A reminder to myself: snogging your boyfriend good-bye when standing outside your flat is a bit of a mistake if there are girls watching from the windows above you. They will watch him walk off down the path and then wave cheekily at you. Bastards!

There's a blog that I lurk round called The Blackboard Jungle. It's good writing and it makes good reading, especially for a woman who has just finished marking 50 mock GCSE papers. I particularly liked this entry, especially given the kids' propensity to ask *me* daft questions. They're wising up now - they know that I'll just feed them any old crap for an answer, so take my pearls of wisdom with a pinch of salt. They are wise indeed. Sadly, they're not wise enough to score brilliant marks in this week's exams, but it will help to focus their minds when it comes to revision. Hey ho.

Have just watched Jamie's School Dinners - at last, a programme that combines schools and cooking! I think I'm in heaven! (It's far better than marking, anyway!)

It's snowing out there beyond my window, and at last some of it is settling. There's possibly three quarters of an inch covering the ground. Some of the girls form the House are running down the road, giggling with excitement. They're grabbing handfuls of loose snow and - without even bothering to make snowballs - are throwing it at each other.

I wish I were out there, instead of glued to this computer, researching data on the housing market and the national economy. Pah.

Trying to plan my D of E expedition training session while the snow floats down past my window is proving quite hard. I'm about to give it up as a bad idea.

Trying to plan my D of E expedition training session while the snow floats down past my window is proving quite hard. I'm about to give it up as a bad idea.

After lunch, on the way to afternoon lessons, it began to snow. Large flakes swirled down, coating the walls and ground. My eyes gleamed: a credible reason to cancel my netball session! Sadly by the end of sixth lesson the snow had all gone and the sun was shining merrily through the trees. Damn! After lessons, I phoned the other netball teacher to find out what we were doing in the session; fifteen minutes later the sun had gone and snow was whipping across the netball courts. No netball for me or anyone - HURRAH!!

('Tis sad how much I enjoy not doing games)

late night. bottle of wine. whoops.

I went out. It rained. I walked up some hills. I walked down some hills. I consulted the map and decided that my D of E kiddies would be able to find their way across the moorside. I came home. I ate a packet of shortbread biscuits. The end.

It's all been a tad frantic since last Friday, if lazing around reading books and watching crap TV can be classified as 'frantic'. Friday was parents' meeting at school, followed by Guides. Both went well; yet again, my Guides had obviously read the script when it came to the disability activities (communicating ideas and opinions without speaking) and I love them all dearly for it. I then jumped in the Boringmobile and zooooomed down to Cheltenham for an evening featuring clubs, choons, pizzas and a very friendly taxi-driver-man. Rock'n'roll!

My dislike of Valentine's Day (not known as VD for nothing!) has been noted before in this tiddly corner of the internetwebthing. Last year, being single, it was nothing to worry about. The arrival of a new bloke put a new slant on the matter. Many moons ago, I discussed the whole sheebang with the boy wonder and we decided then to do nothing: no card, no presents, nothing that we wouldn't do at any other time of year. After all, why should the card companies dictate when we can and can't purchase trinkets for our loved ones? We spent the evening of VD curled up on the sofa, eating home-cooked nice food and watching The Simpsons. It was lovely.

Today I came home from Rob's via Stoke-On-Trent. Lesley dropped her sprog a couple of weeks ago, so now I suppose I should refer to the baby as Thomas, especially given my scarily-responsible position as godmother. Mind you, knowing my way of dealing with responsibility, I'm more likely to be his o-my-god-mother, or even his gawdmother. Either way, I digress. I arrived, made appropriate-sounding comments - he looks like a mole but I didn't think it prudent to tell his mother that - then we sent off for lunch and the supermarket. To give Thomas his credit, he only cried once, and even that stopped when I did my teacher look at him. I'm sure this child will need extensive therapy to get over my 'parenting' techniques. The classic moment of the day, however, came in Tesco. I was pushing the trolley, complete with Thomas strapped into a seat-thingy, leaving Lesley and David to collect the necessary food. Some passing woman looked at the sprog, looked at me and said, "Oh, he's tiny - how old is he?"
"Dunno," I replied.
It was only when I saw her jaw drop and her eyes open wide that I realised I ought to explain my lack of knowledge: "I'm not the mother, I'm just the trolley-pusher!"
Something makes me suspect that I've got a long way to go before I'm let loose with one on my own! :-)

So far this holiday...

Good: sleeping in, social life, clubbing, making scrummy food, getting enough sleep, Bristol zoo (with its Red Titi Monkeys), not having to go to school.

Bad: having to use dial-up.

Overall: holidays are good. Have fun...

All I can say right now is, "I hate marking." Unfortunately I seem to have a year's supply of it here. Anyone fancy doing some...? No, I thought not. I don't fancy it either. Thank goodness it's the holiday next week.

Chair fishing... as requested by Rach.

Scouts/Guides in patrols, stood at one side of the room, behind a 'river bank' made of chalk/rope/convenient crack in the flooring. Opposite each patrol is a chair - the elusive, shy, little chair-fish. The patrols can use whatever they have on them to 'catch' the chair-fish, but if they fall in the river then the fish swims further away.

The best solution is to take all the laces from their shoes, join them with an easily untied knot (otherwise they're a real swine to undo afterwards) and then attach one shoe to the end as a weight. The 'rope' of shoelaces can then be swung out to wrap around the chair-fish. Just don't stand in the way - we sometimes get shoes flying everywhere!

This can easily take 20 minutes by the time they've discussed how to get the chair, got the laces etc. and actually thrown the line a few times. My Guides love it, but they tend to use their jumpers instead of shoelaces and end up in a right state!

Now I'd better go and do some work - or perhaps I should hunt for more drugs first....

I've had nagging low-level painful earache all weekend. I slept on a hot-water bottle last night while drugged up to the eyes on neurofen; it's still getting worse. A brief visit to the doctor this morning suggests that it's nothing to do with my ear at all, and is probably related to an inflamed wisdom tooth. How come the human body is so strange?! That's like saying, "Oh yes, you've got a swollen ankle: must be because you've hurt your knee." Barmy!

