Election Schlection. This amused me. Bwa-ha-ha! (via A Beautiful Revolution)

The sun is shining, the temperature is soaring, and the whole world is on holiday, except for us. They haven't invented bank holidays here in the village. Saturday and Sunday were spent in Sunny Manchester, playing non-stop cricket, drinking mighty fine port and eating more food than you could shake a medium-sized log at. The DOGs were good company, as ever, and it was a bit of a wrench having to come home yesterday evening. I finally got the smell of wood-smoke washed out of my hair, and today has been fairly nondescript. At least I'm on holiday for next bank holiday!

Way back in October, one of my Guides told me that her cousin was moving in with them temporarily, and asked if she allowed to come to Guides too. Of course, the answer was yes, and Katie bounded into the meeting place the following week and Guides has never been the same since. She's loud, funny, friendly, open and there are several donkeys round here missing their hind legs. Tonight, she left. Her dad is off to work in Australia, so she's moving to the other side of the world, to the land of kangaroos and snakes. The last five minutes of tonight's Guide meeting were a riot of t-shirt signing, address-swapping, hugs and even a few tears. Normally girls leave Guides when they outgrow it, so they slope off without too much fuss or sentiment. Tonight was different. It's going to be awfully strange without her.

The lesson observation went well, although I was able to carry all my resources down to my classroom in the bags under my eys. Must get more sleep. Must.

Tomorrow, which is technically today, I get observed in action by my dyslexing tutor. It's the first time I've had to write detailed lessons plans since... oooh.... probably my teacher training year. It's been a bit of a culture shock. I'm still not sure that it's going to work, but I *have* drawn the best picture ever for a memory game. 'Tis too late to scan this beauty, but it will make its way here before long because I as soooo proud of it.

And I know that you're thinking "sad loser" at you read that last sentence, but I'm too tired to notice. Time to get some kip, methinks.

It went well tonight, although I managed to drink so much water during the evening that I had to run back to the House with my legs crossed (metaphorically). Thanks for all your thoughts and comments. Now I'm as sleepy as a sleeping thing, and looking forward to crashing out in bed. Catch you all tomorrow.

Who says that there's something bad about memes?! Here's what I got (via Rob and Taj)

Who should I vote for?

Your expected outcome:

Liberal Democrat

Your actual outcome:

Labour -20
Conservative -34
	Liberal Democrat 87
UK Independence Party -13
	Green 73

You should vote: Liberal Democrat

The LibDems take a strong stand against tax cuts and a strong one in favour of public services: they would make long-term residential care for the elderly free across the UK, and scrap university tuition fees. They are in favour of a ban on smoking in public places, but would relax laws on cannabis. They propose to change vehicle taxation to be based on usage rather than ownership.

Take the test at Who Should You Vote For

In a moment of weakness, I agreed to be a member of a "Question Time" panel facing an audience of school's brightest sixth formers, as part of their extra-curricular academic development. The audience have been asked to submit questions in advance, and the first batch have been emailed through to us, the unsuspecting teachers facing the firing squad. My heart sank as I read some of the questions due to be fired at us.

"I read in a report that Classics will have disappeared from state education in fifteen years time, and from private education in twenty five years time. I already think it is a tragedy that the teaching of Classics today is not more widespread, and wondered whether you believe that a knowledge of Classics is necessary to modern education or whether you think it is correct that it is being phased out?"

The new Pope Benedict XVI, is said to take a very conservative view on issues such as abortion and contraception. However, does the panel think that he is right to take these views considering that a sizeable portion of his followers live in areas of the world where without contraception, AIDS runs rife throughout the region and is the cause of much pain and anguish and even results in death in some cases?

