Sunday February 5th 2006
2005....that was the year of....
Also, unfortunately these things happened as well....
It is quite definitely SPRING in Bunnyland today. I have the windows open wide (I am certain my music must be pissing off my neighbours, but it's better than endless Crazy Frog which their kids played all summer) and it is sunny and there is a haze over Landsdown, instead of the grizzly, drizzly, grey mist that has been a moreorless permanent fixture since October. The bush in the garden (I think it's a camelia) has some bright pink flowers on it. I have been overcome with an overwhleming urge to NEST...so last night I stayed up until midnight clearing out my office. This basically involved the moving around of STUFF (tm) - I sorted 6 boxes of Stuff into 4 boxes of Stuff, making room for my lever arch files of PGCE Stuff, and cleared the 2 filing cabinet drawers of Stuff that has been accumulating since the filing cabinet arrived almost 3 years ago, and boxed up a lot of Stuff I can take to work and put away there (the joys of having one's own classroom - I have 2 walk-in cupboards and another filing cabinet...), and, best of all, I have thrown away 3 bags of Stuff (not bin bags...just Asda bags...hey, I'm not a minimalist) and sorted another big box of paper Stuff for recycling. I have dusted various things. I am plucking up the courage to nag Mr Z into putting stuff in the loft.
I have also been through my enormous bag of casettes and put most of them in a bag for throwing away. I feel incredibly guilty for putting them in a landfill but I can't imagine they'd be any good for recycling. There are some random things in there, including dozens of tapes from Stu and from a chap called Alex who Mother Hand knew when I was a pre-teen and who owned all the Now! That's.. albums on vinyl, and did mix tapes for me. It seems a shame to get rid of them, but really, I have most of these songs on MP3 now and I don't have a tape player. Some of them are just inexplicable - why have I got an audio tape of my Uncle Dave's marriage to my Aunty Carol? They divorced about 7 years ago! And...why would I ever listen to it? I also have a variety of tapes Father Hand made....a Carpenters one he did in the early 70s from Mother Hand's dad's records; tapes of Q96FM, a Florida radio station he discovered in the 90s; Whitney Houston and Spyro Gyra and Donald Fagen. And there are a few in there which I know I made off the radio, which Mother Hand has written "Sally's 'Pops'" on. Fuzzbox - Pink Sunshine, anyone?
And further in the nesting vein, I have just baked a batch of banana muffins and made a big veggie stew for my packed lunches this week. Bloody hell, how Nigella am I?! soon I'll be licking cake mix off my fingers in a suggestive way and sneaking down to the kitchen in the middle of the night to feast on goodies.
Yet, my house is still dust-ridden. I want to go around and open all the curtains and windows and blow all the winter dust out, but unfortunately my wish to stay here and write about things is greater, so I fear the dust will remain until half term, which is only next weekend, so I suppose it's not that bad. There's something deeply satisfying about lifting up one's computer and seeing the thick layer of skin cells and various other microscopic grey things underneath, and then swiping it away. I can't wait to get under Mr Z's multiple monitors, they haven't been moved for a couple of years, at least.
I was thinking that I can't believe how few Diario entries I made last year, and how quickly time has passed...but then I realised that that is not true. Time has not passed quickly. I cannot believe how slowly the last couple of years have gone by. My PGCE seems like a decade ago, and I feel like I have been at my school for almost that long, even though this is only my third year. I haven't even done 3 years there! I feel like a permanent fixture, even though most of the staff still get my timetable initials wrong (they should be SHA, but because there was already an SHA at the school when I joined, they are SHD. But SHA is the school counsellor and she does not register on the radar of most teaching staff. I am always getting notes for her. It's very interesting, they're usually quite horrendously confidential. My colleague, Mike, is always getting notes for the bursar, since they are both MWO - except he is really MWD. The History department gets a lot of gossip this way.)
I am feeling my feet are under the table enough now to organise a ski trip. The new head was very enthusiastic about this and so next week I have to take a series of assemblies and whip the kids into an enthusiastic frenzy, whereby they pester their parents until 670 quid seems like a small price to pay for some peace and quiet. The cost is a bit *gasp* but they get 4 hours of ski instruction a day, and most places only offer 2. The people I have told have all been "*raised eyebrows* ohmigod your risk assessment....! It's going to be terrible!" but I must admit I didn't think of that. I just thought, "I want to go ski-ing, but I don't want to pay for it. I know! I'll organise a school trip." I also quite like writing risk assessments - you really get to stretch your imagination. I try to add a little jokey thing on each one, be it Act of God or Terrorist attack or something similar. You can never be too careful.
I also cannot believe that it has been less than a year since my weekend in Cambridge, being inspired by Christine Counsell, and my 5 days in Berlin, sharing ideas and being fed intellectually. The Historical Association is a fab organisation to be a member of. I went ona one day course run by them last week, in London. It was a Histoy and ICT day and I had to bring an ICT teacher with me - even though I teach ICT, I couldn't count as both, so I bought my friend Rachel with me, who teaches the other half of year 9 ICT. It was a really good day in the main (although in the morning we were given a detailed demo of a mapping site called Infomapper, which costs 600 quid a year for a site licence, and weren't really given any decent suggestions for applications for it - it was more of a "Look at this! Isn't it cool!" demo and seemed kind of a waste of time, since it's too expensive and not useful enough for History) and at the end Rachel and I made a decision to spend some time in the summer term, when we are both free of exam classes and have idle time, to rewrite the year 9 scheme of work with more History in it. Result! I don't mind teaching ICT, but I am sick of endless, boring databases about pupils in key stage 3 and how tall they are, or spreadsheets about mobile phone tariffs, or projects on fictional garden centres with names like Amstead. Yawn, yawn. How does that apply to these kids? I can't even do the Access stuff myself. I hate Access. Why do they need to know how to use it? Even I don't know. I had a fear that Ofsted would turn up to observe ICT whilst i was teaching it and I'd be summarily lynched, but then I realised that as a non-specialist, it would be the fault of the department if I taught it craply, and relaxed a bit. Still feel a bit guilty though.
The thing I am liking about the HA training things is that the same faces tend to pop up. In April, at the Cambridge weekend, I met Matt, who then turned up on the Berlin trip, and who I found fair inspirational. Also on the Berlin trip was Phil, who turned up at the History/ICT day. I suppose the History teaching community isn't that big; and the community of History teachers who partipcate in HA events, even smaller. Out of the 4 in my department, only Ian is also a member and he doesn't do any of the weekends or anything. He has this thing about non-school time and holidays being your own, and not doing any school work in them. Unfortunately I do so little work in school time that I have to do work out of school.
Yep, time is passing slowly. I am even looking forward to being 30, although it is still 3 years away. Perhaps it is still far enough away not to be real. I am hoping 2006 is going to be a year as good as 2005, if not better. I hope to read more books, write more Diario, lose more weight and be more sensible with money. One money-saving thing a month, I have pledged. In January I switched bank accounts to the Lloyds, because they have a 4.5% interest rate and I was itching to dump NatWest, having finally managed to clear my overdraft (thankyou, Nanna). Mr Z and I netted 130 quid between us, in "Welcome!" and Introduction charges. This will go off the honeymoon, paying for which is worrying me more than paying for the wedding. This month I intend to move my CC balance, or perhaps take out some magazine subscriptions.
