Making it Up...

So someone posted a thread over on 20sb asking for make-up recommendations, and it got me thinking. Personally, I think make up is one of the greatest invention ever. We've all seen the before/after pics of makeover shows and celebrities. But getting the same results in your own bathroom is, sadly, not that easy.



I love my make-up, but openly admit that I can get it wrong. I'm (hopefully) not of of these shallow girls who spend hours/millions on their face and will not leave the house until they're orange. I know I'm never going to be one of these beautiful, polished girls. I had a friend when I was a teenager who was stunning - everyone fell over themselves to be with/like her. Without her make-up on though, she was virtually unrecognisable. But it didn't matter - she could paint a beautiful face on in the mornings and that was the important thing. I wished, wished WISHED for that ability. Part of me still does. Sadly, appearance is still more important than it should be.

So many blogs seem to be about cosmetics, beauty and skin-care routines and advice. I know boys – and probably a lot of girls! – can’t think of anything more boring, but it’s amazing how many thousands - literally - of blogs there are dedicated solely to this purpose. Some of the reviews and tips are helpful, others verge on laughable - “if you have brunette hair, wash it with vinegar to get a great shine!” Well that’s great, but there’s little point in having luscious hair if no one will approach you because you smell like fish and chips.

But all this reading got me thinking about my own 'beauty regime'. In terms of maintenance, I guess I’m somewhere in the middle – I like to wear make-up, I feel happier with it, but I don’t spend an hour in the bathroom applying all kinds of products. Mostly, I’m quite easy to please. But I've done a lot of hunting for decent products over the years, hoping that at some point I'd get lucky and purchase a lifetime of beautiful skin along with my foundation.

But, for the purpose of fulfilling my promise to the 20sb blogger, I'm going to recommend what I use.

YSL Touche Eclat: wonder product. Every girl must have one. I have one permanently in my pencil case at school.

Foundation: Revlon Colorstay. Ggorgeous, foolproof, liquid foundation that goes on beautifully every time. Inexpensive, contains SPF and lasts forever (both in terms of on skin and how often you need to buy more). Clinique superpowder over the top of that. I also have Benefit Some-Kinda-Gorgeous, but that's definitely not one for when I’m rushing – I have a real love-hate relationship with this product. I think it suffers from PMT. (I also have Maybelline’s Dream Mousse foundation but I can't stand it).
Blush: Benefit Perfect 10 or Thrrrob. Thrrrob looks scarily bright in the box, but it's nice on skin.
Eyes: I have blue eyes and yes, I fall back on browns. But I really love purples and greys - even for school. I use Max Factor at the moment, although I'm toying with treating myself to a Dior Palette. Quick sweep of my foundation over my lids meets eye shadow lasts. Mascara: all Maybelline products are amazing.
Skincare: Can't recommend Clinuqe products for combination skin enough. I usually mix a small amount of moisteriser and foundation in my hand before applying (decent brush = essential) which gives good coverage and saves time.


Days like today are my nightmare days. My skin is pretty tired-looking – probably connected with the fact I currently average 3-4 hours sleep a night. My eyes are so bloodshot my lashes could play chess (brightening eyedrops - genius inventions).

But I'm headed over to my boyfriend's parents' house, so it's important to me that I make some effort! No make-up and I look like the living dead - those who have seen me first thing in the morning will concur. Too much make-up just looks ridiculous. So today is a case of slapping a bit of Benefit’s Thrrrob over tinted moisteriser and mascara on top lashes only (under-eyes are dark enough without adding extra shadows, thanks!). Five minutes later I look – and feel – far more awake. It’s funny how make-up affects your mood – there’s an awful lot of truth in the maxim that “looking good is feeling good” but similarly, getting it wrong can be incredibly frustrating. I sympathise with my friends who say they're too tired to make themselves spend the time in front of the mirror the morning of a deadline or similar, but I have to admit that just a couple of minutes worth of make-up perks me up and lifts my mood. And starting the day in a good mood is crucial (especially if, like me, you are most definitely not a morning person) - anything that helps you achieve that has to be worth a couple of minutes of your time.


Apologies for typos etc: I barely had time to type this, proof-reading was never going to happen. I'll do it tomorrow.

Are All Parents Embarrassing?

Based on my last couple of nights’ sleep, I’ve decided to save myself the effort of going to bed tonight. There’s little point in tossing and turning in the dark, getting hot and bored, when I could be doing something productive, like actually getting round to researching my next major uni essay. Or blogging.

