Them there Bangles decided that it was only Mondays that were Manic. Today has - quite conclusively - proved them wrong. I didn't stop working until I heard the siren call of the pint at 10.35pm, at which point my fate was sealed. I should have opted for an early bedtime, but decided not to. Whoops.

Today/tomorrow (depending whether you consider this to be today or yesterday) is my brother's birthday. I'd forgotten this fact until I was asked the date in class today/yesterday, at which point I did a teacher-swear ("PANTS!") and was asked his age. "Ooh, I normally think he's about 13," I replied, "but I suspect he's actually about 25. Or maybe 24. Hmmm. He's two and a half years younger than me, so that makes him... hmmm... maths is hard... dunno. That sort of age." I made up for my ineptness by phoning him just gone midnight; I'm sure that pleased him. Although he has webspace, he's filled it full of pictures of pussy (that'll be photos of his two cats, then) and has no webpage as such, so I can't, therefore, direct you in his direction, but I will say "'Appy Burfdy".

Drunken ramblings ought to stop now. G'night...

My fingers hurt from too much plucking. Damn these composers who write pizzicato!

Just like getting caught between two mirrors, this is The Infinite Cat project. It amused me, anyway! :-)

A man in a van has been and cleaned my windows! I can see!!

Today bodes goodness: the sun is shining, my hair is curly and I have only three lessons to teach this morning. Admittedly this afternoon I have D of E, tennis, tea in the House then junior pub quiz; but hey - nothing's perfect!

This evening I printed Guide forms, explained the intricacies of evaluation, taught marketing and found Nemo. I could do with another couple of hours now to do some marking. Please can someone arrange for evenings to last a little longer?

Today I have mostly been feckful, to make up for a weekend spent hungover doing very little work. The sun's quite nice too.

My AS-level Business Studies groups are preparing for an exam based upon a pre-released case study. This means that we can use the context of this business as a vehicle for revision. This year, the case study is about Screw Loose Ltd, an online retailer of nails, bolts and other DIY materials. Today's discussion centred around stock management, and the implications for Screw Loose if they run out of stock.

Me: Well, it's important that they don't run out of stock because it's a quite competitive market, and there are lots of substitutes.
Boy: (looking up from his notes) What? For screwing?!

Needless to say, there was a fair amount of smirking going on!

After duty, blogging and faffing, I set off for a spot of people-watching at Tesco. OK, so I also picked up a copy of Private Eye, a bottle of milk and a knife sharpener, but I was more interested in observing the life going on around me.

There was the lady wheelchair user, waiting patiently for the men crowded round the 'reduced to clear' chilled shelving to move; she said, "These men, they're worse than women when there's a bargain on offer."

Two men had just finished their shifts at work. Their high visibilty jackets, security badges and steeel toecaps spoke of heavy labour and aching backs.

A couple were arguing next to the split peas: a domestic over who paid the mortgage. It continued right to the checkout, and spilled out into the night air.

The old man with the missing teeth and two-day stubble was perusing the baked goods, searching for cheap bread, whistling under his breath.

The professional classes were represented by a young man, smartly dressed in a snappy suit, creased with thought-lines around the eyes and forehead.

And in the midst of all this normality, where was I? I wandered the aisles in a random fashion. I muttered under my breath as I investigated hair dye. I sang while I browsed the CDs. I laughed with excitement when I saw the new Terry Pratchett book. I fondled the croissants, debating out loud the relative merits of chocolate and almond pastries. I tried to catch the eye of the good-looking bloke at the next queue, but he studiously avoided my gaze.

People-watching, my arse. I was more of a spectacle than all of them put together. I hereby declare it to be "people-baiting".

It's been another good evening on duty in the House. I've done some Business Studies and some Economics (hurrah, questions I could answer!); I helped J prepare for her Spanish GCSE oral exam (although a Spaniard would have killed me for the way in which I murdered the language tonight); and I helped someone with some biology...

Girl: It's no good - I just can't do it!
Me: (Kind, caring tutor mode) Why not? What have you got to do?
Girl: Write something about why leaves give off water.
Me: (consulting the inner-geographer) Hmmm... evapotranspiration, eh?
Girl: That sounds sort of familiar but I can't remember.
Me: Have you got a text book?
Girl: Oh, I'd not thought of that. Here you are...
Me: (flicking though index and muttering under breath) hmmm... page 67... transpiration... stomata... nutrient transfer... diffusion gradient... OK, OK, I think I've got it: are you ready for this?
Girl: Go on...
Me: Leaves give off water because it's the tree weeing!*
Girl: You're not a biologist are you?!

I knew there was a reason that I'm not allowed in science labs; I think I've just remembered it.

* Which technically is true, as the leaves transpire water through the stomata as a way of maintaining the diffusion gradient to suck water (and accompanying minerals) from the soil into the roots. If the trees didn't get rid of the water somewhere then they'd burst. See - it's just like humans weeing, but upside-down: we take water in at the top and it goes out at the bottom; trees take it in at the bottom and get rid of it at the top. Simple, huh?!

This is all very well, but wouldn't it be nicer if we lived in a world where education was fully-funded and the army had to fundraise and hold jumble sales to cover its expenditure?

Wendy writes:

personally I'd try vodka - wendy

Sage advice, but it's a suggestion that I am unable to act upon under the terms of our spangly-new alcohol policy; drinking vodka on duty may cause the girlies in the House to be concerned about me. Mind you, I think they're concerned enough about me as it is - I've just sung the Prune Song to two of the juniors and they looked very, very scared! Whoops!

Caffeine is the only way I'm going to get through today.

