I was contemplating doing marking this evening, but was sidetracked by a friend's party. We drank lots of wine and then admired his music system. This man has the most phenomenal CD collection (a result, I suspect, of being a long-standing music reviewer in his spare time) and I found a recording of Max Reger's suites for solo viola. I've had a book of this music for a number of years and have dipped in and out of the pieces. Needless to say, they're all very difficult and depend upon absolutely accurate intonation (always a challenge for the viola player!). As I burble this bloggage, suite number one is playing in the background.

I'm sure it didn't sound like this when I played it.

My favourite tipple of a monday morning is at least 2 mugs of black coffee and a bottle of Pepsi Max (or similar caffiene containing drink as approved by the engineer) ... usually works! However I find the ultimate pick me up is going home early .. after feeling tired all day at work, I go home and wake up ?!??! Caz

Sadly, no such luxury as bunking off early here, although I feel quite invig'd after dyslexing. Besides, Caz has a good incentive to get home early nowadays!

I like wendy's suggestion best, but ta for the recipe! Will report on success... - Mal.

Let's hope they go down well. I didn't get many complaints on Sunday (we took them to the races) and I've had no reports of poisoning since, so I reckon that's a fairly healty endorsement! Talking of endorsement, here's Auntie Charl recommending her favourite way to acquire biscuit-snacky-goodness:

re ginger biscuits: or go to shop, find biscuit counter, get mcvities Charl

She is so wise.

Pick-me-up suggestions flooding in:

Best pick me up is a TVR - Tequila, Vodka and Red Bull... Pinky

speed? wendy

I hear ginger biscuits are a good pick-me-up. Speaking of which, want to share the recipe? I need a good biscuit recipe to impress my colleagues. - Mal. :)

Me ma's basic cutter-biscuit recipe:
8 oz self-raising flour
5 oz butter or marg
4 oz sugar
1 egg
1 dessert spoon of golden syrup

(For ginger biscuits, replace 1 oz of flour with 1 oz of ground ginger; replace 1 oz flour with 1 oz cocoa for choccie biccies; and so on)

Cream the butter and sugar, add the egg and the golden syrup, mix in the flour, roll out the dough then cut it into shapes. Place the biscuits on a baking tray in the oven at 200 deg C for about 10/15 minutes, loosen while soft, then cool on a wire rack. Eat.

Just checking your country code thingy still works... Back in the UK Friday. F.

That'll be Fraser, then, wending his way home from foreign climes. Welcome back!

Today is the first session of my dyslexia teacher course. Am very excited, but also very nervous: I hate the first day of college feeling.

The weekend just gone involved (in chronological order) Guides, train station, curry, sleep, school, schmoozing with potential school parents, passing out on the sofa, making ginger biscuits, driving to Het and Andy's, pizza, a filum, driving home, sleep, Sainsbury's, racing, cooking, lounging, sleep.

The racing in particular was good fun - I've not been to watch the gee-gees before, but I have read the entire collected works of Dick Francis, so spent the whole day looking out for doping scandals, thrown races, murderous vets and unethical owners. Sadly there wasn't much evidence of these, but it might be worth going back for a closer investigation!

Despite a relatively relaxed weekend, I'm exhausted. I have no energy to do anything and I'm struggling to be my normal, enthusiastic self. Any suggestions for a pick-me-up?!

In a dream last night, I picked up a pair of hair straighteners and ran them through my hair.

This morning half of my hair is noticeably lacking in the curl department.

Spoooooooky!

Am having a bit of a crisis: have lost my keys. This means that I can't open my classroom tomorrow morning, nor can I open up my colleague's classroom to clear up the mess I left there today. I am in poo. Waaah!

Today's discovery of the day is spaghetti squash - it's yummy!

I thought I was confused about time: looking at the time stamp on my last past, obviously the pooter is too. Waah!

At a party on a school night, when the wine has been popping out of the fridge with alarming rapidity, it is always a bad mistake to look at your watch. If you do, your exclamation will go as follows:

"Fuck, it's quarter to one, look - 12.47"

Your friends will then look at their time-pieces and shake their heads slightly. You then look more closely at your watch and discover that it's been switched to display the time in a city abbreviated as BER: Berlin, maybe. Or Beruit. Or Bermingham. Or somewhere, but not the time in sunny Derbyshire, and it will take several attempts at button-pressing to switch it back to home time. Even then, at 11.47pm, it's time to head off to bed, so that's where I'm going. Tarra.

Marking work from kids who have just started their A-level course is always difficult - they have no idea of style or technique. I think my brain's about to blow up. Will have to go and appease it by eating lots of food at Ian's party instead. Hurrah for drinking on a school night!

It rained in torrents at break time and the water flowing down the street was probably two foot wide and 5 inches deep. It hit the wall at the bottom of the hill and actually formed into a whirlpool as it rushed down the drain. In the middle of walking to my classroom, my right shoe filled with water. I think I'm developing Trench Foot.

My brain is shrivelling up and dying. *And* my fingers hurt. The marking's building up already. Pah, pah and thrice pah.

My weekend (chronologically):
School, Faff, lunch in House, faff, Sainsbury's, drive, Phil and Linda's wedding, drive, sleep, drive, Cheltenham, eat, lounge, cinema, drive, sleep.

Phil and Linda's wedding reception was great, not least because one group of five guests knew me from 4 different directions: one had been staff on GaSCiT last year; I'd been to a SSAGO rally with another; I'd stuck photos into a wedding album with a third; and the other two knew me by repuation alone - "Oh, so you're THAT Mad!" Scouting and Guiding have a lot to answer for!

My entire journey back from seeing the Boy yesterday was spent on the phone to Charlotte - hurrah for hands-free kits! It took well over an hour, but we finally managed to piece together all the things that have happened since we last saw each other. I feel shockingly aware that there are friends I've hardly spoken to recently: this term's resolution is to be better at keeping in touch.

