Virus schmirus. Someone out there's got wee bugs in their mail system and I'm getting all sort of doom-laden messages. Thank goodness for virus checkers!

Little did the Boy Rob realise, when he arrived on Friday evening just gone, what excitment lay in store this weekend. Not only was there Chinese food and beer, but also a trip to a Swedish furniture shop and a puzzle over how to fit it all in the Boringmobile. Luckily, he's an adaptable sort of mug guy, and took it all in his stride, and even pretended to enjoy erecting shelves on a Saturday night when he could have been out drinking. The shelf units came in boxes that are exactly two centimetres shorter than the distance from the front windscreen to the back windscreen when laid on the tops of seats in a Golf, and necessitated very VERY careful driving back on the motorway: rarely do I willingly set the cruise control at 50mph!

The finished units are fantastic. One has gone into the sitting room to replace an old sideboard acquired by my mother when I first moved here - the sideboard's contents have gone into storage boxes that fill just the bottom shelf, so there's plenty of room for my book collection to continue expanding! The other shelves, far more bijou in all directions, have gone into the kitchen to hold pans, plates, and other assorted cooking type gubbins. I now have a far emptier work surface and two emptier cupboards: time to start filling them with more junk, methinks!

The erection* was interspersed with cooking and eating, including a pudding experiment, a pancake experiment and a steak experiment. The first was good and the latter two were moderately successful, with futher research being planned. I like cooking. Sadly my waistband is starting to show this: time to get back to the healthy eating, I think!

* of shelves, of course. What did you think I meant?

Each day, a sheet of notices is sent to each House carrying information such as "Strings, oboes and harpsichord at 6.15pm" or "U14A cricketers in nets at 4.30pm". Today's notices read "Inter-House relays today 4.30pm unless it rains this afternoon". However, I've just meandered back from lessons through very gentle drizzle to meet a crowd of over-excited pupils. "Miss, Miss, we've spent all afternoon praying and singing, and now it's raining!" I was told, in no uncertain terms. To reinforce the effect, they even did a little rain dance. By the time I'd reached my front door the drizzle was thickening slightly, and cheers echoed from every window.

I'm not saying that they're slackers - after all, I would have been the first pleading for the intervention of some divine being in such circumstances - but I'm impressed by their commitment to their cause. Perhaps I should pay them not to pray or rain dance during the summer holidays: that way I might get a dry Guide camp!

Friday lunchtimes are great. I have no commitments, so can crash in my flat for an hour to gain some respite from the day. Mind you, I'm not exactly in need of respite just now: exams are looming ever closer, so the wee kiddies are spending every lesson revising, which is hardly taxing in the grand scheme of things. I also had a good lesson with a GCSE group today talking about motivation; they were - dare I say it? - almost motivated, and are now armed with corporate-babble terms to describe their teachers' management styles. This afternoon will be more of the same, and then perhaps some rounders... it's a hard life!

Rob was so desperate to get away from me taking photos that he tried to hide in the foliage.

Blogging pictures direct from flickr is making my fonts go all funny. Not sure this is the way to go. Until I can get it sorted out, this is my flickr page of photos.

The Boy Rob

The Boy Rob
Originally uploaded by Planet Mad.

This new camera's great - it does videos, zooms, and also does extreme close up. No bad for a mobile phone! Rock n roll!

After a weekend spent poncing, driving, drinking, boogying, snogging, snoring, waking, grumbling, driving, lounging, throwing sticks, taking photos, eating, lounging, reading, sleeping, struggling to wake, visiting, eating, driving, eating, sleeping, and driving, I got back here at 11 o'clock this morning. I have oodles of lovely pictures - my new phone has a fab camera - and I now have a spinny head and will have all the delights of a hangover tomorrow. This may be related to the number of chelsea buns I ate, but is more likely linked to the number of glasses of wine I've drunk. Tut tut, and on a school night too. How discraceful.

Tomorrow I'll try to get my head round this 'putting photos on web' malarky, but it's something that a slightly drununky braincell won't cope with. For now, then, g'night.

Speaking to people on my mobile recently has been punctuated with a hhhhssssssschchhhhhssssschchhhhhssssssssss sort of noise. Today, having got a last-minute pass-out from Rounders, I headed off in the Boringmobile to the bustling metropolis of Burtonibus On Trentorum and bought a new phone. The Boringmobile's heat-sensor-thingy was registering 28.5 (that's TWENTY. EIGHT. POINT. FIVE. Yikes.) and it was a tad chilly - I've still not worked out how to moderate the freezing effect of the air conditioning. The new phone, though, is whizziness personified. It's going to take a while to make it work, I suspect, but should have good pictures of this coming weekend to share on my return.

