'This is dog walking territory. If you don't like it, don't come.'

Of course you are right, dear dog owner! I shouldn't be in these woods at all!

I shouldn't be here, walking back along the tracks with our quiet and exhausted group, a happy afternoon spent between the dappled sunshine watching kids make woodland dens and climb along fallen trees!

That is clearly no way to enjoy these woods.

I should do what you do.

Which is, take a large dog to the public path, let it off the lead, show no interest in keeping it close by, demonstrate no voice control whatsoever, look utterly unconcerned when Fido runs directly towards groups of strangers, display no recognition for the hasty reaction of mothers picking up toddlers, watch people scatter and stand stock still, then become affronted, outraged and red-faced with indignation when asked to control the dog, because if this dog were to do again what it has just done, run direct and barking to jump up to one particular person in this passing group, we would all be watching a child terrified, panic-struck, and screaming in fear!

At that point, I'll take my cue from you. I'll glower, toss my head and, with a voice bursting with anger and dismissive contempt, shout This is dog walking territory. If you don't like it, don't come. Then, in the surprised silence that follows my command, I'll march on by, contemptuous of these ordinary fools.

Only I can go one better. Of course I can. Next time I see you, I'll say to Squirrel, forget what I said before. Let loose your fearful, blood-curdling screams, direct to that dog's ears. I'll glower and gladly shout, This is my kid's territory. If you don't like it, don't come.

As a parting gift, and in recognition of the socially-minded ways all irresponsible dog owners teach us, I could dump a bag of dog crap where your foot is bound to fall.

Just think what a lovely world we could make!

These woods might then one day all belong to ME!

Grit's new job? MAGICIAN!

I'm sure avid readers of The Independent will have read this article on Thursday writ by Richard Garner.

Now there is plenty in this article I want to argue about. Even the headline.

But mostly because it reads like Richard churned out the Ofsted press release. You see? It's not just because I am an argumentative hippy with a fat arse and a bad attitude.

Richard's article starts off with the predictable conflation of welfare and education, as if they are exactly the same thing.

Hey, Richard, do teachers spend their days talking about how Tinkertop inhales poppers? And not discussing how to drag her D-grade GCSE prediction to a C-grade before the league tables are published? Because that's for sure what happened in our department, which means I guess we school teachers were trying to focus on EDUCATION.

But strange then, how education out the school system is related uncritically as a welfare issue. Like, maybe I am mentally ill. Possibly, it's companionship. Or maybe, it's just another of my 'affairs'.*

After the tone and structure, maybe I could argue with the way Richard selected his copy-out bits. Like this:

'Now, Ofsted says: "The current legislation around home education severely hampers local authorities in fulfilling their statutory duties to safeguard children who are educated at home and ensure the suitability of their education."'

But Richard, you should know better. You're an education writer. A local authority has no statutory duty like this. Not even when Ofsted claims it. Precisely, the local authority has no duty to assess educational suitability of kids out the school system. Maybe you should go read this. Then this.

But all of that is nothing, compared to this fantastic assertion:

'A report by Ofsted, the education standards watchdog, calls for new legislation to avoid making it possible for children to 'disappear'.

I like this idea. Very much indeed. I am dreaming now about making children disappear.

I am going to mix up some magic potion and give it a go. Pfff! Magic words! There they go! GONE!

When I have made my children disappear, then I'm off to the gym. I'll eat cake, and do all the naughty things I cannot do when kids are around all day long, moaning and groaning that we never stay at home and who wants to draw a picture of the ear anyway?

Richard, the only place I can make them disappear is, in fact, school.

However I like the idea so much, I may now turn to magic as my new source of endeavour, so thanks for the tip off!

And at least this job might get me out the house, unlike the job your colleague suggested, which was prostitution.


* I am not conducting an affair, since you assume I am. I am conducting an education. However, if you are interested in an affair with Grit, you have to bring your own pigeons.

Let's shoot people who write instructions for maths worksheets.

As if the week couldn't be any crappier after yesterday, I stupidly and foolishly embark on a maths book with Squirrel.

After fifteen minutes I want to hang myself.

It's not even Squirrel who is the problem. Her maths comprehension, it seems to me, is totally fine.

My impending death is the result of the people who write instructions to maths puzzles. To make them FUN.

Take the maze. In this maze you must divide one number by another. You arrive at an answer, and with that answer you go on to the next step of the maze. Sounds simple, huh?

Only the toad who is playing mind games with a Squirrel brain writes in the instructions that you cannot complete this puzzle unless you know your times tables. But we cannot find any times tables in the puzzles at all, unless we think backwards and pretend that division is really multiplication in reverse.

We waste fifteen minutes trying to match up the instruction to the maze. It makes no sense! So I have a grown up temper tantrum and scribble over the instruction. Then we do the maze game by division in five minutes flat.

But I don't learn, do I? We go on and spend half an hour trying to figure out at the instructions about angles. The instructions make such little sense, we are better off ignoring the stuff altogether and just doing the maths.

If it was only me and Squirrel unable to match up words and numbers, that would be OK, because I would know daughter is like mother and we are both damned to a special maths hell. But Dig wanders in and starts picking a fight with the instruction about perpendicular lines.

So I suddenly feel sorry for all you school choosing people out there. Do you sit huddled and weeping over the primary age maths worksheets that Tinkertop brought back for homework? Or have you all learned to scribble out the garbage, and get on with the work?

Anyway, if you are thinking that shooting the people who write this crap is a slightly over-the-top reaction, you are probably right.

But after the day I've had, I feel a whole lot better by saying it.

'I'm a government minister and you're vulnerable, little girl. Let me safeguard you.'

Oh dear.

Ed, was it wise to turn up today at Parliament, with the big ceremony and everything, with all the cameras and the BBC and the Queen! and include stuff like your safeguarding proposal in the Children, Schools and Families Bill.

Was it wise? Would you like to take it back? To be honest, it makes you sound a bit creepy. You won't win friends with that sort of language these days you know.

Ed, I feel I have to lead you through a land filled with danger.

Let's look at the home educated Shark, Squirrel and Tiger. They are pretty tough kids. And Ed, when you come round here to try and bully the weak - sorry, I mean safeguard the vulnerable - you may find your work's cut out.

Trust me about this. Shark, Tiger and Squirrel are anything but vulnerable.

Did you read how Tiger knocked Shark's tooth out? Seriously, you don't want to mess with these kids. I mean, they know their own minds. The effort it has taken me to strap them to the radiators and shove fish fingers up their noses, you should hear them howl. So you be aware that they give as good as they get. And that proves they can look after themselves. Really, I'm proud of them, my little tough cookies. They don't need safeguarding. Possibly from you though.

But I must admit, I think you've got guts. I like the way you turn up there with the tiaras and all and say right up front in the same drawn breath as 'youth offending' the words 'home educators' like it's all as offensive and smelly to you as moving into a new house and after six weeks finding a rotting cod stuffed behind the skirting board.

The only advice I have for you now Ed, is Grab your pomander.

Because over the coming weeks, we home educators will probably smell. Some people who may be advising you in Westminsterland may say we stink only of homemade yogurt and granola. But hold on! You may be disappointed. In my experience with some of these mummy home educators out here in the shires, you may find there's a definite pong of outraged Dior.