to prayer!"
Strikes in the Prior: "when your meaning's plain
It does not say to folk--remember matins,
Or, mind you fast next Friday!" Why, for this
What need of art at all? A skull and bones,
Two bits of stick nailed crosswise, or, what's best,
A bell to chime the hour with, does as well.
I painted a Saint Laurence six months since
At Prato, splashed the fresco in fine style:
"How looks my painting, now the scaffold's down?"
I ask a brother: "Hugely," he returns--
"Already not one phiz of your three slaves
Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side,
But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content,
The pious people have so eased their own
With coming to say prayers there in a rage:
We get on fast to see the bricks beneath.
Expect another job this time next year,
For pity and religion grow i' the crowd--
Your painting serves its purpose!" Hang the fools!
--That is--you'll not mistake an idle word
Spoke in a huff by a poor monk, God wot,
Tasting the air this spicy night which turns
The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine!
Oh, the church knows! don't misreport me, now!
It's natural a poor monk out of bounds
Should have his apt word to excuse himself:
And hearken how I plot to make amends.
I have bethought me: I shall paint a piece
... There's for you! Give me six months, then go, see
Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! Bless the nuns!
They want a cast o' my office. I shall paint
God in the midst, Madonna and her babe,
Ringed by a bowery, flowery angel-brood,
Lilies and vestments and white faces, sweet
As puff on puff of grated orris-root
When ladies crowd to Church at midsummer.
And then i' the front, of course a saint or two--
Saint John' because he saves the Florentines,
Saint Ambrose, who puts down in black and white
The convent's friends and gives them a long day,
And Job, I must have him there past mistake,
The man of Uz (and Us without the z,
Painters who need his patience). Well, all these
Secured at their devotion, up shall come
Out of a corner when you least expect,
As one by a dark stair into a great light,
Music and talking, who but Lippo! I!--
Mazed, motionless, and moonstruck--I'm the man!
Back I shrink--what is this I see and hear?
I, caught up with my monk's-things by mistake,
My old serge gown and rope that goes all round,
I, in this presence, this pure company!
Where's a hole, where's a corner for escape?
Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing
Forward, puts out a soft palm--"Not so fast!"
--Addresses the celestial presence, "nay--
He made you and devised you, after all,
Though he's none of you! Could Saint John there draw--
His camel-hair make up a painting brush?
We come to brother Lippo for all that,
Iste perfecit opus! So, all smile--
I shuffle sideways with my blushing face
Under the cover of a hundred wings
Thrown like a spread of kirtles when you're gay
And play hot cockles, all the doors being shut,
Till, wholly unexpected, in there pops
The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off
To some safe bench behind, not letting go
The palm of her, the little lily thing
That spoke the good word for me in the nick,
Like the Prior's niece . . . Saint Lucy, I would say.
And so all's saved for me, and for the church
A pretty picture gained. Go, six months hence!
Your hand, sir, and good-bye: no lights, no lights!
The street's hushed, and I know my own way back,
Don't fear me! There's the grey beginning. Zooks!
How well I know what I mean to do
When the long dark autumn-evenings come:
And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue?
With the music of all thy voices, dumb
In life's November too!
I shall be found by the fire, suppose,
O'er a great wise book as beseemeth age,
While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows
And I turn the page, and I turn the page,
Not verse now, only prose!
Till the young ones whisper, finger on lip,
``There he is at it, deep in Greek:
``Now then, or never, out we slip
``To cut from the hazels by the creek
``A mainmast for our ship!''
I shall be at it indeed, my friends:
Greek puts already on either side
Such a branch-work forth as soon extends
To a vista opening far and wide,
And I pass out where it ends.
The outside-frame, like your hazel-trees:
But the inside-archway widens fast,
And a rarer sort succeeds to these,
And we slope to Italy at last
And youth, by green degrees.
I follow wherever I am led,
Knowing so well the leader's hand:
Oh woman-country, wooed not wed,
Loved all the more by earth's male-lands,
Laid to their hearts instead!
Look at the ruined chapel again
Half-way up in the Alpine gorge!
Is that a tower, I point you plain,
Or is it a mill, or an iron-forge
Breaks solitude in vain?
A turn, and we stand in the heart of things:
The woods are round us, heaped and dim;
From slab to slab how it slips and springs,
The thread of water single and slim,
Through the ravage some torrent brings!
Does it feed the little lake below?
That speck of white just on its marge
Is Pella; see, in the evening-glow,
How sharp the silver spear-heads charge
When Alp meets heaven in snow!
On our other side is the straight-up rock;
And a path is kept 'twixt the gorge and it
By boulder-stones where lichens mock
The marks on a moth, and small ferns fit
Their teeth to the polished block.
Oh the sense of the yellow mountain-flowers,
And thorny balls, each three in one,
The chestnuts throw on our path in showers!
For the drop of the woodland fruit's begun,
These early November hours,
That crimson the creeper's leaf across
Like a splash of blood, intense, abrupt,
O'er a shield else gold from rim to boss,
And lay it for show on the fairy-cupped
Elf-needled mat of moss,
By the rose-flesh mushrooms, undivulged
Last evening---nay, in to-day's first dew
Yon sudden coral nipple bulged,
Where a freaked fawn-coloured flaky crew
Of toadstools peep indulged.
And yonder, at foot of the fronting ridge
That takes the turn to a range beyond,
Is the chapel reached by the one-arched bridge
Where the water is stopped in a stagnant pond
Danced over by the midge.
The chapel and bridge are of stone alike,
Blackish-grey and mostly wet;
Cut hemp-stalks steep in the narrow dyke.
See here again, how the lichens fret
And the roots of the ivy strike!
Poor little place, where its one priest comes
On a festa-day, if he comes at all,
To the dozen folk from their scattered homes,
Gathered within that precinct small
By the dozen ways one roams---
To drop from the charcoal-burners' huts,
Or climb from the hemp-dressers' low shed,
Leave the grange where the woodman stores his nuts,
Or the wattled cote where the fowlers spread
Their gear on the rock's bare juts.
It has some pretension too, this front,
With its bit of fresco half-moon-wise
Set over the porch, Art's early wont:
'Tis John in the Desert, I surmise,
But has borne the weather's brunt---
Not from the fault of the builder, though,
For a pent-house properly projects
Where three carved beams make a certain show,
Dating---good thought of our architect's---
'Five, six, nine, he lets you know.
And all day long a bird sings there,
And a stray sheep drinks at the pond at times;
The place is silent and aware;
It has had its scenes, its joys and crimes,
But that is its own affair.
My perfect wife, my Leonor,
Oh heart, my own, oh eyes, mine too,
Whom else could I dare look backward for,
With whom beside should I dare pursue
The path grey heads abhor?
