The hair's in for the chop. I can't stand it any longer. Thank goodness for walk-in appointments!

Exam invigilation has obviously affected my brain cell. Back to normality later.

Being a member of the Biritsh Legion, as I am, entitles me to a copy of Legion - the magazine with the best adverts in the world. What makes it even better are the accompanying catalogues, full of stuff that I never knew I needed:

• a 60 piece paint brush set
  
• a hand-held sewing machine
  
• an adjustable folding cane
  
• Giant clippers for tough toenails

In fact, this last item caught my eye, so I read on:

This GIANT Easy-Squeeze Toenail Clipper is extra gentle, and it cuts easier - so you don't have to squeeze as hard. Extra long handles lets you reach toes without straining. Cuts even the toughest toenails.

Now, I'm not sure I wuold categorise my toenails as particularly tough, but long handles sounds an attraction: getting rid of bending over is a definite bonus. Sadly, looking at the picture, they resemble a pair of pliers, suggesting that scrunching into a small ball will still be ncessary; perhaps I won't be adding them to my Christmas list after all!

It's that time of term where I finally turn into The Blob. Twelve weeks of attending tea and lunch in the House have had a rather adverse effect, and I'm even (shock horror) contemplating going on a diet, in a very vague sort of way. This, however, did not stop a colleague today asking if I'd lost weight.

"Oh, not at all," I replied, "It's just that my hair is getting bigger at a faster rate than my face is getting fatter."

"Oh," she said.

Although Darth Vader has worn off, I ache like an aching thing. Further proof, should more be required, that exercise is A Bad Thing.

I was unable to blog earlier: I started doing a credible Darth Vader impression, brought on by participating in a game of netball. Sadly the rest of the players were all 13, so kept running about everywhere very fast, whilst I was suffering from couch-potato-non-fitness and a distinct lack of sports-bra. Damn them and their young healthy lifestyle. Pah!

Now, however, I am propped back in front of the computer, having been to a Rotary meeting to speak with Claire on GaSCiT (this summer's big camp #1). It went well, and I was complimented on my presentation skills. I did point out that I'm a teacher and therefore have to make presentations several times a day (often to reluctant audiences!) but they seemed impressed nonetheless. At that point my head swelled, and I would have been home far sooner but I was stuck in the door. C'est la vie!

Today was mostly spent in SAGGA Exec meeting, which involved much talk of babies, a bag of Kettle Chips and a packet of Tang-Fastic Haribo. I now face the prospect of a nice pile of marking: I guess I'm the lucky one! The last few days have disappeared more quickly than I would believe possible and the kids are now back in school, ready to start lessons again tomorrow morning. Ick, ick, icketty-ick.

Sleepy now. Early start tomorrow. Aargh.

Today I shall be mostly singing in harmony. No, not with myself - I'm not Perdita X Nitt yet. Choons lined up for today include The Beach Boys, The Mammas and The Papas and then some sixties classics, where I can shoop and shawaddy to my heart's content. Just cover your ears if you're in the vicinity.

Oh no! They're launching a two-pronged attack on my comments box! Firstly

Don't tell me: A five-year-old is the right size for the Madmobile; rear leg/headroom not needed. Tom

Which is true, I concede; but then, also this:

So Mad is this Madmobile appreciator the new man in your life ;) Caz (and yes I am here with Tom)

The new man?! Well, he's a tad young at the moment, but I know I'd have no problems with the mother-in-law!

Went to Stoke today to have lunch with a friend. The Madmobile was much admired by her son, and I managed to complete his jigsaw game on the playstation so earned his total respect (to be fair to him, he's not yet five, so is unlikely to realise that there are far better women out there; his day will come)

I drove back through the fog, listening to Heart FM, partly because Friday night is 80s night, but also because I'm teaching promotion and advertising next week and want to be able to use contemporary examples of radio adverts. "Come to X shopping centre," we were told, "and meet Snow White, Jack Frost and Betty Twinkle." BETTY TWINKLE?! Who the hell is that?! She sounds like some sort of ropey porn star. AND they're encouraging kiddiwinkles to go and look at her. The mind boggles.

After recovering from *that* shock, I then went to Guides, where they were doing Christmas Crafts. I hate craft. Words cannot explain how much I loathe making things: fiddly cutting out; blobs of glue that then go manky-grey when the kids stick their fingers in it; glitter. In fact, glitter should be a whole category by itself. Ick. Needless to say, I spent most of the night tidying out the cupboard.

I have now discovered that I have dropped lumps of icing sugar into my computer keyboard, so I'm going to have to take the whole thing apart and clean it. Maybe I should have a beer first...

Went out this afternoon to be naughty with Mark, as organised under the affluence of incahol last Saturday. We ate lunch in a very swish restaurant (yummy artichoke soup just like me ma used to make, an interesting swordfish bake thing and then the most luscious chocolate pudding thing in the history of puddings), I spilt food down my cleavage, at which point Mark gave up on his crusade to improve my social skills, we tried on hats in John Lewis and House of Fraser and then mooched the streets of Nottingham in a free-from-all-responsibility sort of way. Am now feeling fat and wided-eyed-caffeine-overdosed: it's the price you have to pay for being a social butterfly, I suspect!

