Sunday 1st September

August's entries were generally a bit pathetic, weren't they? That's what I get for going to a place where computers don't have their own room and still need modems. I was tempted to backdate this entry just to pad out the August section but that seemed a bit silly. I am leaving August in the main part of the diario for a while, since the below entry is pretty new (quite boring though - more for my own memory than for anybody's entertainment so don't blame me if it puts you to sleep *wink*)

The reason I didn't have the time to do it while it was still August is because I'm just too damn nice for my own good. I was going to have a fortnight between playscheme and uni, to lie in the sun in the garden and study and generally relax. Then I heard that the Cherry Tree was in trouble. Their cook had left and their new cook was on holiday. "I've got two weeks off, I'll help!" I said, and thus I am working for two weeks at the Cherry Tree, in the kitchens. Was a bit apprehensive about working for Steve and Julie, since I count them as friends and it would suck for there to be bad blood between us but all seems to be well so far, although they're both a bit sick of the constant Cherry Tree soap opera and in need of a break, temporary or otherwise. Two weeks in the Dominican Republic beckons them, luckily. The kitchen hasn't been too bad; on Thursday I jumped into the void behind the bar and served all night, on my own, which was a real experience considering I had never pulled a pint before and didn't know how to use the till. Luckily Wh..Chris (He That Will Not Be Known As Wheeler, even though he has always been known as Wheeler before) was around to say, "This is how you pour a pint of Guiness" and so on, so it wasn't a total disaster. And it's useful to be able to do bar work, I suppose - never know when it'll come in handy.

Steve and Julie are from DERBY, as us regulars are constantly reminded by the "Derby FC" scarves and other paraphernalia strewn around the Tree. This is a nice, smooth way for me to plug Derby Photos which is the sister site of the fantastic Absolutely Andy website. Andy is also from Derby and has done a bit of an American Odyssey like me and, best of all, he has made mpegs (or wmvs or something movie and computer ish) of some classics of the UK advertising industry, such as the Tango adverts and the Dime bar adverts and so on. He's a new Bunnyland favourite because he found and captured that fabby advert for the Corsas where they play hide and seek (the one driving into the skip makes me giggle every time), at my suggestion, although HE DOESN'T DO REQUESTS, so don't ask. I only asked because I didn't see the "I DON'T DO REQUESTS" bit, because I'm a bit of a skim reader. He only did it because he liked the advert himself. So there. Go and visit, he's bound to have something for you. Father Hand's personal favourite was the "Lynx Effect" one ("Don't worry, you'll remember my birthday next year.." and so on), while Mr Z likes the Carling one with the crab on the conveyer belt. Such a good idea for a website, I'm surprised more people aren't doing it. Andy - you're an innovator!

(Did I spell that right?)

Monday 9th September

Where DOES the time go? It'll soon be Christmas. The nights have started getting darker much more quickly, and I'm actually into winter clothes and starting to think about looking for my gloves. Only to wear around the house, you understand. It's all very well living in a house with central heating; unfortunately the two rooms one wants to be warm first thing in the morning, the bedroom and the bathroom, are both sans radiators, until the walls behind them are in a state deemed fit to receive them - ie, papered, painted, tiled and so on. However, before it gets much colder I might do a bit of moonlit screwdriver wielding. Don't worry, I won't try and put them back on myself - being a girl, I realise I am eminently underqualified for such matters. I'll just threaten Mr Z with it while he's on the verge of sleep until he agrees to put them back up.

No, not really, only joking. Ha ha. All in jest.

Having spent the past two weeks burning/undercooking things in the kitchen at the Tree, I was just starting to get good at it when the time came to wave goodbye. Those eggs I was frying were coming out perfect and everything. Can't honestly say I am sorry to leave though, I think I am a bit slapdash for it. Last week I sent three meals out, and three meals came back with complaints. I would have thrown in the towel then and there were it not for the fact that the towel was being taken off me just a few days later, until I heard that the meals were served to a notorious whinger and his family. Whinging is happening a lot at the Tree these days. One particular regular, who comes in every day, had a good old whinge to Yul the other night while his wife spouted abuse at Wh..Chris and Jen, who were quite put out and went on about it for at least the whole night. But then, I suppose that is their wont. I prefer to just ignore it, but then, they weren't whinging at me, and I only do one night a week, it's not really important. And anyway, I did whinge long and hard when one particularly obnoxious boy came in the next day and flicked a cigarette across the bar in a shower of ashes. Bah. PHLEURGH! No manners. In MY day....