For it leads to a crag's sheer edge with them;
Youth, flowery all the way, there stops---
Not they; age threatens and they contemn,
Till they reach the gulf wherein youth drops,
One inch from life's safe hem!
With me, youth led ... I will speak now,
No longer watch you as you sit
Reading by fire-light, that great brow
And the spirit-small hand propping it,
Mutely, my heart knows how---
When, if I think but deep enough,
You are wont to answer, prompt as rhyme;
And you, too, find without rebuff
Response your soul seeks many a time
Piercing its fine flesh-stuff.
My own, confirm me! If I tread
This path back, is it not in pride
To think how little I dreamed it led
To an age so blest that, by its side,
Youth seems the waste instead?
My own, see where the years conduct!
At first, 'twas something our two souls
Should mix as mists do; each is sucked
In each now: on, the new stream rolls,
Whatever rocks obstruct.
Think, when our one soul understands
The great Word which makes all things new,
When earth breaks up and heaven expands,
How will the change strike me and you
ln the house not made with hands?
Oh I must feel your brain prompt mine,
Your heart anticipate my heart,
You must be just before, in fine,
See and make me see, for your part,
New depths of the divine!
But who could have expected this
When we two drew together first
Just for the obvious human bliss,
To satisfy life's daily thirst
With a thing men seldom miss?
Come back with me to the first of all,
Let us lean and love it over again,
Let us now forget and now recall,
Break the rosary in a pearly rain,
And gather what we let fall!
What did I say?---that a small bird sings
All day long, save when a brown pair
Of hawks from the wood float with wide wings
Strained to a bell: 'gainst noon-day glare
You count the streaks and rings.
But at afternoon or almost eve
'Tis better; then the silence grows
To that degree, you half believe
It must get rid of what it knows,
Its bosom does so heave.
Hither we walked then, side by side,
Arm in arm and cheek to cheek,
And still I questioned or replied,
While my heart, convulsed to really speak,
Lay choking in its pride.
Silent the crumbling bridge we cross,
And pity and praise the chapel sweet,
And care about the fresco's loss,
And wish for our souls a like retreat,
And wonder at the moss.
Stoop and kneel on the settle under,
Look through the window's grated square:
Nothing to see! For fear of plunder,
The cross is down and the altar bare,
As if thieves don't fear thunder.
We stoop and look in through the grate,
See the little porch and rustic door,
Read duly the dead builder's date;
Then cross the bridge that we crossed before,
Take the path again---but wait!
Oh moment, one and infinite!
The water slips o'er stock and stone;
The West is tender, hardly bright:
How grey at once is the evening grown---
One star, its chrysolite!
We two stood there with never a third,
But each by each, as each knew well:
The sights we saw and the sounds we heard,
The lights and the shades made up a spell
Till the trouble grew and stirred.
Oh, the little more, and how much it is!
And the little less, and what worlds away!
How a sound shall quicken content to bliss,
Or a breath suspend the blood's best play,
And life be a proof of this!
Had she willed it, still had stood the screen
So slight, so sure, 'twixt my love and her:
I could fix her face with a guard between,
And find her soul as when friends confer,
Friends---lovers that might have been.
For my heart had a touch of the woodland-time,
Wanting to sleep now over its best.
Shake the whole tree in the summer-prime,
But bring to the Iast leaf no such test!
``Hold the last fast!'' runs the rhyme.
For a chance to make your little much,
To gain a lover and lose a friend,
Venture the tree and a myriad such,
When nothing you mar but the year can mend:
But a last leaf---fear to touch!
Yet should it unfasten itself and fall
Eddying down till it find your face
At some slight wind---best chance of all!
Be your heart henceforth its dwelling-place
You trembled to forestall!
Worth how well, those dark grey eyes,
That hair so dark and dear, how worth
That a man should strive and agonize,
And taste a veriest hell on earth
For the hope of such a prize!
You might have turned and tried a man,
Set him a space to weary and wear,
And prove which suited more your plan,
His best of hope or his worst despair,
Yet end as he began.
But you spared me this, like the heart you are,
And filled my empty heart at a word.
If two lives join, there is oft a scar,
They are one and one, with a shadowy third;
One near one is too far.
A moment after, and hands unseen
Were hanging the night around us fast
But we knew that a bar was broken between
Life and life: we were mixed at last
In spite of the mortal screen.
The forests had done it; there they stood;
We caught for a moment the powers at play:
They had mingled us so, for once and good,
Their work was done---we might go or stay,
They relapsed to their ancient mood.
How the world is made for each of us!
How all we perceive and know in it
Tends to some moment's product thus,
When a soul declares itself---to wit,
By its fruit, the thing it does
Be hate that fruit or love that fruit,
It forwards the general deed of man,
And each of the Many helps to recruit
The life of the race by a general plan;
Each living his own, to boot.
I am named and known by that moment's feat;
There took my station and degree;
So grew my own small life complete,
As nature obtained her best of me---
One born to love you, sweet!
And to watch you sink by the fire-side now
Back again, as you mutely sit
Musing by fire-light, that great brow
And the spirit-small hand propping it,
Yonder, my heart knows how!
So, earth has gained by one man the more,
And the gain of earth must be heaven's gain too;
And the whole is well worth thinking o'er
When autumn comes: which I mean to do
One day, as I said before.
June was not over
Though past the fall,
And the best of her roses
Had yet to blow,
When a man I know
(But shall not discover,
Since ears are dull,
And time discloses)
Turned him and said with a man's true air,
Half sighing a smile in a yawn, as 'twere,---
``If I tire of your June, will she greatly care?''
Well, dear, in-doors with you!
True! serene deadness
Tries a man's temper.
What's in the blossom
June wears on her bosom?
Can it clear scores with you?
Sweetness and redness.
_Eadem semper!_
Go, let me care for it greatly or slightly!
If June mend her bower now, your hand left unsightly
By plucking the roses,---my June will do rightly.
And after, for pastime,
If June be refulgent
With flowers in completeness,
All petals, no prickles,
Delicious as trickles
Of wine poured at mass-time,---
And choose One indulgent
To redness and sweetness:
Or if, with experience of man and of spider,
June use my June-lightning, the strong insect-ridder,
And stop the fresh film-work,---why, June will consider.
But do not let us quarrel any more,
No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once:
Sit down and all shall happen as you wish.
You turn your face, but does it bring your heart?
I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear,
Treat his own subject after his own way,
Fix his own time, accept too his own price,
And shut the money into this small hand
When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly?
Oh, I'll content him,--but to-morrow, Love!
I often am much wearier than you think,
This evening more than usual, and it seems
As if--forgive now--should you let me sit
Here by the window with your hand in mine
And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole,
Both of one mind, as married people use,
Quietly, quietly the evening through,
I might get up to-morrow to my work
Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try.
To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this!
Your soft hand is a woman of itself,
And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside.