Tomorrow, my parents are driving me over to my boyfriend’s parents’ house for lunch. Boyfriend and I have been together nearly three years, and so far I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping my parents well away from his. I love my parents, don’t get me wrong. But somehow I just can’t see our dads playing golf together or our mums discussing Strictly Come Dancing. My Mum, for starters, would want a good honest brew with a digestive to accompany said discussion. Future-mother-in-law would prefer a cold glass of champers or, on a less indulgent day, an exotic concoction of Indian spices in a pure China teapot. She is honestly one of the nicest women you could hope to meet, but she can be... intimidating. Albeit completely unintentionally. She used to work for the Queen, for crying out loud. She must look at me sometimes and wonder what on earth her handsome, intelligent, privately-educated, cultured, catch-of-the-century son could possibly see in a northern lass like meself. Not that she’s ever anything other than lovely to me. My Mum’s wonderful, but she can get nervous easily. This usually leads to her becoming so flustered and clumsy that the surrounding area has to be declared a Disaster Zone and cleared of anything fragile whilst she’s confined to sitting on the sofa – “no, don’t worry - we don’t need help, just you sit there and relax [Translation: Get out of my hair woman, before you smash something else up!]”. This is something we have in common, and it doesn't sit too comfortably with the double-barelled elegance of my boyfriend's family. Remember the scene in Love Actually where Martine McCutcheon's character first meets Hugh Grant's, and she's so afraid of swearing in front of him that she ends up swearing several times? Replace swearing with breaking things and you have my Mum and me.

Then there’s my dad. Personally, I love chatting to Dad. Being slightly deaf, I find it really difficult to hear men for a lot of the time – I struggle with their lower tones much more than I do with women. But this is never a problem with Dad. Honestly, the man could referee a Man United match without the need of a whistle or microphone, and the entire stadium would be able to hear his commentary. But I’m aware that most people have better hearing than I do and therefore don’t really appreciate being constantly shouted at. Not only that, Dad isn’t the best conversationist (conversationalist?). Even I admit that. We don’t so much talk as exchange rubbish with one another. I’m HOPING he won’t embarrass me tomorrow, but I can’t be sure. Dad is in management, and incredibly successful – he swings deals for his company worth millions of pounds on a daily basis. So he must be good at talking to people. But Mum and I just don’t see it. I think he’s so used to dealing with ‘clients’ and ‘potential investors’ that he’s lost any ability to relate to people on a personal and social level. I’m afraid Dad will look at Future-father-in-law and see competition, or potential business partner, not a pal. As long as he doesn’t attempt to upstage them, all will be well...


I’m actually really excited about tomorrow. Not seeing my boyfriend for a few days has reminded me of exactly why I love having him around (I’m sure that the fact I haven’t been at school for a week is completely irrelevant).
I can’t wait to see him again, even if it is coupled with the fact that it means leaving my parents. They’re only stopping for lunch, then they’ll head home again. I don’t know when I’ll see my them, which makes me sad. I don’t think I’ll see them until April - that seems a long time from now. I wish we lived closer to each other, but I chose to follow my boyfriend down south and I’m happy with that – most of the time. I just adore my family - my parents, my step-sister, her husband and two children. We’re close as anything. I think part of it is because of how the family was suddenly torn apart about a decade ago and we were forced together in a way which would take too long to explain now (that sounds very cryptic... really, it’s just tragic). But there we go. There are seven of us now. Before I moved down south, we all lived within thirty seconds of each other. Literally. Same road. Obviously the rest of my family are still that close to each other, still ducking in and out of one another's homes as if the houses were just different rooms of one large house. In one sense I hate that they can carry on being close and happy without me there. It’s possibly the only time in my life I’ve experienced jealousy.
On the other hand I love that they’re all so close. I don’t really think my parents will embarrass me tomorrow. I don’t care much if they do – their coming to my boyfriend’s parents’ means I get to spend another day with them and that is far more important to me than avoiding any potential embarrassment.

The things we do for love...

Being an English student requires a certain loopiness. Books become an obsession, like pets. You have to look after them with care and pride; rearrange the shelves so they’re presented at their best; group them with books you think they’ll fit in with; keep them clean; use a bookmark – don’t fold the corner and definitely DON’T PUT IT DOWN STILL OPEN! (creasing the spine = death to book’s role as prized possession – hello Oxfam). Occasionally you find yourself pulling them off the shelves just to admire the beautiful colours and feel the soft materials that protect them. Having a book – especially a pristine copy – is infinitely better to reading online. I don’t care if it’s free, I don’t care if I can have any book I want at my fingertips within seconds. I want the tangible object. It’s all part of the experience – between the covers is a whole new world, and there’s something deliciously exciting about settling down and preparing to read. The best books are those which still inspire that sense of anticipation even on their tenth, twentieth read. Some of you will know exactly what I mean. Some of you will think I’m mental.

You think I’m bad?

One of my closest friends has just blown me away with his insanity. This is M: 26, living in a rented flat in a dump of an area with barely any furniture and regularly living off cereal for days on end because he can’t afford ‘real’ food. His student loan payment days are highlighted in red on the calendar for the rest of the entire year. He wears clothes until they are quite literally falling apart before getting replacements.