A request just in:

Are you going to let your avid (or should that be rabid?) readers know your IM IDs, so that we can contact you on Trillian? Or are we just going to have to guess?

For rabid readers only (just make sure you don't dribble into the keyboard!) I'm mademuss on yahoo, AIM *and* MSN... get in touch! :-)

I've acquired a copy of Trillian, which lets me consolidate all of my messenger services into one easy application. I've justified this on grounds of convenience, ease and prudence, although I suspect it just means I have more excuses to avoid marking. Hey ho! Although good, it does keep blooping at me, both going-up bloops and going-down bloops. Haven't worked out what they mean yet, but I'm sure all will become clear inthe future!

It is the age of comments, and here's a selection that drifted (very very quickly - whee!) into my inbox.

Hmm. You may have annoyed google. It now says 'this blank space was brought to you by google'. --kajv2

Whoops! That's confused it! Alternatively, it could have scanned my brain cell and chosen adverts based on its findings.

if you are having any e-mail/broadband probs you can borrow Phil, if he can do it in sweden he can do it anywhere love CMT

That's a very kind offer, and I might just take you up on that if I continue in Luddite mode much longer!

Mad, you should keep your private eye down your bra when not reading it coz then no one can steal it! Amy

Advice I shall be heeding, methinks; if I look somewhat lumpy in the chest area tomorrow then you'll know what it is!

Oooooh. Squirmy fast. Still don't think I can download email yet, but that might just make my life quieter...

Ooooh. Computer mysteries. Headless chicken. Nice man on help desk. Ooooh. And double oooh, I tells yer! Have been made to laugh by this classic error message:

Surprisingly, the modem you're trying to dial doesn't appear to exist. Do you want to continue?

OK. OK. I turned the light on to rescue said mini-doughnuts and there were only 6 left, which is considerably less than a third-of-a-box-full. In between picking them out of the printer and placing the box back on top of the scanner, there are now only three left. Even these three are looking mighty tempting. Hurrah for elasticated waist bands!

And "piss off" to those bastards at Google, who decided that my blog's adverts should feature a well-known diet. Grrr...

Grease was the most fun I've had since... oh... since a long time. I'm unable to write more, for fear of invoking the laws of libel, but it was goooood.

Noise for this evening: eeeep. And that's all I've got to say on the matter, except to note that my escort home (and not an escort in that sense, you perverted reader, you!) used somewhat complicated logic to justify walking up and down a hill all evening, and finally cracked after the third attempt. Some people have no stamina!

I've just dropped a whole box (well, a half-full box... eurm... third-full box) of mini-doughnuts on my printer. Whoops. Better go and sort it out.

Helpful advice just in from Dr T:

Try sticking it (Private Eye) to a table, then hiding to watch as your colleagues try to walk off with it ;)

Y'know, I might just do that... anything to liven up life in the Common Room!

Am off to watch a production of Grease this evening - it's a joint venture between two of the Houses here, and promises to be very entertaining. What's more, I have to confess that I've never seen Grease before, so I'm looking forward to finding out what it's all about!!

Things that have pleased or amused me today:

* "For sale - a wardrobe and a chester drawers £100" (spotted in the supermarket)

* The latest edition of Private Eye (which will no doubt disappear off with a colleague as soon as I've read it. Damn unfaithful publication!)

* Arrival of my ADSL modem. Broadband goes live tomorrow. Eeeep!

Still singing in inappropriate places. Still grappling with a pile of marking bigger than King Kong's toe. Still chortling out loud at the recent developments over at El Blog de Señor Casey - A Tale Featuring A Man, His Hair and Plenty Of Alcohol. And Some Writing, From Time To Time.

Have been afflicted with a terrible curse: I keep singing. Little snippets of tune keep creeping out when I'm least expecting them; snatches of melody suddenly burst forth at inappropriate times. I was fortunate enough to discover that the entire High Street was empty this evening, so I launched into an Ella Fitzgerald classic. The people hiding from the rain in the bus stop were less fortunate - they had to listen to it.

After killing off half the locals through over-exposure to Random Pavarotti Disease, I then drove like a maniac over to Loughborough to sort out a GaSCiT presentation with Claire: it was good to catch up on the news and have a giggle about pictures from the event. Although her laptop stopped working from a spazz attack (and that's a technical computing term, mark my words!) it was a productive evening... it just didn't help reduce my pile of marking!

The great thing about text messages is that they're less ephemeral than instant messages or conversation, and a person can reconstruct their evening by reading the content of their phone's inbox.

Unless you're me. I thought I had a pretty good idea of what I did last evening (wine, sofa, music, candles...) until I re-read my messages from Mark. In chronological order, they are as follows:

Just seen Seabiscuit. V good! Wine better than bloke - never complains, always available and will never leave you for another drinker.

You would probably do that with a bloke too! You have no shame!

See! You don't need a bloke. Just lots of wine and someone to do the washing up!

Def over qualified. I can cook too!

It's nice to know you want my body even if it is only for cooking cleaning and opening bottles!

