Sunday August 21st
Thus, the curtain falls on my fifth playscheme. It was a largely uneventful four weeks, and too much like hard work to be 100% enjoyable. I have chosen my holiday for next year and shall be booking it tomorrow, or at any rate sometime this week, to ensure I don't feel bound to go back next year. I think they're all sick of the sight of me now anyway.
This year was unusual in that we had far more male staff than in previous years - a grand total of 8, 2 of whom worked on my scheme for part of their time. They were both fresh out of year 13 and made me feel ancient. That was a running theme for this year, really - feeling ancient and very fat, like the Jabba the Hut of childcare; I was left feeling sullied and guilty every time Tom asked me if he could walk around with no top on and I had to bite back the words, "You're asking me if I MIND?!", my mind's eye focusing on the scene with Princess Leia in the gold bikini and drawing unflattering parallels with my situation. The tiny hot pants that were so popular this summer didn't help either. I got up early this morning to go to the gym, but then I decided to smooth Tilly for half an hour and write this instead. My hands have had plenty of exercise, at any rate.
Nights out have been slightly thinner on the ground, but the last night was the usual scene of drunken rambunctiousness. I was proper wasted and appear to have forgotten parts of the evening, or at least got them in the wrong order. Mr Z treated me to a replay of a very drunken phone message I left him at some point in the middle; I kept pinching cigarettes out of the mouth of this poor bloke who, again, was young enough to have been one of my pupils; and I have a deeply unsightly rash on both thighs from where I hand jived with too much enthusiasm and slapped some blood vessels until they broke. At one point I was led away from the upper dance floor by one of these lads (not one from the playscheme, I hasten to add); I couldn't imagine what he wanted, but it became clear soon enough. Naively, I thought having a decade on somebody would automatically put one out of the snog'n'fumble category, but it appears not. Traumatised. EVERY YEAR I go back to that club, thinking it can't be as bad as it was when I was 14 and it was Martine's, and EVERY YEAR it bites me on the ass: last year, falling down the stairs and ending up with permanent bruises; this year, this. Bloody hell. Had that been the sixth form ball I'd be jobless by now.
It was good fun though. We had dinner at the Water Margin Chinese buffet, there were crab claws and 30 people attended, and there was much wine and hilarity. I made some use of the digital camera Mr Z bought me for my birthday. Then onto a pub, and then Route where I lsot my ticket in the 10 feet between the booth and the ticket lady, and danced the stereotype-Jew dance and the fire escape dance with Matman and Robin, and then got a lift home with Mary. Top. I couldn't do it too often though. I find the endless cheese Route offers a bit boring.
Last weekend Mother Hand and I went to London to see The Producers, a musical by Mel Brooks, which was very funny, especially the Springtime For Hitler show. At the end I was waiting outside the toilets for Mother Hand, and my close friend who moved to Essex Sian was there, so it was nice to have a bit of a chat with her. We stayed at the Penn Club, a Quaker hotel a notch above the hostel, which has unfortunately now closed down, and ate at Russell Square Wagamama, and I bought lots of beads and we walked around London for 2 hours on Sunday morning. It was most enjoyable.
Lots of things have happened in the 2 months since I last updated, as you may imagine. There was the trip to the London Eye with 35 kids, 5 days after the London bombings. There was Rhiannon's leaving barbecue when I became far too well acquainted with the litre of Pimms, went home and mentally scarred the cat by singing "Pearl's a Singer" to her. Therwe was Cath's leaving do in the Thai restaurant. There was the marathon trip to Paris, leaving Wednesday night and arriving back on Friday night, with highlights including EuroDisney and their flying ant infestation at 32 degrees, drinking too much wine and making lame jokes as quizzmaster after dinner, having to evacuate the rest stop after our picnic lunch because of a bomb scare, and making a child sick by telling him he'd have to drink his bucket of coke before getting back on the bus or throw it away. Guess which he chose. I felt guilty, briefly.
There was also the end of term night out, thankfully we didn't end up in Delfter Krug this year and I do remember the majority of the evening, although I was drunk enough to fall out with Cath at the end of the night because she decided to go home with somebody I felt was most unsuitable, instead of coming back to other Cath's, where she was supposed to be staying. I think we've made up now, although she went to Bulgaria and I've been in Portsmouth, so I haven't seen her.