You know the story: a girl goes out, gets a haircut, and is suddenly abducted by aliens and whisked off into a nice shop that sells exciting yet expensive gadgets and is forced to hand over her switch card in return for a small bag. I always thought it was an urban myth, but it's just happened to me. Bye bye curls; hello new watch. Life's hard.

Mental note: when spending an evening doing the hoovering, accompanied by the finest 80s disco classics played somewhere near the top end of the volume scale, remember to close the curtains before doing silly dancing.

After a weekend of yomping up hills, spying on kids from a distance, and then driving a minibus containing the semi-walking wounded (all in the name of D of E, yer honour) there are few pleasures more delightful than getting into a warm shower and massaging fruity-smelly shampoo into your scalp until it looks like you're wearing a foam hat.*

The only down-side to this is the fact that the tan you acquired throughout the weekend, and are feeling quite proud of, will wash off. Bah!

* Although this sight was not verified by an independent observer, I did check it out in the mirror and it looked both foamy and hatty to me. QED

Tea was a lovely vegetable curry, Guides was fantastic, and hopefully there's a pint waiting in the pub with my name on it. It's shaping up to be a remarkably fine evening.

Rainbows? You? - Jon

That's the price you have to pay for being a fat bottomed commissioner: I had boxes to deliver and forms to collect. I try not to go to Rainbows because they bring me out in a nasty allergic reaction. Besides, I always get told off for winding them up and making life hard for the Rainbow Guider. Me? Wind up small children?! As if!!

For a day that's included report-writing, teaching, a lunch meeting, inter-House swimming and some marking, and still has the promise of House tea, Rainbows, a Guide training, duty and lock-up to come, it's going fair to middling. Waaaaah!

Tim asks:

Do you like your countries then?

S'pose so, although I'm not quite sure why I need them. Mind you, they do provide entertainment, in true computer fashion:

It's confused, I'm really in England somewhere, sorry. Si

Be not sorry, m'dear, just smirk at the supposed ineffability of computers!

Finally,

how come you don't go on jabber anymore? And why is your jabber address not on your blog?

you've stopped using jabber! *complain* :P

It's not just Jabber I've been avoiding, I've been steering clear of any instant messaging thingy for at least six weeks - ever since the frantic end of last term, in fact. This term I've been inundated with work (exams loom ever closer, and that creates marking like nothing else) and I've not had the time to get back online. This evening I have two lots of U6 work, three sets of L6 work and 2 sets of GCSE answers: there's certainly no time for sitting back and catching up with friends. Pish!

BRRRRR-fuck!-BRRRRR-fire alarm-BRRRRR-open eyes-BRRRRR-grab jeans-BRRRRR-find jumper-BRRRRR-get to door-BRRRRR-grab fire list-BRRRRR-WAA WAA WAA WAA-fuck, intruder alarm!-BRRRRR-WAA WAA-hurry back and turn off alarm-WAA WAA W.... - BRRRRR-out-BRRRRR-go back in to rescue scholarship candidates-BRRRRR-BRRRRR-BR... blessed relief as the fire alarm gets silenced.

Living in a communal school building has its drawbacks.

It all started at the end of last week, when I checked my mail at midnight and then discovered (at 7am the next morning) that I had 14 new emails from that box o'er there. On further investigation, I discovered that they were all from Tim, who'd obviously been having a late night spodding:

I'm very spoddy. See if you can work it out :)

Your name is only 3 letters. Even I can remember that.

I wonder if Fatso can spell Mad?

Well, I tried to get him typing but he couldn't get the hang of the mouse. Some time, when I have a spare few minutes, I'll get the pictures up here. And still he continues:

Having read Charl's comment, I wonder if there could be such thing as a cookery novel. Sort of like a story but with plenty of recipes slotted in.

Sadly it's already been done by several people. I'm sure I have many books with recipes in, although I'm not going to go and look them up now. However, Tim's spoddy project was the tweaking of my blog-comments-thingy so it tells me which country people are from. This came in useful with these two comments:

Cor, you were one of the rare people who got rain on the weekend.

Planet Mad welcomes visitors from the Netherlands?

Why indeed we do: all welcome here! And in my bestest Dutch: hallo. (And that's about where my knowledge of Dutch deserts me, although I can still remember the words for cyclist, car, tractor and pancake. Mrs J might be able to do better than I can). The rain was inconsequential, although still enough for me to whinge about! And finally:

How close do you have to be to the rumbling diesel generator for it to bring a smile to your face? Sat on top? ;-))) Aye aye! (Sorry... filthy mind!)

How rude! It'd be more likely to lull me to sleep: I always enjoyed napping in the lorry cab during my breaks from work because of the gentle massaging effect of the wobbly lorry. And before that's misinterpreted too, I'm off. Tarra!

A general plea...

OK, OK. I know I like a joke as much as the next person, if not more so, especially if it's rude or clever, but this is getting silly. We're four days into May now - you can stop pratting about and pretending it's still April. Yes, it's you I'm talking to; stop trying to look innocent. I know your scheme: you've been taunting me with glorious sun and then saving up that especially heavy rain for times when I'm walking round school. Just stop it! Besides, haven't you heard? April showers are just sooo last month. We'd like some sun that lasts for more than 10 minutes: get it sorted!

nice to know it wasn't just me getting foiled on the bread and milk run!

Phew! I am not alone! To make up for my appalling shopping disaster, I had to go to the Legion and there encountered an appalling snooker disaster. It's not been a particularly productive or scintilating evening, so I'm off to bed, alone and sober. How rock 'n' roll of me.

Pah! I tried to make good use of my free evening by heading off to the bustling metropolis, for staples such as bread, milk and whisky. It was only as I pulled onto the supermarket carpark that I realised that Bank Holiday equals early closing. Bastards. They could at least have warned me.