Not forgetting the drink consuming categry?! So I would cook and clean and you would empty my wine cellar? Hmmm...

*sly grin and dirty laugh* I can make all sorts of suggestions my dear...

My parents and aunt have done their best. They will be glad to know you appreciate it! U busy next week? Am on holiday.

Naughty on Thurs sounds good. Will text tomorrow.

Oh dear. I have NO idea what my side of the conversation was, or what I've let myself in for. In context, though, "naughty" will probably involve cinema, dinner and a good bitch-fest, followed by drawing moustaches on pictures in the paper and writing alternative headlines and captions. We're so mature!

OK, OK... perhaps it has something to do with the bottle of red. Pah!

But not the bottle of red wine.

OK, perhaps it is something to do with the port.

Good intentions of sofa-lounging were defeated by simultaneous text messages and internet messanger messages... my fingers are confused and I can no longer type or work my phone. It's nothing to do with the port I'm drinking. Honest.

It's been nice to have some time to myself. I've lounged on the sofa for the last 3 hours, with only red wine and a selection of fine choons to keep me company. It's been remarkably pleasant, but also quite sad in the grand scheme of things. What's worse is knowing that my sixth form are all out enjoying the bustling metropolises (metropola?) of Derby, Nottingham and Manchester, and I refused to join them coz I'm too old, so I've had to resort to solo sitting-room dancing to compilations of 70s disco tunes. It's a good job there's not a webcam link here! I'm now trying to type and text simultaneously, and it's proving a little difficult. Better head back to the sofa...

One of the first things I do when I (finally) get my broadband sorted is update my list of links: there are now so many on my favourites list that I'm getting RSI just looking for them.

Off now to continue nursing my bottle of red wine by candlelight.

I sat drinking tea this afternoon and watched our kids being blown down the lane towards the astroturf to play hockey. Their pinched faces and slumped shoulders spoke of absolute dejection, and it reminded just why I hate sport, at least on winter afternoons. Unless, of course, the sport in question is tea-drinking, snooker or some other indoor recreation. I suspect that I'm not cut out for the games-teacher part of my job. Hey ho.

My alarm clock has a 10-minute snooze feature, and I managed to activtate it not once, not twice, but seven times this morning. 'Twas a mighty shock when I realised quite how late it was! As a result, I've had to spend the day with fluffy hair and a badly ironed shirt.

I think it's time for cous-cous salad, and then some skillful application of hair wax.

Yet again some bastard's been playing about with the clocks, and whilst my brain thinks it's only 11pm, my timepieces tell me otherwise. I hate it when that happens. The irony is that the opposite happens in the mornings, when it's often much earlier than I think it should be. I'm going to write to someone in charge and suggest they ban time.

In other news, my Broadband paperwork arrived today: just waiting for BT to get their act together and for my ISP to send my new modem. Am quivering in anticipation, and there's probably still a week to go...!!

The haunted goldfish-bowl this evening was showing some sort of music award show, and I sat and watched some of it with girls in the House. At some point in the proceedings, I was called upon to demonstrate my bestest dancing moves, as learnt when I was a wee thing at university. After much laughter and wiping away of tears, the questions started. "Miss E," asked one of the girls, "Did you ever find that your friends used to edge away from you, in a slightly embarrassed sort of way?" Grrr... they're just sooo perceptive, and they weren't even born then! (OK,OK, slight exaggeration, but they were barely out of the toddling stage, and certainly not about to enter a funky moves competition!) Am off to play some disco choons and have a little practice...

There I was, drifting gently through life, when suddenly it jumped out. I was totally unprepared, and could do little but yelp in protest then give in. I never saw it coming, had no idea; I'd been warned but didn't really expect it to happen so soon.

Damn deadlines.

I've just had to write 60-ish internal reports about my kiddywinkles; the deadline was 4.25pm this afternoon. Luckily it went without a hitch, but it *did* stop me having the post-lunch nap that I'd been fantasising about all morning. I now have a dent in my finger and a woolly braincell. Pah.

Went to a friend's flat for raclette, although I have no idea how to spell it. It involves melting swiss cheese and draping it artistically over potatoes and a selection of ham and pickles. I'm sure this description hasn't done justice to the culinary delights, but it was both culinary and delightful: you'll have to take my word for it.

Tomorrow I am being observed teaching an AS-level business lesson. This is a damn fine reason why I shouldn't be playing on the computer now, but sometimes good reasons aren't enough...

The first two present requests have come winging their way inward, Amy just nudging ahead. For both of you, I'll see what I can do, although I suspect my bank account may not stretch as far as the car requested...!!

As a village, Repton is not exactly over-endowed in the shop department. It does, however, have an excellent butcher's, which often flaunts its wares on a chalk-board standing on the pavement. On my walk home today, I was distressed to note that there are 43 days left until Christmas. Whilst this could divert into a rant about commercialism, I shall instead confine my comments to a lament about my lack of planning: no cards, no presents, no clue what anyone wants... Present requests via that box o'er there!

