And now, the end is nigh, and as I face the final curtain...

There are two items left unticked on my To Do list
The hair dye is developing slowly on my head
The oil and water on the Madmobile have been checked
Fatso has been fed and watered
Assorted presents are packed into boxes ready for the journey to the old folks'
I've still not sent any Christmas Cards *

...I did it < cue dreadful singing > MYYYYY WAAAYYYY! < /singing >

* Have yet again failed miserably in the card department this year; if you're owed one, sorry. Consider this your Christmas greeting.

Paj has already expressed a preference for his favourite literary work; another preference came in via the box o'er there. I think mine is probably this one. Or maybe this one. One that didn't make it over from the original message board is the Rev. Spooner's version which makes me laugh every time; it can fortunately be found here.

On more mundane matters:

So what's happened to fatso? He's not been mentioned in despatches for ages? And who is this Mark you mention? Caz (with a hint of Dr Tom)

Fatso is alive, well and scampering merrily. Unfortunately he's worked out how to escape from his hamster ball, leaving me to crawl round the flat looking under sofas and calling to him. It's just not on. Pah! Oh, and Mark? He's my best mate from university... words do not do him justice, except to say that I'd be half the woman I am today if I hadn't met him (physically speaking, anyway: he always bought lunch).

Right - off to wrap pressies and dye my hair (a festive shade of Christmas Purple, should you really wish to know).

A little something I happened across, related - I might add - to this afternoon's fillum. Be prepared to spend hours here being a literary wotsit.

I still haven't posted any Christmas cards. In fact, I've still got to write most of them. Instead of writing cards, I went to to the uber-bustling metropolis of Nottingham, where I ate noodles with Mark and then watched some film. I suspect it's not going to be a big box-office hit, but it was enjoyable enough. My punishment for such frivolity is an aching muscle in my shoulder, which makes it painful to laugh or wave my arms around; Mark reckons it's a delayed reaction to Friday night's smooching, but I suspect it's more to do with sleeping in a silly position at a funny angle in an odd way strangely (no matter how I write it it sounds dubious. It isn't. Honest).

Tomorrow I MUST buy presents: it's getting a tad late to be faffing around now. Come on Emuss, get a grip...

Le Weekend:
Guide party, sugary food, drive, M6 toll road, loud 80s music, Cheltenham, pint, JD, JD, JD, laugh, JD, dance, laugh, JD, JD, smooch, sleep, wake, grimace, cup of tea, cup of tea, cup of tea, cup of tea, greasy fry-up, James Bond, cup of tea, cup of tea, drive, oil warning light, hasty stop at garage, drive, Worcester, pantomime, banoffee pie, more banoffee pie, meringueythingy, drive, sleep, wake, drive, jazz classics, Derby, lunch, coffee, home, collapse.

This is what comes from trying to cram too many weekends into one two-day period. It's not big and it's not clever.* Don't try this at home.

* But it is fun

A year ago today K and Pete got married. I was hoping to use my newly-discovered geeky skills to put here my favourite picture(s) from their wedding, or - dare I say - from the shennanigans after the formalities. However, it has not proved an easy task.

As with many other things here on Planet Mad, the storage of photographs is somewhat haphazard: photo wallets get chucked into a large cupboard, regardless of chronology or logic; relocating a specific picture is done by methodically emptying out the entire cupboard and opening every wallet. I did this twice. There was not even a hint of a Johns' wedding photo. I have since realised that photogaphy took an enforced hiatus when I lost my camera last summer, so instead I will have to leave you with this picture of the bride (taken, I hasten to add, some years earlier):



She will not thank me for showing the picture of her the following morning, and so I will (for once) restrain myself. Happy anniversary!

Today's shopping expedition has been a trial throughout, from the queues into the carpark to the inept checkout woman at the end, meandering via ankle-high brats playing tig in Ottakars and countless other shops stocked full of items I didn't want to buy. In terms of seasonal present purchases, I acquired the grand total of bollock-all. I did get some drinks and cakes for Guides (party tonight) and a map of Dartmoor (for New Year), but they hardly qualify for registration on the present-o-meter. Shucks. Looks like I've still got a lot of work to do next week.

Tummy soooo full. Feet soooo heavy. Going to exploooode.... aaaargh....

It seems that I am a medium* or a psychic: the sleep epic did indeed take place.

*although possibly verging on large if seen from the wrong angle due to the amount of meals I've eaten in pubs/restaurants/curry houses in the last 5 days!

Classic tunes murdered this night: The trumpet shall sound; I know that my redeemer liveth; Oh we like sheep (but lamb is best). Those who know things about music say that the tempo and ornamentation were wrong; I just know that my fingers hurt, my back aches and I didn't quite manage to play all the notes, but mimed well enough to avoid detection. I feel an epic sleep session coming on...