This afternoon, he casually informs me, he's spent £1000 on a book.

A book. An original ‘Olde Englishe’ edition bound in leather and cobwebs book so fragile you can’t actually hold it. He’ll never be able to read it, and is fully accepting of this fact. After all, he already has a modern paperback copy. Er, what? Apparently he’s been saving for months. All the lack of food, clothes, cleaning (I have NO idea how that helped contribute to The Book Fund) have been in aid of this. If I had the money spare, then I admit I’d probably splash out for the original of a book I loved. But not even ‘Sense and Sensibility’ is going to make me survive on Weetabix for three months.

Well. Not unless it was handwritten by Austen herself.

Are dreams really 'coded messages'?

In that case, I think I might need some kind of therapy. I always dream vividly (when I manage to sleep, that is). I always have done: it’s not at all uncommon for me to talk when I’m asleep, saying people’s names* or chatting away about something incomprehensible. I had a dream once where my then-boyfriend was stabbed, and I woke up to find myself sobbing, and him already awake from the noise of my crying. We broke up about a week later - I guess your girlfriend dreaming about your death and crying because you didn’t leave her your motorbike can make you have second thoughts about a relationship.

My dreams are often so realistic that I get déjà vu, or even believe they’ve actually happened. The only tell-tale signs that they were dreams are either a) the person I’m talking to is absolutely clueless (“but we talked about this!” “When?” “Yesterday.” “But I haven’t seen you for four days.”) or b) when the situation blends different aspects of my life together (for instance, the day before Tom’s funeral I dreamt that someone was taking a register and, finding Tom to be the only one missing, insisted we didn't start until he arrived).

Recently I’ve found falling asleep relatively easy, but my dreams are getting weirder. They’re not so realistic anymore – thank God – but falling into two categories: romance and murder. What a great combination! One minute I’m eloping, the next I’m running away from a crazed axe murderer. My subconscious has a lot of explaining to do. I haven’t had dreams this graphic and violent since I watched one of the Saw movies.** I blame Dexter Morgan –my subconscious definitely appears to be stealing his ideas. I love watching Dexter, but I didn’t realise that my Id was taking notes, ready to use on me a few weeks later when I’d forgotten about it. I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to be decoding from these dreams... One thing I will say for my subconscious though: it knows how to create a decent murder mystery. Two weeks of these dreams later and I still haven't figured out who the killer is.


The other dreams I’ve been having are about my boyfriend. Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries, holidays abroad: they all infuse me with a slight sense of dread. I must admit, I felt a huge wave of relief when I saw my boyfriend put my present under the tree on Thursday. Far too big to be a ring box. In reality, I’ve already chosen my ring (either this one or this one), my dress, my wedding venue*** – but, when it comes down to it, don’t really want to get married. Not for few years anyway. It makes me feel old! Our best friends are getting married in February (to each other), and my first thought on finding out was “ooh how exciting, I’ll get to buy a new dress”. Not, “oh how jealous I am! I wish that was me!”
In fact, both boyfriend and I panicked slightly at their announcement. Particularly when we discovered that a few of our friends have made a bet on whether we’ll get married next in our friendship group – will have to make sure the boyfriend doesn’t speak to them at February’s wedding. The whole idea makes me want to hide behind the sofa from now until March, and even then I’m only coming out if he promises to buy me something safe for my birthday, like an iron or a baking tray.

Meanwhile I'll continue attempting to persuade my subconscious that dreams about massacres are not in the least bit interesting, and that marriage dreams are also overrated. I'm not sure what it will come up with in their place though... What do normal people dream about?!


*I clearly haven’t done this recently, given that boyfriend hasn’t left me.

**5 years later, I’ve still not forgiven the Evil Ex for tricking me into watching that. Hitting me; cheating on me; attempting to beat up current boyfriend – yep, all forgiven (well, forgotten at least). Making me watch Saw? I will never forgive that. Never ever ever.

*** If your girlfriend says she’s never thought about any of these things, she’s lying.

Blogging/Bragging: same thing...

So, given that blogging is (let's be honest) a pretty egotistical thing to do, I thought I'd brag a little because I've just had an awesome Sunday. My horse and I have qualified for the showjumping Winter League Finals, which means a weekend away in Wales over April. I am SO excited.

We rode for 3 hours on Sunday, jumping the course about 8 times - I was [still am] really proud of Sion. He worked incredibly hard, but then he loves his jumping so the excitement kept him going through all the waiting around and the cold. He did get so bored waiting for his turn at one point though that he decided to roll - one minute we were walking and the next I was standing in the sand with him lying on the floor beneath me! Thought he'd fainted at first and was all set to panic, but he was just playing. Got back up, snorted, shook the sand off himself and continued walking like nothing had happened. Made me laugh, but my poor saddle!