"I was intrigued to see a plan to "scrap university tuition fees" included in the Liberal Democrat's election manifesto. Whether or not the primary incentive for announcing this policy was merely the acquisition of more votes, I find the possible consequences of this policy fascinating. This would certainly be a more equitable policy than "top-up fees", although with regard to the premier universities in the UK, it could be argued that the gain in millions of £s worth of fees for the concerned institions outweighs the possible loss of a relatively small number of able, but impoverished candidates. It seems to me that there are more than enough financally comfortable candidates to fill the required number of places in these universities, and thus, with a view to improving the quality of education, perhaps the Democrats should be pledging to increase tuition fees?"

"Currently in the news is the story of Abigail Witchalls, the young mother who was stabbed whilst taking her young son out in a peaceful suburban area described by police as ‘the safest corner of the safest county in England’. Crime has gone up by over 15 per cent since 1998, and now despite the introduction of the new ASBOs it seems to still be on the increase. I put it to the panel to suggest how they would reform the yob culture of today and create a safer Britain."

Damn. What have I let myself in for?!

I sang too soon. It's now raining. Pah.

It's been gloriously sunny today. Apparently it was sunny all weekend too, but I didn't notice it because I was inside cooking, marking and sleeping (although not simultaneously). Today, though, I was let out, and got to walk the streets of the village with the sun on my back and a song in my heart. Admittedly the song was "Singing in the Rain" but at least it was a song.

This evening is due to be filled with GCSE marking and some more marking and then maybe some dyslexing. I'm quite scared at the excitement looming. I soooo love marking, oh yes.

School is conspiring to absorb even more of my precious time. Rounders is to be my cross to bear this term on Mondays and Fridays; D of E takes up Wednesday afternoons and duty Wednesday night; dyslexing knocks out Tuesdays. I was supposed to be doing more rounders every Thursday, but have grovelled and been excused, on the grounds that I just cannot do everything that is asked of me. On top of this, I have all the usual gubbins of marking and preparing, plus a relationship to hold down. Bread-making is proving to be a good stress reliever. Eating the bread is proving equally as effective at relieving me of my thin-ness.

Eating has, in fact, been a theme of this weekend. Rob and I had 'fascinating' and 'miraculous' Chinese on Friday night. We grabbed a sandwich for lunch on Saturday, then cooked and chomped our way through French onion soup and homemade bread, and then glorified rice pudding with poached peaches. Admittedly there wasn't much to chomp on, but it was mighty tasty. Today was bacon sarnies (more fresh bread) and then steaks and stuff. I'm not sure I can move now without causing small tremors as my feet hit the ground. On the other hand, it's been great fun. Who wants clothes that fit, anyway?!

When I spoke to the boy Bob, around 9.30pm, I had good intentions of going to bed early. Instead, I got geeking and decided it was about time I got my bluetooth working. It's taken hours, but I finally have a reliable way of connecting my new pooter to my phone. Photos to follow soon... if I start faffing with ftp I'll be here all night, not that there's much of 'night' left before it becomes morning. Whoops.

Super supermarket car park experience number one:

I was sitting in the car after parking up, and noticed that a bloke was trying to park his car in the two empty spaces to my left. He managed to park right on top on the white line dividing the two bays. He then climbed out of the car, looked at his parking, climbed back into the car, let off the handbrake and let the car roll backwards. Did he not realise that this would leave the lateral postitioning of the car unaffected?! Muppet. His wife just shrugged and went to find a trolley.

Super supermarket car park experience number two:

Driving into the supermarket car park this evening, I noticed a bright lilac, pink and purple van heading in the opposite direction. "Vote Veritas" was emblazened across the front, and as it drew level, I noticed the tagline painted underneath: "vote Veritas - the straight-talking party". Believe me, with a van that colour, 'straight' wasn't the word that sprang to mind.

Before I tell you about my two amusing supermarket carpark experiences this week, I must just express my anger and frustration with some six-legged beasties that have taken over my house. Ants schmants. Pah.

Have lost my diary. Bank and rollocks. How on earth will I remember what I'm supposed to be?!

