From the warmth and comfort of the kitchen, the night through the window looks inky and cold. But once you get out there on a push-bike, it’s quite pleasant. The paths are quiet and the breeze is gentle. Far from being inky, there is light where you need it and plenty to see.

The trick is to take the leap of faith, and leave the house.

The Mark O’Meara brand is pretty small. My reputation extends to a couple of thousand people at most. About half of these people have met me. The other half know me only by reputation, and that’s a mixed blessing.

In some circles, my brand is valuable. I am known for being effective and, I hope at times, compassionate. In other circles, where my behaviour has been less sterling, the brand is possibly a weight, and is associated more with arrogance. Where my brand or reputation is good, this helps me: people co-operate, door are open. When my reputation is not so good, well, less so.

Luckily, the brand we build is not beyond our control, at least as we build it. But once it gets out to people who only know you by reputation, things take on a life of their own and things are harder to control. If you are lucky, things will do well all on their own. If your luck is less stable, or perhaps you reputation was always mixed, this same brand can be a weight around your neck.

This has to be the bit about celebrity that is the hardest. When your brand is doing well, doors open with no questions. When your brand has soured, doors are closed with no questions or opportunity to defend yourself.

Which is why, these days at least, I am happy to be famous, famous to fifteen people. They all know me.

I wrote this quick, little story as an example for my students. In response to a Dorothy Parker story called An Arrangement in Black and White, they are writing a short story about someone who mistakenly thinks they are not racist. This story lays in on with a trowel, but sometimes – especially when you want students to spend most of their time writing their own pieces – you need to be obvious.

“You know, Tran, you’re very lucky to get a job here,” the boss confided. “Back when my old man ran this place, he wouldn’t have looked twice at one of your lot. But you know, times have changed. He used to tell me the stories from the old days. You’d get all sorts bowling up to ask for a job here in the office. He’d send most of them packing, except the eye-talians of course. He loved them, my old man. ‘Ya can’t put a better man behind a shovel,’ he used to say. Must have heard him say that a million times.”

“You know, Tran, lots of people don’t realise what this job takes. Engineering might sound like a cushy, indoor job, but it’s all go, lots of hard work. Back in Dad’s time, most of the hard work was out on the sites and that’s why he swore by the eye-ties, even back then when lots of people didn’t like them. But Dad didn’t mind. He’d still prefer his meat and two veg to a bowl of pasta, but he knew good workers when he saw them.”

“I’m the same, young Tran. I can spot a good worker and you people are great workers. I mean just take a look at the Great Wall of China. That would have been an enormous contract,” the boss said, laughing quietly at his joke. “That’s a civil engineering joke for you, Tran.”

“Seriously though,” he went on, “you people are bloody great workers, and that’s why I can’t believe it when people won’t give you a go. This here is the canteen, normal kinds of things you’d expect. Hot water over the sink for your two-minute noodles and the microwave in the corner. A couple of minutes in there and last night’s rice makes a tasty lunch. And of course, the team, milk and sugar are on us, coffee too, if you like something a bit more Australian.”

“I think you’ll like it here, youngster. It’s not just a family owned company, it’s like a big family. We might not get along all the time, but we care about each other in a way they just don’t in the big shops. We look out for each other. Having said that, I tell all my men not to look out for my daughter too much – you probably saw her in the office when you came in – not that I’ll have to worry about you at all. Your people seem to treat women real nice and I like that about you, too.”
“Well, I didn’t hire you for your looks. Let’s get some work done. Any questions?”

All inspired by a book called Teach Like a Champion, I have been much more diligent about my planning for my up-coming classes. Not that I was being especially ramshackle; I always knew which materials I would be using and what assessments I was heading for.

But this book has inspired me to be much more explicit, both for my students information and to keep myself honest and on track.

Already this year, I have been posting the crux of each lesson on Red Space Rocket.
Starting now, I will publish 90% of the nuts and bolts. I don’t know for sure that will add to the quality of my teaching, but the book rang very true, and I want to give a few of these ideas as proper go.

I download and free, handy app for my phone called Sports Tracker. This terrific little gadget can make and time my bike ride. I know, this is not solving world hunger, but it’s cute information to have.

For instance, here is my ride today to drop some DVDs back at the shop.

View Ride Around the Shops in a larger map

This is very cute.

Last night Fig and Fee had our kids over to stay so we had the whole evening to ourselves. It felt strange to talk in complete, uninterrupted sentences and we quickly came to miss the kids. We went out for a pizza together but, since there was nothing at the movies that we were interested in, so we hired a new-release DVD instead.

We went with Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes, because it looked like it might be dumb fun. We’d heard some ordinary reports of this movie, but for $2 it seemed worth a try.

Happily, this movie was good, dumb fun. It’s perhaps a little overly reliant on special effects. The performances, however, are charming in spots and it was amusing and entertaining in its own way.

I don’t know that I’d recommend that anyone rush out the watch this, but you could do worse on a slow winter evening.