As if I don't have enough CDs already, I just ordered a new album from New Zealand, of all places. Even with postage, it's still cheaper than many CDs here. It's a barmy world.

One of the best things about school holidays is that I can sleep for as long as I want in the morning, without worry about missing first lesson. In fact, the absence of a rigid routine is a blessing in its own right: I can even get away without wearing a watch. It takes a while for me to snap out of 'wake up early' mode, but once I'm in touch with my inner sleeper I feel capable of sleeping for Britain in 2012. Today I even managed to wake up, finish reading the book I started last night, and then fall back to sleep - it's like the triple jump for somnambulists.

Another good thing about the holidays is time: time to potter about; time to be with friends; time to spend more than just a rushed weekend with the Boy Wonder. I've even managed to go shopping: CDs, books, a new pair of shorts... it's all excitement here. I've even found time to tidy up my flat, albeit to find bits of paperwork that have become lost under piles of other paperwork and camping equipment.

However, in a week and a half, my flat stops being mine. Everything, from spices to furniture, becomes 'ours'. Rob has got a job up here and moves in next weekend. While this pleases me intensely it's also a tad scary: how the hell am I meant to squeeze him into a flat where every nook and cranny is jammed full of my clutter? Being ruthless is the only way, I fear. Goodbye to those jeans that I might, one day, be able to fit into again - I bought them when I was 17 and there's years of wear left in them. Tarra to back issues of Private Eye that I was keeping for the cartoons. Farewell to drawers full of old socks that only get worn at the extreme end of a laundry crisis. In the grand scheme of things, I think it will be good for me.

Damn. That's tha phrase I use when trying to persuade the kids to do something that's going to be tough and hard work. I've been a teacher too long.

At least I've not described it as 'character forming' yet.

Reporting, cleaning, packing, end-of-terming, and D of E-ing are all finished. I have new thermarest and new hair. Other than that, things are quite dull and holiday-relaxing-like. More later.

D of E tomorrow. Too much caffeine today. Lacking the ability to sleep. Pish.

I'm hoping that Si has just solved my blog template problem - it's something to do with float alignment, I suspect, which I would have associated more with coarse fishermen than blogging, but it just shows you can't have everything.

Maps found - they had been 'sorted' by a person who thought they were being helpful. Bastard. I'll kick their ankles next time I see them. Other than that, things on the to-do list are being ticked off slowly. I'm off to buy some tents now.

Here comes the rain with a gutteral murmering of thunder and the occasional flicker of lightening. The temperature's falling but it's not making me feel any better. The maps are still missing and the font's still wrong. I contemplated changing the template of the blog, but couldn't face the faffing involved with it, and didn't want my page to be a clone of everyone else's. Guess it's a job to tackle in the holidays. Only 3 days to go, and then 4 days of expedition, and then I can get enough sleep to be a normal human being again. I'm counting every second.

I'm having problems with blogger changing the font of my posts without warning. I've done some hunting and I think it's all down to this cheeky little bit of code that's popping up without being asked:

div style="clear:both;"

If you know how to get rid of it, please tell me - there's nothing obvious in my template, and it's well above my normal level of geeking. Ta.

Good: finished report writing for the term.
Bad: trying to entertain kids who have just 3 days of term left and no real incentive to do anything
Good: Knowing that this time on Saturday I'll be off on Duke of Edinburgh expedition
Bad: realising that I've lost the entire roll of maps for the area. That's 16 maps. And we're meant to be using them to walk with. The only word for this situation rymes with 'rollocks'. If you spot a set of sheet 98 1:50,000 OS maps then please send them my way. Waaah.

It's rock and roll here, but very busy. More later, when I'm not teaching.

Whoops. Tonight was meant to be an early night but I forgot to go to bed. Arse. I *did* make a quite reasonable lasagne and drink some nice wine, and now I'm eating the nicest amaretti biscuits this side of Italy. I can already tell that tomorrow's going to be a day for an elasticated waistband.

From K comes the musical baton.

Total volume of music files on my computer?
Eurm. Dunno. iTunes says that I have 35 songs, but some of those are mp3s of Eddie Izzard and Weebl and Bob, plus assorted online radio. I'm not really a music on my computer type of person.