Well yes, anyway. The especially sharp among you might have picked up on the "one night a week" comment - I am to be doing bar shifts on Friday nights, so it would seem. I figured I might as well get paid since I just sit in the bar all evening not drinking anyway. And anyway, I want a shirt that says The Cherry Tree on it. Last Friday Stu had a nasty attack of what Wh..Chris called Blackthornitus (Yul says Wh..Chris bitches about Stuart and vice versa, and it's amusing....note, I say YUL says this, because Wh..Chris thinks it a scandalous libel [he claims he is just gossiping] and I don't want to get out of favour with him, what with him buying a new car and offering lifts home and things)...anyway, Stuart wasn't well, so I offered to do his shift while he went home sick, and it was a bit manic and my feet were just about ready to drop off, and I was that tired Mr Z and I had a partial row on the walk home because I was all snappy and footsore, but it wasn't really that bad. I was overtired due to a very early optician visit after a relatively late night at dinner with Yul and Me'Julie which consisted of a wonderful Z curry and a delicious flan...alright, alright, TORTE!...courtesy of the couple in question. Me'Julie seems much brighter although after all the palaver and strange, mysterious, disappearing beer (and the rest) they seem to need a holiday (and a rest) which is why it is good that they are going to the Dominican Republic next week and I'm not jealous at all...not...at...all...(and the rest).

There's been a lot going on at the Tree, of late, but that might be because I've been there almost every day for the past fornight and have got to know a little better some of the more, shall we say INTERESTING regulars, from Mad Jane to Sarah and her cronies. It's interesting to put names to the faces of all the people I see around, and to try and map some sort of tangled web of woven interrelationships, and to discover who likes who and dislikes who, and who has had babies and who might be pregnant. Fascinating. Me'Julie and Yul say it is like living in a goldfish bowl for them, because their every move is scrutinised, but it seems from this side to be the sort of director of a Blair Witch type of soap opera. The actors don't know they're acting, and the directors don't really direct - just a hint dropped here or a blind eye turned there and all sorts of people are tangling themselves in relationships or bickering quietly in the corner. Must try not to unwittingly become an actor! Ah, Yul and Me'Julie, I see your dasterdley plot now!

(Bicker quietly in corner)

Visited the doctor last week for various ailments. It started off with an ear problem - I couldn't hear, and suspected my ear might need syringing, but that had actually cleared up by the time the appointment came round, and I had two other things to ask about. Thought I'd mention the ear as well, since I quite like having my ears syringed - you can hear so well afterwards. And figured, I haven't seen a GP since July 2000, I think my National Insurance credits must be built up enough for a decent length of visit. I went in twenty five minutes late, following a conversation with a stubbly drunk with a nasty fungal infection on his hands who said he'd like to take me to dinner and told me I could syringe my own ears in the bath with a washing up liquid bottle (the latter bears thinking about), and the doctor, the only male doctor in the practice, told me I was unfortunate enough to get stuck with an appointment after somebody who insisted on getting their money's worth, and what could he do for me? "Funny you should say that, doctor," I said, and launched into it. He didn't look very happy. He at first said he would only address two of the three but luckily they were all quite quick. He started spouting on about commonummular nephrititius or something - I didn't really hear - apparently I was suffering from it when I had to have all those kidney tests. And my doctor told me it was Hand's Disease! Obviously not special enough to have a disease named after me after all. Anyway, I'm cured of that but it might a related disorder giving me sore eyes, but I still think it's dust mite allergy. I should have lived in the 1300s, I would have made a great headgewitch. I bet I could have fought off the Black Death single handedly. And dyou know what I reckon? I reckon that the Black Death was an ancestor of the HIV virus. The two share some similar symptoms. Tellingly, apparently it's estimated that around 15% of European people are actually immune to the HIV virus, and that immunity must have come from somewhere. Maybe their ancestors were Black Death survivors? You NEVER KNOW....stranger things have happened.