Guides was great this evening. We've been doing the You and Me Together challenge, which is all about disabilities - it started as a last-minute programme filler and has evolved into a full-on let's-do-this-and-get-the-badge-and-certificate. We played a favourite game (chair fishing a la Ed Wright, no less) but two Guides in each patrol had one arm 'disabled' in a sling, while another in each patrol was blindfolded. After fishing for chairs, we sat in a circle and talked about what it had been like having no arm or no sight. It was as if they had read the script in advance: they came up with all sorts of good answers and sensible suggestions about how to change the game and how to include everyone in it. This is *after* they'd carred out an hour of patrol activities, completely planned and organised independently. I'm starting to feel guilty for not being a more hands-on leader, but they seem more than happy planning and running their own meetings, so who am I to argue?! At least it gave me 45 minutes free to start tackling the district's census forms!

When I inherited the D of E at school, I was handed a big ring-binder and told, "This is all about quality review. You'll need to do this." That was in September. Now, being February, I've finally got round to it. The ring-binder contained not one, not two but THREE questionnaires, all stretching to five or six pages long. Much of it was coporate-wanky-bollocks-poncing-about questions: the only way to tackle this was over a bottle or two of wine. This seemed as good a reason as any to cook food, so today the leader of the Gold group had my lasagne inflicted upon him (good job he has a sound constitution!) while I whittered on about D of E. The general concensus of the evening is that the quality questionnaires are rubbish, that the lasagne and wine were nice, and that we like the status quo. Maybe we're all conservatives at heart.*

Now the world is nicely swimmy. I was going to do some marking, but marking when tiddly results in comments like, "I love you, you're my favourite student, this is a great piece of work," or, "SHITE!" Instead, I decided to phone my blokey, who's out with the Other Woman #2 - I'm a table football widow. If I can't mark, and I can't wibble on at Rob, then all I can do is blog. As you have probably already realised, this is probably a bad thing. All I can say in my defence is that James Joyce got a lot of credit for writing in a stream of consciousness. Shame I'm not in his league. Wibble.

* conservatives with a small cee; none of that tory shite around here, thank you very much!

An unexpected release from my netball commitments means that I've been able to spend this afternoon marking, tidying up and cooking. I have a colleague coming over for dinner to talk about Duke of Edinburgh, which is as much excuse as I need to get the pans out. I've making lasagne again (hurrah for tried and tested recipes!). I hardly cook during term time, unless I'm with Rob: it all feels very strange being by myself in the kitchen. Even without his help, I've managed to cut my thumb on Big Sharp Knife #2, and peel my thumbnail when I should have been sorting out butternut squash. Mind you, the wafty smell of garlic is making up for that - I feel hungry already! It's also been hard to resist the temptation to drink the remainder of the bottle of wine that was opened to add flavour to the lasagne... gah, I have such little willpower!

I've been on a whistle-stop tour of the Bustling Metropolis's supermarkets this evening. Sainsburella provided the nice food I needed for a working-dinner-meeting I'm cooking for on Thursday evening; a visit to the all-new-glistening-fresh Asda to buy ingredients for tomorrow's D of E cooking session; and then Tesco for some wood-based cat litter for Fatso (bless him, normal sawdust gets stuck in his fur and turns him a little dreadlocked, hence the cat litter; it seems to work). Coupled with the excitement of spelling rules at dyslexing, it's no wonder I'm tired! G'night...

This evening consisted of another meeting (mind-numbingly dull) and two phone conversations (both scintilating, for different reasons). I spoke to Lesley, who had a baby boy on Saturday (£7.60 or summat like that... seemed expensive to me!) and is gradually coming to terms with dyson-like breastfeeding and a huge queue of family who want to visit her. The other phone call was with El Boyo Wondero, after his first day as a wage monkey. He's got his own desk, computer, phone and two calulators. I'm not quite sure why he needs more than one number-machine, but that's the mystery of business! Now, though, I feel knackered - I suspect that I'm suffering from African Sleeping Sickness again. Better go off to bed. ZZzzzz...

It's the time of meetings: SAGGA publicity group two weekends ago; SAGGA committee meeting yesterday; Guide building committee this evening. My braincell hurts. The meetings are even taking up the time that I have allocated for marking. It's not often that I want to mark, but the pile's getting rather thick and I need some concerted time to make it go away. In other news, the Boringmobile's going well, although the cruise control makes me feel like I'm driving a toy car; it's something to do with having my feet toally off the pedals, I think.

On re-reading the above paragraph, this all seems rather disjointed. I guess that makes it a fair reflection of my life.

It's been a day of amusing little observations. My favourite has to be from Guides: girls in small groups making posters about disabilities and how to improve our meeting place. One of their suggestions? A big clock, just like Big Ben. It's all a question of perspective.

I've had the Boringmobile for about 30 hours. It's still got that new car smell; the floors are still free of parking tickets, petrol receipts and empty packets of Minstrels; I still don't know what all the switches do. It's been strange seeing the 'wrong' car in my parking space, and I did get a speck of sentiment in my eye when I said goodbye to the Beetle. Mind you, the Boringmobile's nice in its own, practical way. My mother would approve of its roomy boot and sensible appearance. It doesn't have the same 'brrroooom' as the Madmobile, but it *has* got cruise control (not that I can work it competently!) and holds its own on the dual carrige way. That's not 'holds its own' as in masturbation, I hasten to add, although having a car called the Wankmobile would bring many a chortle to a boring day.

Mental note: I must remember to go to bed earlier.

Today should have been the day when I swapped the Madmobile for the Boringmobile. However, an administrative cock-up on the part of my shitty insurance company means that I'm not going to get the necessary paperwork until Thursday, so no new car for me today. Bollocks. A stroppy letter to aforementioned insurance company is already being planned.

The Times Educational Supplement is the bible for all job-seeking teachers. I've used its internet job advert service for a long time, but have only recently discovered its forums. Many of the forums and bulletin boards on t'net are full of geeks and spods; the Times Ed ones are worse because they're full of TEACHER spods and geeks. Seek them out at your peril! The group who use it most seem to be the trainee teachers, which is understandable, as they have far lighter timetables and far less marking than most. Some of them are touchingly idealistic, many are finding it tough going. Their comments range from pleas for help to brash statements made with all the authority of someone who has spent five weeks on placement in school. There have, however, been some interesting debates going on about the role of independent schools. For some reason, the mere mention of private education seems to bring out the worst in some people; there have been a lot of ideological comments that seem to work on the "I believe this, therefore I'm right, and if you're betraying this belief then you're wrong" principle. I am amused, to say the least, but - hell - if it's wrong to be teaching in a nice village with nice kids and nice colleagues, in a system that functions fairly smoothly *and* gives me nice long holidays, I don't want to be right.