Don't count the time lost, neither; you must serve
For each of the five pictures we require:
It saves a model. So! keep looking so--
My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds!
--How could you ever prick those perfect ears,
Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet--
My face, my moon, my everybody's moon,
Which everybody looks on and calls his,
And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn,
While she looks--no one's: very dear, no less.
You smile? why, there's my picture ready made,
There's what we painters call our harmony!
A common greyness silvers everything,--
All in a twilight, you and I alike
--You, at the point of your first pride in me
(That's gone you know),--but I, at every point;
My youth, my hope, my art, being all toned down
To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole.
There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top;
That length of convent-wall across the way
Holds the trees safer, huddled more inside;
The last monk leaves the garden; days decrease,
And autumn grows, autumn in everything.
Eh? the whole seems to fall into a shape
As if I saw alike my work and self
And all that I was born to be and do,
A twilight-piece. Love, we are in God's hand.
How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead;
So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!
I feel he laid the fetter: let it lie!
This chamber for example--turn your head--
All that's behind us! You don't understand
Nor care to understand about my art,
But you can hear at least when people speak:
And that cartoon, the second from the door
--It is the thing, Love! so such things should be--
Behold Madonna!--I am bold to say.
I can do with my pencil what I know,
What I see, what at bottom of my heart
I wish for, if I ever wish so deep--
Do easily, too--when I say, perfectly,
I do not boast, perhaps: yourself are judge,
Who listened to the Legate's talk last week,
And just as much they used to say in France.
At any rate 'tis easy, all of it!
No sketches first, no studies, that's long past:
I do what many dream of, all their lives,
--Dream? strive to do, and agonize to do,
And fail in doing. I could count twenty such
On twice your fingers, and not leave this town,
Who strive--you don't know how the others strive
To paint a little thing like that you smeared
Carelessly passing with your robes afloat,--
Yet do much less, so much less, Someone says,
(I know his name, no matter)--so much less!
Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am judged.
There burns a truer light of God in them,
In their vexed beating stuffed and stopped-up brain,
Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt
This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine.
Their works drop groundward, but themselves, I know,
Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me,
Enter and take their place there sure enough,
Though they come back and cannot tell the world.
My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here.
The sudden blood of these men! at a word--
Praise them, it boils, or blame them, it boils too.
I, painting from myself and to myself,
Know what I do, am unmoved by men's blame
Or their praise either. Somebody remarks
Morello's outline there is wrongly traced,
His hue mistaken; what of that? or else,
Rightly traced and well ordered; what of that?
Speak as they please, what does the mountain care?
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for? All is silver-grey,
Placid and perfect with my art: the worse!
I know both what I want and what might gain,
And yet how profitless to know, to sigh
"Had I been two, another and myself,
"Our head would have o'erlooked the world!" No doubt.
Yonder's a work now, of that famous youth
The Urbinate who died five years ago.
('Tis copied, George Vasari sent it me.)
Well, I can fancy how he did it all,
Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see,
Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him,
Above and through his art--for it gives way;
That arm is wrongly put--and there again--
A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines,
Its body, so to speak: its soul is right,
He means right--that, a child may understand.
Still, what an arm! and I could alter it:
But all the play, the insight and the stretch--
(Out of me, out of me! And wherefore out?
Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul,
We might have risen to Rafael, I and you!
Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I think--
More than I merit, yes, by many times.
But had you--oh, with the same perfect brow,
And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth,
And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird
The fowler's pipe, and follows to the snare --
Had you, with these the same, but brought a mind!
Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged
"God and the glory! never care for gain.
"The present by the future, what is that?
"Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo!
"Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three!"
I might have done it for you. So it seems:
Perhaps not. All is as God over-rules.
Beside, incentives come from the soul's self;
The rest avail not. Why do I need you?
What wife had Rafael, or has Agnolo?
In this world, who can do a thing, will not;
And who would do it, cannot, I perceive:
Yet the will's somewhat--somewhat, too, the power--
And thus we half-men struggle. At the end,
God, I conclude, compensates, punishes.
'Tis safer for me, if the award be strict,
That I am something underrated here,
Poor this long while, despised, to speak the truth.
I dared not, do you know, leave home all day,
For fear of chancing on the Paris lords.
The best is when they pass and look aside;
But they speak sometimes; I must bear it all.
Well may they speak! That Francis, that first time,
And that long festal year at Fontainebleau!
I surely then could sometimes leave the ground,
Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear,
In that humane great monarch's golden look,--
One finger in his beard or twisted curl
Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile,
One arm about my shoulder, round my neck,
The jingle of his gold chain in my ear,
I painting proudly with his breath on me,
All his court round him, seeing with his eyes,
Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of souls
Profuse, my hand kept plying by those hearts,--
And, best of all, this, this, this face beyond,
This in the background, waiting on my work,
To crown the issue with a last reward!
A good time, was it not, my kingly days?
And had you not grown restless... but I know--
'Tis done and past: 'twas right, my instinct said:
Too live the life grew, golden and not grey,
And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt
Out of the grange whose four walls make his world.
How could it end in any other way?
You called me, and I came home to your heart.
The triumph was--to reach and stay there; since
I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost?
Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold,
You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine!
"Rafael did this, Andrea painted that;
"The Roman's is the better when you pray,
"But still the other's Virgin was his wife--"
Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge
Both pictures in your presence; clearer grows
My better fortune, I resolve to think.
For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives,
Said one day Agnolo, his very self,
To Rafael . . . I have known it all these years . . .
(When the young man was flaming out his thoughts
Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see,
Too lifted up in heart because of it)
"Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub
"Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how,
"Who, were he set to plan and execute
"As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings,
"Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!"
To Rafael's!--And indeed the arm is wrong.
I hardly dare . . . yet, only you to see,
Give the chalk here--quick, thus, the line should go!
Ay, but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out!
Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth,
(What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo?
Do you forget already words like those?)
If really there was such a chance, so lost,--
Is, whether you're--not grateful--but more pleased.
Well, let me think so. And you smile indeed!
This hour has been an hour! Another smile?
If you would sit thus by me every night
I should work better, do you comprehend?
I mean that I should earn more, give you more.
See, it is settled dusk now; there's a star;
Morello's gone, the watch-lights show the wall,
The cue-owls speak the name we call them by.
Come from the window, love,--come in, at last,
Inside the melancholy little house
We built to be so gay with. God is just.
King Francis may forgive me: oft at nights
When I look up from painting, eyes tired out,
The walls become illumined, brick from brick
Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright gold,
That gold of his I did cement them with!
Let us but love each other. Must you go?
That Cousin here again? he waits outside?
Must see you--you, and not with me? Those loans?
More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that?
Well, let smiles buy me! have you more to spend?
While hand and eye and something of a heart
Are left me, work's my ware, and what's it worth?