The rain passed all too quickly, whilst the teaching dragged on and on and on. I'd like to be on holiday today.

Bank holiday Monday. It's raining and miserable out there, and I'm almost glad that I'm going to be stuck indoors teaching.

you know I said 'yes please, write a novel'? Can I take it back? Your writing makes me hungry. Charl (300 words to go. Woo Hoo!)

OK, I'll put the novel on hold. Probably a good job as I was struggling to schedule it before... oooh... 2006 :-)

I never knew you work on fairgrounds.

Well, there you go: another bit of random information to clog up important storage space in your brain. Later on in life, when you'll be struggling to remember your name, all you will be able to recall is the fact that I loiter round fairgrounds in a professional sort of way. Sorry!

After a Saturday consisting of teaching, parents' meeting and duty in the House, what better thing to do than grab an overnight bag, jump in the Madmobile and head off to the coast? The seaside in particular was Llandudno, where the whole town centre is shut down and turned into a massive street fair. I went out there to visit Mr Jack and Judith, who own the gallopers and the chair-o-planes that I worked on during my university holidays.

I loved working on the fair. The colours, sounds and smells are indelibly etched into my soul, and even now the smell of fried onions or the rumble of a diesel generator can bring a smile to my face. Llandudno's street fair is one of the busiest weekends of the season; the last time I worked there was the weekend before my university finals. I've spent today rediscovering skills I thought I'd forgotten: walking the platforms as the ride turns; lifting children onto and off of horses; behaving in such a way the the customers' perceptions of fairgrounds are challenged and altered. More than once my accent caught people unawares; several expressed surprise that I was a teacher.

The gallopers were built originally in 1887 and, despite modification and restoration, are still driven by a steam centre engine and music is provided - in a somewhat out-of-tune way - by a Gavioli organ which runs off cardboard books of music. I'm at risk of sounding like a real anorak here, so I'll let the titles of these (slightly blurry, camera phone) pictures do the talking instead:

The best part of today has been seeing everyone again. I've not really been out on the fair for six years, but - apart from a few more wrinkles round the eyes, or a slightly fuller boilersuit - no-one's changed. The jokes are still the same, the quips and comments haven't altered, the same people are always the topic of conversation. It felt like I haven't been away for a week.

I feel relaxed, invigorated and not a little sunburned. Perhaps I should get out more often.

For the first time since I had all my hair cut off, way back in 1997, I've had the problem of hair getting in my eyes. I'm going to have to invest in a hairband. Pah!

The fried egg I have just eaten was delicious. Admitedly it was slow-fried in butter so wasn't exactly the most healthy meal, but it was yummy.

Sage hamsterly advice: here

Why, I thank you. Fatso has been pestering me to add him to the Madmobile's insurance. I shall show him this picture and resist his pleading.

Rob sent me this cheeky little link. I shall be trying some of these out in my classroom during the coming days. Hurrah!

Errrr... why does the only female have to do the cooking? Have the other teachers experienced your cooking? Jon P.S. You don't half waffle some times :-) Can you draw me a single framed cartoon instead of a novel?

And a further admonishment from the man himself

And stop posting whilst I'm writing to you....

Waffle is good, especially Belgian waffle. Besides, it's mainly procrastination to avoid marking: you can't begrudge me that, can you?! Mind you, I'm tempted by the cartoon challenge.... maybe something to work on after I've finished marking my exam papers.

Seeing as you've got one of them there photo phones, lets have a gander at the dulux dog. Love Dave

Sadly the dog is no more: this morning's shower finished it off, although I also caused plenty of damage by sleeping on it. Today I'm back to curls and waves. This is probably a good thing.

Early morning after the night before. Squint in mirror. Wince at reflection. FUCK! Huge grey hair. How can it possibly fight against this much hair dye? Squint closer. Ah. It's cotton thread. Bollocks.

There I was, innocently mooching round the House, when all of a sudden I was leapt upon by two sixth formers armed with hair straighteners, mousse and wax. I now have hair that smells like a coconut and is the same size and shape as a dulux dog.

It continued to rain throughout D of E, but we cooked on the balcony overlooking the astroturf instead: its roof did a sterling job. The gannets ate all of the food I took with me, everything from cous-cous to instant porridge. I, however, had to do without, as one group had borrowed my trangia. Oh, the torture of watching others stuff their faces when holding an empty plate of one's own! That'll teach me: I'll take my own portion of food next week!

Being the only female on the Duke of Edinburgh's team in school, it falls to me to run the session on expedition cookery. I spent a happy hour in the supermarket yesterday eying up totty weighing up the advantages of fresh pasta over quick-cook stuff; and contemplating the intricacies of one-pan cooking on a meths-fuelled Trangia stove. I bought loads of different food to try out, and in less than two hours I'm going to have eighteen kids attempting to cook for me. I'm quite excited about the prospect.

I just hope the rain holds off.

Ooh please write a novel., I need something to distract me from the dissertation fear (and the thorntons). Charl

Sadly, my chosen employment is slightly incompatible with novel writing. Instead, I offer you these easy-to-follow instructions for dissertation diversion:

1) Scroll to the ARCHIVES section o'er there on the right
2) Choose a month at random and click on the approprate link
3) When the page has loaded, press print

Voila! Hours of work-avoidance guaranteed! (It's also likely to annoy fellow students as you will tie up the print queue for hours so may not be the best thing to do if essay deadlines are approaching!)

In typical English fashion, we ought to start by discussing the weather:

We had glorious sunshine (as we had all weekend as well) this afternoon .. I donned the shades and headed out to site. The wonders of living by the south coast! Caz

That's coz it's nearer the equator, you know!