It's too nice to spend the last days of summer sat up here. Go and sit in the sun, as I intend to
Wednesday October 5th
The new school year is going well. I cautiously waited until we were 4 weeks in to confirm that, as I have a bitch of a timetable this year. My week twos are going to be the death of me. Three days in a row with no frees, ack. I am liking the new protected PPA frees though. It's really nice to know there is a very good chance one WON'T get taken for cover. My tutor group are running me a bit ragged, I can't believe I actually missed them over the summer. To think, on the first day back, when it was just years 7 and 12, I got out of my car and was sad that the boys weren't hanging over the top of the railing calling good morning, and the girls weren't waiting for me by the wheelie bins. Since then, they've turned into little shits for all their new teachers, and Stepford children for all the old staff members. So I can't memo everybody with teaching tips, because it would be a sucking-eggs exercise and patronising for most of their teachers. I have taken to eating breakfast at work, and the other morning I had a QUEUE of people waiting to see me about them (gasp).
Still, I am taking them ice skating on Monday. I'm hoping a little bonding might help. It would help more if I could convince the relevant teachers to come with us and join in with the bonding, but we'll wait and see. Actually, the class have a really nice rapport and all seem to like each other lots. I have one boy, we'll call him K, he can't read (and set fire to a classroom at the end of the summer term, and is generally a bit of a bad boy, albeit a nice, courteous one). Anyway, we were doing school council nominations and K was suggested as a rep. I tried my best to discourage them, as did he. "I can't do it Miss, I can't read," he said, to be rebuffed with vociferous cries that he'd be great and reading was not a necessary requirement. "Who shall we have for the other rep?" asked M, evidently feeling that K had been installed in the position. "Well, it really should be somebody who can read," replied S, in all seriousness.
Bless.
Last week was open evening, and the next morning I wilted into school, exhausted from my late night controlling year 7s (who I'm sure left school, went home, slept for 3 hours, got up, drank 4 cans of Red Bull each and then came back to school, they were so hyper) and my gruelling timetable, only to see that my tutor group had set up for Circle Time, as they know they should. I had no energy to do circle time. They must have picked up on this, because when I went back to my room to do the register, they'd pulled my comfy arm chair which I pinched from the staff room into the circle. I slumped into it. "We'll just play a game, Miss, don't worry," said S, in a comforting tone. And they did. I am impressed with how well they will get on with things for me. And how well they work together. For a group of 25 12 year olds, they know a thing or two.
Enough bigging them up.
The Lush addiction grows apace. I attended the virtual forum launch of the new Christmas products today, and was plotting what I'll be buying all the way home. Lots of lovely things that I MUST HAVE, you know how it is. I used 2 products from last Christmas in tonight's bath. Mr Z commented on the extravagance, and I told him that I'd conservatively estimated my stash to be 126 baths, as well as a couple of kilos of soap and a couple of litres of shower gel, and that I was running out of room, and when we get the bathoom done I'll have nowhere to put it. He looked shocked. "I can always put you some shelves in," he replied, gesturing to the wall. "Why not have more? It seems to make you happy." I heart Mr Z.
Saturday December 10th
I have been having a lovely stroll through memory lane all day today, thanks to a new CD. It is the Alanis Morissette acoustic version of Jagged Little Pill, and it is just so perfect. I listened to the original version all the time during my years in sixth form and knew every single word and used to stamp moodily around my bedroom swishing my hair and singing along. Well, just as I have mellowed, so has this album. It is just perfect for me, 10 years on. I still know all the words, but it's not stampy or moody really, anymore. Apart from You Oughta Know which could never be anything but bitter and angry, as far as I'm concerned. Nor should it be. There are very few albums out there I could listen to over and over, and this is definitely one of them.
The only problem is, it makes me feel a bit old! Ten years since it first came out, I can't believe it. Then again, it feels like forever. Here's hoping the next 10 years pass as slowly and are as good.
For there is good news in the Z household. Good news which arrived with a sparkly diamond ring and a down-on-one-knee proposal. Yes, in spite of all my attempts to totally fuck it up (I found the ring beforehand and tried it on to check it fitted), Mr Z proposed to me 3 weeks ago in a tres romantic moment that almost made me cry. It was very touching. I LOVE my ring, it is a princess cut diamond solitaire in white gold, and for the first few days I couldn't stop looking at it. Lots of kids at school noticed - weirdly, more boys than girls. One of my year 12 girls almost cried when I told them about it, and one of my year 8 classes practised calling me by my married name, which almost made me break a sweat (I'm not going to pretend I'm not nervous about the whole thing) but was, in the end, pointless, because I will be keeping my name in professional circles, at least until I change schools. Everybody will still call me Miss anyway, and if I change my name to his I will have to walk further to get to my pigeon hole in the mornings because I'll be at the end of the alphabet. And really that's more hassle than I can cope with in the mornings.