I'll pay my fancy. Only let me sit
The grey remainder of the evening out,
Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly
How I could paint, were I but back in France,
One picture, just one more--the Virgin's face,
Not yours this time! I want you at my side
To hear them--that is, Michel Agnolo--
Judge all I do and tell you of its worth.
Will you? To-morrow, satisfy your friend.
I take the subjects for his corridor,
Finish the portrait out of hand--there, there,
And throw him in another thing or two
If he demurs; the whole should prove enough
To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Beside,
What's better and what's all I care about,
Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff!
Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does he,
The Cousin! what does he to please you more?
I am grown peaceful as old age to-night.
I regret little, I would change still less.
Since there my past life lies, why alter it?
The very wrong to Francis!--it is true
I took his coin, was tempted and complied,
And built this house and sinned, and all is said.
My father and my mother died of want.
Well, had I riches of my own? you see
How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot.
They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died:
And I have laboured somewhat in my time
And not been paid profusely. Some good son
Paint my two hundred pictures--let him try!
No doubt, there's something strikes a balance. Yes,
You loved me quite enough. it seems to-night.
This must suffice me here. What would one have?
In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance--
Four great walls in the New Jerusalem,
Meted on each side by the angel's reed,
For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo and me
To cover--the three first without a wife,
While I have mine! So--still they overcome
Because there's still Lucrezia,--as I choose.
Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.


text:
St Mary's Catholic Primary School
Glenure Road
Phone:020 88507835
Headteacher: Miss M A Jackson
Archdiocese of Southwark
471 pupils, Mixed
|Unique Reference Number
|Local Authority
|Inspection number
|Inspection dates
|11–12 March 2009
|Reporting inspector
|Jacqueline Krafft HMI
This inspection of the school was carried out under section 5 of the Education Act 2005.
The registered childcare, managed by the governing body, was inspected under section 49 of the Childcare Act 2006.
|Type of school
|School category
|Voluntary aided
|Age range of pupils
|Gender of pupils
|Number on roll
|School (total)
|Appropriate authority
|The governing body
|Mrs F Gosbee
|Mr J B Holdsworth
|Date of previous school inspection
|4 July 2005
Date of previous funded early education
|Not previously inspected
|Date of previous childcare inspection
|Not previously inspected
|School address
|Glenure Road
|London SE9 1UF
|Telephone number
|020 8850 7835
|Fax number
|020 8294 2688
|Age group
|Inspection dates
|11–12 March 2009
|Inspection number
© Crown copyright 2009
Website: ofsted.gov.uk
The inspection was carried out by one of Her Majesty's Inspectors and two Additional Inspectors.
St Mary's Catholic Primary is a large school with a Nursery. The large majority of pupils are of White British heritage, with just under a quarter coming from other ethnic groups. There are a growing number of families joining the school from Eastern Europe. Few pupils speak a language other than English as their first language. The number of pupils eligible for free school meals is low. Although the proportion of pupils with learning difficulties and/or disabilities is smaller than found nationally, the proportion with statements of special educational needs is higher than average. Speech, language and communication needs are the most prevalent.
|Grade 1
|Grade 2
|Grade 3
|Grade 4
Overall effectiveness of the school
Grade: 3
'Our school provides an environment that not only reflects our faith but one that provides a caring, nurturing atmosphere.' 'St Mary's is a community which my family and I are proud to be members of.' These words echo the sentiment expressed by the large number of parents who sent their views to inspectors. Most are positive about the school's work, although a few feel that their views are not sought or taken into account. Pupils say they feel extremely safe and well cared for, and relish coming to school. A high priority is given to ensuring their welfare and safety. Good partnerships, for example with speech and language therapists and the local parish, make a meaningful contribution to pupils' good personal development and well-being. Within this caring and respectful environment, pupils are provided with a satisfactory education, so make appropriate academic progress in their learning.
From the good start they are given when they join the school, pupils make satisfactory progress overall, to reach standards that are above average, and consistently so in English, by the time they leave Year 6. A tracking system is in place which is used to identify pupils who are below the levels expected for their age. These pupils, including those with learning difficulties and/or disabilities, are given extra help to catch up. As a result, more attain the levels expected in English, mathematics and science than nationally. However, there is insufficient analysis of the year-on-year progress made by pupils who are already at or above these levels. As a result the progress they make as they move through the school varies, and is satisfactory overall.
The interesting curriculum is enjoyed by pupils. They have good relationships with adults and positive attitudes to learning, and behave extremely well. Pupils are keen to respond to questions and take part in lessons, but the pace of learning slows when they are not given work that is sufficiently challenging for them. The use of learning targets is underdeveloped, so pupils are unclear about how well they are doing and what they need to do to improve. Consequently, although there are some good lessons, teaching and learning are satisfactory overall.
The school's strong Catholic ethos is underpinned by a commitment to ensuring that pupils are valued and learn to be caring citizens. The headteacher is supported in this by governors, and has built a cohesive, loyal staff team. Subject leaders are appropriately involved in monitoring their curriculum areas. However, the evaluation of the school's effectiveness by leaders at all levels, including governors, while satisfactory, is not sufficiently developed to ensure robust planning for improvement. Nevertheless, the improved attainment of pupils with learning difficulties, and increased opportunities for pupils to contribute their views since the previous inspection, demonstrates that the school has the capacity to improve further.
Effectiveness of the Early Years Foundation Stage
Grade: 2
Children enter the Nursery with the knowledge and skills expected for their age. They settle quickly and make good progress by the end of the Early Years Foundation Stage, so are well prepared for the next stage of learning. This is because staff are sensitive to their needs, liaise with parents well and provide excellent care. Teaching and learning are good, particularly in the Nursery class. Here, children are interested and engaged in a variety of well-planned activities which develop their independence and ability to cooperate with each other. Outstanding personal development and well-being is evident in their exemplary behaviour, their patience and their perseverance. Children concentrate extremely well and show mature social skills. Transition to the Reception Year has improved since the last inspection, with an increased emphasis on play activities and outdoor learning. However, practitioners are not always clear about the learning focus of the activities they are supporting, and how it builds on the skills that children have acquired in the Nursery. Focused teaching, for example in helping children to link letters and sounds, is having a positive impact on developing their early reading skills. The Early Years Foundation Stage leader, who teaches in another key stage, keeps a watchful eye on day-to-day practice, and has helped practitioners to develop more age-appropriate learning opportunities for children and improve the outdoor environment.
A small proportion of the schools whose overall effectiveness is judged satisfactory but which have areas of underperformance will receive a monitoring visit by an Ofsted inspector before their next Section 5 inspection.