For those who remember my October entry about my tutor group, a small update - K, the anti-hero of the class, who can't read, managed to get himself hit by a bus a couple of weeks ago. He was skiving out of school at lunchtime, shouldn't have been off the school site but was anyway, with a bunch of year 11s, and apparently had been shoplifting in the local supermarket and thought he was being followed (drug-induced paranoia) and ran into the road in front of a bus. Luckily it wasn't doing any sort of speed, although perhaps he was, since he bounced straight up off the ground and shouted, "WHAT THE FUCK DYOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" at the bus driver. An ambulance was called, but he only had a few cuts and scrapes so they refused to take him. Instead, they busied themselves with getting the assistant head on a nebuliser - she'd belted all the way from school into town and was stricken with an asthma attack.
Thursday February 9th
A triumph for me today! The story really begins in the mists of time, last year, when I saw Sian and heard her raving about the fabulous ski trip her school had done, and a plan was conceived. Much discussion with senior staff members who had previously run joint ski trips with other schools dampened my verve, though. They were very negative, told me nobody could afford it, &c. Then a new PE teacher joined the school who showed an interest in getting something off the ground, and we got a new headteacher, who is (a total nutter and) very supportive of recreational trips - he's taking 20 sixth formers to New York at Easter on a (shopping and) art trip. So, I approached him about it and he was enthusiastic (typically, he'd been a ski instructor in his formative years) and counselled me on how to go about pitching the thing.
This week, bricking it, I pitched it, at 3 assemblies. I was so full of enthusiasm my year nines told me I should have been a saleswoman. I even managed to make most of the pupils ignore the 670 quid price tag for the trip. I was bouncy, I was funny, I was cajoling, I was absolutely shitting myself. Talking in front of 30 kids is as easy as getting into bed. In front of 170, I was breaking a sweat and had a pulse to rival that of a shrew on speed. I don't think I have ever been so nervous, not even when I first got up in front of a class. In my third assembly, my PE colleague, Paul, told the assembly about his ski trip at school. He told them how there'd been a boy there who he'd hated, so on the last day, he'd cut him up on the slopes and skied over the top of this boys skis, so that one came loose from the binding and the poor lad had to finish the run sideways. I just stood there with a fixed grin, watching him piss all over my hard work, while the tutors looked on in horror and Lou, another colleague who will be assisting me, actually put her head in her hands. But who knows? - perhaps that sold it to some of them; I will make sure I mention such incidents on my risk assessment.
In spite of the cost, I had an inkling it would go down well when, by the end of Wednesday, I had a letter in from a parent requesting a spot for her son (the letter only went out Wednesday lunchtime), and assurances from some of my year 9s that they had texted their parents and cheques were being minted for me as they spoke. I went home, full of anticipation for the next day, and promptly fell asleep. I was dimly aware of the phone ringing around 8pm, but in my dreamlike state I thought it was me ringing it, so was quite surprised when Mr Z appeared in the bedroom...
Mr Z: Phone for you
Me: (groggy) Unh?
Mr Z: It's the phone, it's for you
Me: No..it's me
Mr Z: What? No, it's the headteacher of M... School
Me: What? Who? Eh?
Mr Z: He said, "Hello, this is Chris ..., headteacher at M... School, can I speak to Sally please?
Me: Is this a wind up?
Mr Z: NO!
Me: How do you know the name of my headteacher?
Mr Z: He told me
Me: (taking the phone) Is it Sam? It's Sam isn't it? You're winding me up...Hello?
Chris: Hello Sally, it's Chris ... here...
Me: Oh, um. Hello.
Chris: I've just been watching an excellent dance and drama production in the school hall. I'd never normally ring you at home, but I am here with a very agitated young lady and her mother, and they're trying to give me a cheque for the ski trip deposit
Me: (pleased) Oh!
Chris: I told them I would pass the cheque and slip onto you tomorrow but they think that simply won't do, and they wanted to check that ...what's your name? Hannah would be getting a place
Me: Oh yes...yes, she will definitely be on the list
Chris: She'll definitely be on the list. Good, they're walking away now looking happy. Thanks for that Sally. Bye
Me: Erm..bye!
So, that was little triumph one. Today, I went back to school around 3.30pm after a successful day's mentor training. Chris handed me the cheque and reply slip from Hannah and muttered something about waking me, which I graciously ignored. There was one other cheque in my pigeon hole, but nothing else. I sagged a bit, and went to see reception. "Ah," said the receptionist, "yes, the bursar's not very happy with you. It's money you see - I didn't know where to put it, and it just kept coming in...." It seems that 16 kids turned in their deposits - some in cash - and slips before registration this morning *shock* and that another 11 slots were filled during the day. Along with the 2 from my pigeon hole, that made 29. Then the deputy head came to see me to discuss subsidising a place for a sporty girl in my tutor group who has had a bad time of it recently. And suddenly I had my 30 spots filled. And not just filled - filled within 24 hours of putting the letters out.
Get in
Friday March 3rd
I have just been teaching my year 9s about the end of WW1 and the Treaty of Versailles. The brightest boy in the class was reading out his answer as to why Germany were not happy with the treaty, and he told the class, "Germany were unhappy because they didn't even start WW1, it was the Serbs who shot the Kaiser Chief..."
Er, I think you mean Franz Ferdinand.
Best. Mistake. EVER!
The ski trip is going to be booked. I have the deposits, the permission, the booking form; I am now only missing the "big hitter" member of staff I apparently need. The day after my last triumphant entry, the deputy head decided to throw a few firey hoops in the way for me to jump through, but I seem to have coped admirably. The best news is that the ski company have invited me to go on a planning trip with them at Easter, with another school, and it's free. A free ski trip! I am feeling very jammy. Last year - Berlin; this year - skiing in Italy; next year - who knows?
The flatness has gone. Since Christmas I have been feeling flat flat FLAT but this week, my bounce is back with a vengeance. It is so great. I feel like nothing has really got off the ground for me this school year - my teaching has been flat, my mood has been flat, I've been tetchy and short-tempered. One of my colleagues, Heidi, said she was feeling the same and could have sworn it was a virus, sapping her positive energy. She is a biology teacher and has an MSc so I might be inclined to believe her. In any case, I have been bouncearama this week. Might have something to do with the fact that all my KS3 classes have been observed by my new student teacher, who will be relieving me of them next week - and boy, am I savouring that relief! The only obstacle standing between it and me now is the marking - three sets of assessments before I can hand over. It was four, but I managed to do one set last night before I collapsed into bed; I had been putting it off for four whole weeks (sssshhh don't tell senior management!) and having the kids do posters and worksheets so they wouldn't notice the lack of marking. Then when I did come to mark their books, I realised I'd only just marked them before they did the assessments, so the whole set only took me about half an hour. What an eejit! Half an hour's work hanging over me for nearly a month, like a heavy, dark cloud.
Anyway, yes, bouncy bouncy classes. Reading of horror stories to finish the Dracula unit, and creating of Power Point presentations with scary sounds. My lessons have rocked this week. Yet still, I can't wait for next week, when I will only have to teach half of them.