There are times I wish I lived somewhere a bit greener. Last night, I went for a drive just to get somewhere that was as refreshing as Repton sounds today. It's never quite the same on your own, though. I really need to plan ahead for my weekends and book some mates before they make their own plans. ;-) Simonside looked fantastic in the setting sun. Hope you get to enjoy the rest of it today. :) Adios! Mal. x

Hmm. The weather was like that here too. Now it's chucking down with rain. Newcastle, eh?

And associated with that:

If you ever write a novel, I'm going to buy it and devour it. Your descriptive writing is joyous. Ashley... and come back to my screen for a chat when you've time...

Me? Write a novel?! I've not got that sort of dedication. Besides, I'd get horribly confused and swing from pretentious words to flippant frippery too quickly; readers don't tend to appreciate that sort of thang, I suspect! If I did write a novel though, you can guarantee that it would be (approximately) correct in terms of SPAG*, as is the writing of many others:

From one grammar god to another, congratulations! - Mal. :)

wheee im a grammar god aswell, must run in the blood lol, are you going to llandudno?

That second comment coming from my brother, who proves quite adequately that his grammar god skills are only temporary. :-) And the answer to the Llandudno question is: mebbe, if I can find out what my boss is doing this weekend.

Onwards and upwards:

Thorntons.co.uk oh dear. I fear I may be sunk.

And they do home delivery too: that's just unfair! What's a woman to do?! After all, it would be impolite not to...

Spelling, Punctuation and Grammar. Now replaced by QWC (Quality of Written Communication) which doesn't have quite the same ring about it. Hey ho, that's teachers for you!

In the course of this afternoon, the hazy blue shifted to deep grey and ominous rumblings drifted in at the very edge of hearing. At 4.00pm, the end of afternoon lessons, the ground shook under cracking, snapping crashes of thunder. Within three minutes the rain was falling: fat, wet drops that soaked through clothes and caused gasps as water met skin. Now, everywhere smells of rain, kids run squealing down the lane and I look out of my window, for once glad of marking that keeps me indoors.

This morning the streets were full of the smell that comes before a hot, cloudless day. The early morning sun took the ordinary, drab colours and breathed bold life into them. I walked to work reminiscing about camping trips in Italy, where breakfast was alway accompanied by these sights and smells.

Walking back to the House for lunch, the colours have faded into a shimmer of pastels; the sky is a hazy blue that appears almost grey. The smell is now that of freshly-mown grass. In the borders, flowers jostle and dance gently in the breeze. It feels like midsummer.

Been a bit quiet here for the last couple of days.

It has indeed; something to do with a) a silly workload, which is still revolving round the assessment of GCSE coursework, covering for an absent colleague and preparation for an oratorio performance this evening; and b) the realisation that I needed a bit of "me time" that didn't involve computers or being awake. Normal progress should be resumed soon.

You are a GRAMMAR GOD!


If your mission in life is not already to
preserve the English tongue, it should be.
Congratulations and thank you!


How grammatically sound are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Bwa-ha-ha!! How little do they know?! :-)

A hint or tip:

When eating your Belgian chocolates, do not bite the cherry liquor one in half whilst leaning over a pupil's GCSE work. It will dribble and leave a hard-to-explain sticky mess.

Whoops.

This evening's magnificent culinary experiment ended in tears and disaster as my cooker decided to ignore its thermostat and carry on heating up. The result was slightly (ahem) carbonated. Instead I cooked the baby potatoes, swirled them in butter and black pepper, and served them with a whopper omlette stuffed full of mushrooms, bacon and cheese. 'Twas nice, although not quite what I'd intended. Either way, it was better than the minging nuggets and greasy fries on offer in the House. Maybe I need some Belgian chocolates now to round off the feast...

When faced with a large pile of marking* I do the obvious thing: cook. My onion has been sauted, my borlotti beans drained and my tomatoes well and truly pureed. It's a "see what you can find in the cupboard and bung it all in the oven on a medium-low heat and wait for it to cook" type meal, and I'm quite excited about its prospects. To be served with a smattering of baby potatoes and some roasted peppers, if I feel up to it.

Oh, and the GCSE coursework? I'll do it instead of washing up!

* Already! Three days into term! Don't get me started on the pressure placed on teachers by the impending exams!! :-)

Hrm, naked tea. A new twist on the nice gent bringing your tea in the morning..... You know, tomorrow morning I'm going to wake up and just *know* I'm missing something. ;(

My commiserations. Normally *I* wake up and realise that the something I'm missing is several more hours of sleep. *And* I won't get tea until breaktime at 11am. Woe is me!

A quiet drink with Ian, Jeremy and Serenedd turned into a debauched toast-fest, complemented by rude word scrabble:

Happiness is discovering a bag on the table containing not one, not two, but three cadbury's cream eggs. Mmmm....

With reference to this and this, I assume:

Naked Tea! Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells (via Ormskirk)

Oh no, my dear. It normally wore a cup.

If I turn left out of the drive rather than right, I walk to school along a path through playing fields. After four weeks of loving care and attention, without hoardes of footballers and rugby players yomping across it, the grass is thick and bright green. It takes a lot of willpower not to shed my shoes and walk across it barefoot. I'm obviously getting old: the young me wouldn't have hesitated.