Update: have just re-read this and realised what I put. Freudian, or what?! It was meant to read either "what I'm supposed to be doing" or "where I'm supposed to be" but I think it's probably more accurate this way. Tee hee.

Prep in the House runs from 7pm to 9pm, with a 15 minute break at 7.50pm. Just gone 8.07pm, I wandered upstairs into the sixth form common room. The sound of me opening the door made about 15 girls run off in all directions.

"Get into prep, you slackers!" I shouted after them.

"Ah, good to see that Miss E's back on form," grinned one girl as she ran past to get back to her room.

And being back on form, ladies and gentlemen, seems to be the theme of the day. Teaching: good. D of E: good. Pastoral form tutoring: good. Duty in the House: good. Thank goodness for that - I was beginning to resent my job.

So far:

2 bits of coursework marked
1 tray of Chelsea buns proving on top of the oven
1 tray of assorted leftover dough shapes proving on top of oven.

Plan for the rest of the evening:

mark another piece of coursework
put buns in oven *
mark another piece of coursework
take buns from oven, glaze with milk and sugar
return buns to oven
wait three long, long, long minutes
take tray from oven
cram as many buns into my mouth as possible in five minutes
try not to be sick over coursework marking

The observant amongst you will notice that washing up does not feature in this list. This is because I have a boyfriend who is very good at washing up, and I might as well leave it until he visits this weekend. Mua ha ha!!

* And yes, I saw you smirking at 'bun in the oven'. Don't even think about it.

GCSE coursework marking is as dull as a very dull thing on a cloudy day. At least I've got Chelsea Buns in progress.

Still sleepy. Have taught some good lessons, though, in between the yawns. Now time for dyslexing. Yay.

Yesterday was my eighteenth the-day-before-term-starts day since I became a proper teacher. Every single one of those days, I got into bed, exhausted from an evening spent on last-minute preparation and faffing, and then couldn't sleep. I've spent hours lying in a darkened bedroom, fretting about the impending start of term. What if I can't remember their names? How do I go about starting a lesson? What if they won't be quiet when I want to begin the lesson? How do I explain the intricacies of the UK's balance of payments so that a 16 year old will understand? What if I forget how to talk? This morning I felt like shit. The moment I stepped back into the classroom and up to the whiteboard, it all came flooding back. Teaching today has been successful. I like my job.

However, I'm not so keen on the extra-curricular demands that this job entails: I lose nine Saturdays this term because of school commitments. Nine. Out of a total of ten Saturdays. To say that I am pissed off is an understatement. I need to start looking for a job that lets me reclaim my weekends.

I arrived back in the land of broadband today, but had to spend my whole afternoon in bloody meetings, so have only just had time to catch up with all the email, phone calls and letters that needed sorting. I've not done any preparation for tomorrow, apart from last week's half-hearted, one-eye-on-crap-daytime-tv-whilst-allegedly-working planning. I've got a number of term sheets written that outline exactly what the kids will be doing each week: this may seem very organised but it's actually so I can get all my planning out the way in one go, and then leave the kids to get on with it. That's the theory anyway!

I've been down in Cheltenham since Tuesday, although with a day spent with Lesley and family in Stoke (I got to help with David's reading, writing and maths homework... I'm such a teacher!) I also spent a day at my parents' house, learning how to make bread. It's taken four attempts to replicate my mother's loaves, but I'm nearly there. Kneading the dough has proved surprisingly theraputic, and I suspect that there may be stress-relief baking going on throughout this term. Orders for bready products can be placed via that box o'er there and I'll post it to you.

Whoops. Forgot to sleep. Pants.

Nestling at the back of my drinks fridge I found not one, not two, but four bottles of champagne/sparkling wine. I'm always loathe to open a bottle when I'm by myself - I've never been able to work out how to drink it all before it goes flat. However, on Jen's hen weekend I learnt the trick of 'teaspoon in bottle mouth keeps champagne sparkling' Eager to try out this technique, I managed to persuade myself to crack open a bottle last night (I justified the extravagance by refering to Champagne's limited shelf-life, and the fact that some of these bottle have been in the drinks fridge for quite some time. I'd hate to offer guests a glass of champagne, only for them to die from fizz poisoning. It would have been rude not to have tried it out. So far, it seems to be fine.)