This afternoon consisted of one good lesson, in which great progress was made, and one lesson in which three boys were utter shits, making no effort to participate in the activities I'd carefully planned, choosing instead to pronounce it all 'crap'. I felt really pissed off at them: they ruined what had been a sound day, and made me wonder why I even bothered to try to make the subject interesting. It wasn't until I sat back and thought about it that I realised how rarely I feel like this; at my previous school it would have been at least once a week. Today has been the first time in years. I am still pissed off at those boys, but it makes me appreciate all my other pupils far more. More than anything, I'm angry at myself for letting three arrogant little twats overshadow a good day's teaching and make me forget what I love about my job. Perhaps it's time for a (slightly delayed!) resolution: I need to focus on the positive and not lose sight of the big picture. Please keep reminding me of this...

Today has been a good teaching day. First was one of my learning support groups, focusing on electricity equations in physics. We practised saying and writing the equations (with a wee bit of NLP in there too!), then played with equations cards until they were all conversant with the four fomulae. It was one of those lessons that just clicks: it all worked, the kids learned a lot, and it was good fun too. My Upper Sixth group followed, making posters and presentations: chalk-and-talk can be too much all of the time. We ended up with five different pictures of aeroplanes stuck up above the board, plus a selection of paper planes blutacked to the lightshades. Needless to say, the latter have since been taken down to reduce the fire hazard - pah, I'm such a boring teacher! Lesson three was an extra support lesson for two of my Lower Sixth, who have been struggling to get their heads around price elasticty of demand. Although I think that a challenging exam question on the topic will throw them, it has made them feel more confident about asking for help: let's hope that it pays off. After this free lesson, it's off to the IT centre for a coursework lesson, and then lunch in the House, tutor group time, then I'm helping at a volleyball session. It's shaping up to be a good day!

The start of Lent Term is always marked by the inter-House music competitons, culminating in the House Unison event, where every single member of the House joins in singing a song chosen and directed by one of the sixth-form. This is performed, with much embarrassment, in front of the judge and all the other Houses; this year's performance will be next Saturday. It's always good to watch the Unison progress from baffled disbelief to confident musicality, normally via self-conscious shuffling and stressful moments in which the sixth-former loses the will to live. This year, the House have chosen a difficult song(Ain't no mountain high enough) and it's proving a challenge. Tonight was the first rehearsal in the main school hall, and it wasn't bad. It's got a long way to go before it's anywhere near good, but it wasn't bad.

Toady was cooking day with my D of E group: assorted pastas, bacon, eggs, cous-cous and rice... as one girl pointed out, it was a bit light on protein, but otherwise good fun. I'm going to make up for the lack of protein by eating lots of chocolate. After all, chocolate is made from milk, and milk is a good source of protein, therefore I need more chocolate to balance out my diet.

I also need it because I have acres of tidying up to do this evening and anything that raises my energy levels is a boon. Time to turn up the stereo and get hoovering, I think! :-)

The word I would use to describe life out there beyond the firmly-closed door of this flat: "windy". Not just "gusty", or "blustery", but full-on trying-to-knock-you-over windy. Earlier the word would have been "wet". Or "hurty". I've not known sleet like it - it looked like snow, it was as wet as a fresh kipper and it hurt like a million needle picks as it slid into my shoes and the neck of my jumper. Other words to describe today are "thought-provoking" and "stimulating" (about dyslexing, which is getting more fascinating by the week); and "jumpy-up-and-down exciting" (pertaining to my Amazon delivery).

Today's blog has been brought to you with the help of Roget's Thesaurus and the ACE Spelling Dictionary, which is the bestest book of words ever and was a part of the aforementioned amazon delivery. Hurrah!

The joys of teaching:

Walking along the road at the end of break, I spy a boy heading towards me with his top shirt button undone and his shirt-tails hanging out of his trousers. I stop him, and ask him if he knows why I've stopped him.

Him: Because I'm eating toast in the street, Miss?

Me: No, for your shirt, but as you've admitted to the toast, I might as well tell you off for that offence as well!

Mua-ha-ha! :-)

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!!! I am no longer going out with a dossy, unemployed student but with a man in full possession of a geeky job. This change in status, along with my change in car, has knocked nearly £200 off my car insurance. Yet another damn good reason not to dump him! :-)

While flicking through my computer files, in an attempt to solve my exponentially-increasing administration problem, I came across this little gem, written during my PGCE. I can't remember why I wrote it, but I thought it might amuse:

It was a Tuesday evening, about 10 o’clock; to be precise, it was the second day of being a teacher, as opposed to being a person with a notebook at the back of the class. My PGCE house-mates had collapsed in front of the TV, whilst I was on hands and knees cleaning the floor. Now, this may be an everyday activity for some, but firstly, I’m a student, and secondly, this was the floor of the school hall. What was more, the Head was looking on approvingly.

Before you become unduly worried, this was not the result of an uncontrollable Year 10 class, or a punishment for being too cheery in the mornings, (although I have been accused of the latter crime!). It’s simply one of those extra-curricular activities that strikes fear into those who hear its name...the school production.

Teachers from all departments had been coerced into helping: front-of-house; back-stage; dressing room crowd control. My part in all this was as a tree shifter and splurge cleaner...oh, and creating the odd custard pie! In true school production style, trying to co-ordinate 80-plus pupils was a continuous battle (“Where is Leroy the Boxer? He’s missing again!”) However, the first night was fantastic: the cast sparkled; the audience loved it; and even thought Leroy missed his cue again no-one seemed to notice. Post-production analysis (over pints and curry) was very favourable; none of us could believe what had happened, and how smoothly it had happened!

So it continued: by day I’d impart pearls of wisdom to classes I’d never met before; by night, I was deputy tree shifter with a cameo appearance as a comedy policeman - how I ended up with a walk-on part is beyond me, but it was fun anyway! By the end of the week I was running on nervous exhaustion, and on the last night nearly fell asleep in my curry. However, the struggle to get up each morning was worth it: even though I couldn’t recognise the pupils without their makeup and costumes, they all knew me. I became one of the staff, not just some student that lurked in the staffroom. I was there, I survived, and I have the dodgy photos to prove it!!

A true story:

In today's learning support lesson we were discussing how to plan and structure an essay. We'd talked through various titles they might get in English, and then one of them asked about writing blue. 'Blue' is the name given to punishment essays here: they are written on special blue paper and have to be a specified number of lines, normally 40. For a severe offence, a pupil might receive 80 or 120; the maximum length is 240, although I've never known of anyone getting that much. The title for the blue is set by the teacher: sometimes it's subject-related; other times it's an abstract title. I rarely use blue, but if I do then usually set "My favourite poem" or "My favourite type of music", although I have asked pupils to write about bagels and a calculator.