Today:
8.30am - chapel
9.00am - assembly
9.30am - teaching
1.00pm - lunch
2.00pm - teaching
4.00pm - get back to flat; get changed; mark 2 pieces of GCSE coursework
5.40pm - serve dinner to the girls
6.15pm - string orchestra rehearsal
7.30pm - intend to do more marking but get sidetracked by a colleague's offer of a pint
8.00pm - arrive in the Legion
9.30pm - get back to flat; consider marking; phone a few people instead
10.05pm - check email and get sidetracked by bloggage; seriously contemplate abandoning marking

Start as you mean to go on, I say!

It's a beautiful day out there: sunny; warm; birds singing; flowers blooming. It's probably the nicest day I've seen in... oooh... weeks. Typical, then, that it's the first day of term. Pah!

Sometimes you find things out on the internetweb mallarky that make you sit up and think, that jolt you from your usual apathy. Two of these sites from today's surfing: Riverbend's tales of life in Baghdad and Kid of Speed's pictures from Chernobyl. Far better than planning lessons.

ah yes, I miss that man bringing me tea in bed too! w

That'll be Miss H, reflecting on the usefulness of lodgers. The only problem arises when they decide to move on and take the teapot with them, not to mention half of the other kitchen equipment! Pah! ;-)

Did you pay the 6 quid, or somebody else?

I did, I'm afraid. Worth every penny though.

School starting on Sunday is a well silly idea. Have these people not heard of weekends?

Nope, sadly not. By 9pm tomorrow the sproglets should all be here, excited and ready to go. Me: I'll be sitting in a heap in the corner, wibbling.

I'm worried that you may have developed a tea addiction.

There's no "may" about it: it's a certainty. With extra milk if there's an option, unless it's poncy tea, in which case nude is preferable. I didn't drink tea at all ever, whatever the circumstances, until about 4 years ago, when I had someone who would bring me tea in bed when he disappeared off to work. Since then, I can't keep off the stuff. Can't say it's done me much harm, all things considered.

First class? Isn't that a bit posh for a public school teacher?

Nah - a mere six squid supplement and Robert's your mother's brother: wide aisles, big seats, free tea - bdoing!

Things wot I did in London wot pleased me:

* Had a picnic lunch by the Thames in Hammersmith, basking in the sunlight like a whale. If only the weather had been like that in Belgium!
* Mooched through Leicester Square, reminiscing about drinking my way round London with Charl
* Round the Horne Revisited, which was just grand.
* Went to the Science Museum, played with lots of interactive displays, gawped at everything from planes to washing machines, and let my inner brat run riot
* Staring in wonderment at the pictures in the Earth From The Air exhibition at the Natural History museum. If you're in London and you've not been, go. It's as simple as that.
* Lounged in first class on the train back - hurrah for Weekend First!

Am off to London tonight, to go to the theatre with Mark. We're off to see Round The Horne Revisited somewhere near Leicester Square, which fills me with great pleasure as I'm quite fond of Round The Horne, in an understated sort of way. This is my final bid for freedom before school starts again on Sunday; I suppose I'd better take some planning to do on the train. Hey ho!

Mad's jaunt to Belgium, in numbers:
95 Scouts; 28 leaders; 6 hours in a coach each way; 0 degrees celcius every night; hundreds of stars; 2 days in Brussels; countless cups of tea; at least 10 Scouts who found my Irish accent so convincing they couldn't believe I was from near Birmingham; at least 20 who finished the trip with some hint of Irish in their speech; 5 or so patrols who were helped with their washing-up by the Irish Leprechaun Scritchers; lots of chocolate, beer n waffles.
Number of hours sleep per night: not enough.
Number of laughs, giggles and moments of general merriment: too many to count!

I'm looking forward to returning to school for a rest!

If you haven't already guessed by the smell, I'm off. Tarra!

I'm becoming nocturnal. This worries me because a) I still haven't packed anything and therefore have to get up early tomorrow to get it all done; and b) I have to go to the land of Beer and Chocolate tomorrow, and I'd hate to sleep through it all. And don't be deceived by the time-stamp on this blog entry: blogger's not worked out BST yet, and it's actually an hour later than it appears to be, if that makes sense.

Washing machines. Pah! I'm just not cut out for domesticity.

Think of the chocolate.

I do, frequently. And I think of the beer too. Mmmmm.... :-) As practice and to build up stamina, I've eaten nothing but chocolate for the last 24 hours. I feel great! (although I suspect that's the sugar rush talking!)

Although jaunts away are nice, I always like coming home. The days after the return, though, are inevitably filled with lounging, laundry, post, email and the frantic buying of food because it's all gone out of date. Slothful - yes; interesting - nope. I ought to be packing right now (off to Belgium tomorrow) but I just can't face it. Pish!

The conversations you have with your brother when it's late-ish on a Sunday evening

Mad: you've not got an old computer you'd like to give me?! ;-)
Edd: :O
Mad: LOL
Edd: no unfortunately
Mad: pah
Mad: well, should the occasion arise...
Edd: ive only ever had one computer
Edd: just bits of it get upgraded at a time
Mad: is any of it the original computer?
Edd: like a brrom thats had 15 heads and 10 handles
Edd: its still the same brrom to
Edd: tho*
Edd: ffs wtf is brrom?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the philosophical question for today: wtf is brrom?

Show And Tell - piccies from Mad's lounging week (not that it's worth holding your breath for, but they amused and pleased me so you're going to have them inflicted upon you nonetheless)

If you squint closely at this image you will realise that it is none other than Super Chocolate Rabbit in his blue, flying ninja cape. He did, however, make the mistake of landing on top of my hot chocolate and is pictured rapidly sinking into the swirly mass of whipped cream. Luckily the evil marshmallow pirahnas were not in evidence this day. Phew!