I have my interview this afternoon for the dyslexia course - better go and organise the cover for my lessons!

First up, cucumbers:

1 cucumber should serve 15 people, according to camp catering experts!! Love CMT

And she's a woman who'd know! It's probably a good job then that the other 14 people weren't very hungry. Moving swiftly on...

Good idea on the jelly babies, something good to use as I am starting a PGCE specialising in that dreaded subject on Monday.

That comment there from Martin, I do believe. Good luck! I had really mixed feeling about my PGCE, but it all came in useful eventually, as will this:

1.2.3.4.5

when I come to cover maths lessons for absent colleagues. Talking of teaching, better go and do some!

So many things to write about, such little time...

School continues apace. My interview for the dyslexia course is on Monday afternoon; my lessons have been moderately well planned; most marking has been completed and returned on time. All in all, it's not going too badly. This year's main change has been the introduction of tutorial time, where tutors can meet with their tutees to monitor academic progress and encourage the wee ones to develop good study skills. Somehow, during the summer holidays, someone decided that this tutor time could also be used to deliver citizenship, which is the government's latest attempt to produce teenagers who know something about the world in which they live.

(Herein lies the opportunity to zoom off down a tangent to whitter on about the increasing pressures of examinations/league tables forcing teachers to stick far more closely to the exam syllabi and therefore ignore the wider aspects of education that people got in the good old days, but I'll restrain myself. For once.)

The topics we have to cover range from the environment to refugees, calling at parliament and voting en route. The only training we have been given for this is a folder of various resources, plus access to some videos and textbooks. I'm lucky: my tutees are girls, they're malleable, and they're going to try their hardest in the weekly session (if only because I live with them and they've seen what I'm like when I get irate!). However, the last thing they want is another didactic, chalk'n'talk lesson inflicted upon them, so I'm currently spending a lot of time deciding how to make our sessions on government and the cabinet more interesting. So far, I've decided that we're going to make cocktail stick puppets of the cabinet (using photos downloaded from the net) and then re-enact key parliamentary debates using haribo and jelly babies. I know that I can then spin this into a "how many jelly babies can you eat?" competition whilst I run a plenary session recapping the key educational points (which is always a useful skill if you can do it) but how do I ensure that the kids realise that not all politicians are small, rounded and made of gelatine?!

Guides started back unofficially last week, but we didn't get the full complement until tonight. It's probably a good job that we had a gentle easing into the term: we have 5 new girls, plus all of them bar one from last year - it was a tad manic! That said, there was a real buzz about them as they planned this half term's programme - if they can keep this up all term it's going to be a real pleasure. Even the naughty ones weren't as naughty as last year: maybe they're eventually growing up!

Other news - my friend discovered today that she's going to have a baby boy early next year, and she's obviously hormonal and delusional enough to be tricked into thinking that I'm sound enough to be morally responsible for her child. This means that I'm going to be his godmother - how scary! For a time I was hoping that I could be the wicked godmother, but then I realised that the role is actully the wicked stepmother, which wasn't what I was planning; seems I'll have to dust off the fairy wings instead. Pah. Just so long as I can wear them with my docs I'll be ok!

Finally, the Boy (for those who were wondering): all good. :-) (I can't write any more for fear that it will cause spontaneous vomiting, which is never good for one's computer keyboard. Be thankful!)

There's one thing worse than having to catch a spider in a glass and remove it from your bath, and that's realising that you forgot to wash the glass before filling it with Ribena.

I thought it tasted stringy.

Simpering and handshaking never got a look-in tonight as I did my duty rounds, because it's the dreaded UCAS Personal Statement time of year. The kids get a limit of 47 lines of type (or that's what they seemed to remember that they had, based on their very vague memories of a VERY IMPORTANT meeting about such things, which took place all of 24 hours ago. But hey, such is life) One girl has written too much, another too little: my job is to prune, encourage and basically bonsai their rambling into something succinct but memorable. Given my tendancy to waffle on in a circumwobbulating sort of way, this is a tad ironic. (Ms Bennett, my English teacher, would be proud to note that I have resisted the temptation to use the adjective "ironical". I tried for a long time to persuade her that it really was a word. Alas, unbeknownst to me, she and Mr Chambers were in collaboration and she used a specially-doctored dictionary to prove me wrong. Gah!) (However, she would be most displeased to note the use of 'circumwobbulating', which is a word that must be used with extreme caution: don't try this at home, children!)

Anyway, moving swifly onwards.

Except I can't: my brain appears to have exploded. All I seem to be able to write is trite phrases about my enduring passion for all of my A-level subjects and my desire to read some extremely relevant subject - such as toe-nail curling for beginners - at university. Better go and make some tea to help me recover.

This year I'm hoping to take a diploma course about teaching dyslexic pupils - it's all part of my master-plan to develop new skills but stay in the classroom, rather than having to face the stress and faff of being a middle manager. I emailed my CV and application letter this morning; I've now been called for interview. I'm scared! I reckon that I'll have to use my usual technique of flippant answers and blase attitude - after all, it got me my job here (when I told the deputy head that my only experience of boarding school was reading Enid Blytyon's Mallory Towers series - whoops!). Off to work on my simpering smile and polite handshake...

you can never eat too much cucumber! It's my preferred PH late night nibble .. besides its about 90% water! Caz

All of this bodes well: after all, I did consume an entire cucumber, which I worried might be a tad excessive. Phew!

Is there a recommended maximum amount of cucumber that should be eaten in one sitting? If so, I think I've just exceeded it. Whoops.

So, which were better: mushrooms bathed in melted butter? Or mushrooms bathed in bed?

Mushroom bed-baths are always a mistake: they splash so much that it makes a real mess of the sheets. Butter's the way to go, and very tasty they were too!

This afternoon, I shall be mostly looking for D of E campsites in the White Peak near to Chatsworth. Thrilling, eh?!

Off now to eat mushrooms bathed in melted butter. Then bed. Sleep well.

