Saturday 22nd November

Go home Wubya, you wanker! Why should all Band B home owners in London have to pay an extra two quid on their council tax next year just because you're the man at most risk of assassination in the whole world?
At least the police are being honest about it. I'd be pretty pissed off if all my holidays were cancelled to follow that jumped-up little unelected git warmongerer around, to be perfectly honest. When they let that granny climb the gates of Buckingham Palace and left her there to protest for several hours....when they allowed the march to go ahead...well. As they said, they're there to keep him safe, not spare him from any embarrassment. Which I think is fair comment. I personally nearly bunked off school this week to attend the march. I would have taken pleasure in spitting on his statue. Bloody...grrr.

In other news...
Nobody go and see the Matrix! What a pile of shit that is. A sample...
"But sir! I can't! I never completed the training program!"
"Neither...did...I....(erk)"
Well, that's two hours of my life I'll never get back. Special effects - good. Storyline - absolutely pants.

Although Jen and I did manage to get something out of it. We recalled our old games of virtual ping pong...when she'd say ping, and I'd say pong, and that would go on indefinitely. And the following conversation ensued...
Platypus: (PINGS IT REALLY HARD)
Stardust: (PONGS IT WITH HER TEKSOLO'S NINJA STARS)
Platypus: (DOES A ROUNDHOUSE PING)
Stardust: (DOES A TRINITY BLOCK PONG - IN RUBBER)
Platypus: (DOES A NEO 'I'M THE ONE' PING)
Stardust: (BIG PONG - EVEN THOUGH I NEVER COMPLETED THE TRAINING PROGRAM)
Platypus: (I'M BLIND SO I THINK MY TRUSTY SIDEKICK WITH THE 5 HUGE POLES STICKING THROUGH HER CHEST WILL HAVE TO PING)
Stardust: (IN ORDER TO PONG, I MUST BECOME THE PING, SINCE WE ARE TWO SIDES OF ONE THING)
Platypus: that was a deep ping pong
Stardust: yes, you can always count on me for a bit of philosophy at half past ten on a wednesday night B)
Platypus: (YOU PINGED IT! NO... 'WE' PINGED IT)
Stardust: (I HAVE A FEELING WE'LL BE SEEING THE PONG AGAIN ONE DAY)
Platypus: (You take the blue ping and the story ends. You wake in your bed and you believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red ping and you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes).
* Stardust follows the white PONG
Platypus: (Unfortunately, no one can be told what the PING is. You have to see it for yourself.)
Stardust: (what did you think of the PONG in the red dress, huh?)
Platypus: (Do you hear that, Mr. Anderson? That PING is the sound of inevitability.)
Stardust: (My name is PONG!)
Platypus: (dramatic PINGS go everywhere as neo PONG get's forceful)
Stardust: (I know kung PONG)
Platypus: (show PING!)
Stardust: (quick, PONG is fighting PING!)
Platypus: (look at his neural kinetics, they are way above average PING & PONG)
Stardust: (what if he makes the first PING?)
Platypus: (If you die in PING PONG, do you die in the real world.....The PING cannot live without the PONG).
Stardust: (woah...deja PONG)
Platypus: (deja PONG!...a glitch in the PING PONG)
Stardust: (I don't wanna remember PONG.....PONG!!!)

I suppose you sort of had to be here.
We quite enjoyed the martial arts aspect to the Matrix, mind you, because we've started doing kick boxing at Fitness First (did I already say that? oh well). This has coincided well with my first term at school, since I now have even more of an urge to hit things than ever before. Jen, too ill to attend kick boxing the night we went to see the Matrix, had missed the teaching of the three blocks, and I'd been trying to show her - so when Trinity blocked a bad guy we both turned to each other and said, "That was one of the blocks..yeah!"

We've already learnt quite a few moves, including the trusty roundhouse, and have categorised the people in the class into three groups - those we like, those we admire, and those we want to roundhouse repeatedly for being so bloody annoying. Our first class was spent being instructed by an extremely likable bloke who, being on the portly side, had managed to split his trousers during the warm up. Thus we spent most of the hour trying to avoid looking at his pants as he showed us the kicks over and over again in slow motion, and also trying to avoid each others' eye so we didn't get hysterical. This week we were fighting each other and smacked knees - it was a clash of personalit-knees. Groan.