Last night I drank half the bottle, and this evening, on removing the spoon, came the moment of truth... Was it still fizzy? Would I be forced to drink the remaining half a bottle through gritted teeth, bewailing and bemoaning the lack of bubble? Luckily for me, the bubbles had stayed. I never knew that teaspoons had such power. As I type, I'm just about to start my second glass of the evening. Rock and roll!

The washing didn't actually get done until today, but today it got done in such epic proportions that I think I washed nearly every item of clothing I own. That should keep the washing monster at bay for a week or so.

I also continued with the cleaning I started yesterday evening when I finally got out of bed (I read a book and watched some DVDs before getting my arse out from under the duvet). I've sorted through my Guiding box and thrown out all sorts of random, not mention old, paperwork. Some of it is so ancient it should probably be consigned to the county archives. Instead, I fed the bin and the recycling box.

It's been lovely being at home doing nothing but low-key mooching and pottering. I've not been here very much during this holiday, and I'm off again tomorrow, not to return until two hours before the start-of-term meetings next Sunday. These last two days have been like an oasis of lounging in a holiday of rushing about. I've got a couple of days at Rob's this week to spend on preparation for next term: it's mostly revision so it's both easier and harder than 'normal' teaching. Summer term means exams and stress and last-minute scribbling of essays to be marked for the next day; it also means cricket and free periods and sun and pimms. I like summer term.

Guide camp over. Am now flagging. In fact, two 1950s girl guides practising their semaphore wouldn't be flagging as much as I am. Think it's time for some tea, and then bed - the washing can wait until tomorrow.

Pants not big enough after all. Bugger.

Preparing for a Guide camp the night before you go away is - I am coming to acknowledge - flying by the seat of your pants. Thankfully, being a Guider, I have very big pants, so it's all going ok.

The wedding on Saturday was lovely, and the reception was held in a magic hotel that suddenly whisked us away to London. At least, that's the only reason that I can think of to explain why the drinks were so damned expensive. I can cope (just!) with £4.25 for a glass of wine, but I can't tell you how much they charged us for a jug os Pimms. Bastards!

There are some out there who claim the cure to hangovers is Heinz Cram of Mushroom soup. I reckon that my man's mushroom risotto has to come a close second. The only problem with using risotto to cure my slightly wobbly head was the need to drive to Cheltenham. Luckily, the journey was fairly uneventful, apart from a tosser in a Volvo trying to pull out into the side of the Boringmobile; and the 999 call made to report the teenage lads riding on cycles down the motorway's hard shoulder. One bike even had two passengers. Muppets. C'est la vie.

Yesterday was spent tarting up an assignment for my dyslexia course (how thrilling!) and then off to the theatre to watch Dracula. It was a modern interpretation with some good magic tricks, but it wasn't quite sure what type of play to be. Dracula in particular did a lot of looming and threatening, and then destroyed the moment with a cheap throwaway comment. The jury's still out, methinks.

Guide camp starts tomorrow. In preparation, I bought 19 clear plastic small storage boxes from a nice young man in Partners. He looked slightly bemused, but not so confused as the woman in the craft shop where I bought more glass paints than you can shake a stick at.

I got back from the land of no-net-access last night. I spent pretty much all evening dealing with 15 new voice-mail messages, 74 emails and trying to locate a calor gas supplier. All were completed with varying degrees of success. I have a 'To Do' list longer than a sperm whale's willy (which is a very long distance, let me assure you) so I can't fritter away hours playing with my blog. My shopping list for this morning includes 12 toilet rolls, 17 clear plastic pencil cases and four 4.5kg gas refills. Rock on.