Discovery of the day: pancakes with ginger preserve. Mmmm....

A thousand grovelling alopogies(sic):

You neglected to give us fair warning that there was a birthday approaching. Bad Mad! Glad to hear it was a good one. --paj [off, with Mrs J, to see Eddie Izzard on Saturday night]

My birthday fell in term-time this year, so was not celebrated with the usual debauchery; Eddie was good fun though... enjoy!

Today I shall be mostly cowering in the orchestra as a local Music Society perform their own version of The Messiah. In theory it's Handel's Messiah, but he didn't orchestrate it for old biddies who can no longer get the high notes, so they have to present their own interpretation. How I look forward to it!

I failed in my attempt to spend all of Monday in bed: I just don't have the stamina that I used to. Once upon a time I would have been able to spend three or four days lounging, moving only to get food or drink; nowadays I can't even manage 24 hours. What a failure. On the other hand, I have managed to fill my days with... eurm.... I don't really know what I've been doing.

Instead, I shall offer you the latest in comments (some of which have been languishing for some time, alack!):

First in reference to the bizarre behaviour of my juniors

The Heineken Maneuvre... surely that reaches blockages that other maneuvres cannot reach. Ashley

Quite so. Which leads us nicely to:

"Bdoing" is a lovely word. We need more Bdoings!

I agree. I shall leave my bra off tomorrow, which will bring quite a few more bdoings into the world. On second thoughts, that may not be the best plan: I have to play in a concert and will be told off for bdoinging in the wrong place. Hey ho.

Happy Birthday, Mad. Hope you have a great day. - Mal. :)

Cheer m'dear. 'Twas a good day - I went to see Eddie Izzard, and sat in All Bar One in Brum reading a very amusing book. This segues neatly to the final bit of commentage for this evening, refering to a post I made way back when

Yeah, did the punctuation quiz yesterday evening. Got full marks, akshully (fared less well on the spelling test) - Signor Casey

Blimey Crikey O'Riley. Too much excitement for one evening... I'm off.

Le date chaud was bon, in a "lots of caffeine and giggles" sort of way. Tonight I am playing hostess to various colleagues, in a "lots of booze and guffaws" sort of way. Tomorrow I intend to sleep, in a "can't be arsed to get out of bed" sort of way.

I love holidays.

I didn't make it as far as bed. I was sidetracked by instant messages, plans for the holidays, tidying up, a visit to the chippy and a cocktail/kareoke party. Pah.

Tomorrow I have a hot date (well - possibly more like luke-warm); tonight I should have been getting lots of sleep and letting my liver recover. It seems that I will never learn.

It's been sleepy-tired-delicate-hungover-wobbly sort of day so far. Am off to bed.

"Miss! Miss!" I hear as I enter the juniors' common room. "Sophie was choking, but I saved her - I did the Heineken Manouvre!"

WHOOOOOOOOO!!! Have finished teaching for this term - no more classroom based activities until January. Bdoing! This afternoon will be spent sorting out the House and chivvying along the girls' packing; this evening sees me stuff myself silly at the end-of-term House Supper and then shock my colleagues as I appear in the pub wearing a dress. Tomorrow I sleep!

This evening I took one of our 13 year old girls from the House off to hospital. As they admitted her, the Sister in charge turned to me and said, "Are you her mother?"

Youch. Thanks a bundle.

Words of solace about my absence drift in:

You've missed the b*gg*er being down more often than not in the past couple of days.

Ah. That at least explains part of the confusion: I'd seized the muse (at which point she slapped me and I had to let go, but that's another story...) and was about to launch forth into a diatribe about the price of kumquats or suchlike, when the pooter refused to let me. Pah.

Also in:

Mad, Hugh isn't impressed with you telling every one that Sarah Norton story, he he he. If only he knew that I was doing the same. Love Aims xx

He might just know now, seeing as I've just let it slip on the interwebnetmalarky. Whoops! :-)

Having a bit of a bloggage blockage. Inspiration flittered past the window an hour ago, but the damn thing flew off before I could grab it and make it into words. Normal service will be resumed yada yada drone.

On the cusp of being old...

It's a beautiful evening. I walked home across the playing fields, tucked snugly inside my coat. The air was so cold it hurt to breathe in; the grass crunched under foot, glittering in the light of the moon. The sky was a deep, sensuous blue: indigo brushed with whisps of cloud. Stars hung, suspended diamonds. The silhouetted buildings stood black against the sky and against the distant, glimmering street-lights; a hush fell. I realise that I love this village, this job. I have friends near and far, new and old. I feel comfortable in my skin and with my place in the world. I am at peace.

I am grateful for many things.