I have gone to a bad place. There was a forum thread recently about Googling exes, so I Googled my first ex, a pathological liar whom I have not heard from since Zoe and I pranked him in the middle of the night a few months after we broke up. Anyway, I tracked him to a forum, where they were busy slagging him off for his behaviour on another forum. I registered, and got the name of the other forum, and then went and registered over there, which involved using my real email address and being MANUALLY activated by a mod. I am straying deep onto the island of Crazy. Anyway, I have read a few posts over there and was trying to think of a good way of exacting my revenge on him publicly, but then found out he is married to a Jamaican woman he ostensibly met online, and they had a daughter in October...and named her Paije. Yes, that's right, with a J - "we wanted it to be different". Suddenly revenge does not seem necessary. Unfortunately the new forum is proving fairly addictive; the all-male population makes for very easy reading, as their replies are usually only a sentence. Even though the threads are 100 replies per page, they're still quicker to read. And there are no threads about Mooncups or needing a hug or "do I like these shoes?" In spite of the fact a few people seem to think I am an alias (do I post in the style of a man? I don't think so - I can never keep my posts down to less than 2 lines) I may stick around. Bye bye, tatters of my social life.
I see South Dakota and Mississippi are in the final stages of making abortion illegal. What a worrying trend. Surely this is just going to mean more back-street abortion? I read the opinion of a pro-lifer who claims the laws are a good thing, because it will stop women using abortion as a method of contraception. But I think that as long as the majority of American High Schools continue to preach abstinence instead of eduating about contraception, and as long as contraception carries a fee, illegalising abortion is irresponsible. It's going to make for a massive drain on the social care system, for one.
A quick mention of Zoe, who I saw a few weeks ago when I was in London. She is going to be bridesmaid for me in the summer. She is doing so well, I am so pleased for her. She is well into her first year at Goldsmith's studying Art and is so dedicated and into the course, she makes me feel gauche and uneducated! Her artwork is just amazing. It is really nice that, even though I've grown older and changed, and so has she, we find that there's still enough common ground to maintain what has always been an important friendship to me.
Enough of that fluffy stuff. It's nine thirty on a friday night - way past my bed time. I have a Historical Association conference all day tomorrow, and have to do all that domestic stuff now so that when I get home tomorrow I can go to Chavda, do the shop and go for a run before going out for drinks with Cath and her hosuemate, whose birthday it is. Ali and I are training for the Race For Life, I'm supposed to do 3 runs a week - I have managed every week for the past 4, but I have been so knackered all week I haven't run since Monday. So it's going to be a Saturday-Sunday run for me. And next weekend I am away on a Murder Mystery weekend with work, so unless I want my house to disappear under a mountain of washing and dust, I had better go and do something to it.
Just quickly...we've got a new bath. I *heart* my new bath. It is big enough to lie down in, and Mr Z has got me underwater lights that sucker to the sides, and this amazing bath rack with a wine glass holder, a book stand and even a candleabra. It rocks my world. Perhaps I should go and get in it nopw. I can't wait for the tiling to be done so I can splash about without fear of harming the plaster.
Saturday March 18th
I'm getting quite good at this whole running lark. Last night I was going to do my Step class and then run home, but this plan was somewhat scuppered by the fact that Mr Z didn't make it home in time to drop me off at the leisure centre, so I couldn't run, which I was secretly pleased about, since it was about -2 outside. I may even have left the house a little earlier than necessary just to make absolutely certain he wouldn't be home in time.
However, then I realised that I was stuck running twice more in the next three days, and I really don't want to run Saturday, Sunday, Monday again, because that's just crazy talk. Chances of me running after school on a Friday? Nil. So instead, I didn't shower after Step, went to bed half dressed in my running gear, with my hair ready-braided, and I got up at HALF PAST FIVE and went for a run before work. GET ME! How good am I?! It was nicer than running in the evening, because it was beginning to get light, instead of getting darker, and there really was not a soul around. I didn't see anybody else on foot, and only one car, in the whole half an hour I plodded around the streets. AND I managed two 8 minute runs with a 2 minute break in between. AND I was still late picking my PGCE student up. Ah well. Can't have everything.
Arguably the best part of forcing my weary arse out of bed at such an ungodly hour was that, this morning, when rotund little C, my tutee with the predilection for sweeties and deep psychological issues, was muttering about refusing to do anything in dance this morning, our conversation ran thus...
Me: I think you should do dance. You could certainly do with the exercise.
C: Mutter, mutter (poisonous clouds of blue appear issue forth from his mouth)
Me: Sorry Callum, I didn't hear you, what did you say? (sickly sweet pink clouds issue from mine)
C: If you insult me, I can insult you
Me: I wasn't insulting you C, I was commenting on how exercise is very good for you and can help to prolong your life
C: Well, if it's that good, why aren't yuo doing it then?
(Drumroll)
Me: C, *I* got up at 5.30am this morning and went for a run, so I certainly think *you* can manage an hour of dance.
C: ......
P (C's friend): Miss....did you really get up....at 5.30? (looks confused)
Me: (smug) (smug) (simper)
I won an argument with a 12 year old. Woah, score. Teaching has turned me petty.
Speaking of petty, it is good to know that the twat ex still is. The day after my last diario entry, where I commented on the frankly ridiculous spelling of his firstborn's name, my account at the new forum was mysteriously suspended and has not come back. It bugged me for a day or two, as things like that do (I didn't break any rules!) but then I decided that perhaps I deserved it for being so bitchy. But I mean seriously - PAIJE? In several countries of the world she will be pronounced, "Pie! Yey!" She could be an extra in Weebl and Bob. It could be worse, of course. She could be called Pixie Caress.
Speaking of that name, it was the school murder mystery last weekend for gifted and talented pupils. A great time was had by all...staff, at any rate. I'm guessing the boy who cracked his head open on a radiator and the girl who lost her mobile phone would perhaps not rate the experience as highly. But we had a scream. This year's theme was the Wild West; I played Miss Kitty, head of the team of hurdy gurdy girls at the Sleezy Saloon. There was much can-canning, card-playing and whiskey (ginger beer) drinking at dinner, and then somebody was shot and poisoned and the kids spent the rest of the weekend trying to figure out whodunnit, using forensics and other "We're so clever" methods. The best part was the staff questioning on Saturday, by which point we were all really comfortable with our characters and the storyline, and managed to wind each other up to the point where several of us (myself included) were incoherent with hysterics and unable to continue with the questioning. The kids looked on; some were bemused, others exasperated at our lack of professionalism. We shook with silent laughter and wiped away tears at the thought of a place called "Wetback Mountain", a name that works on so many levels, but which isn't at all funny unless you happen to be wearing ostrich feathers and interrogated by deputy sheriffs.
I even went out for a run while I was away, twice. I had to do something to make up for all the food they were forcing upon us. On Friday night I decided to stick to the well-lit paths of the road into town, skirted all the way around and then intended to run back through the centre - only I skirted much further than I thought, and ended up totally lost, running in a tighter and tighter circle past droves of teenagers congregated outside a variety of fast food outlets. In the end I had to ask a taxi driver for directions. He looked amused. "Have you been....running?" he asked, taking in my sweaty demanour and sporty clothes with a raised eyebrow. I went blonde. It worked and he radioed in for directions. The next day I went out in the afternoon and ran down Caen Hill locks and back up again. I only got down to lock 36 - there are 50 locks there! Very beautiful countryside, and nice to see somewhere I have taught about in the past. I stretched next to some preening ducks, and felt very smug, so went back and ate 3 slices of cake. Doh.