String orchestra this evening: the first time I've opened my viola case since tour to Italy in July. My fingers don't know what's hit them, nor do my strings, which had to be hiked up by about three-quarters of a tone. Whoops!

Yesterday I got to leave the delights of the House, the school and the school disco behind me, and headed off to the wide open countryside to join friends on a canalboat. It was lovely and, even better, I was able to return home with some muffins, a present and a man: all good things (certainly in my eyes).

Today has been teaching (on and off) plus netball - twenty minutes of running around and I'm a tad on the worn-out side. Mind you, this time last year, I only managed 5 minutes, so I reckon that's not bad going.

After lunch, I thought I'd have a five minute lie down. I've only just woken up. Hurrah for siestas!

This morning malarky is more than I can cope with. Not even succulent, juicy nectarines can make up for my tiredness. Hey ho. Off to put on my happy face, then to teach.

This afternoon's work was good too, as was this evening's Guides. Now, however, my brain cell's reached saturation point again, not helped by my unwitting involvement in a game of text consequences. At least I can sleep tomorrow afternoon!

Why is it that now I have the option to set up a gmail account (ta Mally) I can't think of anything amusing to have as my email name? Pah!!

hurrah! You're back - and I'm kinda working. .. or would be if this ***** computer had radio access. mutter mutter Charl

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the sound of a woman writing a dissertation. Be alert to this phenomenon: if you see manic looking women loitering in libraries muttering under their breath then go up and make polite conversation, throw books at them, or at least offer them your body - they're only seeking distraction from their academic studies. :-)

School has been great today - hurrah for work! Off now to eat something healthy for lunch...

It's just gone 10.30pm and my braincell's finally gone on strike. I was told today that I need to send a CV and covering letter to apply for a course that I want to do; I've been trying in vain to write it all day. I suspect I'm going to have to give up now or it will just get too cheesy to believe. Hey ho, off to the land of pillows, duvets and starfish-sleeping. G'night.

Start of term nerves - restless sleep, momentary panics, outbreaks of the biggest spots ever seen on one person - hits me every time. This is my eighteenth start of term as a proper teacher and it's still not getting any better. What's making it worse is the realisation that I am just about to start my fourth year at this school: I've been here longer than I was at university. I feel old. At the same time, I feel very excited, and I can't wait to get back to the chalkface (as it were). I suspect I'll sleep soundly tonight!

I've not even taught any lessons so far, but already my kitchen table looks like this:

Eeeek!!

We now have all the new first years and new lower sixth in school, along with various prefects and juniors who have been helping to unload cars and show parents through to the tea and coffee. It's bringing back memories of going off to university, and the worries caused by a new routine. I didn't cope very well with meeting with parents last year, but this year I've been far more relaxed: I'm working on the principle that these people are going to realise soon enough that I'm a nutter, so they might as well discover it now!

It's my first day back at school, although the kids don't come back until tomorrow. I was away until 2 hours before my first commitment of the term - that's what I call making good use of your last few hours of freedom! Now, though, we've had today's quota of training (including the obligatory discussion groups) and I'm contemplating doing some preparation. It's all a bit of a culture shock after weeks and weeks of lounging about; perhaps I need to lie down in a darkened room to help me recover! (This might also help the hangover that's been hanging over all day in a most inconsiderate sort of way. Pah!)

Commentage:

Who baked the bread?

'Twas a collaboration between Ian and I - I did most of the reading of the recipe, whilst Ian did the mixing and kneading. We then talked so much that it cooked in all the hot air we created.

We are glad that planet mad is again running on full steam - it was getting a bit slow over the summmer.

It's nice to be back, although I'm off again this afternoon and will be off-line for another week. This week's exciting destination is Switzerland, the land of cheese, chocolate and cuckoo clocks. After that, I've got a couple of days on camp then it's back to school. The abrupt arrival of term straight after the bank holiday will put a stop to my gallivanting, so I promise to write more on my return! Besides, summers are for living life, not writing about it. Better go and do some packing!

Freshly-baked, warm bread slathered in butter is one of the lovely things in this world. Unfortunately it gives me the hiccups. However, that's not a good reason for not eating it, so eat it I did. Am now full.

Gosh - five posts in a day; in fact, make that six. Blimey. It's just like the good old days here on Planet Mad. Fear not, brave reader, the normal sporadic posting will resume tomorrow! :-)

Ooooh... I like your swanky Blogger toolbary thing. :) - Mal.

As do I, although I have no idea what I did to deserve it. Apparently I can change its colour and things, but have not got a sober enough braincell to do that. Someday, someday. :-)

Mental note: a slightly drunken cook, half a red pepper, an onion, some garlic, mange tout, baby sweetcorn, mushrooms, half a mango, olive oil and some spice-it-up seasoning, all on a bed of thin noodles, makes for a very tasty dinner. Yummy. Off to bake things with Ian now. Why, I'm just so rock n roll.

Party. Sparkly white wine. No food. Whoops.

Holidays are obviously good for me. So far today I have been accused of being tanned, thinner, and loved up. Guilty on all three accounts, yer honour. What's more, there's still more than a week left to go. Must go and snooze for a little while to recover.

I eventually got round the email problem by downloading an entire new mail program and deleting the old one. It seems to have worked, although in the process I've lost all of my email and email addresses. This is careless, but it solves the problem of what to do with the six bazillion emails that loitered in my inbox waiting for me to take action. I've spent quite some time this holiday organising and sorting; this now applies to my electronic communication too. How convenient.

The only downside is that I'm shockingly slack at backing things up, so I've got no record of emails that tell me I'm meant to be doing something, and no way of getting in touch with people to let them know this. If I'm meant to be doing something and I don't quite manage it, then sorry. I'll be sitting here drinking gin and tonic instead. IT's a tough life really.