The weekend was spent procrastinating, in the most stylish way possible of course, in an attempt to avoid writing my Lower Sixth reports. Instead of slaving over a hot desk on Saturday evening, I headed off to Cannock for an 80s party. Shoulder pads, leg warmers and dodgy makeup had a certain appeal, but instead I decided to go as someone in their 80s.... the nasty, itchy, turquoise polyester dress went beautifully with a salmon pink cardigan, red headscarf and brown handbag, stuffed - of course - with Werther's Originals. Pictures of the ensemble should hopefully be available soon (although whether I dare to publish them is another matter!)

I'd intended to return home on Sunday morning, spend some time recovering from the 2am bedtime and then get these damned reports written. Pah! How wrong I was! Instead I went to the cinema and then an advent carol service (I'm dead good at prioritising, me!) so didn't finish reporting until 1am this morning. I was then up at 6.15am to get the final set finished and sorted out. Bleurgh! Now I'm spaced out on too much caffeine, frozen from umpiring netball and gently contemplating having a nap. Excuse me while I wibble.

eeeurk

(and that's all I have to say about today so far - and, trust me, I've seen a lot of it already)

This is just beautiful: a visual thesaurus. (found via meish.org)

Today's Lucky Threes:

• Three supermarkets - Sainsbury's in both Burton and Derby, then Tesco's
  
• Three types of cakes
  
• Three free lessons - spent writing reports, doing marking and generally being feckful
  
• Three groove-tastic CDs, packed in one handy box - School Reunion: The 80s
  
• Three funky dance moves - hastily cut short when I realised that the curtains were open and everyone could see in

I'm now waiting for my sticky toffee pudding to cook. Although this delays my bedtime somewhat, it does give me more opportunity to sing-along-a-the-80s and get in training for tomorrow evening's 80s party. Just be thankful you're not here!

Tom writes:

That's understandable, then. As for gnomes, what about "garden ornaments", or perhaps you could take an example: "Today class, you will meet the man in my life," produces gnome. Tom

I like your style. However, they'd all faint with shock at the news so I'd have to spend the next 10 minutes checking they'd all recovered! Hey ho!

I intended to have an early night.

Instead, I wrote some reports then went to the pub.

Whilst there, I laughed. I laughed until I cried and slapped the table in amusement. My tummy muscles (such as they are) hurt from laughing.

I haven't laughed like that in ages. It feels good.

I went to university when I was 18. Within 8 weeks of arriving, I was elected as JCR Treasurer. For the next 4 terms, I managed all of the financial dealings of the college's student body: a turnover of around £80,000 each year. I was very focused, generally organised and able to think through problems logically and quickly. I could take on a huge number of commitments and organise myself to be at the right place at the right time.

Now, however, I seem to be incapable of quick thought. I feel woolly-headed and easily overwhelmed, I faff, I deal badly with deadlines. I'd love to go back in time to visit the 18 year old me, to give myself advice. "You only get a fixed amount of feck in a lifetime," I'd say. "Don't use it all up now. You're going to need it in 8 years' time when writing reports."

Don't know what agony is? How old are these kids? Tom

15, but the girl in qustion's a Russian who lives in Greece; tackling language barriers just makes my job more interesting! It does cause problems, though, when trying to find examples of businesses that will be familiar to all of the kids in the class. I also have problems when using a favourite worksheet of mine, entitled Gordon's Gnomes, which recounts the tale of my A-level geography teacher (Fat Old Al) who had a bloke called Gordon making gnomes in his garage, in order to flog them at car boot sales... how does one go about explaining what a gnome is?!

It's time for a late night round of the House, and I hear talking coming from a juniors' room.

Me: Why can I hear talking in here? It's eleven o'clock.
Her: Sorry miss - I was just asking a question.
Me: About what at this time of night?!
Her: What's meant by 'agony'?
Me: Deep pain. It's what you'll be in if you don't shut up and go to sleep NOW.
Her: Oh.

Wibble.

It's been a day of contrasts, a veritable rollercoaster of emotions - mundane teaching; an unexpected visit from an old friend; a soul-destroying discussion about a pupil's exam results; IM chats which made me laugh out loud and now the lustful extravagance of nutella. My braincell can't cope: I'm off to bed!

Here's one for the pedants out there. Just check you get your apostrophes in the right places!

'Tis the season to be jolly to write reports. Pish.

Go and play the Caption Competition over at pajLog. Mua-ha-ha!!

The smut continues with this little question from one of my lower sixth form:

They test normal condoms by blowing 25 litres of air into them. How do they test the taste of flavoured ones?

It has been a day for innuendo and smut. Luke's favourite advert was one for penis extensions, Eddie's going to work as a quality inspector in porn films (he liked the idea of self-inspection) and Lyddy decided that the toilets in Virgin trains were the right size for a quickie. And then...
"What would happen if you had a baby, Miss?"
"Well, a star would appear in the east and three men on camels would come to visit."