Wednesday May 17th
(Yes, I have a big spammy forehead. No, I don't care. It took me a long time to learn to French braid my hair and I'm going to do it as often as possible, dammit). All that running paid off. Yesterday I did the Race For Life up on the Downs, with Ali. I managed to run the whole thing. Yey me! We crossed the finish line in 35 and a half minutes, which is a minute slower than my practice run last Tuesday; but Ali insists it was my PB, because we had such a slow start due to the 6998 other people all trying to cross the start line at the same time. As we round the 2km marker, I looked across the green and saw that there were still people crossing the start line. It certainly was a busy old race.
It was easier than I thought it would be; I thought I might have been able to carry on past the finish line, but that might have been the adrenaline. It was very warm, and I did have to have a late afternoon nap, but all-in-all it wasn't exhausting. I was so heartened by the experience that it was with little trepidation that I posted my entry form for the Great South Run this morning. It's 10 miles, through Portsmouth, and I'll be running for Traidcraft, as long as they have places left. I am a bit daunted by the prospect, but I have 5 months to train. Those Run For Glory people trained for a marathon in 6 months; I reckon I can train for a 10-miler in 5. I had to do it, really; much as I enjoy the running, I know I will stop if I don't have something to aim for. And last week on my run I saw Thomas the Tank Engine - what a bonus!
I did try to go for a run while I was away skiing. I was determined to keep it up, since I'd run for 15 minute blocks the week before. I picked a day when I had only skied in the afternoon, strapped on my fancy shmancy Philips MP3 Player and set off around the hotel. The kids, bless them, didn't say anything. I did get a fair few looks, but since I was not one of their teachers, they kept quiet, at least until afterwards. I was grateful for that. Especially when I got 3 times round the hotel and had to walk a bit. I only managed 8 minutes, and that was with walks; I'm such a numpty I forgot that being at 1300 metres in the Alps would affect the oxygen content of the air. It took me literally hours to get my breath back.
Skiing was amazing, though. It came back to me surprisingly quickly - the whole kick-your-heels-up-the-mountain thing to stop, snow ploughing, falling over…easy peasy. The first day was pretty bleak; it snowed all day and by the end we were all soaked through (wet April snow) and freezing and very miserable. On top of that, the basic run took us 90 minutes to complete and nobody could see more than a few feet ahead of them. One girl was so blinded by the snow she skied straight off the path and down a snow drift. We all looked on complacently as the ski instructor pulled her out. The next day, when visibility was clear, we realized exactly what she'd nearly fallen down, and a whole new page to my risk assessment for next year was born.
Anyway, by the end of Monday I was deeply regretting booking a trip. I was very fed up, and not finding the other staff overly friendly (well duh…they'd only met me the day before, and we'd been up all night on the coach together), and feeling pretty sorry for myself. So I drowned my sorrows in a vat of red wine, and had to ski the next day with the dehydration that represents the worst hangover symptom I ever suffer from. This was more of a problem than it sounds - I didn't want to drink too much water and risk having to wee in a ceramic hole halfway up a mountain whilst clutching my jumpers, t-shirt and jacket to me in a vain attempt to keep them from soaking up the waste products of previous weak-bladdered skiers; but on the other hand I had the whole dry-mouth, whirly-world thing going on. Thankfully (!) by this point the bus had completely broken down, so we had to walk to the ski lift - 20 minutes uphill - by which point I was feeling more human. From Tuesday on we had the most glorious sunny weather, and it didn't break until Saturdya when we had a little more light snow.
Honestly, I could wax lyrical about my trip for pages. I could tell you about the competitive kids who were always cutting me up. I could tell you about the instructor ("My very compliments to you Sally…Sally ees very nice person, yes, you kids agree with me, yes?"). I could tell you about skiing in the slalom race and coming 3rd in my group and winning the bronze medal. I could tell you about the copious amounts of red wine we quaffed every night. I could mention the night at the pizza place, the morning in Bardonecchia watching boarders attempt the Olympic half-pipe (and one very athletic skier). I could even, if you really wanted, give you a blow-by-blow account of the 12 hour coach journey back, and how we missed our ferry because the girls were too squeamish to use the hole-in-the-ground toilets at the service stations and insisted on queueing up for the disabled loo. But I'm not going to. I'll save it all for next year's trip.
I've gone over to the dark side *blush* I went and got a blog at blogspot for my year 11s, so I can continue to teach them from a distance (let's not even talk about how ridiculous my timetable is going to be after they, and my sixth formers, leave tomorrow, until my student teacher goes in mid-June coughcough13hoursofteachingafortnightcoughcoughdownfrom43coughcoughHACK). Well, anyway, I love this blogger thing, the editor tool doesn't completely suck because I can sort my own html out, although there are certain things I am finding lame about it which I'll need to overcome. I *know* I can use ftp to update this very diario from work, but I am so lazy, and blogspot is so easy. It just called me to the dark side, with its polka dot scheme and it's comment function. So I have set up a running blog with Ali, so that we can record our progress towards our goal. This isn't goodbye. But if you don't see me posting for a while, it's probably because I am over there boasting about how I can run 10 miles in like, 5 seconds now and stuff. I am looking into the whole blogspot thing, since it suggests it can host blogs at different URLs or something. That would certainly make for more regular entries here. Wouldn't you be happier with more regular entries, even if it meant I was compromising Bunnyland's integrity, or something?
Nah, I don't think I can do it. They might force me to change my colour scheme and make the text readable or something. How unappealing.
It has been a time for going retro over the past few months. Lots of retro things have happened. For a start, Somebody from school emailed me through Friends Reunited to invite me to our 10 year school reunion. I am ambivalent; I can't really see these girls again because I'm not thin and rich, therefore they will still not accept me. But, on the other hand, it seems ludicrous to judge myself by the same standards they held dear 10 years ago, and I'm sure they've changed, and I am loving my life at the moment so it seems like a good time to go. (I seriously am...I am doing this travelling journal project at the moment (it's a forum thing...duh) and my theme is aspirations, so I have split it up into work, travel, fitness, silly things and life...well, when I got to the life page I had nothing to write - I have everything I ever wanted; a marriage to the amazing Mr Z (do you remember that TV program, the Amazing Mr Blunden or something? That was wicked), the lovely house, the job I love, a social circle of people I trust, the stability...aww, it's so cute I could just vomit on my keyboard, but whatever, it's A Very Good Thing). So anyway, I was a bit surprised when I told Clare (from school) I was getting married and she offered her assistance should I need it; she didn't like me at school, of that I am fairly sure. I decided I would only go if Zoe and Beccy were going, and was almost sure they wouldn't, but then they said they would, so I said yes. Well now they can't make it. I don't really want to go without them, but I don't suppose it will be that bad. Especially since, when this reunion was nascent, Leila wriggled out of the woodwork after a hiatus in our friendship of 4 years, invited herself to my wedding (although I would have invited her, if I'd had any contact details for her) and said she'd go if I would, so the whole thing won't be a dead loss because at least I'll get to see her again and she can comment on how I am still only a 4 out of 10 while she's still a beauty queen and it will be just like it always was.
ANYWAY.