One of the teachers here often sets "The sex life of a snow flake" as a title for his blue. One of my learning support group asked how on earth you'd structure *that* essay. We talked about it, trying to decide what a snowflake's ideal partner would be like, and what might happen if they were a minger snowflake who stood no chance of pulling (we decided that they'd use ice-cube porn). I then asked them to use the same essay structure to describe the sex life of a brick.
"Well, Miss, it would get stuck to another brick with cement - that's like marriage."
"Hah, yes, Miss, that's when it gets laid!"

Badum-TISH!

I hate fucking photocopiers.

Not in that sense, you pervert.

I spent my entire lunch break trying to make 32 copies of a training booklet for today's D of E session. By the time 11 copies had come out of the machine, there had been another 7 copies destroyed by misfeeds and paper jams. Several trees died for my session on campcraft and pitching tents. For this, I am profoundly sorry.

I'm not sorry though for the language I used when I was trying to unjam the machine. Bastard thing.

Well, I remembered how to teach. I survived dyslexing. I even made it to Brum for a curry. Successful first day of term: tick.

The boys are back in town, and - for that matter - so are the girls. There were girlie shrieks coming from the direction of the boarding house this morning, and manly voices out in the road last night as the young men came to pay their regards to our giggling girlies. It feels like they've not been away. Lessons start this morning (after chapel and assembly) and I'm not sure I can remember how to do this teaching malarky. Let's hope that it's like riding a bike!

Curse my shortsightedness! I have a staff meeting in just over quarter of an hour's time, and no doubt there will be start-of-term hugs and kisses. What have I just eaten?! A mushroom omlette, laced with garlic. Gaaah! (and that's just what my colleagues will say!)

My last weekend of freedom was spent in Sunny Windy Cheltenham, where I did little more than collapse on a sofa watching TV. 'Twas fun. This morning I was brutally woken at an hour that had a 7 - SEVEN!!!! - in it: does the man not realise that it's still officially the holidays?! Now, however, I'm back at my flat, trying to work up enthusiasm for the planning and organising that still needs doing before the kiddies arrive back this evening. To say that I feel rough is an understatement; perhaps I'd better go and have a shower so that I look respectable when I have to face my colleagues this afternoon. Pah.

Today I went and bought a new car, or at least signed a purchase order for one, ready to pick up in a couple of weeks' time. It's a 2003 Golf 1.6, silver, 5 door, CD changer... that's about all the technical spec I can remember! The engine's smaller than the one in my Beetle, so it felt bizarre at first, but it coped admirably with motorway speeds so should be fine running to and from Cheltenham. I didn't get the same buzz from driving it as I got from my Beetle, but it's a boring practical car so I can't expect it to be too exciting. I'm looking forward to having a 5-door again and a decent amount of boot space, but I will miss the curves of the Madmobile.

This morning is definitely a contender for the "woolly-thinking, slightly-squinting sort of day" award. I blame it entirely on my exploits at New Year - I've become nocturnal as a result.

OK, OK, some of the blame may also be apportioned to my friends, who offered me wine and then port, but they kept me amused with tales of their youth, so I can't object. The most amusing story was that of the lego vagina, built from technic lego, when the builder was only 11 years old. The builder's opinion of it now? "It was multi-coloured but very uncomfortable." My mind is still boggling.

On that note, I'd better go and look up some facts about housing. I tried this earlier on, but ended up getting sucked into the world of estate agents and trying to decide which house to buy if I had unlimited cash. Fun, but not very productive!

Am tryng hard to drink water but am as drunk as a drunk thing. There are only 15 minutes to go until it's two o'clock, and that means that I've been a pumpkin for nearly an hour and three quarters. Yikes! I wish that I had something coherent to say, but I'm not sure that my braincell's playing ball tonight. This morning. Whatever. Pah.

Must sleep....

I failed to do much productive today, other than washing up after yesterday's epic entertaining, where E and J from university had my cooking inflicted upon them and - like the good little girlies that they are - ate up all their lunch without complaining. Sometimes my friends are sooo polite and well-brunged-up. I've also read two books, slept a bit, thought about planning, watched The Producers on film, AND fixed a friend's computer (geek alert!). Put like that, it's been busy. I think it's time for a nap.

New Year was spent in the company of Rob (the Boy Wonder) and assorted friends from university (and beyond) at the annual DOGS New Year party. This year we went off to a Scout centre near to Hebden Bridge in Yorkshire. We walked (rivers, mud, pubs, rain and hail all included); we ate (far too much, but very nice it was too); and we drank (I'll be off the gin for a while, I think). It was - as ever - lovely to see everyone, and it was also nice to be told that my man's a "top quality random". I think that's a good thing; certainly Rob's talking about attending NY next year, so thay can't have been *that* scary!

We got back home yesterday evening, and in that time I've made two recipes from one of my new cookbooks: home-made burgers and healthy chips last night; lasagne today. The lasagne was particularly impressive - it has a layer of butternut squash in the middle, uses creme fraiche instead of bechemel sauce, and is generally very scrummy. Hurrah for postponing my diet! :-) Rob says that he'll cook for me next time - I've already requested coq-au-vin but apparently it requires a three year old cock, so I'm not sure I'll get it next weekend. And yes, you are allowed to smirk at that last sentence.

I've now got just under a week to get organised for the start of term. I have lots of planning and sorting to do, plus gubbins for Guides and D of E. I'm also meant to be going with Lesley for her 8 month pregnancy scan. It should be a productive week, provided I managed to get out of bed in the mornings. Pah.

Back home from the olds, where food was eaten in plate-piling quantities and many books were read. It was nice to be away from school, but it's also nice to come home to my own space. I started moving out from my parents at 18, when I went off to university, and this Christmas - ten years later - I've finally managed it. I spent much of Boxing Day sorting through drawers, cupboards and shelves in an attempt to rationalise my belongings. Several things were thrown out; some were put into boxes for recycling; many more items ended up in my car and are now scattered across the floor of my flat. I managed to come home with more gubbins than I took. I'm sure that's not the way it's supposed to happen.

I have something of a storage crisis going on. I've now got to sort out my junk cupboard to make room for it all. Waah!

