Wednesday August 27th
I bought some news shoes today. NEW SHOOOES! I was quite happy with them. They're a bit ugly but in that "it's all over the catwalk darling" sort of way. They have a little strap across the middle of my foot, and look like the ones I used to admire daily on an art teacher I worked with this year, except they are flat. They were a perfect bargain, at only twenty pound - the perfect teaching shoe. Then I got home and showed them to Mr Z. I *did* warn him they were ugly. He laughed and said, "My nan used to have a pair exactly like that." I protested their virtues - "They'll be perfect for school!" "Yes," he replied, "and they'll be comfortable when you get swollen ankles, too."
Then I realised that my gran has a pair exactly like them. I am considering taking them back, but it's so hard to find comfortable shoes that fit when you've got feet as wide as a doublewide caravan.
It's unprecedented, really. Over a month between entries, but then I have had the excuse of being in Portsmouth. All the time I was there I was thinking of things I never got round to writing between holidays and induction and downright laziness and then being on playscheme. So this is going to be an ALL OVER THE PLACE entry and might even be cut short on account of an NQT seminar Nadia and I are planning to attend in Birmingham hosted by the NASUWT this week. I'm such a high flier. (I haven't joined the NASUWT yet, but nevermind).
Le Playscheme
It started badly. I was supposed to be junior for the first three weeks and then senior for the final one, on the extra special needs kids scheme. Then my ultra hard working senior dropped out and I was offered senior for four weeks. That was on the Monday, I was over the moon - lots of extra hours, extra pay, and extra responsibilities. On Friday, I showed up, glowing with enthusiasm, to find that the scheme director had offered me the job whilst the playleaders, who I've never got on with, had offered it to someone else, who I hadn't been the best of friends with last year. My heart sank as I realised she would be my boss. Then it sank even further when they offered me the senior for middle years. But what could I do? It was fun in the end. And I got on much, much better with the playleaders this year (with one glaring exception of a day), whilst the new senior for the autistics, Mary, and I became very good friends, sharing lifts and bitching a lot.
I had my team. There were seven of them. They were mostly teenagers, half blondes and one lifeguard man who, by the end of the scheme, was known as "Baywatch man (actions included)" (by the "I'm NOT jealous!" other male playworkers); "playscheme stud" (by the girls who didn't fancy him); "Oooohhh! Gary!" (by the girls that DID fancy him); and "that lazy git who left us all in the pool when he was our only lifeguard" (by me). I had one other girl who I thought was lazy but just turned out to be incredibly hard working and unable to playwork properly after only 5 hours' sleep a night. I made the mistake of ignoring the problem, and on the last night her brother had a go at me for having a problem with her. I didn't, but with hindsight I should have told her what the problem was and that it wasn't MY problem. It was a big learning curve for me. The rest of my staff were sound. They were all very nice to me and complimentary of my skills as a senior.
This is the first summer I felt mega old, maybe because of the senior job, maybe because of the company I kept, maybe because I turned the big TWENTY FOUR AGAIN at the beginning of the month. It caused me to become muy introspective and thoughtful about what I have achieved thus far (I am the same age as Jordan and have enough debt to rival the amount she's spent on plastic surgery). I concluded, scarily, that adulthood crept up on me, silently, without me noticing. When I put on my new pink and broderie anglaise pleated mini skirt I made with my pink, stretchy lace and sequins backless top to go out clubbing, I actually thought "you're far too old to go out dressed like a teenaged fashion victim". The knowledge made me sad, but then happy as I realised not even a teenaged fashion victim would have got away with that outfit. I wore the skirt anyway. Bryony was most impressed and claimed she had one in black. When I told her it wasn't actually from Topshop (cannot even remember the last time I went into Topshop...yes I can, it was with Jen - I was scandalised by the size of the stringy knickers) she started suggesting I was the next Stella McCartney. Bless! Then some rough Pompey bloke walked past and lifted it, so I threw my entire pint of soda water (with extra ice) all over him. He looked appalled and tried to throw his Bacardi Breezer over me - but, being in a bottle, it didn't work very well. I avoided eye contact, hoping he wasn't going to hit me, as he yelled something about how I'd be fucking lucky - hello? Did I miss something? Did *he* not lift *my* skirt? - and his mate tried to get him away. I was less worried about him than about the curly haired dwarf who approached me, dripping and screeching, afterwards, to ascertain whether she could claw my eyes out for soaking her and five of her closest townie mates. I apologuised profusely and offered tissues. She was a bit taken aback and, I might be so bold as to suggest sorry that she wasn't going to get a fight. I'm not stupid - I was in flip flops. I could barely unstick my foot from the floor quick enough to get to the toilets when I needed to go, let alone get in a fight.
