Doch Ihre Worte Frisst Der Wind...

Sometimes, there's just a point where you think 'enough, now'.

Sometimes nothing you can say will be interpreted the way you mean it and that's just part of the fact that language is affected by the emotions and intentions of listener as well as speaker. Certain words don't have fixed meanings, no matter how hard we try to pin them down. How can they? Language is fluid. Even to the same person, words will change their meanings frequently. How often is 'frequent'? Daily? Weekly? It thoroughly depends on context and the person. The refusal of our literature to allow its contents and images be defined through one agreed meaning is incredible. It's one of the most wonderful and exasperating things about our language. It's why Shakespeare never gets old and why some works are beautiful even on their twentieth reading. And why you can read the same text twenty plus times and still feel you are reading it for the first time.

This space is having a hiatus. I have my own domain which I use to host a few friends' blogs - I have my own blog established there too. It's less of a trivial events calendar and where I generally focus my writing. This blog is quite often neglected in favour of that one so it makes sense to condense things and write purely on one channel. I'm not closing this blog - I may come back to it if I ever want somewhere a bit more whimsical to post. But at this point there's really nothing to say.

Greece is *definitely* the word.

So last week - or the week before, I forget - A and I headed out to Greece for a while to celebrate the end of my course/the end a really tough stint at work for him (I'm sure you'd love more information, but I don't have it. He doesn't even tell me what all the code names mean. Sometimes I wonder whether he actually works for MI5).

Greece was hot, beautiful, exciting - just what we needed. Last time we went on a watersports holiday, I was only working towards a PADI qualification which meant that A and I were sent on different dives. This time, though, we got to dive together! Plus, with only us and the instructor (a friend, who made sure we got 'special' treatment and weren't sent on the diving company's official dive with ten other tourists) we got to really examine the scenery.



We sailed out to these rocks, which, close up, look like this:



This is where we spent our day diving and chilling out on the boat in between dives. The water was clear and really warm - it was great. Check out this beautiful little guy:



Even though I KNOW you shouldn't... We picked him up. He was really soft, and far more beautiful in real life. We also held sea urchins (dead) and some of the biggest shells I've ever seen; explored caves and tunnels formed by rocks; hovered and watched an octopus for a while... and plenty more.
Asthma means I use my air up quite quickly though, so after only about 40 minutes (it flew) we had to ascend to exchange my tank. On the second dive, I got so carried away watching the octopus that I didn't keep a close enough eye on my supply and had to share an air tank on the way back. Oops...! Still, that's what you do the drills for - it wasn't really a problem.

When we weren't diving, we spent our time sailing mostly - on separate boats, since we want different things out sea. I like to sail along merrily and watch the beach/waves/jellyfish/people and generally chill out/catch some sun. A likes to sail 'properly' and throw himself off the side of the boat - like this:



Too much like hard work for me! (Although so good for the abs...).

Evenings we relaxed and sampled the cocktails, working our way through the menu systematically. When we got back we went on a quick shopping trip (and I really do mean 'quick' - A makes sure we have a fully-stocked bar here at all times - fab!) to pick up a few extra bottles and we've been drinking cocktails non-stop* since.

We had a cocktail party at ours last night, which was great fun but especially amusing was looking at the queue of bleary-eyed, bed-headed boys shuffling around, zombie-like, waiting to use our showers this morning and trying to determine who was fit enough to drive them all to work. Meanwhile I just padded around in my PJs (no work = no rush to get up in the mornings, yay!) providing orange juice to those who looked like they might actually die and make a mess of my carpet.



*Clearly not quite non-stop. Last time I drank and drove I ended up with a lovely, terribly suspicious-looking stain on my driver's seat. It seems that drinking whilst stationary at traffic lights is actually more complicated than it seems... It was clear water, for crying out loud, but the stain sure is stubborn. The garage-men were a little concerned when I took the car in following my (pathetic) crash at Christmas!

Anyway, I have definitely rambled enough. I didn't set out to write an essay... Carried away, as usual!

"99 Memorable Experiences"

This is a bit of a cheat post: it's one of those chain things. I don't normally go in for these, but I liked this one. As blog posts go, it's not hugely interesting - I'm not sharing this because I think you're interested in whether I've done jury service (I haven't) or gone skinny dipping (I have). The reason I gave in and copied this post though is the vast range of memories it evoked. Although the events are condensed into simple sentences, some of them have really interesting or exciting stories behind them which I'd forgotten until this reminded me.
I hope you get the same out of it!

The concept is simple: read through the list; highlight those that you have experienced. Easy peasy.


1. Started your own blog

2. Slept under the stars

3. Played in a band

4. Visited Hawaii

5. Watched a meteor shower

6. Given more than you can afford to charity

7. Been to Disney

8. Climbed a mountain

9. Held a praying mantis

10. Sung a solo 

11. Bungee jumped - I'd love to, but finding someone willing to come with me is proving difficult. And I wouldn't do it on my own!