Tomorrow is 'ponce around in silly clothes and academic gown' day, a.k.a. speech day. If it's as hot as today, I'm considering going naked under my hood and gown - wearing anything more may lead to being baked alive. After the poncing is over, I'm running away to Cheltenham to help Wendy be young, and then the Boy Rob (as he's affectionately known in these parts, even by the girls in the House!) and I are off to sunny Devon to talk to mad dogs, read books, lounge about and attempt to catch crayfish. Hopefully the Boy Rob's attempt will be more successful than last time.

Until then, I've got an evening in which to tidy my flat, choose an appropriate poncing outfit, watch a couple of films, and get to grips with my new phone. Oh, and drink a couple of pints. Rock and roll.

Have a good bank holiday, one and all!

It's birthday season: last weekend was my brother; today is Wendy. She's old, although I'm not sure she'd appreciate me saying that. Unless, of course, she's just working backwards and is now 28. Damn, that makes her younger than me. Waaah!

This weekend was spent faking epileptic seizures, pretending to have massive internal bleeding, and generally being unconscious and then recovering miraculously. First aid courses have rarely been so interesting, well instructed and relevant as the one this weekend. What was even nicer was that many of the procedures and treatments were still nestling at the back of my mind from last time, and my braincell did me proud.

It's hot out here - the hotness-measurer in the Boringmobile was pusing 19 degrees C, which is really quite warm. What's made today even more warm, if not downright uncomfortably sticky, was the necessity of running everywhere to get D of E paperwork finished in time. That photocopier and I had something special going on during lesson four, I can tell you. Mind you, I don't think it can cook, so The Boy Rob's position as Man#1 is safe.

In other news, I've had confirmation of my place at INTOPS, which is the first stage for selection for a GOLD trip - Guiding overseas linked to development. This means that they were able to read my four-page scrawl of an application form, which is a wonder in itself. All I need to do now is practice not being a bossy cow in a teamwork situation; I've got unitl October to get it right, so there's a reasonable chance. At least it gets me a weekend off school! (Am I doing this for the right reasons, I ask myself!)

I've been trying to get my head round th green forms needed for D of E expedition this summer. It's nearly as bureaucratic as girlguiding uk's forms! Anyone got any ideas where to buy tracing paper from, or other ideas for doing route tracings?

I spent much of today officially teaching but unofficially doing marking and faking lesson plans for my dyslexing assignments. Tut tut. It probably didn't help that I was out last night until well gone pumpkin o'clock, and had been forced to drink bucketfuls of red wine. Tut tut times two. Now, I intend to catch up on some paperwork before this evening's staff meeting because I've cancelled D of E. I think that firmly puts me in the 'thrice tut' category. Hey ho.

I'm bored. Marking, tidying up and paperwork are the tasks for this evening, and not one of them inspires me. Pah.

Earlier today I did a bit of teaching (controversial!), including a revision session about elasticity of demand - a subject guaranteed to stretch the brain of the average recalcitrant sixth former. I'm not sure my brain was much better by the end of it. Mind you, they seemed to understand, so perhaps the knowledge travel from my brain to theirs by the process of osmosis.

Tomorrow, thank goodness, I'm getting my hair cut. Last time I made it to a hairdressers was February half term, and even though it was an annoying woman who cut off far too much it's now getting far too long and wild. This time, I've even managed to get pictures of my hair looking decent, and will be thrusting them into the face of my hairdresser so she actually knows what I want (normally I just go, "Yeah, whatever just cut it off a bit"). The only downside is that I'll have to endure 3 hours of dyslexing with itchy hair inside my clothes. Will be scratching like a nit-infested loon.

It's been a blissful Sunday so far: lying in bed reading a book about the trials and tribulations of running an organic smallholding; eating bacon and egg rolls; drinking lots of tea; kneading ten shades of hell out of some dough, which is now happily rising inside its carrier bag; watching my semi-resident chef make a tomato-y bolognaise. I'm looking forward to an afternoon of baking and eating, although it will be tempered with the marking of mock exam papers. It's just that time of year, unfortunately; luckily the results have been ok so far, so my P45 shouldn't be in my pigeon hole just yet. Phew!

