Books Magazine

Winging It

By Ashleylister @ashleylister
Winging it. An interesting term conjuring ideas of air, theater and life. Good and bad experiences come to mind, perhaps it gets easier with age but I think some people are more adept and successful in pulling it off.

My friend was brilliant at this, laid-back and charming she managed to distract her tutor away from her non-existent essay into him forgetting to ask to see it, gaining an excellent grade in the process. As a teacher she made it with a hastily prepared plan (we could do this in the past) and deliver a grade 1 lesson. On attaining a headship and suffering a visit from OFSTED they never suspected the files were bare as she entertained them royally and dined out on the stories. Living life in the moment, she is still thriving and never dull.Anyone raising a family and working, spinning plates, juggling necessity, tedium and pleasure, everything last minute, our hair unkempt, appointment’s missed, just made it that time. Some periods in our lives are all “winging it.”We have a P.M. who has taken a vow to wing everything, at least that is what we see, and people have ‘loved’ him for it, Look how his charm woos the public unlike the solid, probably much more reliable leader of the opposition.My main reliance on winging was as a supply teacher. Starting with the early morning call, the rush around, grabbed piece of toast, crammed bag full of ‘hopefully’ material for the correct age group. The journey, probably East Lancs, then the prayer that the children won’t be rioting when you arrive. It was usually fine and the rest of the staff so pleased to see you and that you could actually control the little darlings and teach. The nightmare one was arriving to be asked “Can you take the assembly?” and there you are faced with the whole school staring expectantly at your wholly unprepared self, the true meaning of “winging it”.
Winging It

Everyone Sang
Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoner birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on-on- and out of sight.
Everyone’s voice was suddenly lifted;
And beauty came like the setting sun:
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away…O, but Everyone
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.
                                                                                     Siegfried Sassoon (1919)

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