(It's Jen's wedding this afternoon and I have just found the top I want to wear crumpled at the bottom of my laundry pile. Whoops. I may have to wear an ironed-dry shirt at this rate!)

Tomorrow I head over to Stoke to see my godson and family. I've even got a ticket to his brother's Easter Parade: bonnets ahoy!

I'm then off to Sunny Devon. At least, it had better be sunny, or I'll be asking for my money back. Either way, I'll not be back here until next week some time. Until then, be good, and if you can't be good, be careful! :-)

The afternoon has consisted, in chronolgoical order, of:
Lunch.
Drinking tea and talking about Guides
Discovering and examining a secret panels in a girl's wardrobe, just right for the hiding of fags n booze
Filing paperwork, although mostly it's filed in the bin
Feeling sleepy
Sleeping like the proverbial wooden block
Ordering Chinese.

Holidays are (mostly) fun!

As an American pretending to be a Scotsman whilst baring his buttocks for the attacking hoards to admire might say, "FREEEEEEEEEDOM!!!!!"

(a.k.a. The holidays have started. Hurrah)

This weekend I was meant to be marking tests and writing a revision guide for the GCSE group. Instead, I ran away from school cackling manically, jumped in the Boringmobile, and headed north. The weather at home was overcast and miserable, but as I headed up the M1 towards the Arctic Circle, the sun burned through the clouds and it felt like summer. The journey was good, and the excitement of not being in school was too great to measure. A Scout campsite in Durham was the final destination – a planning meeting for this summer’s SAGGA camp – but I took a slight detour to drive through the centre of Durham. Although the small details are different, things haven’t changed significantly: the streets are still full of students wearing university clothing; the pubs' outside tables are still full of young people soaking up the sun; the cathedral and castle still dominate the city. 'Twas good to be back.

The Scout campsite was good, although seeing George and Paul out of a DOGs setting was most bizarre. At least George wasn't making cocktails for everyone this time! My tent got its first airing of the year, although it certainly won't be its last: the diary is filling up with camps, and SAGGA summer camp runs straight on from Peak 2005, so I'll be well and truely intense by the middle of August.*

Driving home again on Sunday saw another detour; this time through Darlington. I lived in Darlo for two years, and it was great: enjoying the passing company of the lesbian ex-convicts who lived opposite, appreciating the short walk into town, and bemoaning the presence of the crack-dealers who used to have arguments in the street at 3 in the morning. My mother's eyebrows levitated every time she drove past the tatoo parlour on the corner of my street. I went back on Sunday, for the first time in four years. I drove past the chuch hall where I used to do Guides - that hasn't changed one iota. I then mooched down towards the town centre and my old flat. Morrisons is still there, as is the exotic pet shop, the fabric shop and the taxidermist. Other things are disorientatingly different though: Central Perk cafe is a Chinese restaurant; the ABD cinema is an Odeon; they've built some traffic lights at the corner where learner drivers used to wait for months for a gap in the traffic. Ch-ch-ch-changes...

I then came home and found some passport photos of me, taken just before I moved down here four years aog. Just like Durham and Darlington, I'm still recognisably me, but there are changes. My hair, for a start. I hadn't realised how short it was then, and how long it is now. The wrinkles and bags under the eyes are luckily not visible in the most recent passport photo, but I know they're there. I don't feel as dilapidated as Darlington looks, but I'm not sure I have embraced change in quite the way that Durham has. Perhaps that's just the end of term talking. This wasn't intended to be a bit of self-absorbed navel-gazing. It's amazing how stream of consciousness posts flip from tangent to tanget. I'm sorry. Give me a couple of days to sleep and I'll be back to (ab)normal. Better go and catch some zeds....

* This joke is an official entry in the "Search for Derbyshire's Worst Pun of the Year Award" competition. It may be in with a good chance.