Achievement and standards
Grade: 3
Although results fell at the end of Year 2 and 6 in 2008, standards in English, mathematics and science are above average, and consistently stronger in English. Overall, pupils make satisfactory progress from their good starting points at the end of the Early Years Foundation Stage. They make better progress in English than in mathematics and science because their early reading skills are well developed. There are different expectations of the progress that pupils should make in each year group, with more expected in Year 6. As a consequence, although they often make more rapid progress in Year 6, the progress they make as they move through the school is inconsistent. The provision for pupils with learning difficulties and/or disabilities is well organised and pupils' needs are met effectively, so they achieve well.
Personal development and well-being
Grade: 2
Pupils' spiritual, moral, and social development is good. One parent described how 'pupils are encouraged to be patient and understanding of their peers'. They have a very clear understanding of right and wrong, and take on responsibility readily, for example in collecting paper for recycling. Their cultural development, in particular the understanding of other beliefs and cultures, is not as well developed. As one pupil said, 'I would like to learn about different countries and nationalities and how they live.' Pupils adopt a healthy lifestyle, and understand the importance of eating a balanced meal and taking regular exercise. Pupils are keen to come to school, as reflected in their good attendance. Behaviour is outstanding in classrooms, on the playground and around the school. Pupils are insistent that they feel extremely safe, that bullying is rare, and that, if it does occur, it is quickly addressed by teachers. The recently formed school council provides an opportunity for pupils to offer ideas about how to improve the school, for example by adding benches to the grass area in the playground. Pupils contribute well to their community. They support pupils in a school in Ghana, for example by sending them their outgrown school uniforms, and support a number of charities. Good standards in literacy and numeracy prepare pupils well for the next stage of their education.
Quality of provision
Teaching and learning
Grade: 3
Pupils enjoy their lessons, have good relationships and respond well to their teachers. Although there are some good lessons, teaching and learning are satisfactory overall and pupils make adequate progress. Where lessons are most effective, for example in Year 6, pupils make good progress. These lessons are well structured, and teachers use their good subject knowledge to plan varied activities which are matched to pupils' different needs. Pupils are motivated and involved by good opportunities for them to share ideas. However, these features are inconsistent throughout the school. In some lessons, tasks lack challenge and the pace of learning slows when pupils are not moved on to the next activity as soon as they are ready. Although there is some good-quality marking, most does not inform pupils well enough about how to improve their work.
Curriculum and other activities
Grade: 2
The curriculum meets the needs of learners well because it is carefully planned to be interesting and relevant, for example by linking subjects together, such as history and geography when studying the Greeks. Literacy, numeracy and science are well structured and there are good opportunities for pupils to develop their creative skills, for example through art and drama. Specialist teaching in music and physical education enhance the curriculum well. There is a computer suite which is timetabled for each class to develop their information and communication technology skills, but the opportunities for pupils to use these skills more regularly in lessons are limited. The curriculum is particularly enriched by a wide range of visits to places of interest and by visitors to the school, including artists, musicians, storytellers and poets. There is a good range of extra-curricular activities and clubs which are well attended and enjoyed by pupils.
Care, guidance and support
Grade: 2
Arrangements for the safeguarding of pupils are very good, and clear records are maintained. Very good attention is given to health and safety, including the making of risk assessments for all school visits. Where pupils may need extra support, the school is quick to liaise with support agencies and specialists such as occupational therapists. Sensitive, effective support is provided for vulnerable pupils, for example through a lunchtime club for those who lack confidence on the playground. Although records of pupils' progress are maintained and pupils' work is marked regularly, the academic guidance they are provided with, while satisfactory, is not sufficiently developed to help them to know how well they are doing and understand their next steps in learning.
Leadership and management
Grade: 3
The headteacher has developed a tracking system to identify pupils at risk of not reaching the levels expected for their age, which is used effectively to target additional support. However there is insufficient analysis of the progress that pupils who are already at these levels are making. As a consequence, they are not consistently achieving as well as they could. Subject leaders take part in regular, appropriate monitoring activities, and have undertaken appropriate training. However the evaluation of the impact they are having on provision and pupil achievement is not sufficiently rigorous, because improvement plans lack clear, quantifiable measures of success. Although governors are supportive of the school, they are unclear about what will help it to improve further, which limits their ability to challenge leaders effectively. Governors have not fully met their statutory duty in relation to the information that they give parents about collective worship and religious education. The school promotes community cohesion appropriately, particularly through its links with the local parish, but is not yet systematic in planning and evaluating this aspect of its work.
|Any complaints about the inspection or the report should be made following the procedures set out in the guidance 'Complaining about inspections', which is available from Ofsted's website: ofsted.gov.uk.
|Key to judgements: grade 1 is outstanding, grade 2 good, grade 3 satisfactory, and grade 4 inadequate.
|School Overall
|How effective,efficient and inclusive is the provision of education,integrated care and any extended services in meeting the needs of learners?
|Effective steps have been taken to promote improvement since the last inspection
|How well does the school work in partnership with others to promote learners' well-being?
|The capacity to make any necessary improvements
|How effective is the provision in meeting the needs of children in the EYFS?
|How well do children in the EYFS achieve?
|How good is the overall personal development and well-being of the children?
|How effectively are children in the EYFS helped to learn and develop?
|How effectively is the welfare of children in the EYFS promoted?
|How effectively is provision in the EYFS led and managed?
|How well do learners achieve?
|The standards¹ reached by learners
|How well learners make progress, taking account of any significant variations between groups of learners
|How well learners with learning difficulties and/or disabilities make progress
|How good are the overall personal development and well-being of the learners?
|The extent of learners' spiritual, moral, social and cultural development
|The extent to which learners adopt healthy lifestyles
|The extent to which learners adopt safe practices
|The extent to which learners enjoy their education
|The attendance of learners
|The behaviour of learners
|The extent to which learners make a positive contribution to the community
|How well learners develop workplace and other skills that will contribute to their future economic well-being
|How effective are teaching and learning in meeting the full range of learners' needs?
|How well do the curriculum and other activities meet the range of needs and interests of learners?
|How well are learners cared for, guided and supported?
|How effective are leadership and management in raising achievement and supporting all learners?
|How effectively leaders and managers at all levels set clear direction leading to improvement and promote high quality of care and education
|How effectively leaders and managers use challenging targets to raise standards
|The effectiveness of the school's self-evaluation
|How well equality of opportunity is promoted and discrimination eliminated
|How well does the school contribute to community cohesion?
|How effectively and efficiently resources, including staff, are deployed to achieve value for money
|The extent to which governors and other supervisory boards discharge their responsibilities
|Do procedures for safeguarding learners meet current government requirements?
|Does this school require special measures?
|Does this school require a notice to improve?
26 March 2009
Dear Pupils
Inspection of St Mary's Catholic Primary School,London,SE9 1UF
Thank you for making us feel so welcome when we visited your school recently. We especially enjoyed looking at your work, seeing you in lessons and talking with so many of you. You were friendly and confident, and told us what you thought very clearly.