On Friday evening I received a text message trying to lure me away to Cheltenham with promises of drinks, fireworks and a bloke. At the time I had to refuse, being in charge of a House full of teenage girls for the weekend. However, at Saturday lunch I was unexpectedly relieved from duty, so grabbed an hour of sleep then headed off south.

Conversation soon drifted round to that most uncomfortable of topics: my love life, or lack thereof. I explained my new master plan for relationship success, which involves pulling someone who lives within an hour's drive of home, so I actually get to see them more than once a month. Wendy nodded her approval and asked what the local talent was like, to which Rada replied, "I don't want to piss on your bonfire, but I went without a shag for two and a half years when I lived in Nottingham. It was a bit of a sexual desert." Curses! Another fine plan destroyed! To make up for this disappointment, I drank lots of wine/port/beer/dodgy-vodka-alcopop-type-things, ate lots of food, laughed at three teenage boys who were sneakily eying up our sparklers, staggered home and collapsed in a heap. Rock n roll!

We gathered in the pub this morning to watch the rugby, aided by several cups of tea and coffee and a huuuge fried breakfast. Whilst I know very little about the game, I am full of admiration for the discipline of the players and their attitude towards the referee... it puts footballers to shame.

Still to come: marking, planning, concert, cinema, a few beers. Enjoy yourselves...

This week has been silly busy: I've been all but running the House since Tuesday, and it's been a real emotional drain. I've got a slightly disconnected feeling, and suspect that I no longer make any sense when I speak or have much grip on reality. It's not even 11pm on a Friday evening; across the country, my friends are easing themselves into inebriated oblivion, yet I am fantasising about an early night curled around my duvet, cuddling a mug of cocoa. I'm old before my time. Or at least, that's what it feels like.

Sometimes I look at my job, wonder about my sanity, and contemplate becoming an accountant. Then I realise that accountants probably don't send suggestive text messages after midnight, and I decide that I've probably made the right career choice. If only I didn't have to teach tomorrow... eurm... today...

Our 13/14 year olds have a 'lights out' time of 10pm. By 10.30pm I was fed up with them turning the lights back on, so I flung open the door, stood menacingly in the doorway and uttered these classic words:

If I see these light on one more time I will take away all of your lightbulbs.

At times, I amuse myself. If only I could remember to think before opening my mouth.

It's gone complicated at work. Ick.

I note with interest that I can sign up for a Virgin Card. I assume that this will then entitle me to virgins on a regular basis, in the same way that my credit card provides me with credit. Phanar!

School runs this devious arrangement called Winter Timetable, designed to keep us teachers on our toes and to suck any remaining vestiges of life from our pupils. It's all due to the sports department, who have this uncanny belief that sport is only possible in the hours of daylight and, therefore, should be played immediately after lunch rather than waiting until lessons finish at 4pm. This means that - for us non-sports teachers - we have a swathe of afternoon free and then have to teach until nearly 6pm. Believe me - it's a silly system, and I'm suffering as a result. It's a bit of a pity-party here, folks!

A man with a beard, a long ladder and some kinky harness-type contraption arrived this afternoon, fiddled with the junction box and prounced me one step closer to broadband. Woo hoo!!

If you are a fan of custard, may I recommend Tesco's Finest fresh custard, which is just ideal for a Sunday evening curled up on the sofa. Mmmmmm....

A weekend of cooking, eating, late nights and catching up with friends. Am now sleepy.

Sadly November continued into early mornings, lessons and squinting through sleepy eyes. The pile of marking is threatening a return and I have to tidy up before my parents arrive tomorrow for lunch. Maybe it's not as hunky-dory as I thought.

November started with a good laugh, curry, beer and black coffee. Long may it continue...

Beer, pringles, laughter, Verve remixed: what more could any girl want? (OK - don't answer that: I know there are many more exciting things out there, but they're not on offer if you're me, alright?!) (And certainly not on a school night!)

I was offered advice by that box over there -------> which said:

Mad, how many single men do you know who have children (go on write a list, you know you want to)

I'm not sure I do, actually: after all, this is quite a public forum. More challenging, however, was this:

Since when have pants or belly buttons been rude parts of the anatomy?

Well, excuse me while I smirk. After all, anything can be a rude bit of anatomy if you try hard enough (and - without wishing to divulge confidential information that's better left unsaid - I'll stop there!)

Exciting progress of the day: broadband comes a step closer and I'll know the final verdict by Monday, when the nice man from BT arrives to find the telephone socket in my flat, even though I'm convinced there's not one!

Having just re-read yesterday's encounter with Accident Man, I am left pondering one thing. I can understand accidents in hospitals, cars, public transport, the work place... but children? Can you really get insurance/compensation for that sort of accident?!

(Changing tack quickly...)

Although today has been a bouncing-round-classrooms, rousing-rabbles and causing-trouble type day, it's also been a day of relationship misunderstandings. The misunderstanding, in general, is caused by the fact that there isn't a relationship; at least, not one that I'm aware of. Firstly, in a lower sixth Business Studies lesson:
L: Miss, what hand does the wedding ring go on?
Me: (waves left hand in air)
T: But you don't wear your engagement ring on that finger.
Me: WHAAAAT?!?!? (looks at hands, notices ring on right hand looks suspiciously like an engagement ring and giggles manically)
T: But I thought you were engaged?
Me: Bwa-ha-ha-ha!!