I've been in Sheffield this weekend visiting Charlotte and Dave and helping with a Scout Night Hike. To say it was damp is an understatement; I've never been more pleased by my waterproof trousers. I drove home through some pretty horrendous rain too, but the sun came out as I arrived back in Repton. This was the view as I got out of the car.

Before heading off to Sheffield I spent a few days relaxing in Cheltenham. The sun shone, the temperatures soared, girls wore skimpy tops: spring lust was in the air. I guess it's just that time of year again.

(Photos of my Classical Tour are now developed but still in need of scanning. One day, mebbe)

I have exciting photos (actually they're not that exciting so don't hold your breath, but they are amusing, in a Mad-sense-of-humour sort of way) but I can't remember how to get them into my webspace. It involves ftp and whizzy things like that but it's not working. This is infuriating, as a) I forget how to do this every single time and b) because I really want to share my picture of the ninja rabbit being swallowed up by a bed of whipped cream. Back to the instruction book, methinks!

Sir Peter Ustinov presented me with my degree. His speech was intelligent, eloquent and, as you would expect, very funny. James writes far better than I could about his death, so I recommend you get there and read his thoughts.

Today has been one of my thrice-yearly cleaning days, where furniture gets shifted, paperwork gets filed and lost items are found. It's been productive but quite dull; I keep being distracted by glimpses of my new hair, which is a very red shade of red. I've tried to capture it on camera to share the redness, but my phonecam's not good enough to get the magnificence of it all. In retrospect this is probably a good thing. Anyway, back to the cleaning...

Things I learned on my holidays about the Classical world
* The word 'arena' comes from the Latin for sand ('harena'). This sand was imported from Egypt to cover the floor of the Colusseum.
* Pliny likened the eruption of Vesuvius to an Umbrella Pine.
* The Romans built bath houses with curved, ridged roofs: this made the condensation run down the walls, rather than drip on the bathers.
* In Ancient Greece, Olympic champions were immortalised in statues; those who won three times were entitled to have their genitals shown at full size rather than scaled down.

Things I learned about the world of viticulture, alcohol and wine-tasting (The other teacher has a wine-tasting exam on Tuesday and I had to help him revise. It was fascinating)
* There are four ways of making sparkling wines, and if a French wine is an appellation controlee sparkling wine then it must have been made using the traditional (or 'champagne') method.
* Most countries have a quality grading based upon the regions of production, but the German system is based upon the quality of the grapes rather than where they are grown.
* A cider press is technically known as a 'cheese' and cider apple pulp gives up about 80% of its weight in juice.

Things that I discovered I knew but had forgotten
*The eruption of Vesuvius in AD79 was a Plinian eruption that destroyed the entire top of the cone and caused pyroclastic flows; my inner-geographer was very satisfied by our jaunt up the volcano.
* The role played by remuage and degorgement in the traditional production of sparkling wine; Charl and I saw this in action in Vouvray last summer.
*School trips can be hard work (especially when you have a hotel full of Essex schoolgirls who are determined to get some snog-action with your boys at silly o'clock in the morning, when you're equally as determined that they won't) but can also be great fun.

I got back from Italy this evening when the big hand was pointing at the 6 and the little hand was pointing to the 10. Far more on the week's exploits will follow, but not now because.... BOING..... "Time for bed!" (as said by Zebeddee, the only man with a coil fitted).

Going offline now. Have fun; I know I will.

Kids (mostly) gone - good
Reports all with Headmaster - good
E1-11 completed and stamped at post office - good
Three loads of the epic laundry disaster washed - good

Departure for Italy - 8am tomorrow.
Packing - non-existent
Head - exploding
Pah!

You will notice that this is a fairly symmetrical post. I don't know why but I find it aesthetically pleasing. I don't think I'm able to spell aesthetically though. Hey ho.

Who says ooop? Presumably rhying with hoop as everyone knows u and oo are normally homophonic.

Me. I say it. And yes, rhyming with hoop. It's the opposite to "dahn", which is pronounced in such a way that it rhymes with... well.... something, I'm sure, but I can't think of anything right now.

Anyhoo, I haven't time to discuss the intricacies of the English language, because today I shall be mostly writing reports. Again. I'll be glad when this term's over.

Two messages arrive from that box o'er there which make me suspect that my mum's finally got her new computer fastened up to the internet so she can indulge in late-night spodding.

Mother's watching!

which I think is a warning to tidy up my act and write less about my alcohol consumption, and

mother's passed database!

which means that her computer course is going well. Hi mummy!

Boo!

Hey! You scared me! You might be having a late-night essay crisis (it was posted from some academic institution ooop north at nearly 2.30am) but I was quite happily sitting here, minding my own businss, writing reports until they came out of my ears. Pah! Young people today! ;-)

I'm losing the plot very quickly. I think my head's turning into a tadpole. Why isn't it the end of term yet?

I've spent the last hour and a half on the netball courts. It's grey, breezy and starting to get dark, but - for the first time, possibly, ever - it's been good to be out doing sport. I took the seniors: we had a bit of a match, more than a smattering of silliness and lots of laughter. The exercise makes up for the fact that I stuffed my face with chocolate for much of the afternoon. It almost feels like life as normal, although I suspect that illusion's not going to last long. Off for tea now... more food: hurrah!! :-)

Today is the age of comments and so here is some commentage, arranged from random to not-quite-so-random...

can your brain do 720 degrees of rotation and stay in one piece?

Not normally, no, although after this last week I'd believe anything's possible.

Patron Saint of the Luddites? Ned Lud is the closest you'll get, I think. (see Brewer Dictionary of Phrase & Fable, online here: ) --Katie W, coming out of anonymity...

Good, that's answered a long-puzzling question of mine. Next!