I've been reading about the Black Death and other historical things in the run up to today, the big day, Day 1 of the PGCE course. I was absolutely bricking it, I don't mind telling you. Virtual panic attacks about my pathetic subject knowledge and my necessary reliance on the terrible public transport system operating between here and campus. Hiding under the duvet vowing to defer and not turn up this year after all and go back to temping. I was terrified. Then I turned up today, and everybody is the same. Nobody knows everything they need to teach. I saw my tutor before we went in for the first part of the day (I was very early, thanks to wangling a lift in due to it being the first day) and he noted the book I was reading, Schama's first History of Britain text, and his face just lit up. "How encouraging!" he crowed. "Well, it would be more encouraging if I was onto the second one," I muttered, doubtfully, anxious to belittle myself in front of the man who will decide whether I pass or fail. Luckily the wind wasn't taken out of his sails, and he mentioned Schama in the afternoon Getting-To-Know-You session with the other 15 students on the course, and gave me a bit of a smiley nod. Coo, I dunno, teacher's pet already and it's only been one day.

The other four people I interviewed with ALL made it onto the course with me so I had somebody to talk to for most of the day ("Yes, we remembered you because you were the poor girl who wore SANDALS in December! You must have been freezing!" said one of the girls - I knew those new shoes would make an impact...), although I got to know some of the others on the history course and the course in general. Funnily enough I ended up sitting next to a girl who was in the same class at the Mr Z's school as the aforementioned Phnarr and whose boyfriend is best friends with Phnarr's old flatmate, who I have also met. It's just a tiny world, really, isn't it? She lives in St George and drives in so that would be a friend to cultivate...so mercenary...she does seem genuinely pleasant, as well (and actually, after almost an hour poring over bus timetables and my trusty A-Z, I have finally found a bus route that gets me door to campus in under two hours with only one change, so I don't really need to drive after all). Then I spied over another girl's shoulder and saw she was from Oldland! But having collared her about whether she knew the Cherry Tree (she has never been there but only lives around the corner) conversation sort of dried up so I don't know her name or what she studies or anything. I wouldn't make a terribly good spy, I suppose - I'm just good at being nosy. Especially when it involves something that helps me to talk about myself. I'm VERY good at that.

The Diet - Day 344. Shocking to realise that rather than count forward from October 1st last year, I just counted backwards from October 1st this year. I have been doing this for nearly a year! And I have the bikini shots to prove it. Sadly have been slipping a bit over the past month or so. It's becoming more difficult. I didn't ever imagine myself as truly being as thin as I am now, so even though I am not by any stretch of the imagination THIN, it is difficult to motivate myself to go further, because I am so happy about how I look now. I didn't even cringe when I got my holiday pictures back! That was a wonderful feeling. Anyway, I gave myself a nice long break during playscheme and ate lots of crap and put on four pounds in the space of three weeks, which actually isn't that bad, but I haven't done anything about losing it and actually gained half a pound last week. Am trying, since it irks me to pay to gain weight - I did it for so long for free, after all - but it might be a week or two before I can really get my head back down to it again. Christmas is coming, it's true, but my timetable is all over the place for the next three weeks, so life is not going to be terribly easy. Still - I have lost three stone and two and a half pounds since I started, which ain't half bad. And I'm in no hurry.

Suppose I should turn in. Don't want to be late on my second day, although I don't have to be there until 2pm - best to be early, anyway. Lull them into a false sense of security, so to speak.