Penultimate Thursday in August: A-level day. Exam results are up, the exams themselves are getting easier, the subjects are more touchy-feely, it was much harder in the old days when we first had to make parchment from papyrus reeds and harvest squid ink before we could write our exam scripts. Yadda yadda yadda. Yawn. I'm sure some of the mass media simply reprint last year's articles on this subject: it's getting boring - please find something else to talk about.

Here at school, I did the excited wiggle dance, and occasionally went "yessssss" in a sibilant whisper, when I sat in the common room perusing the results today. My P45 won't be in the post just yet, unless they can find another reason. Think I'll go and have some breakfast to celebrate!

Have just got home from an epic voyage of excitment and discovery to discover that I am unable to open my email program because it's logged me out and I can't remember my password. Gaaah! Hacking and geeking are obviously going to be tonight's entertainment.

Signs that you spend too long online:

"Congratulations! We see that you have been using Trillian instant messenger for over 1,250 hours...."

Eeeek! Mental note to self - get out more.

Am supposed to be packing, but I can't be arsed (in true Mad style). Unfortunately packing requires clothes to be clean, which mine aren't, so that's another spanner in the works. Perhaps I should just become a nudist, except a) people would object or point or run off in fear; and b) the straps on my rucksack will rub my shoulders. Pah. I should really go and get it all sorted, but I'm far too busy chatting to people using... ah.... Trillian. Obviously IM is just a displacement activity to avoid doing the nasty, mundane tasks of life. Damn laundry: it's got a lot to answer for!

I ran away last night to pretend to be young. I revved up the Madmobile and zoomed off to Cheltenham for a night out drinking, eating, dancing and general carousing with a bunch of students, some of whom were young enough to have been taught by me. The half-bottle of Southern Comfort went down a treat, and I wasn't arrested for imitating a small hippo on the dance-floor, so it was an all-round good night. This morning was a slightly different, hungover story, although it's always wonderful to wake up next to a man who's prepared to hug you, no matter how much your hair smells of nightclubs.

Tomorrow I head off to York, to Stuart and Lizzie's wedding (wedding number 5 of 6 this year). I then go oop north to stay with Mal in Newcastle, and - as if that weren't enough excitment in itself! - we're going up to Edinburgh to do cultured things like watching Ashley's musical and drinking lots of beer. On Friday, I head back home, frantically repack, then drive down south to Sunny Cornwall* for the weekend. It's likely to be quiet here, but that's not going to be an accurate reflection of my life. Have fun - I know I will!

* And if it's not sunny, I'll be suing it under the Trade Descriptions Act. That'll teach it!

One of my biggest failings is that I can be shockingly lax about paperwork. If I know that it's important, or if I receive it on a day when I'm feeling feckful, I have no problems dealing with life's day-to-day bureaucracy. On a bad day, however, I will look at the envelopes that have arrived in my pigeon hole, work out who sent each one, and then chuck them on a pile, unopened, to await a day when I feel more organised. Understandably, this has lead to some real disasters - cheques nestling in unopened envelopes, bills unpaid for months on end - and I decided that today was the day to do something about it.

A few weeks ago I bought a great drawer unit from a certain Swedish furniture store: it looks just like the drawers we had in junior school, and now cuddles up to my new bookcase in the recently re-arranged hallway. The drawers are just the right size to take A4 paper, which is ideal because I normally file everything in one huge box, and then in sprawling piles on the floor when the boxes are full, so I can never find anything when I need it. For the first time ever, I have become excited about filing.

It's taken me about 5 hours to get through all of my junk. Believe me - there was a lot of it! Everywhere I looked, there was another pile of envelopes, letters, catalogues, magazines; each surface had its own paperwork community. I've even sifted through the paperwork that I'd already filed - I'm never quite sure what to keep and what to throw, so I had a fine collection of phone bills, itemised, dating back to 1999. I waved goodbye to bank statements from my university years. I found 'change of address' cards from people who I know have since moved again. Although I'm knackered, it's been cathartic; I still have a mound of Guide paperwork to deal with, but the end is in sight. The only thing that concerns me is that I've still not found the invite to Phil and Linda's wedding, and I know I had it somewhere. Hey ho - back to the search!

I've just spent the last two hours planning some of next term's teaching. Although this may seem a little premature - after all, it's only the third day of August! - it does mean that I can go away next week without feeling guilty. I have a copy of next year's timetable sitting before me and - with four or five epic jaunts still to go before I start back - it's all a bit surreal at the moment. I think I need to have a lie-down to recover from such excitement!

Blimey O'Reilly - a woman has just driven her big, fancy 4x4 down the road, necking something from a hip flask. How bizarre.

Back again after another weekend of gallivanting. I got to eat lovely food (mostly healthy, some not, all good) and also experienced the pleasures of watching King Arthur in the company of an archaeologist, picnicking on the henge at Avebury, and catching up with family news at my parents' wedding anniversary. It was all low key but good for the soul, even if my own mother didn't recognise me as I walked into the restaurant last night... something to do with the hair* and the frock**, I suspect, although the fact that she wasn't expecting us to turn up may also have been a contributory factor.

* Longer than when she last saw it, although the aubergine colour is gently fading away
** One third of my dress collection, no less.

Bloody hell. There I was, just lying down to read a couple of chapters before going to sleep, when suddenly I've finished the book, it's 5.20 and it's light outside. Where does the time go?!

Sometimes IM can be a dangerous thing, but at times the misunderstandings can be quite amusing!:

Fred*: i've been a naughty boy... will i get the wooden spoon?
Mad: oooh yes...
Mad: what a good idea :)
Fred: Woohoo!
Mad: we could bake a cake then! :)
Mad: ah
Fred: D'oh!
Mad: that's not what you were think of, is it?! ;-)
Fred: Er, in a word: No

* Names changed to protect the innocent.

To Auntie Charl, for her vote of confidence regarding my stamina levels, thank you. I would like to point out though that it was *me* who passed out after our "quiet lunchtime drink" that time at Gilwell, and not you: more evidence of stamina-lacking, methinks! Besides, stop reading Planet Mad and get on with some dissertating!