Your headteacher and teachers have made your school an attractive place to learn. You and your parents told us that you like school and that it is a welcoming, caring place. You come to school regularly and you know a lot about how to how to stay fit and healthy. You behave very well, and are polite and caring towards each other. We were very interested to hear that you have started a school council and that you are now able to suggest what you would like improved. We wish you every success with your ideas on the grass area for the playground.
Your school is a satisfactory one, which means there are lots of things that it does well, but that it also needs to make some things better. We have asked the staff to help you even more, by making sure that your lessons and the work you are given are not too easy, and make you think hard. We want them to let you know exactly what you can do to improve your work, and to check that you are all making as much progress as you can. We have also asked them to keep checking that the things they are doing to improve your school are helping you learn as well as you can.
Thank you again for making us so welcome, and we hope that you carry on working hard and enjoying being at school.
Yours faithfully
Jackie Krafft
Her Majesty's Inspector


text:
Loved the flavors and mix of beans. I used green beans due to an abundance in the garden. Made cashew cream rather than using mayo since we are vegan leaning. My brother-in-law planted fava beans this year so we used those; I agree, edamame would be much simpler and just as good.
Summer Bean Salad
Photo: Iain Bagwell; Stylist: Cindy Barr
If you purchase whole fava bean pods, you'll need to shell them and then peel the beans: Blanch shelled beans in boiling water for a few seconds, remove to a bowl of ice water, drain, and slip off the opaque skins. You can also substitute shelled edamame.
Yield: Serves 8 (serving size: about 1 cup)
More From Cooking Light
Recipe Time
Hands On:
35 Minutes
Total: 45 Minutes
Nutritional Information
Amount per serving
- Calories: 147
- Fat: 7.9g
- Saturated fat: 0.8g
- Monounsaturated fat: 5g
- Polyunsaturated fat: 1.4g
- Protein: 4.3g
- Carbohydrate: 15g
- Fiber: 4g
- Cholesterol: 0.0mg
- Iron: 1.4mg
- Sodium: 160mg
- Calcium: 43mg
- 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
- 1 teaspoon grated lemon rind
- 3 1/2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, divided
- 1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
- 3/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, divided
- 3/8 teaspoon kosher salt
- 8 cups water
- 8 ounces fresh yellow wax beans, cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces (about 3 cups)
- 2 cups shelled and peeled fava beans (about 3 pounds unshelled beans)
- 2 cups quartered cherry tomatoes
- 1 cup very thinly vertically sliced red onion
- 1 (15 1/2-ounce) can unsalted chickpeas (garbanzo beans), rinsed and drained
- 1/4 cup canola mayonnaise
- 1 tablespoon minced fresh chives
- 1. Combine oil, rind, 2 tablespoons lemon juice, thyme, 1/2 teaspoon pepper, and salt in a large bowl, stirring with a whisk.
- 2. Bring 8 cups water to a boil in a large saucepan. Add wax beans; cook 2 minutes. Add fava beans to wax beans in pan; cook an additional 2 minutes or until beans are tender. Drain and rinse with cold water. Drain. Add bean mixture, cherry tomatoes, onion, and chickpeas to dressing; toss well.
- 3. Combine remaining 1 1/2 tablespoons lemon juice, remaining 1/4 teaspoon pepper, mayonnaise, and chives in a small bowl, stirring with a whisk. Let stand 10 minutes. Drizzle mayonnaise mixture over bean mixture.
MyRecipes is working with Let's Move!, the Partnership for a Healthier America, and USDA's MyPlate to give anyone looking for healthier options access to a trove of recipes that will help them create healthy, tasty plates. For more information about creating a healthy plate, visit www.choosemyplate.gov.
My Notes
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Summer Bean Salad Recipe at a Glance
- COURSE: Salads, Side Dishes/Vegetables
- CONVENIENCE: Entertaining, Make-Ahead
- MAIN INGREDIENT: Beans
- DIETARY CONSIDERATION: Low Cholesterol, Low Saturated Fat, Meatless
- OCCASION: Summer
- PUBLICATION: Cooking Light
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hello loyal followers4
it's been a while. sorry about that. the state of our world, country, and state got me depressed and panicky so i decided to dial back my obsession with politics a little bit. and after i was away from political blogging for a little while i realized i was just as informed as i used to be, but less stressed and angry all the time. so it's pretty obvious that staying away is probably better for my health.
that said, you followers mean a ton to me. i have a personal blog, and you are welcome to follow it. but in an effort to maintain a little more privacy i'm not linking here. so if you're interested, send me an ask here, or drop me an email at firstname.lastname@example.com.
parental advisory: explicit content warning
my personal blog contains lots of the following: cursing, frank discussions of sex, sexuality, drug use, gratuitous amounts of self-pic spam, occasional nudity, and pictures of cats. and even occasionally things resembling politics.
For women, obviously birth control is not a religious topic: it's a health topic, and 99 percent of women in America use it. And at Planned Parenthood, we provide birth control to millions of women every single year, so yeah — I think they're kind of mystified by what the 'controversy' is all about.
…I think we're seeing in this presidential primary this sort of, like, race to the bottom, where every presidential candidate on the Republican side is trying to say 'I would be absolutely the worst for women.'—1395
CECILE RICHARDS, president of the Planned Parenthood Action Fund, on The Daily Show (via inothernews)
Her interview was so great.
(via stfuconservatives)
(via stfuconservatives)
This is not a scholarly difference of opinion; their facts were flatly wrong. This was an abuse of the scientific process to reach conclusions that are not supported by the data.— Remember that 2009 study about how abortion was linked to higher rates of depression and anxiety? Turns out it was a bunch of bullshit. Repeated studies have shown NO LINK between mental illness and abortion. -Jess (via stfuconservatives)303
(via stfuconservatives)
Gone are the days when the Republican party used to put forward big, bold, visionary stuff. You know, I thought about Eisenhower and the Interstate. I thought about 40 years ago, this month when Richard Nixon stepped off the plane in China and changed the world by that balance of power relationship. You think about Ronald Reagan, you know, bringing an end to the Cold War. A lot of big, bold, visionary stuff locked up in the history of the Republican party and I see zero evidence of people getting out there and addressing the economic deficit which is a national security problem for heaven's sake and addressing the trust deficit.—263
— Jon Huntsman
(via jonhuntsmanjr)
(Source: MSNBC, via stfuconservatives)
The FACTS about the cost of birth control →2927
- Oral contraceptives, or "the pill," can cost $1,210 per year without health insurance.
- Women of reproductive age spend 68 percent more on out-of-pocket health care costs than do men, in part because of contraceptive costs.
- Surveys show that nearly one in four women with household incomes of less than $75,000 have put off a doctor's visit for birth control to save money in the past year.
