Planet Mad

Last night, after my last dyslexing session ever, I came home via the Swedish furnishing shop. No shelf units this time, just more boxes to put on the shelves and a magazine rack for the girls. They'd requested it as a way of sharing magazines, rather than all buying all of them. Obviously, being the intellectual darlings that they are, their reading material consists of Cosmo, Heat, Hello, Now and other assorted shit. Oh, and one girl buys wedding magazines. She's 15. She says that she likes the pictures and she showed me her collection of wedding dress pictures that she'd cut from the magazines and stuck into a folder. In my caring tutor role, I advised her never to show (or even mention) the folder to anyone she fancies; I though that was quite subtle.

Anyhoooo, back to the magazine rack. I'd bought a clothy-baggy-racky-item from the aforementioned Swedish furnishing emporium, so we spent this evening after prep building the thing. Two fifteen year old girls, Jen (the matron) and myself, armed with two screwdrivers, whipped out the instructions and spent the next twenty minutes pissing ourselves laughing about jokes involving screwing and erecting. Minds like sewers, the lot of us! A good chortle does everyone good, even when the conversation veered off towards children's names - Tennis, Magistrate, Netball - and then into the Spanish Inquisition for Jen, who has four children with names beginning with the letter J. After such frivolity, I'm surprised that I'm still employed. It's a good job that the headmaster wasn't wandering round the House, or the P45 would be in my pigeonhole by now.