Comments:

mummy mad

No, NO and thrice NOOO! Auntie Mad, yes; mummy mad is just frightening though. I'm fine with kids so long as I can hand them back when they get whingy.

How do I get into blogging?

Mua-ha-ha!! You ask me?!? :-) Although I suspect that there are many way, it's easy to go to blogger, sign up, choose a template and start. Also having a friendly geek on hand to rescue your blog when it all goes tits-up is always useful.

Today was a day for sheepies, piggies, birdies, train rides, ice-creams and races in the garden. It's not even half past seven and I'm worn out: I officially have no stamina!

The good ship Domesticity sailed on into uncharted waters today with the purchase of a tea-cosy. We're not talking about yer average "stick it on top and Bob's yer uncle" sort of tea-cosy; this is a very swish, it's an all-encompassing quilted affair, with a stretchy bit that holds it in place. Warm tea... mmmmm!!

Yesterday's photo got you thinking:

Loving the photo of the ass wipes - pure genius!

I thought so too! And Si, as ever, provides a wonderfully lateral view on the whole sheebang:

Shrek has a lot to answer for if B&Q are now stocking products supporting Donkey ownership.

We made it to Italy with no complications, complete with all kids, luggage and instruments; we even managed to bring them all back, apart from an errant bass guitar that decided that it wanted to stay in Pisa. In between the journeys, the week was great: it was hot and sunny every day; the kids behaved; my colleagues proved to be fab company; we visited lots of very exciting places; and played some damn fine music. Although I had perhaps less sleep than is normally required, I've been able to make it up since. We got back late on Wednesday evening, so I spent a couple of days sleeping and tidying in preparation for The Boy Wonder*'s visit.

It's been a haven of domesticity: we've cooked nice healthy food; steam-cleaned the kitchen floor; trundled to B&Q; and slapped a good coat of paint onto the walls in my bathroom. No longer do I have to recoil in horror from shiny, snot-green surfaces that are streaked with purple hair dye. Instead, it's a calm magnolia sort of colour, as is some of the floor, a small area of the bath, and several clumps of my hair. I'm not sure what tomorrow has in store, but I suspect it won't quite be the grown-up-ness of this weekend. After all, I'm already reverting to type: I found this product in B&Q and it amused me greatly.



* As certain of my colleagues refer to my bloke. The bloke in question is concerned that this will lead to you getting the wrong impression of him, and in particular that he will have a lot to live up to if he ever meets you, but I think he frets unnecessarily. Besides, a reputation like that will keep him on his toes!

It seems to be spam central on the internet at the moment - last time I logged on to collect email, my spam buster eliminated over 2,000 messages; this time there are over 4,000 trying to get downloaded. Bah.

On a more cheery note, the last couple of days have been very laid back, with good company, fine food and a glass or two of nice wine. Tonight we head off to Italy on music tour, although considering the way that the plans for today's rehearsals kept changing, it wouldn't surprise me if we end up in Estonia. It's going to be a magical mystery tour, and I hope to arrive back late next Wednesday. Bon voyage!

Fatso has the most cool purple bedding in the world ever, I have a clear sitting room floor, most of my clothes are clean: it's been a productive evening. Time to collapse, I think. Zzzzz...

This summer holiday is going to be a restful one, except I've not got to the restful stage yet. Instead, this week has included tents, hills, army barracks, caving, minibuses, A&E, a BBQ for 80, some hair dye and another wedding. Tonight I shall be mostly being domesticated, to try and discover my flat under the remains of my unpacking. Tomorrow I have a Guide thingy then my bloke arrives for a few days before I head off to Italy on music tour. Only after that is it allowed to get restful!

Last night was the leavers' BBQ: all our upper sixth came back to eat burgers and relive some of their funniest school moments. We laughed, and laughed, and laughed. For most of them, the great unknown excitement of university lies ahead - the evening is always a time for reminiscing about their years at school, for settling old scores, for closure. It was good.

Today is the last day of summer term,which always follows the same pattern: lessons until 12.10pm; assembly; lunch; packing; leavers' chapel service; House Supper; leavers' party and fireworks; collapse.

Many of these stages involve food and/or drink; some are quite stressful, whilst others are far more laid back. Before this evening's schmoozing and boozing comes the stress and confusion of going home. We will have to wander the House, checking that packing is being done and signing off rooms when they are completed. Inevitably there will be girls who have not started the arduous task of putting their belongings into trunks and suitcases. There is no doubt that there will be battles over the queue for the hoover and bitter recriminations during the hunt for black bin bags.

This evening, though, will be delightful. The food will be good, there will be wine and port, the cheeses will be smelly, and the talk will be about both the past and future. If the rain holds off, we will stand on the paddock, resplendent in black tie and swishy dresses, waiting for the whizzes and flashes of the fireworks. Rain may force us indoors to the school's main hall, but the atmosphere will be the same: excitement at what lies ahead, tinged with a hint of sadness for what has been. It'll be great.

Tomorrow I leave for D of E expedition at 10.30am, staggering under the weight of my rucksack (which is as yet not packed) and wincing through my hangover. Happy days.

A reader writes:

Stop punishing yourself - grow your hair long

Oh no, if only because that would get rid of my excuse to go to the hairdresser, with all its pampering and massaging; that wouldn't be a good thing! Mmmm, I'm swooning at the anticipation of this afternoon's visit; just a course on netball to endure before I can go. Sadly, this course is a practical one, so the thought of running round in a tracksuit beforehand is slightly dulling the excitement. Bah!

I'd headed up to the Lower Sixth corridor in the House to go through someone's UCAS personal statement, when I was accosted by a gaggle of girls looking for an excuse not to be working. Conversation started with my netball course tomorrow, veered through diets, chocolate and smear tests, before arriving at haircuts.