Mr Z has looked on with bemused sneeriness; being a veteran of tae-kwondo he thinks that kickboxing isn't a "real" martial art and is a waste of time. But the warm ups are real enough...the first one nearly killed me. It's seeming to get easier though. And all this 6 times a week (at the GYM!) since I joined Fitness First (I *will* get my money's worth) has apparently had a positive effect on my body shape. My shoulders and arms no longer lack definition, and in fact I bought a no-visible-means-of-support dress today for the party season so I can dust them with glitter powder and show them off. Jen and I have enough glitter stuff between us now to sponsor Christmas. We've taken to shopping. A lot. I like shopping now I don't have my switch card refused by the third week of the month. Unfortunately for Jen she is forced to accompany me on said expeditions and always finds herself spending rather than just watching me spend. So I'm going to have to cease shopping so regularly I think. It's a bad idea anyway. I'll be too thin for all these clothes soon (wishful thought bubble of thin Sally appears above my head).

School is going swimmingly. Some gem-comments...
...
Dan: If I got my girlfriend pregnant Miss, I'd just kick 'er in the stomach!
Me: Right! Well, we've learnt a valuable lesson today. Don't have sex with Dan because if you get pregnant he'll boot it out of you...
...
Me: (upon hearing two year 11s were sent home for smoking spliffs in the lane before school started) - WHAT?! BEFORE school? WHY? Why before? I mean, why smoke a spliff and come to school? What a waste of good hash!
(I can see the headlines now - "NQT tells students - it's ok to smoke hash as long as it's after school")
...
Me: (Having completed biological diagram) So, that's where the cervix is. Next time you get your hands on a woman Adam, see if you can find it
Adam: (vomit vomit) MISSSSS!!

I can't think of any more at the moment, but I should start writing them down really. Anyway, I had my first observation last week and my mentor couldn't really have been nicer, she said some LOVELY things about my lesson - although, I feel slightly fraudulent again because I think my lesson was better because she was there. Oh well. My Head of Department has also been singing my praises and is attempting to suggest he's learning more from me than I am from him, which is utter bollocks to be perfectly honest, but, well, it's a bit of a boost.

It's late now though, and Sunday already (weekends go too quickly for me to squeeze one entry into these days) so I'm off to bed. At last!

Sunday 30th November

Just time to squeeze one more in before it's December. Before it's nearly Christmas. Before the end of term and the Christmas parties and the holiday in Las Vegas. Before mince pies and presents and lots of glitter. So exciting! I love Christmas. Christmas Eve, in particular. Also New Year's Eve. Mr Z and I are off to Father Hand's for the week to live in the company of Frankie and my step-siblings who, being 15 and 13 (I *think*...) are my natural enemies now I am a teacher. So there's a whole raft of stuff to look forward to there. Blizzards from Dairy Queen. Krispie Kremes. Peanut Butter M&Ms (oink, oink, oink...). New Year's Eve on the strip with the co-ordinated fireworks. Death Valley, maybe. Getting free drinks while playing video poker. The English bar where you can drink Strongbow until 5am. The look on Father Hand's face when he sees the uber-present I have managed to purchase for him this year. Oh yes, it'll be a good un. And warm!

Speaking of America, I bought a laptop last week (bear with me, the link isn't THAT tenuous). I bought it off the web and it's not arrived yet so I am itching for it to get here, very excited at the prospect, &c. &c. I bought it from Dell, a company based in the States, and when I was filling in the online forms, I came across the following question:
Q4. Will the product(s) be used in connection with weapons of mass destruction, i.e. nuclear applications, missile technology, or chemical or biological weapons purposes?

This reminds me of the questions on my visa application form. Are you a member of a terrorist organisation? Have you ever committed mass genocide? Are you going to use your laptop for the creation of weapons of mass destruction? Are you Saddam Hussein? Or perhaps Osama Bin Laden? I somehow doubt Osama Bin Laden uses a Dell laptop; it's a bit like imagining him using AOL. "You've Got Ricin!"