Then I had visit from my ma and elderly aunt, who kept going on about how pretty my hair looks now it's in need of a cut, and if I don't look pretty then I'll never get married... Grrr...

...and then I was stopped by a girl in the House, saying that she'd had a dream about me and I had a man moving into my flat. Now, having read about the prophetic nature of dreams, I tried to ascertain more about said gentleman.
Me: So what's he like then?
Girl: I can't remember.
Me: What? Can't remember?! Was he good looking?
Girl: Eurm...?
Me: Was he tall? Short? Young? Old? Fat? Thin? Blonde? Dark?
Girl: I think he had brown hair.
Me: And...?
Girl: Oh, I've remembered - he had a child.

Pants, belly-buttons and other rude bits of anatomy. What more can one say?!

In the bustling metropolis today:

Him: Excuse me. Can you spare me a couple of minutes?
Me: Yup, sure.
Him: First of all, if you don't mind me asking, how old are you?
Me: 27
Him: What? I mean, um, oh. You don't look it.
Me: Well, there you go.
Him: How many times have you been to Accident and Emergency in the last two years?
Me: Once, but I took someone else - it wasn't for me.
Him: OK. When did you last go to the doctors?
Me: Dunno.
Him: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.
Him: Right. Do you work?
Me: Yes, I'm a teacher.
Him: Have you had any accidents at work?
Me: No.
Him: Have you not had to enter things in the Accident Book?
Me: (Oh no, I'm going to have to explain about Dean and Jonathan having a fight with the board cleaner and ...) Eurm...
Him: For yourself, I mean.
Me: Ah. Phew. Nope.
Him: Oh. Do you drive?
Me: Yes
Him: When was the last time you had an accident?
Me: I haven't.
Him: Not even a little bump into another car?
Me: Nope.
Him: How about an accident on public transport?
Me: Nope.
Him: Not even on a bus, a taxi...?
Me: When I was 15, I was on a coach that drove into a wall. Does that count?
Him: No, not really. Do you have any children?
Me: No.
Him: Oh.
Me: I'm not really much use am I? Sorry.

Sometimes, when I can think of think of nothing else to do, I discover real gems amongst my archives. I think this confirms - for once and for all - that I am sad.

I feel somewhat bereft. I'm not sure why, or even certain of what I am bereft; but bereft, nonetheless.

Am in speed-marking mode, driven relentlessly onward by Ninja Tunes' finest.

Ticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick

Marking:

Tick
Tick
Tick tick
Tick
? Grammar?
Tick
? Does this make sense?
Tick
** splat **
< wipe exploded brain cell off pupil's work >

Repeat ad infinitum

Busy weekend with friends and lots of beer and food. Stomach now so big I can hardly reach the keyboard, but that's ok coz my fingers are so fat I'm having problems typing too. Seems I'm just going to have to spend the evening sprawled in a corner resembling a land-locked beached whale.

Addition to earlier advice: don't mark during Shostakovitch either, or the sudden loud chords will make you jump and draw dodgy lines across your pupils' work.

Advice for self, when considering doing marking whilst listening to violin concertos: don't. Or, at least, not in the fast movements.

First up:

Heinz Cream of Mushroom Soup. Never fails!

Recommended as a hangover cure, I think, although it's probably useful when entertaining too. Better buy some!

It's the final weekday of my holiday (although not a Repton weekday, as that includes Saturdays too, damn them!) and it's probably time for a little round up. In time-honoured fashion, I shall entitle this What I did on my holidays:

* Number of books read: 5
* Number of proper meals cooked: 6
* Number of people who had to endure my cooking: 6
* Number of meals cooked in-house but sub-contracted to another cook: 1
* Number of meals eaten out: 3
* Number of bottles of wine imbibed: lost count, but the recycling box is somewhat fuller than it was at the start of the week
* Number of sets of marking completed: ah. Shucks. That's what I will be doing today, then!

Still to come this weekend - a takeaway with Kate, a night-hike and sleepover with Guides, an evaluation meeting for GaSCiT, Phil and Linda to stay, Sunday lunch with friends from university, some planning. Pish.

Hangover cures tried today on Planet Mad:
* Sleep
* Ella Fitzgerald
* Milky tea
* Washing up
* Hoovering (tried this, but it didn't work, unsurprisingly: a tad on the loud side!)

Hangover cures not tried:
* Hair of the dog
* Greasy fry-up (this one's still to come, in about an hour's time)
* Not drinking so much of the damn stuff the night before (sadly this one requires time travel, and - knowledgable and clever as my friends are - rearranging the chronology of things is not really an option. Hey ho)

'Twas a good dinner party though.

The good thing about holidays is that you get to drink until late in the evening, or even early in the morning if you are lucky. You can then sleep until about 1.30pm, at which point you remain in bed and start reading exciting books. Although you may be disturbed by someone at the door at around 3.30pm, it won't matter (much) that you're still in your dressing gown with morning hair and sleepy eyes. It's fab that you can have breakfast at 4pm, and then mooch about with very little purpose, until suddenly - PING - it's 12.20am, you go sleepy and it's time for bed again.