Apropos of your recent, ahem, entries, about XXX Furniture: I recall a website, back in the dim-distant web-past which featured just that. Furniture porn

Bwah-ha-ha!! We like! These next two refer, I think, to the internet-dating saga and the danger of accountants:

I've only ever met one person who described themselves as an accountant who knows more about balance sheets than I do.

I don't think you should admit this in public, dear boy, I really don't.

Oh! And I know a non-boring accountant! Only young yet though, so give him time... KatieW, again; can you tell I'm at work? ;)

Tooth Fairies...

I only got 20p. Sob! (yikes, perhaps this is age reflective?)

Re: phonecam photo of my recycling (which is still growing at an exponential rate)

Where are the bottles of Port in that recycling pile? Mind you, I've not had any more since you introduced me to it at summer camp last year! TTFN Dave.

P.S. I meant to say that it looks mostly like beer and Wine, where are the port bottles....?

Port? Me?! Shurely Shome Mishtake. Moving quickly onwards: school...

Mock A-level marking advice: Choose a less popular subject. Tom

Perhaps there's sense in that suggestion. Any ideas? Lastly

Do any of your students read your blog?

Some find it by accident, I suspect, and some of my colleagues have been known to drop in occasionally. I don't have reader stats on purpose, though, so I have no idea. In fact, I have no idea about many things, so I'm off to make pancakes. Hurrah!

On Monday my Housemistress' husband died unexpectedly. He was a colleague: he taught history, coached games and used to be a Housemaster. His death stunned the school community, not least the girls in the House. Since then I've been running the House with support from colleagues: it's been made even more stressful by the proximity of the end of term and the associated report deadlines. The last five days have been horrible; no other word can describe the situation. I am very appreciative of all the supportive emails and messages - it's been hard going, not least because of the need to hide my emotions and to be strong for the girls' sake.

People's response to death is a bizarre thing: I was totally numb, calm and collected when I first heard; I cried when we had to tell the girls and then in the chapel service; I went through a phase of total, all-consuming anger. The girls have responded in very different ways and at different times, but we've talked and cried and hugged and laughed together a lot, and in a perverse way I think this has brought the community together. Jen the matron and I have had girls round to our flats at all hours of the day and night: we've all discovered so much more about each other than we knew before; we've probably learned something about ourselves too.

I was unable to think for the first twenty four hours. The only sentences I managed to write were straight from the "Here is John. He has a ball. He likes to run" school of simplicity, although they made less sense. I knew that blogging would be a bad idea, for although I write primarily for myself and I may have emotionally benefitted from writing my way through the raw pain of the situation, I know enough about discretion and corporate loyalty to recognise a bad idea when I think it.

We have six days of term left to go. There are forms to fill, lists to compile and print, reports to write. The final few days of term will be full of tidying, sorting, packing, leaving. In seven days' time I will be in Italy on a school trip. It's going to be busy and blog updates will be few and far between. Until we meet again...

Death is a great leveller. For now, words refuse to come. I'll be offline for most of the next three weeks. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

It's been a computer go-slow day, causing worry, delay and very rude words that I wouldn't normally say with such vemon except during the report season. Luckily the patron saint of the luddites was smiling down on me, and the first set of reports (deadline: 13 hours' time) is complete. I'm now eating vegetable curry, drinking beer and wondering what happened to my early night.

The questions begs: Why did you even think an accountant would be a fun person to go out with?

He just described his profession as "finance" and I thought he might be able to give me handy hints about interpreting Balance Sheets that I could then pass on to my kiddiwinkles here in school. Alas no. Besides, not all accountants are boring (she says, racking her brain to think of more than one person who falls in that category...)

I've been at a dinner party this evening, and should by rights now be at Jeremy's flat, drinking whisky and listening to contrapuntal music from the Baroque era. However, he's gone out, leaving me alone to do that most dangerous of pastimes: late-night blogging. There are many things I could write about - how much I'm enjoying the CD currently playing; how badly I'm singing along to the aforementioned CD; the glass of bourbon sitting next to my keyboard - but instead I'm going to write installment three in the whole internet dating saga. This ranks as number three on the list of "Ill-advised Actions Carried Out in 2004"; I shall probably have to edit this severely in the morning after school chapel. However, not being one to choose the sensible option, I shall press on regardless...

The problem with internet dating is that at some point it has to move off the screen and become a face-to-face meeting. This is - to say the least - nerve-wracking. Exchanging emails is harmless fun, but eventually one of you makes that first move towards a rendezvous, normally disguised as a throw-away comment that can be ignored without serious loss of face. You agree a time and location and then... well... Robert's your father's sibling, as they say.

If only.

In my case, you discuss the theoretical meeting over email ("Mmm, that would be lovely"), then are forced to make decisions about when and where. You then prevaricate, spend some time researching the options, looking up locations on streemap, faff, and eventually talk on the phone. This is the moment when you realise that their accent is wrong, or they sound like an accountant (which, to be fair, he was). Nonetheless, you agree to meet, in a "well, it's better than a night by myself and maybe he's not a bunny boiler" sort of way.

The first trauma is what to wear. For a bloke, this might be less of an issue, but it's pretty near impossible for me. Should it be normal casual clothes, or something a bit more, well, special? Personally, the first option involves jeans and Doc Martens, which are often enough to put a bloke off before I even speak. On the other hand, my next smartest set of clothes is more accurately described as a suit. The compromise was my smartest pair of jeans, a girlie-ish top, and no docs: close, but no banana.