Now is the time when I should be writing up this weekend's exploits. Instead, I went to a friend's for her birthday, drank lots of wine with bubbles, and now can't think straight. I think it's time for a quick whizz through the various email accounts and off to bed. Tomorrow I can tell you about my night in a tent; about meeting up with a colleague/pupils in the middle of the big bad city; about walking past people I think were probably ex-pupils of mine from way back; about driving through Darlington and the changes that have happened, and how it's familiar and yet slightly different to how I remembered it. I can also tell the tale of my missing dongle, now I've finally worked out how to do bluetooth on this 'ere laptop; and other such fascinating, scintilating topics.

Alternatively, I could just enjoy my penultimate day of teaching before the holidays kick in for real, and not write anything.

I suspect the latter is a little improbable. Hey ho.

I've just had a gentle perambulation round the village to return various pieces of coursework for last-minute tarting up. It's a mild evening, just right for walking in, and the bellringers are knocking all hell out of the church's bells. It made me feel quite positive, although slightly deafened. Think I'm going to celebrate this unexpected demob happiness by writing an evil test on marketing for my GCSE class. Mua ha ha!

Yesterday was the deadline for GCSE coursework. Or rather, as one girl wrote, cource-work. At least she wasn't the one who produced a Constance Page, to list the different sections of the project. I've also found reference to a supper market, a message parlour and a sweat shop. Hurrah for amusing spelling mistakes!

Out there it's sunny, warm, and the smell of freshly cut grass is rolling in through the window. It looks like spring is here, albeit briefly!

It's been an epic INSET day today - not one but two training courses! Far more exciting than teaching, although my brain cell has melted. Good job I have first lesson free tomorrow morning!

In other news, Fatso - who impressed me so much with his hamster-smack-addled swinging from the roof of his cage - is now in my not-so-good books. At some point in the last 24 hours, he learned how to open the door to his cage. If he balances on his wheel, puts his feet against the door and pushes hard, then the thing gives way beneath his weight and he's free to escape on the hunt for more hamster-smack. At the moment, a strategically placed clothes peg has stopped that little game, but even as I type, he's gnawing away at it. By tomorrow morning, I fully expect him to be roaming the flat. Pah - if having children is half as difficult and nerve-wracking as this, I'm going to remain childless! ;-)

Updated: Wednesday morning - The clothes peg is still in place, so unless he's Houdini, I won't have to spend the day crawling round the flat looking for the little fluff mountain. Hurrah!

Concert. Now. Need white shirt. Don't think I have one. Might just have to leave shirt off, reavealling white flesh that hasn't seen the sun for months and months, and then hide behind my viola hoping no-one will notice.

Actually, the bags under my eyes are probably big enough to hide behind, but they're a tasteful grey colour, so that's not quite keeping to the dress code.

Oh dear. My brain's finally given up.

I got my reports in by 10.30am, which isn't too long after the deadline. Now, though, I just feel lke crumpling into a heap and snoring for England! Mind you, the road-mender-men-in-boilersuits spent this morning making a hole. As I walked to break, I noticed that it was filled with wet cement. As I walked back from break, the cement proudly bore two shoe prints and a hand print. At the end of fourth lesson, I stood out in the street talking to a colleague, getting full benefit of the fresh tarmac used to cover the cement. It smells just like the permanent markers we used to use as children - "vandal pens" we called them - and I'm sure I got a head rush as I bimbled off to carry on teaching. Rock'n'roll!

(It just says a lot about the excitement on offer in a teacher's life if the most thrilling part of the day involves sniffing tarmac)

Progress report on the reports:

All reports written.
All reports still to print off, sign, sort and place in the right boxes.
Two cans of Pepsi Max knocked back.

I suspect that I'm going to pay the price for all three of these later today.

Tomorrow morning is my next big deadline. I still have 14 reports to write before then. I also have another thrity-plus to proof-read, tart up and generally get just right. The deadline's at 8.50am. Bugger. Better go and set my alarm.