- Twenty-nine percent of women report that they have tried to save money by using their method inconsistently.
- More than half of young adult women say they have not used their method as directed because it was cost-prohibitive.
- Nearly half of women ages 18–34 with household incomes less than $75,000 report they need to delay or limit their childbearing because of economic hardships they've experienced in recent years.
(Source: americanprogress.org, via stfusexists)
Obama has gained support among white and suburban women. In both groups, the president is up to a 45 percent approval rating from 40 percent in December. Overall among women, approval for the president rose to 54 percent versus 40 percent disapproval. In December, both his overall approval and disapproval among women were 47 percent.—60
Obama's support among women increases - Kate Nocera - POLITICO.com (via sarahlee310)
These numbers don't really make sense to me, but I'm glad to see improvement. I don't speak for all women, but between the Lily Ledbetter act and the birth control mandate (not to mention the badassery of refusing to cave on PP funding to come to a budget agreement)? He has EARNED the hell out of my vote.
(via stfusexists)
totally agree with this. he isn't perfect, and there's A LOT i would like to see him do, but his support of women's issues is huge for me.
(via stfusexists)
Can we finally put this to bed now? Can we acknowledge that perhaps preventative care is a good priority for the government to have as part of the whole "promote the general welfare" part of its function? Or, at the very least, can we all act like adults that sometimes have to pay for things that they don't use or like as the entrance fee to living in a society?
Because I for one am sick of explaining all of these facts over and over. It's the political equivalent of telling people to eat their broccoli. Eat your damn broccoli and read Leviathan.— —Sex, Lies, and Limbaugh (via stfusexists)77


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- Riverton
A Cat in Paris is one of those rare family films that can be truly enjoyed--relished--by adults as well as children. The French film, dubbed in English by an incredible cast, is a gloriously sensual visual delight. The colors and graphics are sophisticated and captivating, only adding to the offbeat and engaging story. A Cat in Paris follows the adventures of a kitty, Dino, who lives two lives: one as the purring pet of la jeune fille Zoe, another as a nighttime sidekick to one of Paris's most renowned cat burglars. The story is alluringly unpredictable, if occasionally rather dark. But even more, A Cat in Paris (Une vie de chat) is like a colorful graphic novel brought to life, here with the voices of Anjelica Huston, Matthew Modine, and Marcia Gay Harden. The direction, by Jean-Loup Felicioli and Alain Gagnol, is fluid and deft, with inside nods to the camera work of notable film noir titles as well as the French New Wave. (Amazon review) Total viewing time: 70 minutes. Rated PG. Registration is not required
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Faculty Gary D. Sampson
This course is an introduction to graphic and three-dimensional design from the Industrial Revolution to the present. We will examine modern and contemporary artists, styles, and objects across the design and craft disciplines, including finely crafted furniture and other objects designed for public and private spaces (architectural details and ornamentation, wallpaper, textiles, lamps, kitchenware, etc.); decorative objects such as ceramics, metalwork, and glass; objects of mass production and consumer culture (cars, trains, cameras, corporate and residential furnishings, electronic goods, etc.); art posters, private press books and illustrations, and innovative forms of communication graphics. Special consideration will be given to the social and cultural meanings of objects, issues related to the design and craft fields as professional occupations, and the art historical and theoretical relationships of the various design and craft disciplines beyond medium (material) specific concerns. Visual Culture Emphasis course. Visual Culture Emphasis course.
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Alpine Inspiration
"Maybe this is how it's supposed to be ...
Looking forward as we rewind
Looking back is a trap sometimes
Being here is so easy to do - if you want to ..."
- Jack Johnson, "Supposed to Be" (video after post)
I figured it would take something dramatic to snap me out of my Western States blues; fortunately, I didn't have to wait very long to find it.
Our family spent last week on vacation at our usual stomping ground in the Sierra Nevadas: Lake Alpine, elevation 7300', population, um … the three dudes who work at the lodge, plus however many folks happen to be at the local campgrounds. It's our favorite place to escape for a little hakuna matata each summer.
The trip was purposely scheduled immediately following Western States. My original plan was to drink a lot of wine, eat a lot of cookies and burgers, listen to a lot of Jack Johnson music, and take a lot of naps. All this indulgence would be guilt-free, of course, since I had just run 100 miles. It had all the makings of the ultimate post-race recovery program.
Of course, there was one little problem: the 100-mile thing never happened.
Despite the race cancellation, we never thought twice about the vacation plan; the only thing that changed was my demeanor going into the week. Instead of looking forward to unlimited rest & relaxation, all I could think about while packing was, what the heck am I going to do now? Needless to say, I was more than a little bummed out – as you read about in last week's post.
I had already lost my race, so I was stubbornly determined to not lose my vacation as well. I resolved to kick back and relax just as much on the trip as I had planned on doing all along – sure, it would sabotage my training, but at the time, I didn't feel like I had anything to train for anyway. It was only as an afterthought that I begrudgingly shoved a pair of trail shoes under my car seat before we headed to the hills.
The first several days went exactly as planned. We spent long hours at the pool or the lake, did some kayaking, and read books while sitting in lounge chairs. Training-wise, I still didn't know what the heck I was doing, but I honestly didn't care. In fact, one afternoon on the lake, I discovered the perfect way to make my race-induced worries go away:
If you ever feel the need to clear your head from nagging preoccupations, I recommend taking a handful of 20-foot cliff jumps into a mountain lake. There's nothing like staring down from a high precipice to push all other concerns aside for a while. I found the whole thing quite gratifying.
Finally, on the last day of our trip, I decided to lace up my shoes and take in some sights around the lake. Perhaps I'd find some inspiration to snap me out of my doldrums.
The trails around Lake Alpine are your garden-variety fare for the Sierras: rocky outcroppings, large trees, technical footing in large doses. In fact …
Sometimes, it's hard to see exactly where the trail goes. But thankfully, whenever a trail fades away into of a mass of boulders, it's usually easy to pick up again once you figure out a way to scramble up and over to the other side.
Did I say that I was looking for inspiration on this run? This seemed like an appropriate sign to follow.
These trails may offer you inspiration, but they certainly make you work for it. After leaving the tree line in this picture, my "run" essentially became a long hike up the rocky slope, with small bits of jogging thrown in here and there just so I could still call myself a runner.
The final approach to Inspiration Point is a narrow trail along the spine of the rock formation that stands prominently above the lake.
Once you get there, you can look down into the neighboring valley, and some nearby reservoirs that are connected in a hydroelectric network with Lake Alpine via the Stanislaus River.
Lake Alpine, seen from Inspiration Point. After 90 minutes of running (well … mostly running), this is where I finally took a few minutes to rest, take in the view, and enjoy the vast beauty all around me. The 360-degree vista was simply breathtaking - I wish I had better words to describe it. The whole scene was very, uh …. what's the word I'm looking for? … inspirational.