The drive to the date's location is a time to worry about everything from appearance to conversation gambits. It's like a job interview: you've done your background research by re-reading their emails, so you plan questions that might be relevant; you prepare answers that you think are witty, yet reveal further depths; you decide what you're *not* going to reveal. What makes it worse is the fact that you've only ever seen a couple of photos of them, if that: how will you recognise them? Luckily, the Madmobile's a good way of being found - none of that "I shall be wearing a blue top, holding a rose and carrying a copy of The Economist"; instead, telling them to look for the blue beetle is an easy option.

When (if?!) you manage to meet up, you then have to make the decision about what to drink. Is a pint too manly? G and T too expensive? J2O too girlie? And then, the conversation....

On Tuesday evening, I was lucky enough to discover that he'd done his degree where I'd done my teacher training. An innocent university-related question turned into a 20 minute saga of how he found his house in his second year. At that moment I realised with certainty that it was not to be. It was a pleasant evening, but not one with any sparkle or chemistry; I cut my losses and went home.

The evening, however, was not a dead loss: I spent most of the journey home, and much time afterwards, talking to Mr Pancake Party. I've never mentioned the internet once to him, and perhaps that's the way it should stay....

Pish! Forgot to put the "www" bit in the HTML. What a fool! :-) However, now it's working, there is no hope: you're going to be inundated with pictures as well as words from Planet Mad. There is no escape! Mua-ha-ha!!!

I *so* should be an evil dictator.

Ah. Broken it. Better get back to the ftp manual...

I have blue teeth and a dongle. Most attractive.

It does, however, mean that I am (hopefully) ready to show you the first picture I took with my new phone. That is, provided I've not had a Luddite attack. Ladies and gentlemen, I present... my recycling!

Guides tonight: manic. My nerves: frazzled. Until...

Guide A: Mad - have you got a ruler?
Me: Yup - here you are: my special dinosaur ruler, with centimetres on one side, and a timeline of dinosaurs on the other.
Guide A: Cool. What's this one?
Me: That's a Trilobite.
Guide B: Oh - I've got one of those...
Me: Really?
Guide B: Yes, with Kings and Queens down one side.
Me: What - a trilobite?! With kings and queens?!

It turn out that she meant a ruler. Shame. I got quite excited for a moment.

After marking what feels like several hundred mock A-level exam papers, and finally getting all of my district's census paperwork finished, I decided that it was time to tidy up. Nestling in amongst the piles of paperwork,* I've found four cheques, and countless adverts for courses that look very interesting but took place in 2003.

I'm fed up with being so badly organised. I hate being so rubbish with paperwork. It's time for a change.

"Mountains" is a more accurate term for these piles, as is "Bloody loads of it".

WHHEEeeeeeeeeeee... splut.

That is the sound of my brain exploding. A-level mock exams seem such a good idea, but they involve sooooo much marking. Bah!

Comments a-plenty! First up, teeth:

I was shocked by inflation of tooth fairy money. I used to get 50p. Amy

50p from the tooth fairy round our way. Except when she hasn't got any change, then it's a quid (grumble grumble)

Then, furniture:

When you think about it, all furniture shops must deal in XXX furniture. AKA beds. Oh yes. ..Yes! Ye-you get the idea I'm sure..!

Ahem! Moving swiftly onwards to... ah... dating

damnit, I thought at least one of my friends had resisted beep beep internet dating. Hope lurve (or its more suitable stable mate - is in the air or perhaps somewhere more tangible? Happy St Davids so smug, so single, Charlx

hmmm, new thing doesn't let me review these things. Spelling pants this time of night (and don't even start me on the punctuation). Please don't set Lynn Truss on me Charl

Mua-ha-ha!! I have a tale and a half to tell about the whole dating thang, but that's going to have to wait until later when I'm not officially on duty. Finally, for now:

Walk faster!

Still on TWENTY NINE - Si J

And on 29 I shall have to stay, for my walking-partner is now offically signed off games/sport/exercise: I was hoping that he'd recover enough to have a manic week of walking, but his doctor has intervened and the whole thing's off. Given that the report-writing season is just about to begin, this is probably a good thing.

1.50 is loads. Are these rich rainbows?

Not particularly; it's just inflation, I think. Certainly it's not 20p per tooth any more.

what about the hogfather? The weakest Discworld book dont you think?

Mebbe, although I'm fond of all of them, in their own way. I was contemplating opening a whole squirmy worm-filled can of a discussion by saying that I'm less fond of the early Discworld books than I am of the more recent, more intellectually-humorous novels, but I don't think I dare. Instead I'm off shopping.... ooh, the big wide world beckons!

Do you believe in the Tooth Fairy then?

Absolutely. The going rate is £1.50 for a front tooth, or so my Rainbow informant tells me. Although, I think you'll find it's a franchised operation: a Tooth Fairy may be more accurate. Thank you, Terry P.

I was going to do some tidying up, and then have an early night. There I was, happily sitting at my computer, when suddenly the Time Fairy came and stole all of my evening. Yaaargh!

This evening I discovered a new use for Cadbury's Roses chocolates. They are in fact an excellent way of teaching finance, accounts and ratio analysis. They were used for demonstrating the different types of profit, for calcuating the amount of working capital and for analysing the gearing of a business. They also make handy brainfood when your grey matter's had enough. Hurrah!

GCSE coursework; deadline zooming closer very quickly.

"Please Miss, will you read my questionnaire?"
"Of course. Let me look."
...
"Eurm, what's this in your list of businesses?"
"Ah, I don't know its name, but it's the furniture shop on the corner."
"Well, you'd better find out. You can't refer to it as the XXX Furniture Shop."

A reader asks:

How's thunderbird?

I mean firebox. I have thunderbird on the brain. FAB

Firefox is great; even better than the Thunderbirds, if such a thing is possible!