The bad thing about all this debauchery is the way that your body clock adapts too quickly, and you know that - after just 2 days' worth of lie-ins - it's going to be a nasty shock when the alarm goes off tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow morning I go shopping with Ian to buy exciting food for our dinner party. He will fondle the produce, dreaming of exotic mash and spicy sausages. I, however, will be meandering the aisles, squinting bleary-eyed at the labels and pretending to be a bad-tempered old biddy. Hopefully this means that I can ram the trolley into people's ankles and moan about the price of fish.

Fatso is the proud owner of one of those plastic hamster balls, and he's quite adept at zooming round my flat in it. However, he's also becoming adept at escaping from it. There is little worse than being in the middle of lovely phone coversation and suddenly having to shout, "Fatso! Stop!" and scrabble round on the floor trying to reach beind the sofa (especially mindful of the way in which Fatso #1 met his nasty end).

Actually, with hindsight, the above paragraph is bobbins. There are many things worse than having phonus interruptus, such as realising that you've put your pants on the top of your trousers, or that you've forgotten to to put on your trousers full stop, but on a Tuesday-night-in scale of good to bad, it's worse than removing red wine stains from a light-ish coloured carpet (also on tonight's agenda) and getting stitch from eating too many biscuits (I've already done this one today).

Regardless of how bad it is, there's one thing that I now know for certain: the damn beastie's going to be sellotaped in from now on!

Last night's red-bottomed strumpetry was entertaining, but was put on hold in deference to red wine and entertaining conversation. This is probably a good job for a number of reasons, some of which can't be discussed here, but at least some of which revolve around the fact that I am a sad teacher with no chance of pulling, as many of my pupils will tell you. And besides

WTF is a "red-bottomed strumpet"?

If you haven't guessed yet, for "strumpet" I point you here and "red-bottomed" comes - I fear - from some really rather splendid books, which I suspect many of you won't have read. (This is one of the joys of being a teacher in a boarding school: I get to borrow the kids' books, many of which are far more entertaining than the books that used to be about when I was a brat teenager.)

And then, from Ash:

You're quite good fun, aren't you!? Mind you, I worry about your students reading this site...

I suspect they already know what I'm like, and would not be surprised in the slightest...!

And finally, quite appropriately:

Athena


?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

Ooh, I am a red-bottomed strumpet!

(Also, the cooking was good)

Today I have been mostly snoozing and reading. This evening I will be dabbling in the black art of cookery. It's a tough life but someone's got to do it.

Oooh noooo!! Am suffering a booze-induced Jammy Dodger overload. Mind you, better than a Jammy Dodger-induced booze overload, I suppose; at least from my liver's perspective. G'night.

3 pints of bitter, 1 glass of red wine: spinny head and slightly blurry vision. Good job I can lie in tomorrow.

Two days away and many thing happen:

* Train journey to The Big City
* Curry and booze
* Caffeine-induced insomnia
* Meeting up with Mr and Mrs J for a latte, a fruit drink (purportedly orangy, but it looked like an apple on the bottle) and 2 eggcups full of hot chocolate.
* Fruitless shopping
* Pizza and sweet, milky tea
* Successful shopping
* A ride in a bicycle-rickshaw-taxi effort
* First class travel by train
* Gin and orange juice - lots thereof.

No wonder I'm knackered!

My new classroom is taking shape nicely - the TV/video wall-stand was fitted a couple of days ago; the kids have made lots of brightly-coloured work for the walls; my proper desks have finally arrived, so no more eay-to-collapse-exam-desks. It's all excitement here, folks! (even though I locked a couple of boys in the building by mistake yesterday - they climbed out through a window with nothing damaged except their pride. Whoops!)

Tomorrow sees the start of half term: I finish teaching at 3.15 and intend to be on a train to The Big Smoke (again!) as soon after then as is humanly possible. My sixth form asked if I was going to shop; I explained that I was going to stay with an old friend from uni, who earned far more than I do and would therefore buy me dinner (and presents!) if I asked nicely enough: "It's like having a boyfriend but without the hassle," said I. I suspect they're now going to enter me for the Callous Bitch of the Year award. Hey ho.

Other than that, life is uneventful: the highlight of the day was throwing crinkly mushrooms out of the fridge and doing laundry. I'm looking forward to a few days to spend on me, rediscovering excitement. 'Til then - tarra!!

Whoops indeed - it was a very fuzzy start to the day this morning and I'm not sure I'm fully recovered now. Hope your day is slightly more coherent than mine. Off to do something productive (for once!).

Drunk.

Again.

Teaching tomorrow.

Whoops.

Classic errors of the day found in marking:

"I think it's not a very good idea [for Chris to lower the quality of the building] because if the people who bought his house are sitting in it having a meal and suddenly the house falls down because of the lack of quality then they can sue him."

It all seems so black and white, doesn't it? Not quite so with this one, but no prizes for guessing why it made me chuckle:

"Chris is worried about being ill so he could get an apprentice so that he could cover him while in bed."