Nearly ready to leave for my parents'. The last presents are wrapped, the last load of washing is tumbling in the drier, so that I can pack it damp instead of wringing. It seems to be going according to plan, which means that something's bound to go wrong...

Have a good Christmas break one and all.

Have been downloading like a downloading thing on top speed. Am impressed at my geekery. Perhaps I'll have to relinquish my hold on the titlde as Luddite of the Year. Pish.

I was so pissed off at my ineptitude that I went and bought myself a laptop. Whoops. Firefox is already installed, so a happy afternoon of downloading lies ahead. Whooppee!!

I am a twat of the highest order. If meeting someone in the middle of Birmingham, it's necessary to catch the 7.45am train. Setting your alarm for 6.30pm will mean that you don't wake up until 8.30am and therefore miss your meeting. Fuck wank bollocks. Very unhappy.

This weekend has been spent relaxing with El Boyo Wondero (that's Spanish, not Welsh, in case you were wondering) in a really rather lovely cottage. There was much eating, drinking, reading, log-fire-gazing, and falling-asleep-on-his-shoulder-at-4pm-and-hoping-that-he-won't-notice-the-dribble -when-I-wake-up-an-hour-later. In fact, 'twas lovely. I got home about lunchtime today, only to get a call requesting my presence in Stoke this evening to take Lesley to hospital. It seems that being 8 months pregnant and moving washing machines are two activities that should not be mixed, unless you want your baby to make an unexpected bid for freedom. Luckily the health experts carried out tests and proclaimed her officially not in labour despite experiencing contractions; what's more, they've given her a 90% chance of not dropping the sprog in the next week. Given that the blob is not due to appear for another month, if not more, a 10% chance of sprogging during Christmas week is causing a slight panic. On the other hand, it would brighten up my holidays. Hmmm...

The Christmas quiz has had you thinking. The taxonimy of certain tunes (LD, par example) has caused a little grief, but as I'm the fat-bottomed Guider I make up the rules. The answers (so that Wendy's brain can stop melting and she can start telling us the gossip, because we all know that something's going on and if she doesn't tell us we'll only make it up, which I guarantee will be far worse than the actual events occurring) are as follows:
1. Good King Wencelas
2. While shepherds watched
3. Away in a manger
4. Silent night
5. O little town of Bethlehem
6. O come all ye faithful
7. The holly and the ivy
8. I saw three ships
9. Hark the herald angels sing
10. The first nowell
11. The sussex carol
12. We three kings
13. In the bleak midwinter
14. The little drummer boy
15. O holy night
16. God rest ye merry gentlemen
17. It came upon a midnight clear
18. Joy to the world
19. Ding dong merrily on high
20. Little donkey
21. Rudolph the red nosed reindeer
22. Winter wonderland
23. Frostie the snowman
24. I saw mummy kissing santa claus
25. Jingle bells
26. We wish you a merry Christmas
27. The twelve days of Christmas
28. O Christmas tree
29. Jingle bell rock
30. Have yourself a merry little Christmas
31. Sleigh Ride
32. White christmas
33. Blue Christmas
34. Mary's boy child
35. The halleluia chorus
36. The chistmas song (chestnuts roasting on an open fire)
37. Fairytale of New York
38. Torches
39. Two little boys
40. Ernie the fastest milkman in the west
41. Merry Christmas everyone
42. Merry Christmas everybody
43. Do they know it's christmas
44. Mistletoe and wine
45. Saviour's dady
46. Mr Blobby
47. Earth song
48. Goodbye
49. Can we fix it?
50. Bohemian rhapsody

Paj got absolutely all of the Christmas number 1s right, which shows that he is truly a god of rawk, or has spent too long consulting Schott's Miscellany. Either way, I was impressed. What's more, it's been two years since no. 25 sounded out from a wee church in Yarm and the evening was filled with nos. 18 and 44: happy wedding anniversary K and Paj!

In preparation for Christmas, I bring you.... a Christmas quiz. Identify the carol/song/No. 1 from the initial letters of its title.

Christmas carols
1. GKW
2. WSW
3. AIAM
4. SN
5. OLTOB
6. OCAYF
7. THATI
8. ISTS
9. HTHAS
10. TFN
11. TSC
12. WTK
13. ITBM
14. TLDB
15. OHN
16. GRYMG
17. ICUAMC
18. JTTW
19. DDMOH

Christmas songs
20. LD
21. RTRNR
22. WW
23. FTS
24. ISMKSC
25. JB
26. WWYAMC
27. TTDOC
28. OCT
29. JBR
30. HYAMLC
31. SR
32. WC
33. BC
34. MBC
35. THC
36. TCS(CROAOF)
37. FONY
38. T

Christmas Number 1s
39. TLB
40. ETFMITW
41. MCE
42. MCE
43. DTKIC
44. MAW
45. SD
46. MB
47. ES
48. G
49. CWFI
50. BR

How many can you guess?

For them as like ALW, or Scottish moosic, or even both, go here and click on the linky-thingy; or be damned for ALL TIME.*

* Or at least mildly inconvenienced

Tipping an entire tray of flaky chocolately truffles onto your computer keyboard does not bode well. Even more reasons to buy a new computer.

After a blissfully long lie-in and a manic but thankfully short-lived battle against the Christmas shoppers, I headed off to Stoke to visit Lesley, who looks like she's having triplets but apparently only has one sprog inside her. I told her son, David, that she couldn't finish her dinner because she ate an entire baby that was filling up her tummy; thankfully he's not the gullible sort and saw straight through my lies.

I bought Green Eggs and Ham for David's birthday, so we spent quite some time reading it together. This is the third Dr Seuss book that I've bought for him - he's now six - and his reading's getting better every time I see him. This time he read almost the entire book aloud without any help: I'm well impressed! His Christmas present is magnetic fridge poetry for young readers - lots of short words in big writing - so he can make stories up on Lesley's kitchen appliances. Why, I'm such an educationally-minded Auntie Mad.

This evening, I intend to do little more than pottering around my flat. Holidays are great.

Christmas cards today came with happy messages and exciting news. Why did they not include addresses to reciprocate?! Pish.

Oi! Keep the noise down! Don't you know that some of us have hangovers to contend with?!

The party moved from its original location to my flat at midnight. People have just left. Am drununk. School tomorrow. Whoops.