In further retroness, the nicest ex-boyfriend one could wish for also gave me a ring from Australia and we had a long (and probably achingly expensive) conversation about everything, and then he sent me a dvd of very good short films he'd made and hinted he might come to my wedding, which was very sweet, but I can't imagine he would leave Perth for the British summer. He also pointed me in the direction of a little discussion about Minerva BBS which was how the whole story of my adult life started. Obviously it doesn't do to think about these things too much, but in my quieter moments I hypothesise about how life would be different were it not for that 2400 speed modem my dad left installed on his ancient computer when he left. I reckon I might have pined after that unsuitable boy I liked so much in Portsmouth until I eventually, in a mortifyingly embarrassing imagined scene, asked him out, and then ended up knocked up in Portsmouth doing an unsuitable job, with several unsuitable tattooes and piercings and no desire to run anywhere apart from perhaps away from the police, or teach anything apart from "that Tony Blair a lesson". I shudder. (Said boy has worked the same job at the Holiday Inn for the past 5 years, or so I hear on the grapevine. Bet he's still lush though.)
As if that wasn't enough looking back, I also recently got an email from Tone, the old forester, who has been married now for 2 years and seems to still be a scummer, in spite of having moved. Well, I suppose there's no helping some people
(You know you forum too much when you try and use brackets like this [ ] in your html instead of the ones like this < > )
Yeah. So, 2006 - the Year of Retro. If you knew me ages ago, get in touch! Now is the time.
School has been very exciting today. Exciting things are afoot. I have been showcasing my talents as an ICT guru, much to Ian's relief (I think he thought I had given up and settled into an easy life of doing as little as possible....or he'd given up on getting year 11 to revise, and my amazing ICTness will help with that); I have managed to attract the attention of my old PGCE tutor, who was in last week to observe my student teacher. Anyway, he is going to ring this other History teacher bigwig and ask him to give me my own workshop at the SHP conference next year. This is BEYOND exciting. SHP is, like, COMDEX for History teachers. It's THE conference. When he suggested it, I actually laughed. I said, "What am I going to do, just ring this guy up and say, 'Oh, hi, you don't know me, but I'm this amazing teacher, give me my own workshop'? HAHAHAHA! I can't do that!" to which my tutor replied, "No...but I can," got his diary out and wrote himself a memo. This is an incredible idea in theory, but has 2 major flaws -
1. I get all my ideas from the people who speak at SHP. Granted, I adapt them for my own purpose, but really, I fear I'll be regurgitating their own ideas.
2. I can't do it. I will not be able to do it. I will either vomit, pass out or wet myself. I'm OK in front of 30 kids. Put me in front of 150 kids (as proved in the ski trip assemblies), and I will break a sweat and my pulse will race. In front of 30 of my peers...I was a bit sick just then, just thinking about it. Well not really. But, you know, I could have been.
Part of me is so keen to do it, because it might lead to publication, and it will certainly lead to professional development with some of the finest minds in the industry, not to mention an unparallelled opportunity for networking. Also, Ian was invited to speak last year, and told me he'd make it a condition of his workshop that I assisted him and got to go too, and then didn't do anything about it this year, claiming overwork (I dunno, anybody would think he'd just been made head of humanities or something...well, he has, I suppose); I am pretty fed up about this because I didn't apply for any CPD this year on the basis that I'd be attending SHP in July, and now I'm not. In any case, I have been invited to speak to the PGCE course on ICT and digital video next spring, so that will be a good practice. It's still bloody scary, though.
It's also a quarter past midnight. If I don't get to bed soon, I will not have the energy to get properly wasted at the year 11 ball tomorrow and be rude to all the foul students I am so pleased to see the back of.
Tuesday July 4th
Good: Tinned gin and tonic. What an incredible invention! I'm only sorry I didn't discover it sooner, and sorrier they don't do it in a diet-tonic version. It's the perfect thing for a hot summer's night. I'm onto my second can already and I;ve barely noticed! I'm doing a lot of typos though.
Bad: I have a daily script quota of 30 (I love a challenge, me....in spite of my marking period being a week longer than usual, my first sample went missing, I rushed the second and messed them up and so I only got clearance to mark at the end of last week and now I have to mark like a biatch, because even though they'll give me an extension I am off to Paris 2 days after the deadline so I have to get them done) and I have only done 22 today, and I fear that I may be a little too altered to complete my 30. Eight down may not seem like a big deal, but it is. It's an extra hour of work tomorrow.
Worse: I just remembered I haven't planned my year seven lesson on Stonehenge for tomorrow. I made up the unit because it sounded fun and we had nothing else to do. Luckily they love it enough that they are well into their big sugar paper posters of why the henge was built, so I might get away with not doing anything.
Good: The Sunday session of the school reunion. I went, in spite of the fact my friends didn't. The Sunday was really fun - not too many folks, and a couple I was really pleased to see again, and we picnicked on the common and then had a coffee in Langtry's (although it's not Langtry's anymore, TRAVESTY) and it was all a lot of fun. The horrible girl I despised is apparently presenting a dawn slot on Bid TV now, which is too delicious for words ("I'm going to be a superfamous popstar!" my arse) and quite a few folks are happily married and extremely successful and doing jobs they love. And quite a few of the people I saw on Sunday I'd make an effort to see again, which can't be bad. There was an awkward moment when Olivia said she never realised what I was like, and I said, "Yes, well, you never talked to me at sixth form" and she got all defensive, but I didn't mean it like that. There was an even more awkward bit when Olivia had to tell Angela a mutual friend had passed away, and Angela was being all strong and said, "Let's just talk about something else", and then Clare T arrived back from the bar saying, "Here's a weird question - has anybody from our year committed suicide?!" which was just black humour comic timing.
Parts of Saturday were also good. I got to hang out with Sarah H again and catch up with some people that remembered fondly, and look around the new bits of the school, and talk to Mrs Spender and the new head and stuff.
Bad: You know how I said it would be silly to judge myself by their old standards because they wouldn't be the same now? Yeah, well. On arriving, there were two distinct groups - the S tutor group, and the clique. I wasn't in either, and was very grateful for Sarah to talk to and Rowena who teaches English very nearby. Some clique members were very nice and friendly and it was a pleasure to see them. I was heartened and decided to make an effort. So when Lindsay gave me a cursory response and then very pointedly turned her back on me, I was suitably withered, and spent the rest of the afternoon feeling smaller and smaller and shitter and shitter. It was pretty horrible. Luckily I remembered in time that I wasn't friendless - it's just my friends weren't there. What a cow.
Worse: That place makes me vicious as fuck. It really does. I don't like delighting in other's misery, it's not good karma. But when I heard Lindsay couldn't cope as a secondary school teacher and that's why she's running a nursery now, a large part of me was gloating. It's not pretty. It's really not nice when something can trigger such negativity so easily and quickly.
Good: I might well be getting an interactive whiteboard for my classroom next year! They have finally relented and said that they can go into the mobile classrooms. Ian announced it at the faculty meeting, and Mike wasn't there, so I kind of feel I got it by default, but I really can use it and it will be very good for my professional development. So, I'll still be trailer trash, but I'll be trailer trash with like, a plasma screen TV
Bad: It's going to be a lot of work to use it properly and I will have to learn how to write on it properly.
Worse: No wireless network, so no interweb. Boo.
Good: I got to run a gifted and talented (aka "G&T" - totally meant to be) residential last week. It was wicked! 6 year 9 kids and me, living in Bath Uni halls, eating in their caff, using their facilities. We worked with a school in Cambridge and there were schools from all over the county as well as partner schools from the rest of the country. Very cool! Good networking, no lessons, and a massive football game on Thursday night. Lawrence, my partner teacher, taught me about camera tossing. You set your camera on timer, then wait until it's almost to zero and throw it in the air and see what picture it takes. Weird, but fun.