Thursday 19th September

As I lay in a hot bath with a fresh copy of Cosmo this evening, I found myself pondering the big questions of life, or more specifically, ONE of the big questions of life. Why do they make those sample shampoo packets impossible to open with wet hands? I mean, is it possible to envisage anybody trying to open them with dry hands? I personally always end up with a mouthful of shampoo when I use them, which means that mostly I don't bother and bin the shampoo sachet unused. I wonder how many other people do this? That's a huge waste of money on the part of the manufacturer. I actually changed my shampoo the last time I used a shampoo sachet because the smell was so refreshing, so that obviously proves that (a) I am a marketing man's wet dream and (b) the ploy works. Somebody should really invent a shampoo sachet that one can open with wet hands. And then they should pay me royalties - it is, after all, my idea. I might have invented something too, had Mr Z not entered the bathroom unannounced at that point, with a glass of cold water suspended over my head. "NOT WHILE I'M HOLDING THE BIBLE!" I squeaked, waving my copy of Cosmo like a Chinese Throwing Magazine. It actually worked. Winner!

Mr Z has recently acquired a new toy, in the form of a pair of head phones with a microphone attached, so he can talk to his nasty little friend Jazzy while he murders innocents in games of Wolfenstein. This has led to some rather confusing moments with him saying things like, "You've totally crashed out?" or "Who's on defence?" and me thinking he's talking to me. Wolfenstein is, I've decided, the new porn, since wandering around suggestively clothed (ie, naked) while Mr Z is engrossed has no discernible effect, which just goes to show that you can lead a girl to water but you can't get her wet.

(Actually, he's not quite that bad. He does notice six times out of ten. I just wanted to write the above paragraph so I could include the last comment, which I thought of in the bath a la Archimedes and which struck me as quite a good quip).

I'm now two weeks into my PGCE course, and it is EXHAUSTING. I'm just about permanently tired as well as starving, which at least does the diet good. Everybody on the course seems really nice, but I'm not ruling out the possibility that they might all be murderers until the full police checks come back. Only joking! It's a good group all round, and there aren't too many of us, which is nice. In the course of the course I'll be at four different schools - two block placements and two schools for one day a week. By sheer twist of luck, the school I have to spend 13 Tuesdays in is none other than that fine establishment Mr Z is employed by, along with others of my acquaintance, and it's only a ten minutes walk away, so after my Monday off, I get a Tuesday lie in. Things get a bit worse after that, since classes on Wednesday are from 9am until 6pm (that sounds suspiciously like proper work to me) and on Thursday I have to be in a school in Westbury for 8.30. This either means a train from Keynsham at 7.30 every morning or staying in Swindon on Wednesday night with Elaine, also on the course and also due in Westbury on Thursdays. Luckily this will only be for six Thursdays - it will mean changing my Slimming World class and I don't want to do that. After that Friday classes run from 9am to 4pm and then I work until about midnight at the Tree with Wh..Chris and Jen, who might promise me a lift home and either provide one or not, depending on what the weather is like. This is rather what happened last week and I was rather the most angry person in Oldland and I did rather take it out on Mr Z until a carful of scary boys pulled up and started threatening to start a war with me, whereupon Mr Z rang Baseball Bat Danny and we made up rather sharpish. Luckily the boys drove away when I told them to run along, but it just goes to show that walking home from the pub is not really a safe option anymore. Luckily we took delivery of Mother Hand's Mini last week, and once it's insured Mr Z can drive it to the Tree and I can drive it home and our means of transport will no longer depend on anyone else.

I digress. My final school, where I will be teaching for six weeks solidly from November, is a girls school on the outskirts of Bath. This must be my jammiest coup by far. People in my class were sitting around saying, "Oh, I'm in Dudley" or "I'm in Wolverhampton" and I was saying, "I'm on the 319 bus route!" My tutor stressed in my tutorial that he would try and keep me in the area if possible because of Mr Z, which is very sweet of him, but he did stress that a local placement the second time around might be dependent on me getting a driving licence. Thanks, I thought, just heap the pressure on, I'm not worried enough about it already! (Test is booked but the date is secret for the moment). Then he gave a conflicting indication by making an example of me in class, saying that I had a local placement this time round but that because of that, my second one would be "in Siberia". Well, at least that will be the summer one. Less snow, presumably.