That was my second experience with Time this summer. The first was on a Wednesday - I was mega excited, dreaming of reliving the 80s nights of old - I was at the first ever one they did you know, I still have one of the Maggie Thatcer fliers! - when somebody disillusioned me, explaining those stopped last month (boooo) to be replaced by R&B nights. I was slightly disappointed. The edge was taken off of it by two things. Forstly I went in with Becky, one of my underaged staff members, and her fake ID - and they asked ME for ID! Coming one day after my second 24th birthday, I nearly kissed the bouncer, who could barely conceal his shock at my age, and, as if to prove he could read, pointed out I was a long way from home. The second was inside, when I ran into Bruno - again. Bruno has no idea who I am. He has bounced at Time since it was 5th Avenue and we were down there a couple of times a week (and that was 10 years ago now - sigh). He has bounced all over Portsmouth and even turned up in Ibiza last year. It's getting a bit freaky. I keep saying, "Bruno! Wow! How are you?!" and he keeps saying, "Hnh?!" Well, he's politer than that. But he has no recollection of me. He remembers my pretty friends, mine you.
Time made me sad. It's not 5th Avenue now. I remember going to 5th Avenue and someone lifting my skirt and me being flattered. I remember somebody unzipping my dress on the dance floor for a laugh and me advancing (vainly) on him all evening. Now I go there and get offended if people touch my clothing. The people I'm with see fit to remind me about how rough Pompey people can be. It's not my club anymore! They don't play cheese. When I went on the Thursday, Mary and I were promised cheese. We waited until 1am, when they started playing what can only be described as the "Jazz Moods" version of the Bucketheads "The Bomb" (just as surreally abyssmal as it sounds). At that point they had played a lot of songs I remembered dancing to the first time they came out, in the same club, including Baby D, who I saw live there (I touched her shoulder, wow!) Our staff had tried very hard to get us up on the dance floor. They played something called the Cha Cha Song, which is easy to dance to because they give you instructions (although trying to "hop six times" on a sticky floor in flip flops IS NOT easy), and also strangely addictive, but nobody saw us. We concluded that what teenagers consider to be cheese is just old school to us, and that our idea of cheese - Wham, the Bluebells and so on - isn't even in their playlist. Feeling ancient, we went home. My one foray into the Pompey club scene (phleurgh) after that was for the last night out, when we went to Chicago's, which used to be Route 66, which used to be...Fanshawe's? Nope, can't remember. My friend had her 18th birthday party there, anyway. (Route 66 is now in what used to be Uropa, which used to be Martine's, which was the worst meat market dive in the city bar Joanna's - I hope you're all taking notes). They've done a number over there, Chicago's is much classier than Route 66 was, we got lots of cheesy music and I had a good old boogie (I am old enough to use that word now, I think) although the buffet was a bit cheap for eight quid a head.
I developed quite a nice social life whilst in Pompey. I saw Zoe on the first weekend, she is happy enough in Croydon, got a B in her latest A-level (Media, I think). I also saw Graham, who I features in my Millenium Eve pics, and Caroline, whose whole life has turned upside down and who is now moving to Sheffield, and Beccy, who is off to Australia in two weeks. The only old school friend from my "clique" (and I use the word in its loosest possible sense) at school was Leila but I fear we have grown apart. The fact that we've had no contact in over two years suggests this. There was a decent turn out for my birthday, which I held in the Still and West (loverly pub in Old Portsmouth, overlooking the harbour - better views than Gunwharf and half the price), and which would have gone swimmingly had it not been for the two triple vodkas laced with 96% proof rum Kelly bought me at the end of the evening (I ended up throwing up from my bed into Mother Hand's bathroom waste paper bin, it wasn't pretty). Still, Kelly paid on the Thursday night at Time, spending a fortune on bottles of VK (which were only a pound) and throwing herself at the aforementioned Gary, to the point of asking her friend to ask him if he'd get off with her. She's 23. However, having been that drunk in the past, I sympathised with her wholeheartedly whilst cringing with embarrassment. I then caused him to almost pass out by telling him she'd asked for him to be swapped onto her scheme for the final week of the scheme - the blood literally drained from his features so quickly that I couldn't keep a straight face. Kelly arrived the next morning smelling like a distillery; Julie, the mega organised co-ordinator, spent the day following her around with a small cymbal which she crashed in her earhole at inopportune moments. I nearly won the "make her sick" prize though, for discussing the virtues of deep fried Mars bars with her when we met to do next day's allocations at the end of the day.