I think there's an "ill" missing from that sentence! ;-)

Take 2 [Something went awry on my first attempt]. I don't know, Why do you always fancy the most inappropriate people? The punchline had better be good!

I don't think there *is* a punchline, sadly. It certainly adds amusement value though!

And why, oh why, do I always fail to resist the temptation to blog when under the affluence of incahol? Pah.

And why do I crave chocolate whenever I've been out for a couple of beers?

Oh dear. My, my. Why do I always fancy the most inappropriate people?

It's not the difficulty of covering half the distance that's the problem, but the fact that it has to do this an infinite number of times. Ignoring the proper answer that these take infinitely less time to do, it's much easier to invoke quantum mechanics and say "oh sod it, I'm there". Dr Tom PhD

I feel enlightened.

Ah - found it: Small Gods, p.157.

"A very useful philosophical animal, your average tortoise. Outrunning metaphorical arrows, beating hares in races... very handy."

So there! :-)

As I recall it, there's a famous philosopher who decided that it was logically impossible to shoot an arrow into a target because firstly the arrow would travel half the distance, and then half the remaining distance, then half the remaining distance and so on, never actually reaching its destination beause there's always another half-distance to go. I suspect the bloke was a Greek, but I'm not certain; I'm sure there are others out there who can confirm this. Regardless of who he was and where he came from, his theory seems to apply to my pile of marking, which gets smaller by the hour but never seems to go away completely.

(For all the Pratchett fans out there, the arrow paradox features in one of the Discworld books, but I can't remember which one... I fear that a surfeit of tea has addled my braincell)

Thanks to Jett Superior, on whose site I found this excellent link.

It's my weekend on duty in the House this weekend. Normally these weekends are fraught with crises and trauma. This weekend - so far, touch wood - has been easy going. The only downsides have been missing what was (no doubt) a cracking surprise party for K, and losing my Sunday morning lie-in because of chapel. Whilst chapel does provide me with the ideal opportunity to ponce about in my academic hood and gown (just like here, but minus the elephant!), it does start rather earlier than I like to get up. Today I spent much of the service wondering why some hymn-writers try to rhyme words like "lamb" and "acclaim", and then got caught out trying to sing the hymns so the words *did* rhyme. Something makes me suspect that I'm a bad influence.

Apologies to any who happened to be drinking whilst clicking on the link to Ash's site... no, really - I *am* sorry, but cannot be held responsible for damage caused by a fine spray of sparkling mineral water (or other beverage) coming into contact with computer equipment. Soz and all that. (Said in most sincerest voice)

Ashley does it again. Bwah-ha-ha!! That's made my day!

And another one that eluded my memory for a moment, as taught to me by Mr Frost, my form tutor at secondary school:

To amuse
Emus
On a warm summer's night

Kiwis
Do wee-wees
From a spectacular height.

National Poetry Day

At 3 a.m.

the room contains no sound
except the ticking of the clock
which has begun to panic
like an insect, trapped
in an enormous box

Books lie open on the carpet.

Somewhere else
you're sleeping
and beside you there's a woman
who is crying quietly
so you won't wake.

(By Wendy Cope)


Conviction

I like to get off with people,
I like to lie in their arms,
I like to be held and tightly kissed,
Safe from all alarms.

I like to laugh and be happy
With a beautiful beautiful kiss,
I tell you, in all the world,
There is no bliss like this.

(by Stevie Smith)


Come Back

Come back often and take hold of me,
sensation that I love, come back and take hold of me -
when the body's memory revives
and an old longing passes through the blood,
when lips and skin remember
and hands feel as though they touch again.

Come back often, take hold of me in the night
when lips and skin remember...

(by C. P. Cavafy)

The trip to and from London was great: the Madmobile took us merrily on our way to Luton where we caught the train into the heart of the Big Smoke. The wandering around London was mighty fine: the sun was shining, the streets were busy but not heaving and we walked from Russell Square to Covent Garden, giving Tim the chance to revisit some of his old haunts. The course, on the other hand, was dire: 'How to Teach Economics Effectively' delivered in the least effective way I have ever seen employed. Even the appalling lectures we used to get during teacher training were not a patch on this - poorly prepared, rambling, dry, irrelevant. It did, however, spawn lots of useful discussion about effective in-service training and we planned an entire day of workshop sessions on *useful* topics, thereby creating more work for our long-suffering head of department to implement!

"Miss, do you have any scales?"
"I've got kitchen scales - is that any use?"
"No - it's for biology. I have to weigh myself, have a bath and then weigh myself again."
"Ah. Right. I see."
"I'd ask Jen or Mrs C, but they might think I'm weird."
[raised eyebrow]
"Well - you think I'm weird anyway, so it doesn't matter if I ask you!"

Taking a day off for a jolly... ahem, I mean... a serious academic course is always far more work than it's worth. It's always a challenge to set work that my classes can do with minimal involvement by the cover teacher, who has invariably been press-ganged into covering and will therefore bring with them a big pile of marking, a weary sigh and a sudden intolerance for any sort of noise.