We're going to be busy over the next few weeks, preparing for the competition. We haven't competed for two years, ever since Sion nearly died and couldn't be ridden for six months whilst we waited to see if he'd recover (hardest time of my life). By the time the all-clear arrived, my speedy hunter had turned into a barely-walking skeleton, but just having him alive was more important than anything else and I let him take it easy for a year. He's back in shape now - I'm the unfit one! I discovered on Sunday night once the adrenaline had worn off that I've pulled a muscle/trapped a nerve/done something painful to my shoulder, which has resulted in frequent pins & needles and an inability to use my left arm/hand. I've taken enough Ibuprofen to knock out a small donkey, but the pain is still there. Today was even worse, reaching "come within a 1m radious of my left arm and I will jab you in the eye using my good arm and a pointy stick" proportions (this didn't make me too popular during today's excursion to a crowded shopping centre).

On the plus side, my Christmas shopping is now done, wrapped and under the tree! So I can finally curl up with a glass of Bailey's and some chocs and just look forward to Christmas, which I love and start getting excited about in November. Christmas songs in October drive me mad purely because I can't bear two months of waiting impatiently. I'm up north for Christmas with my family, and the snow is just mega here. I lurrrrve snow. And people up north can deal with snow, they're used to it - none of this abandon your car malarky, they just drive on through it.* Last time we were stuck in a queue because of snow, couple of years ago, we got out and built a huge snowman at the side of the road with the guys from the car behind us.

Christmas really is one of my favourite points of the year, and not just because of snow: the holiday just never disappoints. I love everything about it - spending time with my family (very rare since I moved down south, and I miss their craziness); copious amounts of Bailey's and mulled wine; ample shopping (and a legit. excuse to do so); and this chilled, slightly smug feeling that accompanies having no [immediate] work to do. Love it.

Off to raid the tree for more chocolates now.


*Before the hate mail begins, I should point out I'm not really taking the mickey out of the various situations across the country where the snow is having devastating effects. I know that in some areas people have been really badly affected by it, and I genuinely feel sorry for them.

Stuck in the Middle..

There seems to be a current fashion in conversation for discussing age and religion: these two topics really seem to be following me around at the moment. No matter who I'm talking to, they've come up in one form or another eventually.

I went to a Carol Service last night and all my conversations revolved around these two subjects until I was desperately looknig for an escape route out of one of the stained glass windows. I got talking to a young lad whose name I never heard, who commented that early 20s is quite an awkward age. Yep, I'm with you there. Staff night out on Friday ended up in an 80s club, where I knew a grand total of two songs - Madness and Blue Monday. Nothing like asking “what is this?” ten seconds into every song to make you feel out of place and make everyone think you're a complete idiot (normally I wouldn’t ask, but the alcohol and curiosity overruled any attempt to ‘fit in’). In the workplace, we’re not quite qualified, but with no previous employment record either so no point pretending you’ve got ‘life experience’ when your primary experiences since leaving school have been downing Malibu by the bucketload and writhing to Pendulum five nights a week.


On the other hand though, we don’t quite fit into the student groups either. Even on my course, where we're supposedly all students, only two of us are straight out of university. Whilst most are contented to discuss their previous jobs, their mortgages, their 2.4 children and dogs, E and I discuss our hair, our diets, our shoes and our love of chocolate. We're in no rush to grow up, thanks.
And PGCE students do not really fit the normal criteria of 'student', given that our study days fit normal working hours; we have colleagues, not mates; someone actually checks that you’re bothering to work and finally, it's impossible to class oneself as a student when a glass of red at night has become a luxury, not a standard (and also a single glass, not a bottle). Working in a school allows little time for going out at night, even sober - I’ve tried, and you do regret it when you realise you’ve failed to plan something exciting and subsequently feel like you’re letting all your kids down. Additionally, being sober and spending the night watching your beloved friends morph into complete idiots is not that great.

I think the trick is to enjoy the best of both worlds. Kids always want to be older, older people always want to be younger. At this stage you've got access to everything: young enough to make mistakes and have a good time, old enough to know what you want and how to get it.

End of Term Report

So, today was my last day at my first school. I cleared out my inbox this afternoon before handing back my laptop and came across an email I’d sent my course leader at the end of my first day - “I love it - can tell I’m going to have a great time here. Thanks x.” (Keen much?) I can’t remember my first day now to save my life, but evidently I enjoyed it. And carried on enjoying it - I have had an amazing time at that school. I will miss all the pupils (well… most) and the staff (note to self: don’t start telling them all they’re my new best friends after a few too many shots tonight).