I taught one of my dyslexing lessons today and we were discussing k sound at the end of words: is it '-ck' or '-ke' or even 'c'? We'd worked out the rules and I had a card with each ending. I'd say a word and she would have to point to the appropriate card. It was all going great guns until I got to the 'uck' family. I didn't say it, but we both fell about laughing. Good job I wasn't being observed!

Have just have a 20 minute phone chat with a lady moving into the area to take up a job at the school: she's a Guider with 30 years' experience and wants to organise a transfer to the district. It's a good job that we spoke on the phone: had we been face-to-face I'd have bitten her hand off!

I made the mistake of going out drinking without wearing my watch. It's now later than I thougt. Bollocks.

Wednesdays start with a free lesson. This is possibly the only redeeming feature of the day, which then contains 6 lessons, D of E, tea, and then duty in the House until late. Today, though, I have a reprieve: it's the CCF Mess Dinner tonight, which means poncing about in flim-flam-finery, and drinking lots of port. Now, I'm not too sure I'll cope with the former, but I feel more than confident about tackling the latter. Tomorrow's teaching may be fun...

D of E expedition: good.
Weather: mixed - from sun to hail.
Kids' attitudes: positive and pleasing.
Sleep: lacking.

Brain cell is all mixed up. Need a snooze. Instead will be studying the intricacies of exam special arrangments in dyslexing. Waaah.

Bloody typical. I lost my little whizzy headtorch ages ago. I searched high and low, but had no luck finding it. On Thursday I bought myself a new one. Guess what I've just found at the back of a cupboard?! Damnation. Oh well, I'll be the best illuminated woman on D of E this weekend!

Why is it, when there are a thousand and one things to do in preparation for tomorrow's little jaunt up some hills, do I end up faffing with pointless activities? Pah.

Have spent all day (other than teaching until 11am) dyslexing. Have written a big whopper of an assignment, although I don't really know if it says the right things. Tomorrow at 8am I set off on D of E. I haven't packed, haven't thought about getting kit ready, haven't got the stamina to start doing it now. Gah. I thought weekends were for relaxing in?!

Dear me, I wrote a lot of shite last night. Apologies to everyone's eyes. However, one little snippet of news that explains why the CGI Charles Kennedy looked so much better than the others can be found here. Interesting reading, I think.

Bollocks. Ruth Kelly re-elected. Yet another reason for remaining in the private sector of the education.

Bless. Cherie's crying. Perhaps it's tears of gladness that she's not having to move. Tony's speech was interesting: perhaps he accepts that there are serious issues with his leadership style and it's time to make changes. Time will tell.

No-one seems keen to predict result. I'm not surprised. I think it's probably time to go to bed and hope that they've fought it all out by the time I wake up. I also think I'm going to need to set two alarms if I'm to get up tomorrow mornining.

G'night.

Blair has been re-elected. You'd think that he'd look happy at not having to move house just yet. Seemingly not.

Thank goodness that Nick Griffin (BNP) got thrown out by the voters. Even so, it still saddens me that over 4,000 chose to vote for him.

The Blairs have won the prize for fake grins this year.

Welsh is a lovely language. It can make even election declarations and acceptance speeches seem sexy.

Jack Straw's speech is very boring. Although I don't agree with heckling, I can see why they're doing it. I would be. Either that, or snoring.

Gordon hasn't mentioned the word "prudent" once. Perhaps he's preparing for the PM's job, when he can hand Prudence over to someone else. I wonder if she minds.

Gordon Brown's been re-elected. I'm glad. Anyone who can get economics to work is worthy of credit.

John Prescott has been re-elected without hitting anyone. Shucks. There's nothing like a good fight for entertainment on a Friday morning.

The beeb now have Peter Snow with a CGI Downing Street. If the degree of real-life-ness* is an indicator of electoral success, tomorrow's government is going to be run by Charles Kennedy and the policeman. Blair and Howard both look slightly fake. Is it a case of art mirroring life?

* I know this isn't the real word, but I'm blowed if I can remember it. Maybe the word is 'realism'. Dunno.

Beeb man: "And there's George Galloway from the Respect party, er, being respected".

Cutting edge journalism at its best. It kind of makes me glad that I don't pay TV licence.

Conservatives have just got their first MP of the night. She's only 35. Blimey. I wonder if I'll be achieveing such things when I'm her age. On the other hand, I suspect not. I'd rather have a vegetable patch and some chickens.

They're back to the 'MPs round the table' discussion gubbins, but the lib dem bird has flown the nest. Shame, coz she was good at stirring up trouble. Mind you, Boris is still looking casually rumpled: he has such style.