The job itself was very entertaining. Some memorables...
Simon: (runs into changing rooms, strips off all clothes and flings arms out to his sides) I'm READY TO SWIM!
Me: Errr...not QUITE...
Suctioning the phlegm out of the throat of a very sick boy outside the City Museum, using a device which required the user to block an airhole with one's thumb to get any suction going...
Following a hyperactive seven year old around Playzone at break-neck speed, using only my sense of smell, hurling myself over and under obstacles and down slides on my head, until I finally caught him to find a pair of pants fuller than you EVER thought possible...
The gorgeous mini-Bradley throwing his glasses down a bank of brambles in a wood. Three bleeding playworkers and half an hour later, we find them - a foot away from the path...
Mini-Bradley topped this by going into the toilets to have his nappy changed, handling the contents of his nappy, throwing them around, smearing them over him, in a country park loo with no soap, no gloves and no bin for the soiled items...
Watching five adults, all covered in paint and/or bleeding from scratches and bites, restrain one 15 year old boy - the only point in the three weeks I was grateful I didn't have SKIP training...
Trying to cajole an extremely stubborn Downs Syndrome girl (who is "educated" in a mainstream school - when the staff can convince her to enter the building) to leave the park and walk back to playscheme in the blazing heat; watching her wet herself; having to ring the playscheme and get them to sendout a minibus to pick us up...
Losing Jamie, twice - firstly in a crawly maze at Playzone (I crawled in and decided it was too much like a coffin for comfort, kicked all the kids trying to come in behind me in their faces and crawled out again *shudder*) and once on a jaunt to canoe lake, where he ran away from his playworker, the ever diligent but unlucky Liz (who was looking after Bradley when he chucked his glasses) and then refused to move. I was worried sick for about 15 minutes until a woman came over and said, "Scuse me, I think there's a girl over there trying to get your attention" - I turned to see Lizz waving frantically...
The delightful Chris and his slightly unhealthy obsession with my feet, and rubbing them on his face.
The staff, meanwhile, were all but jinxed. I fell prey to an evil cold in the first week which left me coughing a lung up and voiceless (although only in the pub at the end of the week). Lots of people went on to catch that; a playworker slipped on a mat, falling and dislocating and fracturing her wrist; two people went out with bad backs (pre-existing conditions); and several people went down with a nasty tummy bug, which was probably a result of the under-chlorinated pool (the chlorine indicator was broken and said everything was fine). And, of course, we all suffered with the heat. I suffered with it so much that, after the second night of inexplicable weepiness and dry retching, I decided I was getting heatstroke from the lovely but rather thick polo shirts we had to wear this year. Julie said I didn't have to wear it. I rejoiced! Then along came Alice, the playleader. She insisted, very rudely, that I wear it. I refused. We then had a row in front of half the playworkers in which we were both very rude to each other (this we admitted later under the watchful eye of the head of the scheme) and in which she told me my best defence against heat stroke was "staying cool" - DUH?!! It wasn't like I hadn't drunk a gallon of water every day that week. I felt she was putting uniformity before my health, rang Mr Z in hysterics and threatened to quit. Julie desperately offered me the job of playleader next year in an attempt to get me to stay; obviously I did stay, but only because Head Honcho Man said I didn't have to wear the accursed shirt. Everyone else did, mind you, which left me slightly less popular, but at least I made my stand. I was a bit gutted, because I never felt that Alice and I got on, but this year it was going swimmingly. That said, she was mega stressed that day and had had a go at EVERYONE in the briefings (in second briefing she even made it sound like us seniors were in agreement with her theory that the playworkers weren't doing anything with the kids and just letting them do as they pleased - well, it's playscheme, NOT school, surely they should be allowed to do what they like?). Luckily things improved after that. I believe we left on good terms. She'd even got a cake and some flowers and a mega card on my birthday and doen a big presentation in the hall at the end of the day. When the call came over the walkie talkie "Sally, there's an emergency in the hall, you're needed NOW!" I knew what it was - everyone was in the hall, what sort of emergency was there that nobody else could deal with? - but I was still very touched.