The last CD I bought was?
Mrs Cruff, by Mr Scruff. At least I think it was - it's been too long to remember!

Song playing right now?
Nowt - I'm invigilating an exam. Fret not, it's only an internal exam for a group of 7 first years... hardly taxing stuff!

Five songs I listen to a lot/mean a lot to me?
Yikes - too many to choose from! Some favourites include:

• I'm in the mood for dancing by The Nolans (memories of university nights out come flooding back every time I hear that)
  
• Shanty Town by Mr Scruff
  
• God only knows by the Beach Boys (Fatso likes that one too - he squeaks along in time)
  
• The Wild Rover... for all those drunken evenings spent sitting round a campfire!
  
• That one that goes "la la doo bee doo bee la" but I can't remember its name. Damn. I'm singing it in my head though: be thankful this isn't an audio-blog!
  

The musical baton goes on to Rob, Andy, Amy, Fraser and Mal, provided I don't fumble it and drop it by the side of the running track.

Off now to puzzle over which music I *really* should have put here and to try and remember the name of that damned song!

Loads of photos from the last week here, includng screwing, buddies, water games, shoes, and the ball. Enjoy.

Last night's Guide meeting was one of the most productive yet relaxed meetings we've had in a long while. They started with the annual review - what have you enjoyed most this year? how can your patrol work even better next year? - and then we hand painted a giant buddy for Send My Friend. This left us with a good 45 minutes in which to play water games that - whoops! - turned into a full-blown water fight. We didn't see that one coming at all, yer honour! The best moment was when our unit helper (a recently recruited mum who's never been a leader before) grabbed a bucket and tipped it straight over my assistant Guider's head. Chortle? You bet!!

After a quick rush home and a change out of slightly damp uniform, it was off to a party where there was wine, melt-in-the-mouth cake and good friends. Sadly it was cut short by the need to be on late-night duty, but it was nice to get out. Now, though, I'm knackered. Thank goodness sixth-formers can be understanding about Saturday morning bleariness.

Oh aye, I forgot. I had to go to Rainbows tonight. Damn little bouncy things in their little purple tabard things. Ribena-berries, every one of 'em. Pah, give me Guides any day.

Oh fuck. I go and watch cricket, drink wine and get the worst hiccups in the world ever. I'm sure it's very amusing to watch but it's not really funny, in the grand scheme of things. Unless your grand scheme of things include people going "wauch" and shrugging their shoulders dramatically, in which case you're well away. In any case, the cricket was between some of my colleagues and a local team, and we won. Not, of course, that I can lay any claim to the success (although I *did* teach economics to one of the star batsman). Of all of it, the only photo I managed to get was this:




The focus is pants; my phone camera may be good but it's not *that* good!

Last night, after my last dyslexing session ever, I came home via the Swedish furnishing shop. No shelf units this time, just more boxes to put on the shelves and a magazine rack for the girls. They'd requested it as a way of sharing magazines, rather than all buying all of them. Obviously, being the intellectual darlings that they are, their reading material consists of Cosmo, Heat, Hello, Now and other assorted shit. Oh, and one girl buys wedding magazines. She's 15. She says that she likes the pictures and she showed me her collection of wedding dress pictures that she'd cut from the magazines and stuck into a folder. In my caring tutor role, I advised her never to show (or even mention) the folder to anyone she fancies; I though that was quite subtle.

Anyhoooo, back to the magazine rack. I'd bought a clothy-baggy-racky-item from the aforementioned Swedish furnishing emporium, so we spent this evening after prep building the thing. Two fifteen year old girls, Jen (the matron) and myself, armed with two screwdrivers, whipped out the instructions and spent the next twenty minutes pissing ourselves laughing about jokes involving screwing and erecting. Minds like sewers, the lot of us! A good chortle does everyone good, even when the conversation veered off towards children's names - Tennis, Magistrate, Netball - and then into the Spanish Inquisition for Jen, who has four children with names beginning with the letter J. After such frivolity, I'm surprised that I'm still employed. It's a good job that the headmaster wasn't wandering round the House, or the P45 would be in my pigeonhole by now.