Last week I swopped Fatso's treats from Gertie Guinea Pig's Nibble and Squeak Treats to Harry Hamster's Yippee Treats, the latter of which appear to be hamster-smack. It seems that the wee beastie will do anything for a Yippee Treat. Last Thursday, I propped some in the bars on the roof of his cage, in an attempt to turn him into an SAS-style-swinging-hamster (a la Fastso 2). Although the Yippee Treats has gone by the next morning, there was no evidence of a swinging hamster. Now, though, I've caught the little furball in the act. I am far too excited by this; I suspect that this is a sign that I have a) written too many reports already; and b) drank too much Pepsi Max, which could be likened to Mad-smack. Off to carry on writing whittery things about my Upper Sixth darlings... brrrr-oing!

Je déteste pour écrire des rapports. Aussi, je ne parle pas le Francais bien. Ma petite cellule de cerveau est morte. Je suis un chou. Ou un chou-fleur. En fait, je voudrais être un morceau de broccoli, mais c'est un grand lumineux pendant cette période de nuit.

(This post was brought to you by babelfish and the drink tea)

Well, there's good nudes and bad nudes...*

I got in from school this afternoon and thought, "Blimey, the flat is hot today." I thought nothing of it, until I went out and came back in, and thought, "Blimey it's still hot. And it smells a bit garlicky. Bugger. Last night's snack-ette. Did I turn the oven off afterwards?!" The answer was no. Pants.

Watching Jamie's School Dinners with the kids in the House last night made me appreciate a) how good our food is here; and b) how balanced and grown-up our kids are when it comes to food, in particular veggimetables. Ours would protest if there *weren't* salad and veggies available!

Yesterday I received a letter from the car company, telling me that I owed just under £5,700 on the Madmobile, which of course I traded in 6 weeks ago. Snotty phone calls ensued to both finance company and to dealership (both told me to contact the other). There was also quite a panic about my credit rating, and therefore potential impact on mortgages and dream homes in the country... my chief concern was I may never be able to own chickens as a result of this debacle.

Today I drove to the dealership, and they sorted it out. Phew! Dreams of chickens, piggies and sheepies reinstated. Maybe with an allotment, or at least a garden big enough to have a veggimetable patch. And an Aga. Maybe my credit rating won't stretch that far after all. Hmmm.

Good teaching things have been happening too. Although I can't remember exactly *what* has been happening, there have been a number of occasions where I've thought, "I must blog about that". Now I'm in front of a computer screen that's not filled with reports, through, I've forgotten them all. Shame, really, as they comprised much of my good nudes.

One bit of good nude that I *can* remember is related to dyslexing - I got my first assignment back last week, and my tutor was impressed at how sensetively I had written about the issues (I think she was fooled by my outer yob and didn't see my inner caring-sharing-lovely-person). One of the victims pupils for my second assignment is a girl in the House, and I gave her an unfinished draft of the report I've written about her. She read through it with interest and - on giving it back to me - said with a beaming smile, "I'm impressed. I didn't think anyone would be able to write that much about me." I'm going to enjoy teaching her. :-)

Anyhow, off to do something constructive now, like roll up in the boy wonder's dressing gown (his is fleecy and soft, while mine is old and droopy), loll on the sofa and whitter on the phone. It's all because a mountain of reports are due in a few days' time, and I'm desperately seeking displacement activities! G'night.

Akshually, no nudes is bad news**

** Unless you're into life drawing. Or the manager of a lap-dancing club.

meep.

I hate the end of term, because it means reports, which means marking and grading and assigning positions. Oh for more hours in the day.

Soundtrack for this afternoon:

Kirsty MacColl - Galore (tidying up)
Joan Osbourne - Relish (marking A-level mock exam papers)
India Arie - Acoustic Soul (writing Yr11 reports)

So far, it's been a day for female vocalists. What I can't decide now is whether to stick with the trend or to buck it. Difficult decision.