Bad: I caught a stinking cold. It was horrible. I had no money, so Mr Z had to transfer some into my account so I could buy meds and stuff. And the shop didn'y have any pocket packs of tissues, so I was toting a man-sized box of kleenex around campus for 2 days. Classy.
Good: I'm getting married in 3 weeks and 3 days!
Bad: I haven't done the Orders of Service yet
Worse: or bought my shoes.
Worser: I forgot to invite my cousins in Australia.
Hmmm, no more G&T. Perhaps some wine. I'd hate to be sober enough to have to do those last 8 papers.
Sunday July 23rd
This is my last Sunday with my name. I am starting to miss it already. I still can't do a bloody signature with the new name. Perhaps I should just sign myself Sally Z.
There was much hen frivolity last night. I insisted on no veils, L plates, condoms, fluffy pink cowboy hats or any other stuff; but Sam saw to it that we still had some dares to do so that was my nod in the direction of the henesque. We went to my new favourite bar, Browns, on Park Street, which sells fiendishly expensive but absolutely to die for cocktails and has enough ceiling fans to keep us cool, even in the current heatwave. Then we moved on to Wagamama, my favourite restaurant, before walking up to Whiteladies Road, going for some drinks in the Fine Line and then moving onto Kickers, my favourite cheesy Bristol nightspot. Oooohh it's so cheesy and fab! I am loving it there. In the course of the evening I had to ask some men to show me the colour of their pants and was a little shocked when two stood at a bar actually took their trousers down as opposed to yanking the elastic over the top of the waist band. I also did several shots of Sambucca with Heidi, the mad Welsh science teacher, and did lots of cheesy dancing. As a nod to my going out garb of yore, I dug out the jingle bell earring I used to don when I went clubbing with the Hatfield posse, and dug out my 5 inch platform sandals which have seen me through a great many amazing nights out. It was all as it should be, I didn't snog anybody...but I DID have a cigarette. My first since New Year's Eve. I weighed up the decision for a long time. I pinched one of Rachel's and hid it in my handbag, and smoked it in my hammock when I got in and was waiting for the cat to reappear from her night manouevres. It gave me a headrush like nothing else. I felt a twinge of guilt, since I have worked so hard for 7 months not smoking, and even avoided it when hanging out with Zoe (I don't think I have ever seen Zoe and *not* smoked). But, I can do a year from now. It was my hen night, for crissakes. I didn't have a stripper or try and pull anybody. I think it was a reasonable act of rebellion, personally.
I *could* have been like our headmaster and returned to smoking due to the stress of our Paris trip. He was a 40-a-day smoker and gave up 12 years ago, but ended up buying a packet on day 2 of our 3 day nightmare. 80 kids; 8 members of staff; heatwave; what could possibly go wrong? Well, on the plus side, nobody died, nobody was hospitalised, nobody got lost. Disneyland was not burned to the ground. It didn't rain. I found 10 euros in Disneyland and bought 2 pairs of Minnie Mouse ears, which I'm going to tell Jen and Zoe they have to wear in the wedding, just to see their faces. I got some really interesting-looking jam and 3 bottles of Pimms. I saw the glass pyramid at the Louvre. Our tour guide was an absolute scream; she wore a voluminous red and white polka dot dress and said, "Oohh la la!" all the time.
On the minus side, those fuck-ups at Equity travel completely screwed us over. I write without prejudice, naturally. Honestly, they set us up to fail. We had a schedule that was so tight, 5 minutes' delay threw us out, so we were constantly playing cath up. We were late to the hotel. We weren't provided with coaches for the last day because of the drivers not being allowed to drive before the trip home. The rep forgot to ask the hotel for packed lunches, so we ended up having to haul ass across Paris to fetch the sweaty baguettes ourselves, and they were all ham, and we had 9 vegetarians. The lovely boat trip we did last year, which left from next to the Eiffel Tower, was scrapped in favour of a less interesting boat trip which left from a site 20 minutes walk along the Seine, a fact which nobody picked up on.
And on top of all this, we had the bleeding heart hippy teacher FROM HELL. I'm going to call him Moonfucker. It's not quite rude enough to sum up my feelings, but it will have to do. Moonfucker was a fucking nightmare. As soon as we arrived at the hotel, we told the kids to dump their bags and come straight down for dinner. Moonfucker, instead of sitting down and having a rest and some dinner (we'd been travelling/Disneying for 22 hours by the time we sat down to dinner) took it upon himself to go around asking the kids if they had any problems with their rooms. They had seen them for all of 5 minutes, but naturally, when asked, THEY ALL HAD PROBLEMS. Then he tried to deal with a couple of homesick lasses. What do we say to homesick children? We say, "It's late. You're really tired. It's hot. Try and get some sleep, and we'll talk about this in the morning." What did Moonfucker say? I didn't hear all of it. I eventually decided to intervene after 15 minutes, and walked over to hear him saying, "I'm not saying your dad WON'T fly over and get you, because of course he will if that's what you want...."
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
He then asked Katie-teacher if he could go into their room to ring their parents, as he'd promised. She acquiesced, but on his own head. It's obviously a very bad position to put yourself in, I don't know what he was thinking.
Day 2. Dinner. Moonfucker takes it upon himself to get the empty carafes and refill them as the waiting staff are bringing the dinners out. The waiting staff politely ask us to tell him to stop and they will bring water. I relay the message and he yells at me about these kids NEEDING WATER RIGHT NOW. They had already had a glass each, but apparently he wanted them up weeing all night. He then stormed off to shout at reception. Later he apologised and bought loads of wine, and we sat up until 3am with another teacher, Blanc, setting the school to rights. I started to think he was OK.
Day 3. A catalogue of errors leads to one coach getting back to the hotel to begin the journey back half an hour ahead of time. Moonfucker says to the head, "I'm just taking these kids to buy some water." The head does NOT say, "No need - there's a bar/drinks machine/tap right here at the hotel." The head says, "OK." Moonfucker leaves with 7 children, and no phone that we have a number for. The other coach turns up. The party leader looks ecstatic because it seems we might make our ferry after all. He then hears that Moonfucker has been gone for 30 minutes and there's no sign of him. The party leader says some very rude words to the head. Blanc and I go striding around trying to find him. We eventually do; by this point we are 30 minutes behind schedule. He'd got the water....and then taken the kids souvenir shopping. I tell him not to speak to me, for fear of losing my cool. By this point, all the teachers except the head and me have lost it and had arguments with at least one other member of staff, and I was eager to buck the trend. When questioned, Moonfucker said he was exhausted and didn't think about what he was doing. OK! That's OK then! That's the BEST time to take kids on a walkabout in a strange city without a phone! I'm sure if one of them had been killed or kidnapped, any court of law would agree with me.
We set off for the port. We chip it. We arrive in time for the ferry, which is mercifully delayed (this is about the only thing which went right on the whole trip). We tell the kids, "Get scoff on the boat. There'll be no stops on the way back." Kids scoff. We scoff. Our chavs have a fight with the chavs from another school. A teacher from another school grabs one of our children and leaves a bruise. This just adds to the dwama. But finally, dry land, and the coach drivers hammer it. Ours tells us that if we don't stop, we'll be back only 10 minutes late. Group leader is excited - no phone chain needed. Unfortunately nobody can let the other coach know, and they stop. We stop. Group leader and head make it clear it's a toilet stoip only. I go into the services and shoo them away from the KFC and shop. Enter Moonfucker...