I'm in shock. We had a meeting today with all of our Year 10 kids (4th years in real money, or A-block in our idiosyncratic nomenclature) to discuss their options for Wednesday afternoons next year. They have to do something, whether it's CCF, adventurous activities, or D of E silver. I did a small whitter about the award, the CCF man talked about the other options, and then they filled in their provisional choices on a sheet. D of E was first choice for 55 of them. FIFTY FIVE!!!! We have 31 kids this year, and that's the biggest the group's ever been; we've obviously made it too attractive. Pish. How on earth do you run expeditions for 55 participants at a time? I know for a fact that we've not got that many cookers, let alone tents. And what about administering it all - there will be forms falling out of my ears. Waaah! This job has just got interesting.

I don't think I said good things or did things that will make me popular, at least not amongst the organising committee for the Guide hall, but I feel purged. Off now to get some kip. G'night.

The village seems to have been hit by an ice age. Everywhere is full of shivering children, desperate to take advantage of the summer 'no-tie' uniform but paying the price of hypothermia instead. I'd like to say that the weather was better over the weekend but - apart from a brief excursion to Tesco, and an enforced march to chapel - I didn't really make it outside at all.

Partly this was due to the presence of the Boy Rob, lots of food and some cookery books. My lack of adventure was also linked to a weekend on duty in the House, looking after wee girlies who spent much of their time gazing manically into space jibbering about impending exams. The UK's assessment system is a joke.

Today was the start of A2 teaching for those lower sixth who have finished their exams. Getting them motivated was easier than I'd expected, although I overheard a colleague explaining in no uncertain terms why we teach now instead of letting them slacken off. He reduced it to money terms, which was a bit of a shocker: I'd not thought of it it in that way before. A new day, a new perspective.

Tonight is a committee meeting for the organisation who run the Guide hall - it's bound to be long, boring and I am guaranteed to upset people with the questions I'm oging to ask. Hey ho, c'est la vie.

I've just been given a CD of photos by a boy in my Silver Duke of Edinburgh group, and had to put the best onto flickr straight away. They're pictures from last month's expedition, and they're really made my day. Although I'm very fond of the shot of them all paddling through a stream, my favourite is the shot of this boy's group as they reach Kinder Scout's plateau: it's the expression of relief and achievement that makes it so special. I'm quite touched at how much they enjoyed it; if I'm not careful I'm going to blub. Bless.

It's a funny time of year. The kids are manically working away, striving to squeeze every last minute's worth of work from their days, lurching from one exam to another. From my point of view, though, it's a slack time. Admittedly there's the occasional invigilation, but a lot of normal lessons have become independent revision lessons: the kids choose their own priorities and work with little guidance from me. As a result, I've spent the last two days writing reports, hindered only by random questions, and not all to do with economics/business, either.

Them: If you're multiplying two fractions, can you divide down going across, or just diagonally?
Me: Eurm. Dunno.
Them: What years was Regan president?
Me: Eurm. Dunno.
Them: What happened at Little Rock?
Me: Eurm. Dunno.
Them: Do you know anything?
Me: Eurm. Dunno.

Personally, I blame it on the sun. It was glorious yesterday; so much so that I gave up on report-writing and headed out to a comfy bench and watched a couple of hours of cricket. It was the annual prep school cricket competition, and no player was over the age of 11. I normally watch school's first XI, so it was a bit of a shocker to see all these wee boys running round. Even more amusing were the parents, proudly watching their darling offspring and trying to out-do each other with competitive point scoring: "Our Henrietta's just started a medical degree at Birmingham" "Only at Birmingham? Charles is in his second year at Oxford, you know". Social schmoozing sucks. Let's hope I never turn out like that.

Last night was my duty night, so I spent it upstairs in the matron's flat. Our Matron, Jen, is also my assistant Guider, and the two of us are doing the QMing for summer camp. Trying to work out the quantities of cheese needed for 40 people's worth of tacos was amusing, but slightly brain-numbing. At least that's all done now - just shopping lists to type up, equipment to buy, and we're ready to go!

A barely relevant dyslexing session segued straight into an over-long mentor training for Guides, and I then returned home to find men and a van doing things to the drains. All the windows I'd left open to air the flat had done their job too well and I shall be sleeping in the heady aroma of drain-air tonight. Nice.

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!)