Ooops. Gone midnight. Sleepy. Got to snuggle up under duvet. G'night

Debate: we won. Convincingly.

The booze I drank also went down convincingly and now I'm possibly slightly dununk. I don't remember having any tea (because of Rainbows) so perhaps I deserve to be spinny-heady. I'm probably not so bad that I'll be leaving gushy messages on my bloke's voicemail, but I have done anyway, for amusement's sake if nothing else. Unfortunately he'll realise that he's going out with a jibbering loon and will dump me tomorrow. Gah.

"Science" went well at Rainbows, although before we'd even started some of them told me in no uncertain terms that science was BORING. Pouring milk onto a plate was a good way to get their attention and by the time I'd got the food colouring out I couldn't stop them asking questions. Objective achieved. Also achieved: a nice rainbow effect on my fingers caused by errant food colouring. Now I have to speak in a formal debate with hands that look like I've been killing people; I think some scrubbing is called for. That Macbeth? He had nothing on me, mate.

Thursdays are normally fairly slack: a few lessons in the morning, lunch in the House, tutor group, perhaps a smattering of sport, and then some free time to catch up on marking, preparation and all the other assorted paperwork that accumluates during the week.

This morning was great: I managed to get a swathe of A-level mock papers marked, as well as finding time to sit in the staff room idly chatting about meaningless frippery. This afternoon is destined to be a bit more stressful. Although I've been made redundant from my netball session, I'm meant to be running Rainbows later, and then speaking in a staff-student debate this evening.

Rainbows will be interesting - last week's session was ready-planned for me, but this week I'm completely in charge. I'm thinking of doing something about friendship, but I'm going to have to do some thinking before 5pm!

The motion for the debate is "This house would spare the rod and spoil the child". My role is summation for the opposition. Given that I have attended the grand total of two debates, both times as a member of the audience, I'm slightly pooing myself. I've made after-dinner speeches to 250 people, I teach every day of the week, I have no fear about running a Scout wide game for 100, but I'm dreading this evening. Eeeek!

Last week was GCSE mock week. This week it's the Upper Sixth's turn. Off they all traipse to the main school hall to sit shivering from sub-zero temperatures and the excessive demands being made on their braincells. This leaves us teachers with bonus free lessons, and admittedly with a huge pile of marking too. The best of all bonus free lessons, though, must be the first lesson of the day: a leisurely start with a cup of tea and some constructive marking; or, even better, a lie-in. What made today's bonus free lesson even better than most was its timing - not first lesson but second, on a day in which the first period is free. I've been bouncing all day as a result.

Last night's late night dyslexing extravaganza was followed by a good 8 hours crashed out under three duvets (it's a tad cold here) and a bonus lie-in because of A-level mock exams. Although snotty, I feel far more balanced.

I suspect it won't last long!

One minute it was 9pm and I was just casting my eye over my dyslexing assignment; next thing I know I've turned into a pumpkin. Bollocks. There goes my chance of an early night.

Sometimes there are days when you feel rotten, when your dose is bunged up, and you feel like you're trying to run uphill through treacle. Today is one of those days. I was feeling all despondent and wibbly, and then I found this, turned the volume up, sat back and smiled. Hurrah.

(Thank you b3ta.com for bringing such light into my life!)

Why is it that - after feeling snotty, manky and generally whingingly-grumpy while preparing tomorrow's GCSE lesson - I'm now feeling really, really, REALLY awake, in that 'lying there with your eyes open and there's no chance that you'll fall asleep before midnight' sort of way? Sometimes I wish I was one of those inflatable teachers I used to have when I was at school: come 3.30pm and they'd be whipping out the plug and packing themselves into a little box in the cupboard. Why is this skill no longer nurtured and valued?! WHY?!?

(I have been avoiding cold and flu medication, as I fear it may push me over the edge)(You may not have noticed this fact)

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.