I'm not sure i can stand the excitment much longer. Off to teach and be sensible (oh yeah!)

The sun is shining, the weather is crisp, I feel awake and invigorated: today is a day for learning new things. For example, how to put pictures onto this humble tome. I may even have to relinquish luddite status at this rate!

I took part in a half-marathon yesterday. I had the stamina to keep going nearly all the way: I only stopped once, when my body felt it had had enough; it soon saw the error of its ways. Now I feel a great sense of achievement and am much better prepared to tackle the day/week ahead. Here're the details of my epic journey:
8.00pm Feel sleepy
8.10pm Choose a book
8.15pm Give up reading and start sleeping
2.45am Wake up feeling refreshed and ready to go. Look at clock.
2.46am Read another 5 pages of book. Fall back to sleep
8.20am Wake up. Bounce out of bed.
Feelin' good!

Not drununk, but still squinty-eyed. Teaching tomorrow. Ah. Whoops.

There's a job advertised this week teaching Economics and Business Studies in Nepal. I am sooo tempted!

I love the internet. Have just had the most amusing messenger conversation, which I reproduce (in part, with spelling partly corrected) for you here because it is so bloody funny (well, it amused me and I need somewhere to record it for posterity!).

To set the scene, I'm talking with my younger brother, who's a bit of a biker/BMXer who's very attached to his broadband connection and online games, and is rarely seen wearing anything but jeans and a hoody. He's telling me about his Saturday night out in Birmingham:

forteh: the bouncer comes out and tells me that i wasnt going to get in
Mad: why?
forteh: think nothing of it cos im in a crowd of 10 pple
Mad: but?
forteh: get to the door and he says look m8 ive already told you your not coming in
Mad: why not? what did he say?
forteh: ask him why
forteh: get this
forteh: im too mainstream
Mad: LOL LOL
forteh: cos im wearing a shirt, trousers and shoes
Mad: You're not weird enough, sunshine!!!!!!
forteh: im too broadstreet
Mad: ha ha ha ha ha!!!!!
forteh: they dont want broadstreet types in thir bar
forteh: i was too much of a kevin ffs
Mad: Fucking hell!!!!
forteh: those were his words :(
forteh: too much of a kevin lol
forteh: i asked him if the bloke who had just gone in wearing pretty much the same was a kevin aswell?
forteh: he ignored that one
forteh: then we hung around for 10 mins whilst we got the pple out of there that had already gone in
forteh: he kept telling us every 30 second that theres no point hanging around cos we werent getting in
Mad: I bet he was a huge fucker too!
Mad: not someone to argue with!
forteh: we just told him we didnt want to go into his elitist pretentious fucking bar and we were waiting for pple
forteh: only about 6 or 5
Mad: dear me
Mad: did you really use the term "elitist pretentious fucking bar"?!?!?
Mad: FANTASTIC!!

What's more, this epic saga continued...

forteh: but i did get some praise about me sideburns lol
forteh: unfortunately from a bloke D:
Mad: ha ha!
forteh: he said how do you get your sideburns to grow like that :o
Mad: did you tell him your secret?
forteh: well dont have a shave and they magically appear
Mad: gosh!
Mad: I'd never have guessed that!! :-)
forteh: also cutting your pubes off and dble sided tape works well :o

I shall not be able to look at double sided sticky tape in the same way ever again. Ever. Am still giggling. Oh dear. I've finally flipped!

Marking exam scripts makes my braincell curl up and ooze round the edges. I'm not a good one to make conversation with, right now.

I've just done late-night check round the House and heard whispering in one of the bedrooms. Knocking quietly, I opened the door.

"Come on girls - it's twenty to midnight. You've got to go to sleep soon or you'll turn into pumpkins."
"OK Miss, sorry. You'd better go too, because you'll turn into a pumpkin as well."
"Oh, don't worry about that - I already *am* a pumpkin!"

"Have you been here before?"
"Yes, but a long time ago"
"So, what do you want me to do?"
"I don't care. Just cut it all off. I don't care what it looks like; it has a mind of its own and will do whatever it wants anyway"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes"
"OK"

wash

massage

comb

snip, snip, snip, snip

snipsnip

snip

flick

snip

snip, snip, snip

toussle

wax

preen in front of mirror

grin cheekily

"You know, it really suits you short"
"I know. I just don't have time to get it cut very often"
"Well, you must make time: no excuses"

Later...

"Miss E, you're looking very shiny and smart"
"No, dear child, it's the same crap clothes as usual - it's just new hair"
"Oh yes. So it is"

So there you are - shiny, smart and shorn.

I was challenged by Claire to take the condom quiz. I got 8/10 (more by luck than judgment!)

And, on a related topic, did you know that boiling condoms makes them stretch much further? You didn't?! You do now!

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.