"Oh no, Miss E," cried one of the girls. "You can't go back to radical short. We've seen the photos. You just look so much prettier and more feminine now it's longer."

"Well, yes - that's what's worrying me," I replied. "I don't think I'm cut out to do feminine. I'm just yer basic jeans and doc martens sort of girl: I can't do girlie."

"Oh yes you can: you can get away with it. It's not like you look like a dyke."

Which, all things considered, is a shame, as I'd wanted to look like a volcanic rock feature. Hey ho.

Term ends with House Supper, a black tie dinner with dining, drinking and carousing until the early hours. This means that I have to find something to wear, which normally causes more stress than writing damned reports.

I own two dresses that are appropriate for such occasions. One is purple, long and swishy; the other is pink but much less glamorous. I wore the pink for Christmas House Supper, so technically it's time to get the purple outfit out. However, if we're talking technicalities here, there's the small consideration of getting the zip done up. This is not just because of the effect of school dinners upon my waistline, but also because this is a dress with very little in the strappage department so no bra for me; going without is not a problem because - trust me - my breasts are going nowhere once this dress is done up. The zip, however, is one of those fiddly ones that require yogic movements and double-jointed shoulders to get it done up, unless you recruit a good friend (and it *has* to be a good friend, as you're going to stand bra-less but undone in front of them, and there's the risk that they'll be knocked out by errant boobs). I've been avoiding trying on the dress for a) lack of good friend, and b) fear of a lack of closure. Today, though, I decided that I could delay no longer. Guess what...?

It still fits! Provided I can stay off the chocolate biscuits between now and then I should be ok! :-)

The last set of reports was completed this morning at 8.45, just in time for the 8.50am deadline. I am truly a last-minute merchant of the highest calibre. Mind you, it's not just been reports that have been filling my time (although I have had to write 80 in the last week), nor the 45 exam papers to mark, but also the general faff that accompanies the end of any term, for both school and Guides.

This weekend just gone was the village's Open Gardens weekend, when various householders throw open their doors to welcome nosy strangers into their gardens, to talk knowledgeably about their wisteria and to generally show off their horticultural skills. To jazz up this weekend there is a village-wide scarecrow competition, where people make models in interesting poses and write witty captions for them. We decided that a good way to spend the last Guide meeting of term would be to make such a scarecrow, so that's what we did. Eleven Guides, two leaders, ten bin bags, two ping-pong balls and several rolls of sellotape later, we produced a mighty fine 'Scared Crow', complete with flapping, feathered wings and a big sign that says "Eeek!". We were well impressed by the results of our endeavours - as were the judges of the competition: we won first prize!! Smug grins and self-congratulatory hugs all round, plus grand plans of how to spend our prize money (a whole twenty squid!). Sadly we're photo-less, but this is probably a good thing or you'd have them inflicted upon you by now!

I spent the weekend (well, what remained after Saturday's teaching, marking exams and ironing my jeans dry so that I had something to wear!) in Cheltenham, sampling the culinary delights of Deepest Gloucestershire's pubs and then mooching round Waitrose in hunt of exciting picnic food. Shell-on prawns, antipasti and vegetable terrine quiche seemed to fit the bill; we ate in the park, enjoying the sunshine and watching the families play rounders. It was great. Even the realisation that being seen in Habitat looking at sets of cutlery was a tad on the coupley side didn't dim the pleasure.

This week sees more reports to be written, for university references this time, plus the tidying and sorting that I've been postponing all year. Mind you, I have only four days left, so mushn't grumble! Woo!!

right, so which bookies are keeping bets on whether you will be alive?

also, I presume that as you haven't posted today, then you must be dead.

Not dead but fucking busy. Don't have time to waste doing this. More important things to do.

It's a close run thing, this battle between Mad and her reports, but Mad appears to be drawing slightly ahead. Will she be able to stay the distance? Will she meet the deadline in twelve hours' time and still be alive? What is the meaning of life? How much is that doggy in the window?

Whilst there are many things to write about and many pictures to share, there is also a long list of reports waiting to be written. Tempus fugit, and all that jazz. On the other hand, I could not resist the opportunity to push you in this direction for some Monty Python (lego style), found via Ali and the DOGS forum. Go. Be amused. I was.

I bet Fatso would be better at betting than the Guardian's betting hamster, Turnip. He's only placed 5 bets on Euro 2004 and he's lost £50 already.

I don't think we should be encouraging him to have any more bad habits...!

The lower sixth have all finished their exams now, and thoughts are turning towards university. Last night I had them all over to talk about UCAS, gap years and other scary, grown-up things: it turned into an hour's grilling on the minutae of personal statements and tuition fees. I offered my services as a UCAS form goer-overer* and I've already been handed three personal statements since then: all rubbish, of course, but gaining marks for being keen! I talked to Pam today about university type things and he told me about consultancies that try to get candidates into Oxbridge; more specifically, he told me how much they charge. I'm in the wrong business! If it weren't for my sense of ethics** I could do that - try and get undeserving rich brats into academic institutions that are far above their intellectual capabilities, fleecing them royally at the same time. At last I've found a way to supplement my salary that is both legal and (although dubious) not technically immoral. Hurrah!

* A person who goes over, of course.
** Something to do with a belief that university is not always the right option on leaving school, and that Oxbridge places should go to those who are clever enough for them, not those whose parents have paid oodles and noodles of dosh to blag a way into some college. Had better stop now before the rant kicks in.***
*** If I'm not too late already.

Perhaps I maligned Fatso's interests... he's developing his understanding of politics as well. This site is well worth investigating further, especially if you have lots of work to do and are searching for a diversion!

I have a feeling that my visitor this weekend corrupted Fatso as I've been finding bizarre google searches on my computer. Hamster porn, I ask you! Mind you, it looks like his seach has been successful... frisky little critter! :-)

Things not to say to a pupil who has one of their A-level exams tomorrow:

Have fun.