And while I can understand the point of such questions on the visa application - if they can prove you wrong, they can kick you out with no questions asked - the point of Dell asking it is a bit difficult to ascertain. Only an idiot would answer yes - and anybody who would answer yes to such a question presumably wouldn't have the brains to switch a laptop on, let alone use it to create weapons of mass destruction. And if you answer no, how are they going to know you're lying? If they ever track down a big terrorist, arrest him and discover a Dell laptop in his possession, what are they going to do? Confiscate it? They'd do that anyway. Sue him? That guy's going to Gauntanamo Bay for a few months of unspeakable torment at the hands of the most boorish and violent hicks the American army has to offer - there's very little chance of a settlement, don't you think? There's cautious and there's downright ridiculous.

I answered no to the question. I didn't realise Dell didn't want their laptops used in connection with weapons of mass destruction, and my conscience is pricking, so I will make sure that I confine all my terrorist activities to my Powerbook in future.

Jen and I went to a nightclub last night. We haven't been to a nightclub together since we were in Ibiza. So, in retrospect we should have planned it a little bit better so that we didn't end up in the Works (Bristol's equivalent of the huge cheesey club where you stick to the floor and half the girls are underage). The night should really be known as "Jen and Sal get glittered up and go out sparkling like Christmas trees", since we own enough glitter between us to sponsor Christmas and we were wearing a fairly large portion of it last night. Glitter in the bath. Glitter on my top (and everywhere I went in the top, since it was a nine quid top and moulted faster than the mog in spring). Glitter cranberry body lotion on my legs and arms. Glitter powder on my decolletage (it was a strapless top). Glitter on my eyes - LOTS of glitter on my eyes. Glitter-y hair slides. Glitter-y rings. I was one sparkly babe last night, as was Jen, who wore a glittery beaded top. My ickle Ka has a glitter interior now. And there's glitter all over my bedroom floor. And my bed sheets. And Mr Z. The mog seems to have escaped, mind, but she made herself scarce when I went out and I ignored her when I came in smelling of grilled meat (she went a bit nuts).

We began the night at various bars down on the Waterfront, meeting up with Rebecca, a new friend from Slimming World, and some of her mates. I had a strawberry stoli and soda which was quite nice but switched to the lager since it was cheaper and Czech (Czech lager being the only kind I find passable enough to consume). Then I switched to Strongbow in the next pub and thus ended up feeling fairly the worse for wear. So much so that I weed in someone's cocktail glass when I went to the loo. It was empty, I hasten to add, but for some ice cubes and the creamy, frothy scum remaining in the bottom of the glass. I don't really know what came over me, to be perfectly honest. The Czech lager, I imagine. There was a pretty rose next to it so I nicked that and pinned it into my hair and I was good to go. We had a bit of a dance in that bar; they played Oops Upside Your Head and while I didn't lead it I was second in the line behind a geeky looking computer freak. He looked a lot like Gitboy, come to think of it. He did a passable job of leading except that he insisted on holding my hands while we were rowing, graduating on to stroking my legs sleazily. Blergh. I got my own back by rubbing my torso vigourously across his back. That doesn't sound like much of a punishment but the nine quid glitter top left at least two quid's worth of glitter on his shirt.

There was another deeply sleazy man in a green shirt who tried to have a dance with me and then tried to put his hand UP my skirt...not subtly lifting my skirt or even grabbing my arse but going straight for the gold and swooping in as I grooved quite happily to Salt n Pepa. I backed off and he held his hands up in a gesture of apology but kept coming at me until he had me pinned against the DJ console. Luckily my 4-inch heels rendered him a veritable munchkin by comparison and I just lifted my head and swept off.

I mean, for crying out loud. UP my skirt? Are you KIDDING? I wouldn't even let Mr Z do that on a crowded dance floor! Well, maybe after a few more pints...but Mr Z's not really that sort of guy. Thankfully. It's tantamount to sexual harrassment, as I believe I commented after I threw my pint over a man who lifted my skirt in a Pompey nightclub this summer. When a man grabbed my arse in the Works on the dancefloor I turned around ready to punch (this kick boxing lark has left me feeling much happier about getting into fights). The offender tried to pass it off as his mate so I was like, "WHATEVER! Just fuck off..." and the guy said, pointing to his friend again, "But you wouldn't hit another woman would you?"
"I'd hit anyone," I growled back with my deepest Father Hand scowl. They moved away quite swiftly after that.