They want me back next year. I said I'd go for a fortnight if they SKIP train me. But I'm not so sure.
Sunday 31st August
I didn't go to a conference, I reorganised all my paperwork and books and sorted out my wardrobe instead, and then went on a hen weekend. It's still JUST August...
People in Portsmouth are RUDE
Item #1 - On a trip to my new favourite pubs Spice Island/Still and West, Caroline and I perched on a concrete bollard supping our soft beverages and looking at the sea when I became aware that the man standing on my left was arguing with the couple sitting in front of him. I became aware of this when said man smashed his glass all over the pavement (surrounded, as he was, by children and adults in flip flops). I hurriedly made some excuses and rushed off to the bar for reinforcements. When I came back they'd gone, but as we drove home later the woman was standing in the middle of the road looking listless. I couldn't get past so I beeped at her, whereupon Mr Glass Smasher came flying towards the car, the air between us and him rapidly turning blue, his fists flailing. I put my foot down and, denied the opportunity to carry out physical violence, he attempted to spit through the car window.
Sorry, next time I'll just run your wife over, shall I?
Item #2 - As I drove to Mother Hand's one evening, the car coming the other way suddenly slowed and drifted into the middle of the road, as the driver tried to hold a conversation with her mate on the pavement. She wasn't looking where she was going at all and how we passed each other without scraping I will never know - I was close enough to slap her, and called through the open window, incredulously, "What the fuck are you doing?!" (honestly, I saith it not in an agressive manner), whereupon she told me to fuck off and flipped me the bird.
I was in the right!
I needn't even remind you all of the man who lifted my skirt and his fate.
And as if all that wasn't enough, I got a bloody parking ticket at bloody ASDA! Being a council run carpark, you have to pay a quid which you get refunded off your shopping, but I honestly totally forgot. The sign about it isn't very obvious and there's no "Have you remember to Pay and Display?" by the entrance or anything. I wasn't impressed. But I was in the wrong, so I paid it. The rude bit was, the warden had the cheek to call the Nova "grey". It's BLOODY BLUE! It's just a bit grubby!
Goodbye, Miss Hand
I finally left the school I carried out my final teaching practice, with plenty of well wishes and a new Bunnyland fan (Hello Katrina!). My form tutor had a little party for me and got me out of my final lesson, which was sweet of her. I shouted at my nicest, most hard-working year 10 for whispering in class "Just do it subtly!" - I couldn't understand why her behaviour had gone downhill in my very last class. She looked cowed. Then at the end of the lesson she handed me a goodbye card, and I felt suitably guilty. I got to keep Amanda de Cadanet's Medicine Through Time textbook, which was quite cool. I didn't get to keep my files though, as they all got lost when my website went down and that Simon hasn't done me a CD of them yet! I'm going to have to hunt him down, that's all there is for it...
Hello, Drunken Oblivion
That night required heavy drinking, which was carried out in Bath with Sarah, Rachel, Adam, Andy and Dan and a variety of other nameless faces along the way. It was nice to see everyone again and we all drank heavily as was our wont, but we were all so tired that, by the end of the night, Sarah, Rack and I were sprawled on the pavement, with Rack crying on the phone to her boyfriend, Sarah crying on the paving slabs and me wishing I was sober so I could drive home and get into my own bed. I crawled in for my final tutorial at 9am the next morning (what possessed me to swap with Ben I will never know - well, the kindness of my heart, obviously), probably smelling like a distillery, and then hung around like a bad smell (very close to the truth) until Elaine, Janine and Ben had all finished their tutorials, whereupon we repaired to my house for Career Entry Profile updating, watermelon noshing and showering (that last one was just me though). As we gathered our stuff to leave I looked at my keys on the piano and said, "Don't forget those or you'll be screwed and have to leave your car at uni!" As Ben dropped us at the union (after a long and fruitless search for Marlboro Light Menthols), I realised I had indeed left them behind. Durrrr. Mr Z to the rescue. Was not impressed with uni that day, everything was shut! And the librarian was rude to me for returning my books 5 minutes late.
After a two hour final lecture which was mostly full of champagne, chocolates and laughing, we all went our separate ways to prepare for the night out.