But, because I have a habit of [read: 'obsession with'] sorting things into lists, I thought I’d pick a few key bits and sort them into the highs and lows of my first PGCE placement.

Lows:

• Nothing major came to mind immediately here. I was genuinely all set up to hate the PGCE year, to have a rough time and spend every morning reminding myself that the end would be worth it, and just work through the rough times - but so far that’s not happened. You read so many horror stories the summer before you start, but no one tells you that actually, you can have fun! My first term certainly hasn’t ground me down - I have *loved* teaching and am certain that I’ve made the right choice. I’ve had a few nights where I’ve worked until 6pm and that’s it. I’ve had half-term and all my weekends to concentrate on my horse and having fun - the odd week, my drunken evenings have outnumbered my sober ones. I also don’t think I’ve ever really worked at the weekend. (Next term, when the pressure ups, might prove a bit of a culture shock!)
• In my first ever lesson with year 8, one of them asked if I had sex toys/whether I’d use them in front of the class. Admittedly, that disturbed me. But much worse (I thought) in the same lesson was the boy who turned to me after I told him to work, stared me straight in the eyes and said, “no. Make me.” That upset me much more! Actually, it reduced me to tears after the class had left. Whilst I now think is just ridiculous, but at the time I was really shocked! I just have never come across people who don’t want to do well, which I guess is because throughout my own education I was surrounded by people who knew they would be lawyers, bankers, teachers, doctors, architects: until meeting this pupil, I’d just never come across anyone with no drive.
• Having a year 10 boy throw bits of his lunch at you is also quite disturbing. But in hindsight, it’s quite comical (fortunately he missed, otherwise he’d have found himself missing a few fingers. And various other body parts.).
• There was a point about a week ago where my confidence dropped a bit. I stood in front of my classes and though, “why on earth should they listen to me?” Again though, I was lucky enough to be in a department which is all about support and I got over myself.

Highs.

• It is just awesome. One adrenaline buzz after another. I have a real thing for adrenaline rushes and I love it when things are moving really quickly: term one has done just that.
• The department I was in was super. Absolutely amazing - I thought in a department of 8 there was bound to be one or two people that I clashed with (even if not openly) but that wasn’t the case at all. They were simply a lovely bunch of people. I will miss them, and it’s a bit weird to think that whilst I admire them and they will all be a strong part of my memories of becoming a teacher, from their perspective I’m just joining the list of “Which one was that again?” Maybe I should have slashed my necklines and bought a few outrageous Secret Santa presents to make sure I’d be remembered…
• The kids. Year 8, who initially made me want to hide in the cupboard with a sniper gun at the keyhole, turned out to be, I think, my favourite class. No joke. They were energetic and (mostly) incredibly enthusiastic. Even those who were rude had the decency to be witty with it - apart from one or two, who were just not of this planet. We fell out and made up again several times in every lesson - and, surprising myself, I quite enjoyed that. I wouldn’t, however, want to be the one responsible for their GCSE results.
• This is a feature of that specific school more than teaching, but I loved the fact that most of the kids ride horses - a great way in to conversation. Talk to them about their horses or the ones they ride, tell them about yours and you go up at least five levels in their estimation. Show them a picture and it’s ten; throw in a few stories of past exploits and you’re off the scale altogether.
• Kids say the best things. (I realise this would all be better in paragraphs rather than bullets, but I started with that format and it matches the previous list so I’ll stay with it). They just make you laugh, all the time - “Miss X? You’ve addressed this card to my initials - is that supposed to be cool or something?” “No Miss, none of us could spell your surname and we forgot to ask Sir before you arrived.” Ermm, right, year 10. My surname is not that tricky. It’s probably up there with Smith and Jones in terms of ease of spelling. Or the 16 year old who announced to his class, “I’m going up north for my holidays.” “Whereabouts?” “Bath.” Classic. That’s going to be my hometown next time a pupil tells me I sound Northern.

There’s so much more I could say about my initial experiences of the PGCE, but I’ve rushed the above as it is - I have a horse who needs lungeing and I’m so looking forward to being out with him during the day, rather than after school when it’s dark and I’m rushing to get home to make dinner…

Dear Tom

Tom,

I miss you.

I wish Facebook would stop telling me to “share the latest news” and send you a message. Seems to happen more and more frequently - “you haven’t spoken to Tom in a while. Send him a message here.” Sigh.

I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were considering the PGCE. Your mum said you wanted to get in touch now I’d started at school, but hadn’t found the time. I wish I’d just taken ten minutes out to call you instead of always resorting to a quick text and frantic Facebook message every couple of weeks.