MF: They're not getting food?
Me: No, there's no time.
MF: This is bullshit! They need to eat!
Me: They were told to eat on the boat. If we leave now we'll be back in time.
MF: This is such bullshit! We promised their parents they'd have a meal on the way home, we've got a duty...blah blah...
Me: (thinking) You might have promised parents. We didn't.
MF: ....I'm sure their parents won't mind waiting ONE MORE MINUTE so their kids can get food
Me: (thinking) there are 80 kids. One minute? What planet are you on?
Me: (saying) some of us have got an hour's journey after this one and we were late for the ferry, thanks to you [note: my argument lacked rationality. We made the ferry we were booked on and it was the port strike that caused the delay. I was on the brink.]
MF: That was NOT my fault! You've made me feel like shit about that all day and ....Br>
Me: (hissing) Well maybe that's because YOU DESERVE IT
MF: I DON'T DESERVE IT HOW DARE YOU HOW DARE YOU THAT'S SUCH BULLSHIT IT WASN'T MY FAULT HOW FUCKING DARE YOU....
Kids: (wide eyed)
Me: (purposefully walking into ladies toilets)
It was not cool. I was shaking and wound up for the rest of the journey, and then Mr Z's parents, who'd come to fetch me, bless 'em, had to put up with tension all the way home because I'd arranged to give him a lift (back to his SHOWERLESS HOUSEBOAT, where else would he live?) and couldn't see him stuck. He came over and told me he'd ask a parent for a lift, but I told him we were adults and should be able to cope. There's no sense in torching all the bridges - Moonfucker is, unfortunately, in my faculty and we're both getting Smartboards next year so I can see us ending up on training courses together. But I tell you, if I never had to see the cunt again it would be too soon.
Which reminds me. Gitboy had his stag night last night. How ironic! It seems he's getting married a couple of weeks after me. What a copycat. Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery, I am touched.
Our tour guide showed us some interesting Parisienne sights. As well as, "Oh look to your right, what a pretty dress! If you want a dress like zat, girls, lay off the coca cola" and "You cheat! I punish you. You marry ze 'eadmaster" she also told us about some artowkr in the Louvre. She mentioned one particular statue, saying she takes all the girls there, "So they can see what a perfect man is like before they get married." She also said, "I take grandmothers to see the statue, and they cry. They cry because their grandmothers didn't bring them to see it before they got married." Katie-teacher and I were in stitches. Unfortunately, I can't remember the name of the sculpture! I think it might have begun with a D. Anybody know?
Tuesday September 27th
Moonfucker's disgraceful lack of professionaliam reaches new heights (as does my festering contempt for him, but that will become obvious). Perhaps I can ignore the dreadlocks that have made a reappearance - I don't think that it is a great example to be setting, but I have to admit it is preferable to him coming in with normal, unwashed, unbrushed hair every day. I in no way wish he would catch nits from one of the infested kids at school so he has to get rid of them....not at all. Anyway, that doesn't bother me quite so much as these three other things.
Firstly, appropriate homework. We had our tutor team meeting in his classroom yesterday, and there were models there of the Twin Towers. One model featured a pulley mechanism to shoot a model plane into the side of a tower. Not at all in poor taste.
Secondly, a comment he made in tutor team. He had *again* made the point that he didn't agree with the school getting uptight about trainers and earrings and other things that do not affect his lessons when they were relaxed on mobile phones and ipods (I am never relaxed on mobile phones and ipods, and neither is anybody else afaik). And then, when the talk turned to appropriate jewellery, he commented, "If you want to make sure you're stifling the kids' personal creativity and freedom of expression correctly, go and see the Head to be instructed how." WTF?! Who died and made you head? It's not your policy - you may disagree, but SUPPORT YOUR FUCKING COLLEAGUES, YOU TWAT! If you get pissed off hearing kids whine on about how they're allowed to use their ipods in so-and-so's lesson, how do you think we feel hearing that they're allowed to wear their earrings in your class?
Thirdly, and perhaps worst, something from my year 10s. I know well enough to take what kids say with a pinch of salt, but to know that there is usually a grain of truth there somewhere. So, when they told me that "Mr MF told us that some staff are so rude and vicious towards pupils in the staffroom that he's considered leaving, because he's so disgusted," I may well have raised an eyebrow (whilst mentally pulling on my hair, eyes wide as saucers, and screaming WHAAAAAAAAA?!). Again, deeply innappropriate conversation to be having with your pupils. Again, way to support your colleagues, you twat. And finally, what a fucking hypocrite - yesterday he called two of his tutees pricks in our meeting. As if that wasn't enough, the class conversation then turned to what teachers I don't like - a common topic, which is always rebuffed by me saying, "There may be people I would choose not to see out of school, but I get on with everybody". To which they replied, "What - even Mr MF?" HMMMMMMMMM. I wonder what else he's been telling them.
Mr Z says I shouldn't let my contempt fester. He says I should nurture it. I have a feeling it won't be going anywhere soon, since it looks like Moonfucker is dug in for keeps now. The strange thing is, he is still unnervingly polite and friendly towards me. Sycophantic, back-stabbing, two-faced loser.
The new term has begun well. I am staying at school for at least an hour every day, having finally realised that, since the time between getting in and having dinner is spent (a) snoozing, (b) watching another Friends repeat and (c) forumming, I might as well spend it at school getting work done. What an epiphany! I have marked all my books once already, and each lesson has had a starter. OK, this is only what I should have been doing anyway. But I am definitely more on top of things. What's more, I like all my classes. They all seem suspiciously nice. Business Studies isn't too difficult to teach. I know most names already. And today, the projector for my Smartboard was finally installed. Hurrah! Even though the chairman of the governors wrote on the board with a drywipe marker yesterday so it has a purple smear on it, I am still ecstatic. The funniest thing is that any time anybody walks around in either Ian's classroom or mine, the picture shakes because the mobile is such a cardboard box of a building. But it's still a fab resource.
Friday October 6th
Sponsored walk today. In preparation for the Great South Run, I decided I would try running a part of it, even though it is 10 miles across country. I thought I could run the flat and downhill bits. I did quite well to start with, speed-hiking up the roads to the br mean I left out the bits where I h. I even managed to catch up with the year 7s who had a 20 minute headstart. However, fate conspired against me. Not content with the week's worth of rain having softened the ground up nicely, it dumped a massive rainstorm on our heads, all morning long. The chalk ridge path, steep and precarious at the best of times, was so churned up from the feet of 300+ children that it was almost impassable. The dumb kids who were attempting the walk in mini skirts, off-the-shoulder tops and ballet slippers were, not to put too fine a point on it, totally fucked. I was just glad I was wearing my old trainers.
Anyway, we got to the top of the stupidly steep hill when we heard the walk was cancelled and we could start back. I was pleased we hadn't already gone down the vile hill and we started back, in the driving rain. Katie and I ran a bit of it but it was a gravelly path so it wasn't so easy. We got back to chalky ridge to find a veritable river running down it. Kids were stuck at various points all over the place, marooned on little islands of mud, surrounded by the floodwaters. We tried to come down sfaely but I did end up falling over and saying a rude word. After that it was much better though, because I was so wet and muddy, I ceased to care and walked down the rest of the hill ankle deep in rushing, muddy water. Walking on the path of the rivers was safer than walking on the islands which were much more slippery. If it hadn't been a bit stony I would have tried body-surfing down on my trusty cagoule. We saw some sixth formers who bet me a fiver I wouldn't run down the slope and jump into a massive muddy pit, and I did that; but then they tried to change the terms of the bet. Cheap gits. My only disappointment was that the packet of fruit pastilles I had packed for sustenance were in my wet pocket and melted, so my work keys are a bit sticky now.