At the end of term, each House writes a newsletter; normally this falls on the shoulders of the Housemaster/mistress, who is also trying to juggle end-of-term reports, House supper, checking up on illicit boozing and other such joyous tasks. This time, I volunteered to compile it: I thought it was about time my DTP skills came in handy. The finished product looks great - McGardeners' World - but I'm having to loiter suspiciously in the computer room while they all print out. This is taking a tad longer than expected because the A3-double-sided version is spannering up the print queue. I have expressed my profuse apologies to the entire room; and then sent it to print on another printer. Mua-ha-ha!

In other news: I played in a concert, and it was good; my GCSE class gave presentations, and they were good too.

This evening we're having a party in the House, where there will be mulled wine, mince pies, Christmas cake and other assorted seasonal goodies. The cakes from this weekend's epic baking session have already been earmarked as an offering to the God of Parties: he'd better bloody appreciate them, or I'm having them back and eating them myself!

Today's whinge: last night I stabbed my right heel with a toe on my left foot. It bled a lot, and now it hurts.

Things not to whinge about:
* Baking, marzipanning and icing four christmas cakes (FOUR! How greedy!) over the weekend.
* Sleeping all weekend like I have sleeping sickness, or at least the ability to pass out before hitting the pillow
* Eating fine food - steak, stuffed mushrooms, Bailey's stew

Things that didn't exactly float my boat but aren't bad enough to whinge about:
* The tail-end of reports: corrections, duplicates, checking for spelling and grammar. Pish.
* Phantom of the Opera. I suppose it's ok if you like ALW and Phantom, but it didn't float my boat. Having enjoyed Moulin Rouge and Chicago, I'd had high hopes. Shcool-boy error, it transpires. Hey ho. At least I got to watch it in the delux screen so I could while away the time by swinging backwards and forwards on my chair.

My hangover descended halfway through period 4. I'm really paying the price now.

I went out for dinner last night to celebrate being old. I've only just got in. Seems I've not become wiser as the years have increased!

Oh, the joys of teaching with a fuzzy head... let's hope the little darlings are quiet!

No dyslexing today, just reports. I know where I'd rather be...

This evening's report writing wasn't exactly fruitful, but I'm off now for an early night so I can tackle reports with renewed fervour tomorrow. At least, that's the plan....

Although I'm at risk of sounding far too posh for words, I had my lady who does come in and do. That's right - I have a cleaner. My bathroom is beautifully spotless, and the kitchen floor is clean for the first time in... oooh... weeks. I'm more excited by this than I ought to be. Time to write some more reports as a way of calming down.

The problem with getting up at 6am is that by 8.45am my stomach's ready for lunch. Lessons haven't even started, and I'm already getting hunger pangs. Waaah! On the other hand, I *do* have a big pile of reports printed out, just waiting to be posted into the right boxes. Phanar!

Yesterday, Rob and I started making Christmas cakes. To be more accurate, we set the fruit off on its week-long soaking in port, rum, brandy and cherry brandy. Mmmmm....

We then headed off to a party surrounded by catci, sombreros, ponchos, fake moustaches and a Texaco sign. 'Twas good, although I'm fajita'd out. This afternoon holds the excitment of end-of-term reports and marking. Why, I'm just such a lucky girlie!

Beer is my friend, but not as much my friend as Richard is, who gave me a life home from the pub so I didn't have to walk through the freezing fog.

20% of the ribena-berries were called Olivia, and another 20% were called Aleesha.

Bounciness factor: quite high until I did a teacher look, which deflated one or two of them. Pssssssshhhh...

Tears: one, but only because her mother insisted on helping her make her Christmas card. I solved the problem by telling her to stop crying in case she got snot on her card, unless she had glittery snot in which case she should just carry right on. Sometimes I suspect that I'm not as PC as I should be.

Glitter glue stuck to: cards, feathers, furry pom-poms, hands, sleeves, tables and - in one memorable incident, in which I couldn't help but laugh - a neck.

Moments of total and utter silence: one, when they were all mid-yoghurt. It was short, but very nice while it lasted.

Rainbows was followed by frantic flat tidying and then district meeting, which lasted all of 40 minutes. It was good. They approved of my Christmas celebration event and are talking about doing it again next year: from tiny acorns grow mighty oaks andall that sentimental whitter.

Now it's time to get changed out of my attractive blue uniform and second-best school trousers (jeans all covered in dog hair and/or liable to fall down if I bend over too far, therefore not appropriate for ribena-berry-sitting) and head off to the pub. Huzzah!

A frantic phonecall this morning from a Guider in the district means that I've got to abandon my nice, warm chair by the computer - where I've been busy writing reports for once - and go and run Rainbows. I'm not sure quite what I've let myself in for. They are all little, all wear purple tabards, and bounce around like mini-ribena-berries. What's worse is that they all know my name and I don't know ANY of them. Yikes!

Oh yes, baby, you'd better believe it: the good ladies have done it again. 'Tis the season and all that jazz.

Ian came round, I drank two cans of pepsi-max and am now totally hyper. I should be snuggling up in my duvet, but instead I'm wide-stary-eyed and starting to jitter. It's been that sort of an evening all round, in fact.

The Head presented his 5-year development plan at a staff meeting today, and I suspect that my P45 is already nestling in my pigeon-hole as a result of the question I asked about it. It was all about work/life balance - something that is already being addressed in state schools, although with varying degrees of success, I suspect - which has been more of a problem for us this term than previously. I think it's a real issue facing everyone today, even those who don't live at work or do daft jobs like teaching, but I suspect it's earned me a black mark or two. Hey ho.

After all excitement of the development plan, two Guiders turned up for a meeting that I'd arranged but had forgotten about (the same ol' story as usual). It's just a good job that I was at home!

I then wandered into the junior's common room to find them decorating their Christmas tree. "Ooh," I said. "I see you've put a fairy on top of the tree."
"Oh no, Miss, we put the tree up the fairy's bottom."
The mind boggles!

Last, but by no means least:

Not sure this a good incentive to carry on with your school work but pat on the head for your site's diversionary tactic - I got (just!) a distinction on my dissertation. Woo hoo! Now everyone: gizza phd funding!

That'll be Auntie Charl celebrating then: muchos congratulatos m'dear (and that's yer actual Spanish, y'know!)

Off now to make good use of my unexpected energy burst...

It's that time of term when motivation is low, when thoughts are turned to festive non-work things, when I long to curl in a duvet in front of the fire. It's also the time of term when reports have to be written. Sob.

Chuffin' Norah - it's December. Waaah!