Helpful words of reassurance come in from Tim, who wrote before I managed to get off the computer; he says

you didn't nest the brackets (so you should be ok (I hope))

This is good. On the other hand, yesterday he wrote

I have photos of you if you are short.

I am indeed short, therefore you must be in possession of photos. (Logic supplied by Addled Maddle, your drunken correspondent) I'm not quite sure what I was going to write next, so I won't.

To say that I feel blobby is an understatement. I am more than capable of having the Christmas number one single in the year 1993, and am certainly able to irritate the pants off those who watch me. In fact, much of my pulling technique is based on this ability (the pant-removal part, not the Xmas No 1 bit, you understand) (actually, you might not understand, but smile and nod anyway; this is only polite and will appease me enough that I eventually shut up and go away) (you hope)

Ah. Brackets taking over my life. Or at least my writing. Time to stop. G'night.

I've spent much of today feeling confused and disorientated, although I have no idea why. Mind you, I went to Ikea with Ian this afternoon, where it's perfectly legitimate to look dazed and confused, so maybe this morning was just a trial run to get in the right frame of mind. On the other ahnd, it might just have been caused by the presence of a Bomb Disposal Unit lorry outside the Bursar's office this morning... very bizarre!

So much seems to be happening that, despite a large reduction in teaching time, the last two weeks have been frantic. I suspect it's not going to get any easier in the near future either. It's the start of the end of the year and, along with reports, that also means planning for next year. I'm taking responsibility for the Duke of Edinburgh award scheme in school, so I've spent afternoons looking at tents, testing trangias and consulting Langmuir. I'm also getting the opportunity to work in the learning support department, nominally for six lessons a week. The intention is to complete some sort of dyslexia support qualification via a part-time/distance learning sheebang; the logistics of this are proving somewhat elusive at present. Hey ho - I'm sure it'll all come out in the wash!

The end result of all this faff will be slightly less waffle going on here, as I try to get things done before the end of term. Photos etc (as requested by the general populace... well, one or two of you) will be scanned and published when I have time. Until then, you'll just have to imagine it all. Hasta la vista.

Oh no - more ways to waste time when I should be working...

Flipperdy-flapperdy nervous excitement: paperwork, preparation, marking, reports, laundry, tidying, not to mention a big dollop of faffing. Now time for rounders (that most meaningful of sports, more accurately described as cricket for girlies) which is a bit of a giggle but not very strenuous. Oooh stream of consciousness post - making about as much sense as I do in real life. Meh. Time to go...

The day so far:
Teaching (fair to middling)
Lunch (reasonable)
Tidying the flat (like a manic thing with an obsession with hoovering and throwing away old paperwork)
Rainbows (eeek)
Duty (so-so)
More tidying (whip out that duster!)

Rock'n'roll!

The trouble with shopping in a hurry is that you don't spend enough time paying attention to the small details. Today, the small details were these:

* Not all quiches are on the "buy 2 for £2.50" special offer. I grabbed things off the shelves and got to the checkout in record time, only to have an enforced return to the chilled food section to revise my selection.

* I then had problems locating the cocktail sticks (it's my age, you know) so I quickly picked a good-looking assistant to help me in my search. As I dutifully followed him though the aisles, I noticed with horror that his trousers were too short: far too much sockage was on display. It's enough to put a girl off her almond croissants.

Gaaah! "More haste, less speed", as my granny used to say; I think I'd better slow down.

A nice man has just installed my new cooker (after the old one had *ahem* a small accident). Seems like a good excuse to get cooking again!

I think I'm melting.

On a more cheery note, I do have lots of nice photos.

I've just managed to explode chocolate milkshake across my kitchen. Aaargh!

Nice things from today, in an order that is aesthetically pleasing, at least to my untrained eye:

Runny brie

Playing my viola

Walking in the sun

Wensleydale with cranberries

Playing snooker, where "too thin" is a bad thing

My pink top that always attracts compliments (but I'm sure it's nothing to do with the neckline, yer honour!)

I love exam time, in a perverse, teachery sort of way. Most of my classes are busy doing independent revision so I've been able to whittle away some of my woodpile of filing, not to mention paddling in the sea of forward-planning. What's more, the sun's shining. What more can any girl ask?*

* This is a rhetorical question, but if you really want to answer it then use that box o'er there or staple your suggestion to a pigeon and throw it in my direction.

There I was, happily chatting on the phone, when I glanced through my diary to see what delights are lined up next week. Eeeek!! Would you believe it?! Tomorrow morning, before lessons start, is a deadline for end-of-term reports for Upper Sixth! Aaargh!

As you can well imagine, at that point I'd written the grand total of zero reports. I quickly made my apologies to my friend on the other end of the phoneline and settled down to write some reports. However, like many other pieces of sediment, I was soon moved on again by the currents of tea-making and the longshore drift of the mobile; I didn't actually start writing until nearly 11pm. Thankfully I only teach eleven Upper Sixth so I've just finished, but I suspect that long nights of report writing loom ahead - it's just that time of term. Be warned...

This weekend has been blissful: I had nothing planned, so filled the last day and a half with sleeping, eating, drinking and generally carousing. I've spent some quality time by myself, but also spent time doing spontaneous things with friends. I feel good.

See - Star Wars is an educational film! I'm not sure this qualifies me to show it to my classes instead of teaching. Bah!

Today I shall mostly be a hermit.

After teaching all morning, of course.

Mooching through a bookshop in the Bustling Metropolis today, I came across evidence that we are becoming a more matriarchal society...

"Look," says girl to her brother. "Here's the book of Mrs Greedy."

"No - *Mister* Greedy"

"Not it's not, it's Mrs. And here's Mrs Bump. And Mrs Sneeze."

I just ducked my head, hid my smirk and bought a very grown-up book.