And what a night it was! Everyone bar Chris (who had to go to Lincoln) was there; we all sat outside a pub for a drink beforehand (a seagull pooed in Nadia's drink, which we thought was a) probably lucky and b) extremely good aim) and then toddled off to a loverly Thai restaurant, where I had shredded lamb wrapped in lettuce leaves and everybody made a speech, toasting with Elaine's champagne. It was LOTS of fun. We were VERY rowdy but I didn't throw up all over the toilets! Mike said goodbye to us all outside and then tried to leave (he was off home to wake his kids up ready to take them out to buy the new Harry Potter); we gave him a rowsing farewell cheer and round of applause, but then he couldn't cross the road, so we were cheering for ages and he was starting to get a bit embarrassed, and in the end just ran for it. Luckily he didn't hit a lampost.
By this point I was already lifting my skirt up to see what colour pants I had on (as I suspected, purple for history) so the night could only get better. We went to a little pub and drank some more, and I talked lots of bollocks with Elaine for about an hour, which was lovely because we hadn't really spoken since that fateful day of the job interview for my new school. Some people went home then. I told them all I loved them, a sentiment truly intended at the time (I know lots of people who say gin makes them depressed but it just makes me love everyone) (not physically, I hasten to add). Then we went off to T's, the slightly seedy looking club with the corrugated iron rooves, where several fantastic things happened.
Firstly, Janine, whose ratbag of a boyfriend had dumped her only days earlier, seemed to perk up in a major way after spending the whole evening chatting to Adam. They are still together! The commute between between Cheltenham and London's not going to be easy, but they'll have a lovely story to tell. They were at the same uni for their undergrads and never knew! Awww...
Secondly, Rachel and I went out to use our mobiles, since T's isn't good for signal (being in some sort of brick basement on a level with the weir), and came across the very same bouncer who had insisted (vainly) on seeing my breasts before readmitting me the last time I went to T's. I teased him about it and he professed shock at the sullying of his professional reputation. However, on the way back in, he again asked for a flash. I bantered around but then, registering the change in his expression, turned to see....Rack's rack! On full display! As if that wasn't enough, he then asked if he could take a photograph on them on his phone. And, after some cajoling (by me as well, my bad) she let him! Blimey...
Thirdly, it was THE MOST EXCITING THING EVER!
Oops! Upside Your Head! I had rowed to it many times, at waitressing staff parties. I was never allowed to lead the rowing, on account of my junior status. I had attempted to start the rowing in various clubs (on one memorable occasion, I rowed the whole song, on the floor, on my own, in the middle of a crowded dancefloor in Stevenage, as my friends pretended not to know me and everybody else pointed and laughed - but, hello?! there was a principle at stake!) but never been successful...
I heard the first bar a full minute before the song began in earnest, plenty long enough to rope Elaine in (who was so drunk by that point she probably would have danced the can can on the tables if I'd asked, as was I). It kicked in, and I was down there rowing for the Olympic Gold, Elaine in full swing behind me (white trousers, too, on the floor of T's...she showed true dedication to the cause). For a moment people could only stare - what was happening? Was it cool? Was anybody else going to do it? Then suddenly EVERYONE was sitting behind me as
Well, I mean, you just don't get much cooler than that, do you?
We all danced for a mega long time until one by one we dwindled away, some slipping quietly into the night without so much as a goodbye, others overcome with emotion and weeping, still others too drunk to stand up. Nadia drove me home where I found a very drunk Mr Z (who'd stayed in and got drunk alone, and proved very giggly and probably a bit friendlier than Paula and Nadia remembered him) and eventually rolled into bed.
Elaine tells me she had the hangover from hell the next morning; Andy (who was sharing Adam's front room floor with her) had to sleep in the hall because of the snoring and they all had a good laugh at her lime green knickers. She said she didn't feel right for days; whereas I just got up and struggled all the way to Crete. By the time I arrived there I was stricken with misanthropy, hated everything and wanted to go home; but then tiredness affects me so, and anyway, that's a diario for another day.
Thus endeth the Bath Spa chapter. Everybody is gone now, sigh. Some are still close enough for visiting and nights out, but most are scattered to the four winds. Was mega depressed about this for a while, as I realised all my efforts at friend-making had been practically in vain, but figure this just means I have gained holiday homes all over the country. Woo hoo!