We arrived back at school and I changed my clothes - I peeled off my trainers and my favourite pink socks and my feet were caked with mud, even between the toes. It's some badass mud that makes it through trainers and bedsocks, I can tell you. Then we sat around in the staffroom eating carbs and swapping war stories. Nobody could work out who had cancelled the walk, and apparently our deputy head had been quite harsh to some pupils who had returned without their halfway point handstamp, and was telling them they couldn't sign in and go home. The rain was coming in sideways by this point.
I can forgive the deputy head though, because later on she teased Moonfucker about him not having his file in order, and he blew his top and started shouting at her in front of all the kids in the hall (not those Canadian guys...I mean the returning walkers); and when Caroline tried to tell him to calm down, he started shouting at her too, and she had to go and get the head to ask him to leave, whereupon he came into the staffroom and screamed, "I'M FUCKING LIVID!" before booting the toilet door so hard it cracked. This week it transpired we are up against each other for teacher governor and it's going to a vote. I can't help but think he may have shot himself in the foot on this count, now. Haha! When we came across him on the walk, he was spouting on about how if the kids wanted to carry on they should be allowed to; and then later he had a girl with a scraped hand who he'd wound up into a state of snivelling hysteria. He was fed up at being told what to do by other members of staff, or being undermined by them in front of the kids.
How ironic.
Monday November 20th
A Cautionary Tale.
As I sailed up the hill out of Bath tonight, my mind whirling with the day's events, I thought the car behind me was flashing its lights, but I put it down to my eyes playing tricks on me after a 15 hour day. I stupidly left my business studies textbooks at work over the weekend and so had to go in at 7.30am to plan my lesson (which was still shit and very demoralising, with such positive criticisms from the pupils as, "I thought business studies was meant to be interesting..." and "We don't have to have a seating plan with our other teacher [I share the class] - but then, it's all down to how well you control the class, isn't it..."); then I taught 5 lessons, rushing around in my break and lunch to do photocopying (I managed to snatch a 10 minute break all day), then straight into a tutor team meeting, and then into a dance workshop for this thing we're doing next month (more on that shortly), and then hang around for two and a half hours and attend a governors meeting at 7.30pm. My mind was not on the road. My mind was briefly pulled out of its deep concentration on dance moves which might accompany McFly's "Stargirl" by the vague flashing of lights, but only momentarily.
But then the blue lights came on, and my mind went, "DOH! I was here all along...honest.....fuuuuuuck."
I don't know what happened after that. Apparently the hand of Fate slipped, unseen, out of the sky and gently caressed my car roof as I slowed to a stop on some handy chevrons (heaven knows it's bloody dark enough on that road for the hand of Fate to do anything it likes undetected - no cat's eyes, no street lighting, a short, unlit tunnel and you're coming up a hill into the headlights of oncoming traffic. Bloody deathtrap, I tell you). Anyway, the policeman tried my passenger door handle, giving me the fright of my life, and when I opened the door he said, "It's not an 85 limit here you know...it's 50. Slow down. I don't want to be knocking on any doors tonight and telling them you're not coming home."
And that, dear diario, was that. Well, I mean I left out the bits where I was whimpering, "Sorry" and fumbling for my licence and being horrified that I'd been doing 85 (and also...not quite believing it....I'm only driving a 1.3 and that hill is bloody steep....). But, no ticket, no showing of licence, no fine a month before Christmas. I think perhaps it is fate giving me a clip round the earhole and telling me, look, you've had 4 perilous years of ignoring the speed limit, grow up a bit now and take your foot off the gas a bit - it's not a race, no matter what you think.
The worst thing was having to tell Mr Z. Having to tell him I got a warning is almost worse than getting a fine. He gets this look in his eye that says, you're old enough to know better - you've let yourself down, haven't you, yes and you've let me down. I don't like getting that look. But I don't think he can be that bothered about it because he has just spent an hour finding me a song when I didn't know the title, artist, tune or any more than two words. That's love, that is.
Ah yes, the dancing thing. I had this idea, on account of loving and adoring Strictly Come Dancing, to do a staff version for the charity concert at the end of term. I am dancing with the new geography teacher, a gangly and slightly arrogant young man who scoffed at my choice of song and told me, "I hope you can dance." Well, after tonight, I can assure you there will be no more scoffing from his side. There will also be a lot of gum chewing on my side before we next have to do a workshop, we were a bit close for comfort. I have sold him on McFly, and it wasn't too hard to sell it to the head of dance too, who loves McFly and showed us some moves, which culminated in me trying to do a knee skid across the floor and getting a friction burn on my toe and a shiny patch on the knee of my work trousers. It's not big, and it's not clever. Hindsight suggests this project isn't a good one for me, since I am such a show-off and have a much higher opinion of my abilities than is warranted. It's all going to be slightly embarrassing, I fear.
You may have realised from my earlier post that I have indeed been elected teacher-governor. Apparently I beat Moonfucker by a landslide, if you believe all the people who came and said, "I voted for you" afterwards....it all got a bit embarrassing in the end, really. But then, Moonfucker ended up receiving a formal warning from the head over his conduct at the sponsored walk, and had to take his union rep, which was difficult, since he isn't in a union (eejit...what sort of teacher's not in a union, FFS?!) so perhaps it was to be expected. He looks more tired and ill every day, and his HoD just forced a room change so he has lost his interactive whiteboard (possibly only temporarily, but still - he has had his the same length of time as me and mine is already indispensable), and I am starting to feel a bit sorry for him. In fact, I might downgrade his name to Moonflower.
Anyway, tonight was my second meeting, and it was more interesting than the first - I only drifted off twice. I think I am going to enjoy it. I don't mind too much staying late, as it should mean more time to work, although that wasn't borne out tonight. After feeling so on top of everything all of last term, post-half term I have fallen slightly behind and am having a bit of a struggle to keep up. This isn't helped by the constant threat of Ofsted (it seems they will definitely be in before Christmas, having swetp across local schools like a pox), and the circling buzzard of Threshold (2 years away but my results from this year will be taken into account), and the imminent departure of Mike which will leave a departmental spot with extra money attached to it if I am in a strong enough position to make a play for it. And the ski trip. And the PGCE students.
Mutter.
I did my run, you know. 10 miles round Portsmouth. I ran the first 7 miles without stopping, in 1 hour and 23 minutes. A PB! Then I walk/ran a bit, and stopped for a wee at the 8 mile mark, and then ran a mile, walked a bit, and sprinted the last 200m. Boy, oh boy, did it rain. IT RAINED. All the way round. Buckets of the stuff. The last lonely two miles along the seafront, it was coming in sideways and there were no cheerleaders or bands or anything. Then my MP3 player (the headphones of which were almost completely broken) started playing Bobby Darin, "Don't Rain on my Parade" and I couldn't stop laughing. By the time I got across the line, there was no dry part of me, and I had to trudge across a muddy field to get my medal and goody bag and piece of cake from the Traidcraft tent, but I DID IT! In 2 hours and 16 minutes. I was 11,220th I think =D
I want to write more, but it's very late. More another time.