A self-photo from the top, in case you didn't believe me about growing the beard. I thought it was fairly impressive for only 5 days of growth. If I ever get selected for Survivor: Lake Alpine, I think I could get pretty shaggy.
This is what the rocky shelf looks like from lake level. I took this picture following the run, after my wife and son claimed they couldn't see me standing on top from their fishing boat on the water. I mean, I was even waving my arms and everything. Whatever.
After descending from the point, I passed this scene in the forest, which kind of cracked me up:
You might need to enlarge to see it – but the sign on the left says "bearing tree", and gives the coordinates of a nearby tree that has been identified as one that has been scraped, debarked, or otherwise marked by bears.
So here's my question: do you really need that itty bitty sign on the left to tell you that the tree straight ahead has been torn apart by some bear? I don't think it takes any special detective training to figure that one out.
I was laughing to myself after passing the bearing tree, and for the rest of the run, a very simple, very familiar feeling came over me: it was joy. I just felt happy to be among these trees, these rocks, and these trails. It was like the feeling you get when you stumble across something that was previously lost – when you didn't quite realize that particular thing was missing, but then become very glad that you found it.
What I almost lost was this basic truth: I absolutely love trail running. Whether it's in preparation for an epic race, or just to find sanctuary from the crazy world for a couple of hours, it's an opportunity I'm thankful to have every time I lace up my shoes. And by the end of the run, I had found my inspiration again. All I had to do was follow the signs.
Finally, on a related topic: I'm signing up today for the Headlands Hundred on August 9th. Now that I've got all this inspiration again, I figured I should find some place to use it.
Jack Johnson, "Supposed to Be" (click to play):


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Stars over Pike's Crag from camp at Hollowstones
© Gordon Stainforth, Apr 1988
Camera used: Hasselblad 500 CM


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Observed Tech PODCAST
Richard Hay
Jacksonville, Florida
Description: Keeping an eye on Windows and other things tech!
Now Playing
Observed Tech PODCAST Episode 45
Welcome to Episode 45 of the Observed Tech PODCAST. In this episode we are talking about IE wanting you back; the official Google+ App for Windows Phone; ethics and social media; Microsoft resources for dealing with malware and viruses; print encyclopedias versus WikiPedia; Nokia Lumia 900 FAQ; Pinterests scams; Office 365 services drop in price; Federal Reserves Twitter account; the Evolution of the Moon; PC Pitstop March newsletter; Amazon Prime adds Discovery programs to its video library; installing an SSD in your PC; passwords when you die; major browsers coming to Windows 8 Metro; Twitter buys Posterous; Dancing with Star Wars; top 5 online scams and PS2 still tops PS3 in homes.
We wrap up with a look at the past week on WindowsObserver.com.
Check out the notes below for links to all the sources.
Enjoy and as always thanks for listening!
Show Links:
WindowsObserver.com Week in Review:
Date Produced: 25 March 2012
Length: 52:16
Format: MP3, 128KBPS
Size: 47.8MB
This PODCAST is a member of the TechPodcast Network.
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Released March 25, 2012 Original Post » Comments »
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Stephen must have won not just twice (For the 'Secret Life' and QI), but three (For his episode in 'Who do you think you are').
And that are not just words. 'Secret Life' was the most courageous, insightful and human piece of television in years! And QI - everybody talks about QI, quotes QI and so on! I once was on a bus in Manchester with a friend, and on the upper deck as well, and we were talking about QI, and a man sitting in front of us turned back and asked to join our discussion! It is a true story!
If BAFTA cannot appreciate intelligence, wit, and human dignity, well, bad for them.
Mr Fry, we love you, you are the best, continue on with good work!


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I've been stravaigin* around The Shetland Isles online today looking and reading up on the caves, sea arches and stacks around the area, Da Horn o Papa was a great example of how the sea can change the landsape around these parts whenever a storm brews. This early 20th Century photograph of the Horn of Papa shows the complete geological phenomenon that featured on Papa Stour, Shetland, until its destruction in a storm of 1953. A hundred years before the population of the island had been well over 350, but by the mid-20th Century it had fallen to just over 50. Now it has declined further to only nine residents. A complete way of life - involving customs and dialect, crofting and fishing - has ended. A local folk song began 'Oot bewast da Horn o Papa' referred to fishermen going to the west beyond the Horn and its chorus was 'Rowin Foula doon!' - an allusion to rowing to a point where the high cliffs of the island of Foula were no longer visible over the horizon. That meant getting to fishing grounds some 60 miles off-shore. Listen to the song on yuotube below, it's a braw tune and well worth a wee listen. You can also see an 1860 engraving of tThe Horn on wiki here, http://shetlopedia.com/File:Horn_a%27papa006.jpg
*stravaigin [stra'vegɪn] (Scots): wandering without aim. Most famously used in The 39 Steps "
"Whae are e that comes stravaigin' here on the Sabbath mornin'?"
They've gone plaid! theme by Joseph GottliBased off of the Brutal Simplicity theme by Kevin Burg


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Omaha, NE (SportsNetwork.com) - Doug McDermott scored 24 points in leading the Creighton Bluejays to an easy, 90-58, victory over the Chicago State Cougars in a non-conference matchup at CenturyLink Center Omaha.
Ethan Wragge and Jahenns Manigat each tallied 15 points for Creighton (10-2).
Clarke Rosenberg recorded 14 points to pace Chicago Sate (5-8). Quinton Pippen tacked on 13 points and Matt Ross added 11.
Creighton shot at a 52.2 percent clip, including 10-of-15 from beyond the arc, in the first half. Chicago Sate hit on 7-of-14 from 3-point range, but just 44.8 percent overall and trailed, 45-38, at halftime.
The Bluejays kept up the hot shooting, netting 58.3 percent from the floor in the second half, while the Cougars fell behind by registering just six field goals in the final 20 minutes.
McDermott went 8-of-8 from the free-throw line to set a school record of consecutive foul shots made at 37.
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My most liberal friend lives in the far out burbs and NEVER encounters this underclass but screams discrimination and racism ad nauseum.
After reading Dr. Thomas Sowell's latest book, "Intellectuals and Race," one cannot emerge with much respect for the reasoning powers of intellectuals, particularly academics, on matters of race. There's so much faulty logic and downright dishonesty.
Many intellectuals attribute the behavior patterns of blacks to "a legacy of slavery" or contemporary racial discrimination. But when one observes similar behavior patterns among Britain's lower-class whites, which can't be attributed to "a legacy of slavery" or discrimination, it calls into question the explanations for black behavior.
It's lamented that blacks are "the last hired" and, during an economic downturn, "the first fired," because...