Yesterday's prediction was right: I *am* wiped out now. I suspect that it has little to do with strenuous teaching, though, and a lot to do with The Man Who Ate Everything, which was part of this weekend's perfect present. Well, it would be perfect if it weren't for my lack of control when it comes to finishing reading and starting sleeping. I've spent most of today feeling sleepy-yawny and craving food; both are bad things. The present and the present-giver, however, are both good things, so mushn't grumble, I sh'pose!

As half term fades away into the distance, time to update this rambling epic. Where to start? Hmmm...

The end of last half term was even more manic than normal, but the Guider's-bottom-sized To Do list kept me on track and the vast majority of things that needed doing were done. On Friday evening I played in a concert with the school orchestra and assorted soloists (reasonable), then zoomed off in the Madmobile (woosh) to stay here (nice) with random DOGs for Ian and Laura's wedding (good). Much fun and jollity was had by all; Tim's photos, for those interested (or bored and seeking diversion) can be found here. My hair, in all its curly-flicky-redness can be observed here, along with my girlie pink shirt, both of which shocked some people. I suspect that - for some of them at least - it was the first time they'd ever seen me in a skirt. Mua-ha-ha!!

I headed off to Cheltenham on Sunday for a snog, a barbeque, a hot air balloon festival, Duncan the Depressed Octopus, a torrential downpour, a takeaway and a DVD: not all were intentional, but all were good. Well, apart from the DVD, which pitted werewolves against vampires in a most confusing sort of way that was too much for my brain to cope with, but six out of seven ain't bad.

Monday morning started with real potential: a lazy day in the company of friends, complete with cheese rolling, hot Brad action and more snogging. Instead I ended up driving to Exeter and not for pleasant reasons. Judging by the amount of traffic heading in the opposite direction on the M5, I was going the wrong way; based on the support I was able to give on arrival, I was right to keep heading south.

I came back from Exeter via Cheltenham (lunch) and Staffordshire (parents). I took my mum to see some film that I don't think will be much of a hit: it was pleasant enough but - as always - failed to live up to the book. Should have guessed, really. Hey ho - you win some, you lose some.

The kids are back now, and teaching starts again tomorrow. The exeat feels like it's lasted for ages, but I suspect that I'll be wiped out by lunchtime tomorrow. Pish!

I've just finished marking. I suspect that the gallon of tea consumed in the past ninety minutes will not help my sleeping any, although judging by my late-night stagger and squinty eyes I'm about to collapse.

This time tomorrow I will, all being well, be tucked up in bed in a bunk house in the Forest of Dean. I'm skiving Speech Day at school to go to Ian and Laura's wedding, and from there on to Sunny Cheltenham for a bit of a snog, and then maybe back to the Forest of Dean to see Mr and Mrs J on the Monday. Blimey - my holiday appears to be as busy as term time! Pah!

Balls! I have lots of them! 200, to be precise, courtesy of Mr Cohen's finest late-night shopping emporium and its wonderful purchasing economies of scale. I also have Private Eye and then biscuits, cakes, sweets, chocolates... I got a tad carried away whilst buying provisions for my late-night marking session. By the end of it, I might be sleepy but I'll be well-fed!

I have written my To-Do list and life planner for the next three days. It doesn't make pretty reading.

Mornings, I have decided, are not my forte. Bleurgh!

Snooker. Potted a red followed by a black: a break of 8. Am very chuffed - that's probably my highest break all year! Don't know now whether to go to bed or do some more marking.... I think that bed is winning. G'night.

At the end of a long, hot day in school, what better game to play than "Try To Make Miss E Embarrassed"? Marketing was the topic of the day for my GCSE group, and the discussion got round to the choice of appropriate media for different types of product.

Me: Of course, there are some things that you wouldn't advertise on TV
Boy 1: (whispering to friend sitting next to him) Like Dildos
Me: Absolutely. Dildos are a niche market product - which of course is another way of saying that they have a very specialist target market. Mind you, Ann Summers is trying to take the product into the mass market through careful use of place and promotion. Of course, that doesn't mean that sex toys aren't promoted in other ways - think of the Rabbit vibrator in Sex and The City...

....and on and on for another five minutes, explaining the world of sex toys using the theory of marketing. Ha ha - that'll teach 'em to play that game!

On Saturday I went to my first wedding of the year (out of a grand total of four or maybe five.... I'm obviously just that age). Village organists deserve to be shot. If the Queen of Sheba had arrived to music played like that she'd have turned straight round and left again. Dull and disinterested vicars should be the next in the wedding-cull. I was not, you may have noticed, impressed with the service itself. On the other hand, the reception was another bouilloire des poissons.

I first met the groom and his sister when I was 10, and we've been in touch ever since. Every year we went to camp with the St John Ambulance; I would only see them every twelve months but things didn't seem to change and the time-gap made little difference. I stopped camping with St John when I was 16 and, although I have photographs, I can remember precious little detail of the camps or the people who went.

This weekend changed all that.

The groom is still an active member of St John and the guest-list looked like a Who's Who of the camps I attended 15 years ago. People haven't changed. They look the same, have the same mannerisms and turn of phrase. What's worrying is that I remember them exactly as they looked on Saturday night. This leaves me wondering - how can I not have accounted for the passage of time? Have they just aged well? When I was young, did I assume that they were all sixty-plus because they were leaders, even when they must only have been forty? How come they all realised that Saturday's smartly dressed woman with short curly hair and glasses used to be the long-haired 16 year old wearing tatty jeans and walking boots? Have I really changed that little?! I'm not sure I want to know the answers.

It was lovely to catch up with them all: I've had invitations to join them on camp this year (although I think time will conspire against me) and next year (tempting); I've caught up with everyone's life story; I've been offered a job making teas when they're on duty for pop concerts at the Britannia Stadium. I laughed and sang and danced my little socks off, got home at 2am and then slept until nearly 3 on Sunday afternoon. I now have aching legs and a raspy voice, but it was worth it. I think I'm off now to find my old photo albums...