Your enthusiasm would have been infectious. You are one of the only people I can think of who could ever make geography interesting! I loved your approach to your work, your casual carelessness during the day which meant you then had to stay up all night to work. You thought no one would figure you out until you moved in with an insomniac! I loved getting in late from Judo/a night out and seeing your light on at the top of the house as I came up the driveway. Late night chats are always the best, and you were one of the most interesting people to talk to. I’ve never had anyone ask me ‘why’ so much, and these conversations have come back to haunt me a little bit lately. Why am I going into teaching? How do I know it’s the right thing? How do I know I’m with the right guy? Why do I believe in God? I don’t know. We had all these clever conversations about fate and life purpose and actually what it comes down is just a gut feeling, I suppose. Makes for interesting thinking, but I need to go.

Talk later matey x

All the Right Friends

Blogs came up in conversation today and I had a sudden pang of guilt - I haven’t posted an entry since before the funeral, at least two weeks ago (’posted’ rather than ‘written’ is deliberate!). So last entry I was preparing madly to head off to Tom’s funeral. It was beautiful - heartbreaking and final and a real celebration all in one. He filled the church and its entrance hall - Tom would never believe that so many people would come up from all over the country just to say they loved him. That was great. Seeing the coffin sent my stomach spinning though: I don’t know how I imagined it to look but I’d forgotten he was so tall! It just seemed to continue for far longer than I’d expected; it dwarfed the men carrying it.

I was driving home from school today and was so bored of the radio that I flicked to my CD option. I’d forgotten what was in there - it was the CD that S made us for our ‘road trip’ to the funeral. It’s the first time I’ve listened to it since that drive. It’s full of songs which reminds us of each other, especially first year songs, and songs that Tom “secretly” loved, such as Avril Lavigne (he pretended he only had the albums because “she’s fit!”, but we knew better…). The CD made me laugh today though: so completely inappropriate for a funeral that Tom would have loved it (’I Just Died in Your Arms’, track 4…).

Still, once you’ve spent 3 years at uni with S & R you realise that there is no ‘inappropriate’, only conversation! They crack me up; their sense of humour is crude and obvious but it’s also witty and sometimes just downright fantastic.

I realised the other day that most of my friends are guys. They outnumber the girls by a huge ratio - probably around 1:4. In fact, my PGCE is the first place in a long time that I’ve found myself in a situation where my friends are predominantly girls - and that’s because there are only 4 boys on the course.

I think going to an all-girls school (the Dyke Factory) has a lot to do with this.

Someone told me once - I think it may have been a teacher - that secretly, all girls hate each other. A bit extreme, but there’s limited truth in it. Is that other girls are more threatening? In public places, if something goes wrong it will be a woman who comments. And often, a very personal comment: not “I wonder why we’re waiting?” but “Why are you so slow?”. In a shop, I’ll often hunt down the only male assistant to ask for his help. My girlfriends and I are unanimous in the fact that when we get our full-time jobs, we’d all prefer a male head of department. We all have problems with year 11 girls in our classes: they can be confrontational and bitchy in a nasty way that even the roughest lads don’t come close to. Something about the fact that in a room of people girls will immediately scan the room, check out the other girls and make instant decisions based on what they see. Girls can be so spiteful, harbouring lengthy grudges (often in secret). The lads’ approach of clearing the air with a quick argument followed by a night in the pub is far more refreshing.

I know from my friendships that girls’ friendships are deeply loyal - girls will defend their friends to the death if they feel they’ve been wronged - but they’re also very fragile. A completely unfounded “X said this about you” is often all it takes to inspire doubt which will later ruin that friendship. Saw it happen in school all the time - usually when one girl took a (probably unfounded) disliking to another and, rather than choose the fight-followed-by-beer approach, decided to alienate her.

Stereotype much? Yes, I know. I don’t know every girl or guy in the world. But of those I do know, the stereotypes are not wildly inaccurate (e.g. the second half of this blog title, definitely true). I remember reading somewhere about the biological differences in brains hardwiring them to process emotion, friendships, etc, differently - will Google it shortly and post a link.

The closest friends I’ve ever had are either men or lesbians (well, one was bisexual) - I wonder if that’s coincidence?

"So, he was like.."

School was hectic today. Trying to plan this week’s lessons but also next week’s for the couple of days I’m taking off for the funeral is manic. I’m almost there though, I think. Year 7 today were adorable as usual, but even year 8 were better - I think I’m finally getting somewhere with them! I was really impressed with the work one of the girls produced today - she’s been a real pain lately as she has a bit of thing for one of the main troublemakers and the flirting and giggling was starting to really irritate me. Today though, she was great. They’re obviously still friends so I don’t know what’s happened, but I’m not complaining!