So, I will become Mrs Z on July 28th next year, it's a Friday. We're going to get married at a little church nearby, it is very old and there has been some sort of Christian altar there since the 2nd century, so it's just perfect for a History teacher. I've had to join the congregation, but that's not too much of a chore. I go every other Sunday in the evening, there are usually about 12 of us and we all sit in the choir stalls. The old ladies are always so pleased to see me, and I don't mind the services although I find them a bit strange (chanting, anybody?). There's a little belltower and the captain was taught to ring by Ken (sadly now deceased) who used to drive me to ringing in Keynsham when I first moved to Bristol. I have been roped (haha) in to ring for a Christmas Eve wedding. I am hoping if I wheedle my way in they may give me a bell discount *winks*. The reception will be at the local social club, all my local friends and close family are going to be doing the buffet (they don't all know it yet, but I'm sure they won't mind!) and I'm going to do the cake. Cath, my textiles teacher friend from school, is going to make my dress. It's all very exciting! I am already really looking forward to it, and the little voice in my head that yells, "FAT BRIDE! FAT BRIDE!" everytime I go into the kitchen is proving very motivational - I have lost 20lbs in the past 10 weeks.
As I said, I am a bit nervous, but more about the change in status than about being married. It's just going to be a bit weird at first, I think. It took me a while to get used to having a ring on my finger. It's never really meant as much before. And I know we're meant to be together. I was reminded of how romantic and deep our relationship is just tonight, as it happens. Saturday night, 9pm, and we were...in Asda, sniffing washing up liquid. "Mmmmm, I could drink this one!" remarked Mr Z, having inhaled a fruity little grapefruit number (he does the washing up around these parts). I took his hand and led him to the scouring section. "Here, it's Christmas - you can ANY type of cloth you want."
Yep, we haven't lost the magic.
Mother Hand is coming to stay here for Christmas. I spent the weekend last weekend with her at my paternal grandmother's, we went to Warwick castle's frost fair, which was lots of fun, and I went ice skating, although I could only skate for about 20 minutes because my boots hurt me so much. Curse my ridiculously wide feet. Anyway, Mother Hand is all better now and loving her new job. I was looking back at my entries from a year ago tonight, and combined with the Stacie storyline being run in Eastenders at the moment (which I am finding surprisingly harrowing) I have been thinking a lot about how far she has come, and how proud I am of her. She is naturally over-the-moon about our impending nuptials, and has already bought a dress for my littlest bridesmaid, the 9 year old daughter of her friend, who helped her out immensely when she was ill.
I have two more student teachers at the moment. They are both doing really well - it's been a much smoother passage than last year's pair. One is Irish and the other is from just outside Birmingham, and they share a house with 2 other PGCE students, and they bicker CONSTANTLY. Neither of them drive, and since I drive almost by their house on my way to work every morning and don't want them underprepared as a result of getting up at 5am every morning to get the train, I have been driving them to and from school since half term. They've been bunging me a fiver each every week for the privilege, although both have conveniently forgotten about paying me for the first week. It's too embarrassing to mention it, really, they're both skint. But I find the constant bickering really irritating. It's not in an unpleasant way - he just winds her up at every possible opportunity and she doesn't take it lying down. But sometimes I feel like yelling, "Will you 2 just pack it in!" at them. Bloody hell, they are only 5 years younger than me, I am certainly not old enough to be acting like their mum. She is better than him, just - but he has more school experience and arrogance. It's more difficult to set him targets because he thinks he knows it all, whereas she really takes on board what I'm telling her and improves as a result of the feedback she gets. The added workload has been a bit of a strain, because they haven't taken any of my classes but I am still having to meet with them. There are a couple of good things about that though. Firstly, because I am a their chauffeur, meetings take place in their living room, where they bribe me with coffee, toast and marmalade, and biscuits. Secondly, they don't have any of my classes because I am saving all of my classes for the student who will arrive in February. Roll on second student - I will lose all my key stage 3 History classes - that's 20 hours a fortnight, or just under half my timetable *capers* no planning or marking them for 13 weeks! I can't wait. I will be able to get so much reading-round done for my new GCSE spec and my year 12 teaching. I feel like I am disappearing under my workload sometimes.
That might have been evident, from the lame amount of updates this year. The one thing I want that nobody can give me is more time!