Shame.

Most of us experience it. A few of us are burdened with it in unusually (and, some would say, unfairly) high quantities. Whilst religious and political authorities have at times encouraged shame as a means of self-control (or, frankly, a way of ensuring that fun things feel less fun), these days it is generally felt that shame is a bad thing - that negative self-evaluation can stunt our ability to make progress, can be a motivation to quit, can cause pain, distrust, and feelings of worthlessness.

But according to an obscure text by Edward J. Peng, the impact of shame is worse even than that. Much, much worse.

A deep dive into Peng's theories opens up a world of startling implications for the way in which we ought to understand life and death itself. It suggests reasons for some of the deepest injustices in human society. But they also leave a lot of questions unanswered, and when one advocate for his work begins digging for answers, it leads to more horrifying possibilities than even Edward J. Peng could have imagined...

A story about living with shame. And dying from it.

It's a wonderful thing, a school. A place that allows you to learn, to be taught concepts that enable you to move beyond your experience, a place to develop skills and knowledge, and to grow as a person.

But what is even more wonderful is a school where you are allowed to live as well. A school with your own bed, where you can go to sleep with your head full of learning, and wake up ready to carry on being educated. Every night a sleepover with your friends! The fun it must be.

It is rather perplexing, then, when young Thomas Jenkins decides that he doesn't want to go back to his school, even though it promises all kinds of unbridled fun on his return. What are his parents supposed to make of such ingratitude? And even if for some bizarre reason he doesn't like his school, surely he could at least pretend that he does.....?

A story about learning, playing, and the things that make grown-ups turn out so well.

Wax on, wax off.

They didn’t make films in the 80s. They made movies – enchanted windows of wish-fulfilment, in which impossibly attractive characters, subtly highlighted by golden sunlight or the opulent colours of fairgrounds and amusement arcades, led us into adventures that were worlds away from our humdrum classrooms and playgrounds.

Wax on, wax off.

Their appeal might be baffling to everyone who has grown up with the sterile perfection of digital media. But my generation keep revisiting the same familiar faces - the Goonies, the Extra Terrestrial... the Karate Kid. These were the people that shaped us, that gave us aspirations and ideals, that showed us who we wanted to be.

Wax on, wax off.

Comfort viewing, it was supposed to be. But these days, some old haunts turn out to be less reassuringly familiar than expected...