Year 11 tomorrow - that will be scary. I’ve made up a seating plan based on their appalling behaviour last lesson - don’t know how well it will go down next lesson! We’ll have to see. It’s awkward being so close to their age, and I know the lessons aren’t exactly great fun, but they have to revise writing styles somehow. Tomorrow we’re looking at Stephen Fry and his views on the peculiar habit of replacing “said”with “was like”, so they might enjoy that! They’ll certainly see themselves in Fry’s imagined dialogue - “so he was like, ‘can I sit here?’, so I was like, ‘no way’.” To be honest, it's something I'm guilty of occasionally, but it still drives me mad!

I’m not teaching Year 9 for a while as they’re working on their projects and then I’m out of school for their lessons. A bit of a relief to be honest - I really struggled with them last time, and at the moment I’m just too exhausted to fight kids if they kick up a fuss. Weirdly though, all my ‘problem’ students are bright kids. They understand the explanations that they don’t bother to listen to. They do the work I ask them to and generally do it pretty well. They just don’t do it quietly - and that’s what irritates me. The constant whispering grinds me down! I can take the one-on-one confrontations I get in my other classes, the lower sets - and that surprises me. I thought, honestly, it would be the other way round. But no - I can cope with the kids who genuinely struggle or are obviously defiant and a bit angry with school or authority in general. (I say cope - I don’t teach them well, I’m not as good as I should be with them - I just mean I’ve got the patience for them). It’s the kids who talk over me or jab each other with compasses when I’m explaining things, only to turn around and go “Miss you’ve not told us what to do” who drive me up the wall.

Last thing on my mind though, really. It’s been a week now since I heard about Tom, and it’s started to sink in now.

I’ve just become friends on facebook with another member of staff at school, so I was checking my profile for any potentially.. ‘inappropriate’ status (of which there were none!) when I came across a random wall post from Tom. From just over 10 days ago. I’ve seen the message before - in the last week - and it didn’t affect me. This time I was crying before I’d even finished reading his greeting - and didn’t even realise I was crying, initially. To see a message from him, so recently, just hit me. I’ve seen it before but in a sense it had simply confirmed my persistent belief that it was all a bad dream and he was still alive - he must be, because here he was leaving me messages and there were photographs of him taken recently, etc. Now they’re just reminders that that was the last message I’ll ever receive from him.

I began training last night for my half-marathon: I’m following Macmillan’s 6 week guide for beginners to 5K at the moment. When that’s done I’ll move onto a 10K training plan, and so on. Last night I ran 1 minute at 10kmph then walked 1 minute at 5.5kmph, and repeated that 10 times. I covered over 2.5km in 20 mins, which is not at all great but I haven’t run since I tore my ligaments and I really want to avoid further injury so intend to go very slowly. I’m hoping that approach will also make me better in the long term.

I hated it - I have to be honest. I’m just not a runner! I was spectacularly bored by about 7 minutes in and resorting to watching ‘The Weakest Link’ on the gym TV. But afterwards, I felt really good actually. My thighs ached a bit today but not as much as I expected! We’ll see how I get on tomorrow…

Break, Break, Break

It’s been almost 3 days since Tom died.
I still don’t know how I feel. I wore myself out with crying on Wednesday afternoon, but I haven’t really broken down since. My phone goes virtually nonstop, but the more people I speak to the more unreal it feels. Like we’re talking about a book we read for a lecture, or a celebrity we never knew.

I genuinely feel I wouldn’t be surprised to open my inbox to find an email from him, or receive a text. It just hasn’t clicked yet. I think that’s helped by the 300-odd mile distance between me and the rest of my uni friends - when we’re all together for the funeral that will change. How different to last week’s reunion…

I’m going to start running. I feel at the moment all I’m doing is hiding, and pretending. I expected the kids at school to drive me mad, not keep me sane. But they are doing. When I get to school at 8 o’clock and know that I will be standing in front of around 120 kids that day, talking about fairytales or politicians’ speeches, it focuses me and makes me block out everything else. At the end of every hour I’m amazed that I’m not crying and that the kids - my kids =o) - don’t even think anything has changed since last lesson. It’s a wonderful tonic but I’m sure it’s just temporary. Everything has changed. The more you shut things out the harder they’ll break through.

I don’t think words are capable of describing emotion, really. They can’t quite capture bliss, or grief - because as soon as you write it down it becomes confined to marks on a page. And overwhelming emotion is too powerful for that. How can you represent something which is consuming you with a line on a piece of paper?

So I’m going to start running. Tom ran, cycled, swam - thought nothing of a 4 hour cycle ride out for lunch, then 4 hours back. Ran miles before breakfast. I can’t even run out of the apartment to my car in the rain without feeling tired.

By running I want to tell Tom that I miss him, and have always admired him, and I’m sorry I never texted him back on Saturday when he asked how the reunion was going. I’m going to sign myself up for a 10k run in March - start small! - and ask Tom’s parents in a few weeks whether any charities have particularly helped them. If not I’ll raise money for Cancer Research.
Tom would laugh at me for thinking 10k is a big deal - but I know he’d be pleased too. I can picture the way his eyebrows would raise slightly with his wide smile, and can hear the laughing tone in his voice -"yeah? You’re really gonna run that?"

