18th March 2017
GRANDAD'S OFSTED REPORT
Hi Ewan here. As most of you are aware by now I have a day out of nursery on a Tuesday to spend with elderly grandparents. I don’t mind, they ain’t bad and it makes me feel good as I am giving a bit back to the community, which you need to do don’t you?
But this Tuesday I was shocked to learn that Grandparents are not OFSTED checked. My parents dump me and do a runner, enjoying themselves having the time of their lives at work and couldn’t care less about my good self and Brother Rory being in a non-Ofsteded institution - aka Grandparents house.
So I thought I would do my own Ofsted. OK, I do not have a clue what Ofsted look for but I can see how they come up to the standards I expect.
Fortunately this Tuesday they gave me a very basic, no thrills kind-a day. Sometimes we actually do exciting stuff. But this Tuesday was a basic bare bones day. So here’s my full unabridged report:
7.15am Grandad arrives takes coat off and sits down. Says “Hi Ewan”
7.20am I have to drag him to the kitchen to get me a bot-bot. I then sit on his knee in the hope he will feed it to me. But he leaves me to hold it myself. Big time Ofsted points deducted.
7.25am Mum and Brother Rory leave for work. (Well Mum does, Brother Rory goes to nursery – Why is he so lucky being let off the Grandad watch.)
7.30am He’s been here 15 minutes and no sign of any mental stimulation yet.
7.31am That all changes though as the refuse collecting lorry appears outside and we rush to the window to see them collect our red lid bin. Grandad gives me careers advice. What better job could you have than driving a huge truck like that one with flashing lights and be able to make so much noise and run around collecting all that rubbish to spread around the floor to play with and put in my mouth. Heaven!
7.35am I insist on Peppa Pig being put on Netflix on TV. He struggles to find it. I should not be left with someone who struggles to use a TV remote control. It is gross child neglect on my Mum and Dad’s part.
7.45am He constantly tries to get me into books disturbing my TV watching. Doesn’t he know I am a boy, that means I will grow into a bloke. I will watch TV, it is what I will do as a bloke, I will have no time for books. He is messing up my valuable TV training time. He’s not just sticking to the books with surprises behind the flaps either he’s even using some of the boring ones with words in.
8.00am I have now set up an important test where Grandad can lose loads of points. I have done a major pooh explosion, just as an experiment to see how long it takes him to realise and do something about it.
8.10am His sense of smell has shot it, you know. I can’t live with the smell much longer, but he just does not have a clue. It was a mistake, big mistake doing one. He’s just not going to change me.
8.12am Main stimulation is still Peppa Pig and attempted reading which I am just ignoring.
8.15am Hooray! He has now decided to change me but by accident. He hasn’t a clue of what’s in store for him. Ha, ha, ha.
8.25am He’s finally ready to change me. It took him ages to find everything and even longer to systematically lay them out as if he’s doing a major brain surgery operation. I decided I best lie still for him, and not perform to test his skills like I do my Mum, otherwise I will end up uncomfortable all day.
8.35am Phew, that’s better. I think 4 out of 10 for the nappy change. Do you know they can perform a 4 wheel change in well under a minute in F1 how come he needs 10 minutes to change my nappy.
8.36am I realise I’ve been up since 7.00am and only had one bottle and no breakfast. No wonder I feel so hungry.
8.40am I make my way, driven by hunger to Mum and Dad’s Goodies Cupboard in the corner of the kitchen. I’m banned from this cupboard, normally. It’s full of the best treasures this world has to offer. Chocolate, biscuits, Chedders, crisps and lots more but sadly no Rusks. I open up the door take out a packet of plain crisps and trot back to Grandad. He opens it up, oblivious and gives the packet back to me. If only life was that simple all the time. I would eat so much better.
8.50am Grandad finally realises he’s not given me breakfast. He tries to put me in the high chair, proving he knows nothing about breakfasting a two year old. High chairs are so yesterday. Eventually, and it is hard work, I make him understand, if its breakfast I stand at the coffee table, in the lounge, eating it watching TV. (Well it is if Mum and Dad are not around.).
He allows me to choose my Cereals of Choice. 10 out of 10 for that one, Grandad. Crunchy Nut Cornflakes. He tries emptying them from the box. They spill everywhere. I hate that anyway. I like him to dip his hand in the box and put a handful in my dish. He never gives me enough, I love shouting for more. I break the previous week’s record every week. I have to beat twenty three handfuls this week. Yes! Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
9.30am He finally decides to dress me. You’ve seen what a mess he makes of dressing himself and he is then let loose to dress me. Let’s just say I hope I do not meet anyone I know.
9.40am He switches the TV to Cbeebies. Does he know nothing. Cbeebies is for kids. I’m now two years old. I’m out of that. Netflix is the way forward. I tell him “I want Thomas The Tank Engine and Friends on Netflix”. Well not in so many words because I only know a few words and life’s too short for long explanations, so I say “Whooo Whooo”. Straight forwatd in my mind but it takes ages for the penny to drop with Grandad.
9.45am Finally Thomas The Tank Engine and Friends on Netflix. Hoo-blooming-ray.
9.46am My head can’t take any more, I get my shoes and shout for my coat. I shout for him to take me to Mamma’s to introduce some stability and sanity back into my life.
10.00am We go to the garage to get some wheels to go find Mamma. But he goes to get the pushchair. Pushchairs have no stimulation whatsoever. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Have you forgotten? I am two years old. I no longer use a pushchair I go on my beautiful blue shiny trike. He doesn’t seem to understand so I have to explain in a drama queen sort of screaming way. How else am I expected to get my viewpoint across. He quickly gets the message, but sorry Grandad, more Ofsted points deducted on that one.
10.01am I have to show him how to safely strap me in the trike. We start off down the road and who is coming towards us? Mamma of course. I am so over joyed to see her. I am saved.
10.10am We arrive at the park. More luck than judgement. What a traumatic journey. I can see why they won’t let Grandad drive a car any more. They should stop him driving my trike too.
Grandad tried making me go on the swing. But I’m a very independent person and prefer the slide where I have to depend on no one. So I had to stand my ground.
But at the slide I performed another test for Grandad. The slide has a climbing frame attached to it. This meant when I reached the bottom of the slide I could go to the left and take 3 steps and be at the bottom of the ladder to go up the slide again. Or go to the right and take 237 steps and be at the bottom of the ladder to go up the slide again. The test was to keep going right and do the 237 steps and see how quick he taught me about logic and the route left.
He failed miserably. He never said a word. As I had 200 slides I did 46,800 steps more than I needed to do. I was simply exhausted.
11.00am We went back home and I was transferred from trike to pushchair. I was too worn out to argue. We then went to Tesco’s. You read it correctly, “Tesco’s”. I’m two years old I need more of a life than that. I need mind and play stimulation incorporating social skills. You don’t get that at Tesco’s. It is less stimulating than no stimulation. I was so bored, I just could not take it. I fell into a deep sleep. I could not help myself
So my final OFSTED verdict:
He failed miserably. If I were Ofsted I would cordon him off and put him in special, special measures. But to me he’s family and you have a special responsibility to family. So I’ll have to soldier on regardless.
©2017 Phil Robinson www.jeanniejeanniejeannie.co.uk
When I was a lad at school around 13 years old, our Maths teacher used to call me Wol. At the end of the year as we were moving up a class I plucked up courage to ask why he called me Wol. He told meit was thename of the deslexic owl in Winnie the Pooh. With my Harry Potter glasses he said I looked like the Wise Old Owl in the Winnie the Pooh stories.
Being the vain person I am I took it as a compliment
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