What's worse is trying to decide what to wear: jeans? smart casual? suit? PVC and kinky thigh boots? Whatever I choose is bound to be inappropriate. (To be fair, the kinky thigh boots are almost certain to be inppropriate, regardless of the situation. Mind you, it's nice to have the option, should I be feeling a little controversial) At the moment, though, it seems my entire wardrobe is in the laundry room, so my outfit tomorrow will depend greatly on the drying properties of the different fabrics, which could be interesting!

The other conundrum associated with going out for the day is travel. £88 for a train from Derby? Drive for an hour to get to Rugby then get the train for £66? Drive to somewhere just north of London and get the train? It's a teaser indeed. I suspect that we're going to take the car and a book of maps and I'm going to drive and drive and drive until Tim says, "STOP," at which point we'll catch the train: it's going to be an adventure!

Bon voyage!

At the last minute, I've been asked to go on a course in London tomorrow. I've lots of preparation to do, and not much time in which to do it. Why does life never run to plan?

Tonight's Guide division meeting was made bearable only by the fact that I slept the sleep of a thousand dead between 2.10pm (when my head hit the pillow) and 5.00pm (when I was rudely awakened by my alarm clock). Although long, the meeting was not a contender for the Most Dull Meeting of the Year award; put another way, at least I didn't actually fall asleep in it.

Now I'm trying to figure out what work I *really* have to do before tomorrow (writing two articles for the school's newsletter, I think - the marking can wait!) while drinking hot ribena, listening to Nina Simone and appreciating the heating (it's a tad chilly out!) While I procrastinate, the spam filter is busy at work - 161 rejected so far, and still at it... at least someone's working on Planet Mad!

Sunday saw the arrival of The Repton Challenge for Prep Schools (overall co-ordinator and general stress-head: yours truly). 94 pre-teen kids descended, including two lil darlings who were suffering some form of contagious lurgy which involved puking and quick dashes off to the bogs. Nice. 8 hours later they'd all gone again, in which time they'd made fan-driven cars (very fast and scary), written a powerpoint presentation and accompanying music *and* done an art display for their product. 'Twas a tad busy. In addition, the other co-ordinator has been off school since the beginning of term, so I ended up doing two people's jobs... not good for well-being and general de-stressed-ness. Still, it seemed to go well, which makes up for the lack of sleep and the horrible "wide-awake at 5.30am fretting about writing to-do lists" feelings of the last week.

Yesterday saw me heading off to London to play background music with the string orchestra at the school's old boy/girl dinner. We had a great day, including a luxury coach trip, fantastic food (duck a l'orange, no less!) and great company from the kids. I have a nasty feeling that there are some dodgy photos from the back of the coach doing the rounds already, but for once I am safe, having spent the whole journey down listening to cool choons and pretending to do marking. On arriving in The Big Smoke I got far too excited to continue the pretence: I'm such a small-town girl that the scale of the place amazes me and I get a real buzz from seeing all the bustle and sights. Sad but true. One day I'd like to live in London, but doing a job that gives me time to actually appreciate the place... so that's teaching out the window then! We finally got back at 12.45am, which means I'm feeling a tad on the sandpaper-rough side this morning, espeically given that I've been up at 7 for the last two mornings so I could get my internal reports written. Bah. Off for a nap now, I think!

Izzy whizzy, I've been bizzy!! Am very sleepy, but am finally back in the land of the living (well - vaguely). Updates to follow, once I've found time to write them...!!

Eeeek. And that's all I have to say on the matter.

During the summer I spent many happy hours having a few drinks outside with friends during the warm evenings. The skies were clear and there were few streetlights to mask the glittering of distant stars. It was possible to see all of the major constellations, plus many more besides, and there were the inevitable good-natured drunken discussions about which speck of light was actually Jupiter and which was Mars. They were good evenings, and I always think back to them when I see starlight now. Tonight is such a night. I walked home from a fantastic Guide meeting, and on looking upwards was then reminded of this summer; much goes well with my life. Today has been a day for sitting back, taking a different persepctive and counting my blessings: I've run out of fingers.

Things I like about today:

* Having a colleague make impressed noises about the resources I have in my GCSE teaching file
* Emerging from my classroom into autumnal sun
* Discovering a big bar of Dairy Milk sitting in the kitchen just begging to be eaten
* Being given lots of milk from the kitchens, so I can make a rice pudding tonight
* Being able to wear odd socks to work while no-one notices

Why is it - on making eye contact with and smiling at the most seat-grabbingly sexy person in the street - that I realise I am looking at my all-time personal worst? The fates conspire against me.

On the other hand, it's a good day for Fatso. He's just typed his first blog entry:

ffffffffffffffffffffffffffff333333333333333333333

What's even more impressive, he typed this with his bottom. Stand back in amazement at the skill of the boy.

Sometimes the words available are just not enough, so today I had to add the following to my phone's dictionary:
luvverly
boyo
conned
harrumph

Busy, busy, busy, busy, but cheered by this:

These chocolate puddings have a very poor survival instinct, don't they.

Certainly any chocolate pudding stuoopid enough to hide in my fridge deserves to suffer! Off to do more work...