Dyslexing tonight was great, as always. Our tutor has always maintained that we should try out each diagnostic test ourselves before giving them to a pupil, so that we understand what it's like to be assessed. Spelling and reading tests have not been a problem, but tonight's focus was maths and the problems that dyslexics face with numbers. The maths test she gave us was ROCK SOLID. Granted, it started easily enough (4 + 1 = ?) but within 6 questions was onto long multiplication and by the end of the first page had covered percentages and factorisation. I've been reminded why I'm not a maths teacher! My brain now hurts.

Re: minger-with-child scenario

Maybe she was just the child-minder. Jealous wife, keeping husband from having affair during her PND... now you're on the clicky-linky-feedy-thing, I get up to the minute notifications of new posts. Nice one Mad. Ashley

And more scarily...

I got my idea for my web site from yours and i will give you the adress when it is on the internet my name is matthew crawford

Eeeek. I'm not sure I'm a good role model. Don't try this at home, children!

Confession: today I saw the ugliest woman in the world walking down the road, pushing a baby in a pushchair.

Ok, OK, I know that beauty is by no means the be all and end all; I know that she's probably a physics professor or a classicist or someone equally as intelligent; I'm aware that she's probably a virtuoso clarinettist or a world-class gymnast. I know that you are now thinking awful things about me because I'm commenting on her facial appearance.

Confession: it gets worse.

What makes it worse is what I thought when I saw her - "how on earth did she persuade someone to have sex with her so they could have a baby?!"

Pennance for my sins: writing about diagnosing dyslexia, for 45 minutes without a break, so it can be handed in at college this evening.

Late night dilemmas of our time: start marking another set of work, or go to bed? I have to confess that bed's winning at the moment...

Happiness is...

* being able to do up a cardigan so there are no bulges, except where you expect them to be
* getting exciting photos by email
* Thornton's marzipan chocolate bars
* discovering lots of post in my letterbox

Disgruntlement sets in when...
* I realise that all of my post is junk mail. Pah.

Tonight was the Guide district's Christmas celebration. As a district, we've not done anything more exciting than a coach trip out for at least 4 years; probably a lot longer. The local Guiders are, in general, very conservative (with a small 'c', you note) and it took a lot of persuading to get them to try something new. In the end, I bulldozed my way through their opposition and planned tonight's event in such a way that it was fait accompli by the time they got to hear about it. Tut tut. The evening went brilliantly: cakes; games; a make you own Christmas card stall; and all of the units up on stage performing songs, dances and plays. We even had the Div Com come to present a couple of 5-year service badges - a new introduction to the range of long-service awards, and they're presenting to everyone who has done between 5 and 9 years' service. One of the Brownie Guiders got hers, and so did I.

The irony is that I'm due my 10 year badge in 14 days' time: better late than never!

In learning support today, after a typical Mad explanation of decimal places, significant figures and percentage changes, one boy turned to another and said, "I've learned more maths today than I have in any maths lesson."

Warm, happy glows all round.

What is an atom feed? Those of us who are not geeks don't understand!! Love CMT

Although not in any way an inhabitant of geeksville, I think that an atom feed is some way of telling other people's websites when you've updated your site. Clicking on the appropriately named clicky-linky-feedy-thingy bit o'er there seems to suggest that I'm thinking along the right lines at least. Beyond that, though, is a mystery.

Except it's nearly time for school and I don't have time to sort it. Pants.

Si, an expert in geekery-pokery if ever there was one, writes:

Blogger has a nice feature whereby you can switch on an atom feed with one simple change to the settings. At least it would be simple if I could remember which one it was. Si

After a bit of poking around, I've got it sorted out. I hope.

Commentage:

Now is it the fatbusters regime of less food, or the, er, 'couples exercise plan' that has you looking so svelte??!! Photo evidence please! (of the results, not the slimming method, she hastily adds!) Charl

I reckon that fatbusters is to thank, although I'm interested in discovering more about the "couples' exercise plan".. it sounds like a worthwhile pastime! Photos to follow, when I scan 'em in!

And then:

Any chance of an Atom feed on this here blog? Go on... please. With bits* on top. [ * bits are a variety of your choice ]

Oooh, that sounds like advanced geekery-pokery. Even with bits of my choice on top, it may be above my luddite abilities. I'll have to do some investigating.

Vignettes

Lunch yesterday - in the House
"Miss, what's this pudding?"
"I think it's digestive biscuit crumbs and..."
"Really - digested biscuits?!"

Saturday night - at a House charity black-tie dinner
"Miss... you look beautiful."
"Pah - shut up."
"You do - so thin. Washboard stomach, no less."
"Harrumph"

Mr Johns, that well-known bad influence, has a cheeky little link on his site. Very cheeky it is too. You can tell that it's an online game, with a high desity of users from the land of geekdom, by some of the words that pop up: oracle, linux, firefox... :-)

I haven't written anything for a whole week. I was going to spend my free afternoon and evening catching up with email and blogging and other such technical things, but instead I went to Cheltenham for a couple of pints of diet coke. C'est la vie.

Another of those late night conversations, in which my bloke makes me cry:

Him: I've walked over 6,000 steps today
Me: Oh?
Him: I've got a pedometer from Walkers
Me: Ah.
Him: It's 16 steps from the cooker to the toilet.
Me: How useful if you ever need to cook your poo.
Him: Indeed. And I walked onto campus today - it's just over a mile, but it's still only 6,000 steps.
Me: Can you not take smaller steps?
Him: Hmmm...
Me: Like mincing, rather than walking.
Him: Do I need to wear special mincing trousers for that? Or just some mincing pants?
Me: No, you just need a certain type of meat...
Him: Cut up very small?
Me: Indeed.
Him: In your pants?
Me: Ah - mince in pants.

And that was when the tears started. I got stitch too, at about the point when he told me that he was looking to register an internet domain - mincenpants.co.uk.

Laughter is a good thing.

Looking back over your March/February posts (was looking for the posts on one of your experiments) and read up on your bluetooth dongle. I hate the word dongle.

That's a shame, for I am very fond of 'dongle' as a word. It's similar to 'dangle', but instead of dangling it's dongling, probably at great length. It's quite a useful gadget too, and it has a very cool blue flashing LED.

As a word, 'dongle' is similar to the non-words we were discussing during this evening's dyslexing, which are used to test a pupil's knowledge of phonics and sound blends. Whilst reading through the non-word test, I was horrified to note that 'scritch' is officially a non-word. I fear a more extensive list might wipe out half of my vocabulary!

Someone ooop north writes:

"bum laden" - is that a terrorist leader?