Labour have just won their eigth seat, although the Lib Dems are swinging up all over the shop - 6% swing, 9% swing... more swings that your average playing park.

Ah, vindication - the main beeb man says, "Ah well, Peter Snow's always wildly excited". That is the only thing that Kenneth Clark has said which Beeb man has agreed with. What joy it must be to be a politician, to be sitting prey for sarcastic journos.

Now another journo has just described Ken Clark as "very good value for money". I have to agree, but with the caveat that you wouldn't get many of him to the pound.

Peter Snow has a big swing-o-meter. And a slightly breahtless, very excitable voice, as if it's all fightfully exciting, and he's got the hand movements to go with it too. Fascinating. Perhaps I should adopt some of his moves in the classrooms. Or at least in the nightclub.

Ooooh - arguement going on about postal voting. The man from the beeb is pointing the finger at the labour man, the lib dem bird is now having a go at him(there were questions in the House: she's got the bloody thing in her handbag, if you need proof the lib dems didn't want it) and it's nearly reached blows. Hurrah! This is what politics should be about. The beeb man is getting quite frustrated at the labour man's total refusal to admit blame. Am v. amused.

Boris Johnson has very cool hair. Shame he sounds like a blundering buffoon, albeit a very amiable one. So long as he's not a baboon and whips his red arse out.

Houghton and Washington - pronounced by the Beeb as How-ton, although as eny fule know, 'tis Hor-ton - also is labour too. More swings to the Lib Dems though. Why do the BNP candidates always look like complete thugs? Perhaps there's a correlation between appearance and policies? Who am I to comment?

The maccams* do it again - Sunderland North are second to declare. What makes them so fast? Do their vote counters have speedy fingers? Are they just very nimble? Do they employ far more vote counters than other consituencies? A puzzle indeed.

* I'm not exactly sure whether it's maccams or maccems. I'm sure someone will tell me if they're particularly bothered about it.

Didn't quite manage to get to bed before the election results started coming in, so I seem to be resigned to staying awake until even matchsticks fail to keep my eyelids open. To help me, I have a pot of tea, some hamster-smack to keep Fatso quiet, and a broadband connection. I might as well make use of my bandwidth to blog while electioneering: who says that tired women can't multi-task?!

Sunderland South got their result in first: no surprise there. That happened more than 30 minutes ago, so the commentators are trying hard to spin out this little tidbit, because every other consistuency is still counting and recounting and arguing over spoilt ballots. As a woman who once had to study psephology (I think that's how you spell it), it's interesting to note that some areas have had a turnout of 65 - 70%, which is heartening to know, provided they're not all faked postal votes. It all means that the couting's going to take much longer than usual, so the poor commentators are going to have to whitter on about bobbins for a wee while longer.

This is turning into a stream of semi-consciousness post, so I'll stop for the moment and drink more tea. Rock and roll.

My dyslexia course tutor has just been to observe another lesson: that's two in one week! She was impressed (but of course) and doesn't think that she'll need to come back and observe any more lessons. I'm not sure if that's because I'm unquestionably brilliant or because it's a loooonnng way for her to come. Suspect it's the latter, somehow!

I have yet to vote in the election, but will be mooching down the road in the next hour to put my X in the appropriate boxes. It's quite a nice evening for a stroll. I'm not sure I've got the stamina to stay awake to hear the results come in though: it's D of E expedition this weekend and I need to conserve my energy!

In preparation for D of E, and because I had lots of tidying to avoid before this evening's dys lesson, I bimbled off to the bustling metropolis to buy maps, compasses and other things walking-related. I'm not sure my flexible friend knows what hit it.

Talking of not knowing what's hit it, my braincell's about to die, so I'd best be off. I certainly don't want my brain exploding over my laptop.

And another thing. This weekend I head off on expedition with my wee D of E silver group. (It's not the group that's wee, or even their physical stature, but they're just generally lovely. They even profressed to like writing route cards. Weird kids) I have to go shopping tomorrow in preparation... and not just normal shopping but KIT shopping!! I get to rummage through the supplies of Burton's finest camping shops to my heart's content. I suspect that rummage-ability will be slightly limited, given the range of shops available, but it'll be nice to be away from the marking for a bit.

On Friday, the external assessor lady is checking out my dyslexia course. We've all had to hand in all of our assignments, assessments, lesson plans and resources. Today I got an email saying that the assessor lady has picked me as the victim she would like to talk to. I can hardly say no, but she's just going to think that I'm a jibbering loon. No change from normal, I suppose!

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!