Thankfully there were a few saving graces there for mankind. One man tried to buy me a drink sneakily, by asking me to get him a vodka and lemonade whilst I was being served and then trying to give me the money for my own drink as well. I got a bit confused at first and said it wasn't really fair. He told me that life isn't fair. In the end he paid 3 quid for his drink and I paid 2.40 for mine, which was a 50p reduction, so I was fairly happy. There were also lots of desperate but gentlemanly types in the Works (I'd put money on most of them being students) including one pair who danced near us all evening and then tried to make a move in the last couple of songs. Awww, bless. Jen was unimpressed. I thought they were quite sweet. Certainly not in a fanciable type way, but they tried very hard, and weren't sleazy about it. They reminded me of the seagulls in the playground after break - they'd swoop in close and then dance away quickly to see what sort of reaction they got. Well, it was really only one of them, his mate just looked a bit awkward. More Gitboy looky likeys.

We also got a cab home with some fairly pleasant men. We walked all the way from town to Old Market for the nightbus and we still had half an hour to wait, but then these three weirdoes started talking to us and it turned out that they were from Kingswood too so we decided we'd get a taxi together and one of them went across the street to try and flag one down. He failed miserably though and returned fairly soon, muttering something about not wanting to stand outside a gay bar alone at kick out time. So then I went across, took off my coat and stuck my tits out (which were made all the more prominent by my lucky bra), and I managed to flag down the first 5 person taxi I saw. But the bastard taxi driver swerved in, and just as I shouted back across the road for everyone to come and get in he swerved out again and made off into town and Jen andf the blokes burst out laughing. Bastard! Score minus one for men. The next one stopped though. Two of the men refused to cross the road and get in though so we had to turn around and pick them up. The taxi ride was fairly boring although we slagged off the older guy for being from Balham (sarf of the river, innit) and I pretend to be from London. They dropped us at the kebab shop and tried to only accept a quid each although the fare was already up to about a tenner. Bless. Knights in shining...5 seater taxis. That I had to flag down.

I'm knackered today. I'm definitely too old to be going out clubbing and rolling in pissed and stinking of kebab at 4am. It was fun though. We had a good dance. We even found a throwaway camera on the dance floor and I used up the film taking pictures of Jen and then left it by the side of the dancefloor. There were loads of people snapping away on their camera phones, which is new to me cos I never realised so many people had them - although a lot of the kids I teach do. They take pictures of me. The other day I was trying to wrestle my keys out of the hand of my nutter year eleven pupil and another year 11 took a picture of us and then added little heart motifs all around. It does look like we're holding hands across the tabel, very dodgy. However, they are useful for other things. Mr Z has purchased one, and took that lovely picture of Jen and me that is adorning this very entry. Maybe I should think about getting one too. Although it is a nokia (hiss).

Kick boxing still going well, although the other night I had to sit out the last 5 minutes because I pulled a muscle at the top of my inner thigh. I did a round house, kicked the pad, put my leg down and it went, "Whoop! No way, I'm not holding you up anymore, you're totally on your own," and I nearly fell over. It might have had something to do with the 45 minutes warm up I had to do, after an hour of swiss ball pilates (which nearly put me to sleep) and with the sort of exhaustion you only get after a bottle of wine, 6 gins and a double bailey's the night before (it's been a busy week). But then Jen found that she had a similar problem when she stepped down and her ankle refused to aupport her and she ended up on the floor, and the guy helping us train was like, "What are you doing down there?!" The warm up involved a lot of press ups. I have to do them on my knees cos I'm such a weakling I can't support my own body weight properly yet. So, when the LER lookalike gasped, "I don't believe this!" when the instructor instrcuted us to add 10 more press ups onto a routine already involving 30, I quipped, "I know, I haven't been on my knees this much since I was at university."
He was quite chatty after that.

One thing I neglected to mention about my last observation at school that amused me greatly. My mentor remarked, "Your knowledge on the Civil War must just be...well, vast really...I felt like those kids could have asked you ANYTHING and you would have known the answer, you know so many little interesting facts which keep them focused." That's just about the best compliment ever, I think. I knew absolutely nothing about the English Civil War before I started the course, NOTHING! I barely even knew what the two factions were, let alone who won. I didn't know which King it was. I was vaguely aware of Oliver Cromwell. That was pretty much it. So that was a big boost.

I've got my next observation tomorrow, so I'd better go and do some work so I can come off just as knowledgable about the past 800 years of Irish history. Fun, fun, fun, in the rain, rain, rain.