Y'know, I thought the very same thing when I wrote the bloggage that this refers to. My feeling was that 'terrorist leader' didn't lend sufficient gravitas to an object so massive, so I prefer the term 'rogue state'.

Conversations that I have with my man, quite late one evening...

Me: I love pearl barley
Him: Oh, you're so easily pleased
Me: Stews, soups, casseroles...
Him: jewelry
Me: ?
Him: Just drill a hole in it and thread it onto spaghetti

...that show he's as much of a loon as I am.

Offloading DC responsibility - does that mean your bum shrunk instantly? (Note that's not supposed to mean it was big to start with!)

Indeed, I am far less bum-laden than I was. Who needs Blob Watchers when you can simply move down the Guiding ladder?! :-)

I spent all day yesterday trying to get onto Blogger but it wasn't playing ball, so I've missed the opportunity to spout forth about my dream involving hotels, shoe swapping, cotton wool and a rubber dingy. I've also forgotten the subtle nuances of the conversation snippets I wanted to share that arose as a result of the annual "Wear what you dare " day yesterday, where I dressed up as a war memorial. I wasn't able to share my relief about last night's Guide district meeting, where I was finally able to offload most of the commissioner's responsibilities, meaning the district will run far more efficiently and smoothly. I couldn't even wax lyrical about my fantastic tutor session where we talked about politics in the UK and the US and played 'guess the politician' from a page of cabinet members' photos.

Instead I spent the time writing a Christmas song title quiz for Guides. Rock and Roll!

After two weeks eating like a woman condemned to death and facing her last meal, I decided on Sunday that is was time to go back to the blob-watch healthy eating regime. I was very good yesterday - lots of veg, a smattering of exercise, self-controlled in all I thought, said and did - but I sort of slipped today.

I've had a thin day today - my skirt felt far too big and I was complemented by a colleague. Despite this, I was good at resisting the chocolate biscuits at break; I took the smallest piece of pie at dinner; I even chose to buy an apple rather than chocolate during the break in my dyslexing this evening. Then I came home and it all went wrong.

The leeks were perfectly acceptable under the healthy regime, as were the onions, mushrooms and garlic. Even gently fried and mixed with cheese as a pancake filling, they would have been great. I'm not sure if it was the whole bottle of wine or the discovery of the jar of toffee sauce in the cupboard that caused my downfall. Either way, I've got a lot of healthy living to do in the next few days if I'm to make up for it all. Off to dream about jogging...

Things that make me chortle:

Found at the bottom of an email from some bloke who's offering me 10% of his family's fortune that is being mercilessly hunted down by a malevolent government

Please do not share my email addess with anyone as I have received some emails from some unscrupulos people claiming to be charity organisations and other weird stories.

Should you be a charity organisation, a weird person, or have any unscrupulos [sic] stories, please direct them to Mr Paul Wang at wang_55@fastermail.com. Thank you.

The first day back at school after half-term is reaching its close. Although half-term was much needed, it's been nice being back at the chalk-face. I've had a good day, and I hope that it remains this way during the next two months.

The first week of half-term was spent in Greece on a Classics trip (my second of the year). I have been declared an honorary Classicist for my dedication to the subject; I still maintain that I'm not worthy enough, but it would be churlish indeed to refuse such a prestigious title! We spent three days looking at rubble - in Athens, Delphi and Ancient Olympia - then moved on to Tolon, a beach resort, to indulge in more rubble, sand, sea, boat trips, pedalo races and a "sandcastle on a Classical theme" competition. 'Twas grand.

Greece was followed straightaway by Guide holiday: thirteen girls aged 10 and 11, all camping virgins, who spent three days learning how to put up tents and cook for themselves. They managed to put up a mess tent with far less fuss than most adults would manage, so things are looking promising for next summer's camping!

After Guide camp I headed off to blustery Snowdonia with the Boy Wonder, returning via my parents' for dinner and his first offical 'meet the parentals' session. Luckily he's a tolerant bunny and survived with barely a mark on him.

The final excitement of the holiday was the arrival of Fatso III. I picked him up from my Fatso dealer on Friday, and he travelled home in a box on Saturday. He's big, fast, fat, fluffy-bottomed and ginger - I tried to photograph him but my phone cam's just not fast enough. I'll try again later, so you too can appreciate his cuteness at close quarters. Bless.

Before I write anything about my holidays, I will just alert you to the shortage of lard that is occuring in our continent. Peruse the shelves at your local supermarket to discover the extent of this calamity! Yikes!

ps - if your local purveyor of lardy products has some available, please can you buy some for me... my pastry's suffering!

School trip to Greece - hot but good.

Guide camp training weekend - great fun but knackering.

Now off to enjoy a couple of days without having to look after reams of kids - bliss.

It's been the penultimate day of teaching before the half-term holiday. It's been a day for escaping the villge and getting into the big wide world where there are shops that sell books and CDs and toiletries and bikinis that actually fit. It's been an evening for buying sandwiches that are reduced from £2.50 to 10p, for eating far too many confectionary products, for going to the pub. It's a night for collapsing on the bed, dreaming of foreign climes and tomorrow's trip to Greece.

If I don't make it to a pooter for the next couple of weeks, you know where I'll be: living life, not writing about it. Have fun...

Have spent the evening washing clothes, answering the phone and wading through my inbox. What an exciting life I lead. Perhaps I should feature in an advert to recruit teachers... how could anyone want to turn down the chance to have such evenings of thrills and spills?! Blimey.

To be fair, I suppose that it was quite productive. It still doesn't make it any more exciting though.

Sometimes things don't quite work out as you plan them, but sometimes that's ok, and what you end up with is far better than the original scheme.

My holiday plans for this coming half-term have been very much like this. I have a week in Greece with school (looking at ruins and temples, I suspect, and mebbe the odd galss of ouzo too) and then three days on Guide camp/holiday (teaching the little darlings how to put up tents, in preparation for next summer's big camp). After all that excitement, the original plan was to escape to the country for a couple of days with the Boy Wodner. I was looking forward to sitting reading in front of an open fire, or mooching through autumnal woodland, kicking up leaves and getting back in touch with my inner-child, which has been sadly missing this term.

Some things just aren't meant to be.

I was phoned at lunchtime today by the lady at the holiday company to confess that there had been a double-booking and would I mind changing the dates if they lowered the price to make up for it? A few frantic phonecalls later and we re-arranged for a weekend just before Christmas, with a 50% discout to make it even better. Wooh!