We thought it was bad enough when Mrs Thatcher put an end to free school milk - but now I struggle to think what ordinary sane person can support Mrs May’s proposal to axe free school lunches.
It doesn’t even make economic sense, as the costs of treating those children who are now to subsist without that one wholesome cooked meal inside them every day - not just in childhood, but later on in life when obesity, diabetes and worse catches up with them - must surely outweigh the spend for those meals in the first place.
“Stilo?! Stilo?! Madame, stilo s’il vous plait?!”
This is the cry that will greet me for the next couple of weeks during my stay at a retreat where I will increase my abilities as a Pilates teacher, as well as enjoying the delights of a fairly remote Berber village some 45 minutes distance south of Marrakech.
Recently I’ve been pondering how much harder we make everything by assuming that we know best, and our children need protecting from themselves.
I’m not sure how we got here. How did we get to a place where our initial reaction to what our children tell us, is often suspicion? Or rebuttal.
In a recent online conversation, a parent wrote this to me about her son:
“My job, I feel, is to encourage him. Build his confidence, not push his boundaries, therefore I practise believing him and believing in him. Who am I to break his dreams, fantasies and ponderings? What if he’s right and a Zombie apocalypse is nigh and we should prepare? What if his fear is justified? His pain is real and his worries make him stop still.