Well... in a fashion. It might be more staggering and panting than actual running, but I'll have a go.

[ You act as though we will be together for ever. You act as though there is infinite pleasure and time without end. How can I know that? My experience has been that time always ends. In theory you are right, the quantum physicists are right, the romantics and the religious are right. Time without end. In practice we both wear a watch. If I rush at this relationship it's because I fear for it. I fear you have a door I cannot see and that any minute now the door will open and you'll be gone. Then what? Then what as I bang the walls like the Inquisition searching for a saint? Where will I find the secret passage? For me it'll just be the same four walls.
—Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body ]

Too Many Hands on My Time

So this is the first of my posts on my old blog which I'm bringing over to this one. This is from way back in from August.

I was driving home from my boyfriend’s parents’ house yesterday when one of my old favourite songs came onto my stereo. I use an old iPod for my car - I upgraded last year but was far too attached to my old music collection to just throw it out, so it was relegated to the glove compartment. I just love it, because I’m forever rediscovering old music I’d forgotten about.

This little gem was no exception - a Rush song, a band I was pretty heavily into a few years ago because of their amazing guitar riffs/solos/incredible drummer and brilliant lyrics. This song is called ‘The Analog Kid’, and as I drove over the Pennines thinking about the stunning views (apart from the motorway, obviously) and singing away it hit me how perfectly some of the lyrics suited my current situation.

I hate saying that lyrics ’sum up’ how I feel - it’s such a cliche - but this is true. The lines that really stood out for me are these:

When I leave, I don’t know
What I’m hoping to find;
And when I leave I don’t know
What I’m leaving behind…

Which is “so true for my life right now”, to use the worst offender of cliches. The past few weeks I’ve just been packing my childhood into boxes, sending it to charity shops and dustbins. It’s both therapeutic and upsetting. In some respects, removing all the clutter makes my life - as well as my room - clearer. Only truly important stuff is left. Letting go of stuff I used to treasure is quite hard, especially as I feel almost as though I’m also packing up that safety net we have as children. I know I’m lucky in that I’ve had a very spoiled childhood - not just materially but in terms of my education, my hobbies, the friends I made, the places I visited, etc. But that makes it all the harder to let go! What would happen if I stayed and trained here instead and got a job near my family, maybe even teaching some of them in a few years? I know exactly what I’m leaving behind - a great support network of family I adore - and I think it’s only natural that part of me wishes it could be different. But I have to grow up sometime.

Having said that, I’m aware that my incredible luck seems to be continuing. The reason for my epic migration* is that everything is falling into place, and ‘it feels like the most natural thing in the world. I might be moving away from my parents, but I’m moving in with the monst wondeful boy I could ever hope to meet and I just know that we’ll be happy. When Mum and I first discussed my moving away, way back last May when I started to look around universities, we talked about how the postgraduate course I’m starting this September is available in every city in the country. After all, schools - and therefore teachers - are everywhere! But my boyfriend, whom I met whilst we were studying our undergraduate degrees, is only available in one city. It might be a few hundred miles away and somewhere I’ve never been to (before he moved there) but it’s also where he is, and that made the decision for me. Mum said I’d be a fool not to go - guys that amazing don’t come around often, so throwing away such happiness without trying would just be daft. And (as always), she was right. I’d have regretted it forever - even if in the future it all goes disastrously wrong (I’m praying it won’t!), I’d still argue it - he - was worth the risk. I couldn’t have not tried. I don’t honestly know why I felt so sure that it was the right thing to do, but I remain convinced. Call it “woman’s intuition” if you must!

As soon as I’d decided I wanted to move, yet again everything just ‘happened’ for me. My first choice of university accepted me virtually immediately, and then despite a ‘lengthy waiting list’ I was offered a livery stable at the first yard I visited. And both the university and the stables seem lovely - which mean I’m even more excited about moving down. It’s not just about being with my (amazing) boyfriend - it’s also about actually achieving something with my time, too.

So, this is what I’m ‘hoping to find’ when I get down there! That everything will continue to run smoothly. Sure the course will be difficult; juggling assignments, a horse and still finding time for my boyfriend will probably be awkward too sometimes but it’ll only be temporary and it’s all for a good reason. With everything looking so beautiful on the surface though, I’m just praying that my luck will continue. I do recognise how fortunate I am, but also how fragile it could be. Jane Austen wrote (in Pride and Prejudice?) that ‘a woman’s reputation is as fragile as it is beautiful’, but it’s not just her reputation - it’s true of her entire life, her whole existence.

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*Nothing like a bit of understatement.