12. Visited Paris

13. Watched a thunder and lightning storm

14. Taught yourself an art from scratch

15. Adopted a child

16. Had food poisoning 

17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty

18. Grown your own vegetables

19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France

20. Slept on an overnight train

21. Had a pillow fight

22. Hitch hiked

23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill

24. Built a snow fort

25. Held a lamb

26. Gone skinny dipping 

27. Run a marathon

28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice

29. Seen a total eclipse




30. Watched a sunrise or sunset

31. Hit a home run

32. Been on a cruise

33. Seen Niagara Falls in person

34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors

35. Seen an Amish community

36. Taught yourself a new language

37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied

38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person



39. Gone rock climbing

40. Seen Michelangelo’s David in person

41. Sung karaoke 

42. Seen Old Faithful erupt

43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant

44. Visited Africa

45. Walked on a beach by moonlight

46. Been transported in an ambulance

47. Had your portrait painted

48. Gone deep sea fishing

49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person

50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris

51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling

52. Kissed in the rain (for some reason, the fact that I haven't done this really winds me up.)

53. Played in the mud

54. Gone to a drive-in theater

55. Been in a movie

56. Visited the Great Wall of China

57. Started a business

58. Taken a martial arts class

59. Visited Russia

60. Served at a soup kitchen

61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies

62. Gone whale watching

63. Got flowers for no reason

64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma

65. Been sky diving 

66. Visited a Concentration Camp

67. Bounced a check

68. Flown in a helicopter

69. Saved a favorite childhood toy

70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial

71. Eaten caviar

72. Pieced a quilt

73. Stood in Times Square

74. Toured the Everglades

75. Been fired from a job

76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London

77. Broken a bone

78. Been a passenger on a motorcycle

79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person

80. Published a book

81. Visited the Vatican

82. Bought a brand new car

83. Walked in Jerusalem

84. Had your picture in the newspaper

85. Kissed a stranger at midnight on New Year’s Eve

86. Visited the White House

87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating

88. Had chickenpox

89. Saved someone’s life

90. Sat on a jury

91. Met someone famous

92. Joined a book club

93. Gotten a tattoo (and someone is in the middle of designing my next one...)

94. Had a baby

95. Seen the Alamo in person

96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake

97. Been involved in a law suit

98. Owned a cell phone

99. Been stung by a bee

"But Miiiiiiiiiss......Whyyyyyyy?"

So, following 'story time' at the end of today's lesson, I gathered together my wonderful year 7s and told them I would be leaving after half-term. Two of them cried. For a split second I felt like that incredibly irritating woman in 'The Sound of Music', and was tempted to sweep them all into a giant hug and tell them everything was fine - with some high-pitched singing thrown in for good measure. (Hey, last lesson I made them sit through Kate Bush's 'Wuthering Heights'. Which I sang along to. And then made them sing.* They're used to my caterwauling).

*They loved it, really.




Then I remembered what I was leaving them for and told them to man up and get out of my classroom.


A mere 6 teaching days until the end!

How many calories in a blog post?

There are definite parallels between blogging and going to the gym. If I could do both at the same time, I'd be happy! Maybe when A & I eventually move out of our flat and into our house I'll get a treadmill - then I'll be able to tone my thighs and fingers at the same time...




Blogging and exercising might not seem like natural partners, but believe me when I say they are.

1. When you get into the habit, it's easy to keep up. Even set aside especially for it. And the more you do it, the more you want to do it.

2. They're really social activities - I follow my friends' blogs and those of a few strangers. It's a great way of keeping in touch with friends I don't see often. With those I do see fairly frequently, we chat about anything interesting we've read recently. The very few friends who have my blog address (I think we're up to 3, now?) get an insight in my mind that they probably never wanted. You can consider yourselves the lucky ones or the unlucky ones, I don't mind.

3. When you get out of the habit, you find yourself making excuses. I'm getting unfit now, won't be able to just pick up where I left off... Easier to leave it for a bit and start afresh. I'll do it more when I've finished this phase of work and have more time/energy. I've fallen way too far behind now - too much to post about.

4. I feel incredibly lazy for doing neither at the moment.


Clearly, though, this post marks a change for number 4. I am going to blog more often (stop rolling your eyes, this time I mean it) and I am going to attend the gym more. Or at least, get running outside. The ten mile run is sneaking up on me rapidly!

Last week I trekked 18 miles up several hills with a couple of friends from my course. In fact, it was pretty much ALL uphill. You know the saying 'what goes up must come down'? It's a lie. It is entirely possible to walk 18 miles uphill and spend only about half an hour or so of your day walking downhill. This is one of the hills we walked up (note the rare downhill slope en route!):



Yep, we nailed the whole of that white path in about 10-15 minutes. Sooo good for the calves, but only doable if you break into your stash of Cherry Lucozade and Kit Kats.
In total, we were out for 12 hours (that includes the travelling, which was about 5 hours - NOT 12 hours of walking! Pfft.) but we had such a laugh together so it went really quickly. Plus the scenery (all countryside and coastline) was beautiful, and there was something quite cool about being part of thousands of people all walking in the same direction! The line of people snaked for miles - literally - so that we couldn't see the beginning or the end of the line.

Walking is apparently the best exercise you can get (source: old wives' tale/my school), and we did keep motivated by ticking off how many takeaways we thought we were working off. Please don't tell me it takes more than that to burn off an Indian takeaway; I might just cry. I also learned others things I hadn't expected to:

Fact 1: you will be in agony that night and will probably need to call your boyfriend for assistance getting out of the car when you arrive home. He will laugh at you and you will hurt too much to thump him.
Fact 2: you will feel exceptionally smug when you don't hurt the following day.

Most unexpected fact was that I wanted to do it again. Seems like I have finally found the motivation I need to get running more often. With only six lessons left between now and qualifying (round of applause, please!) I suddenly have so much time! Sion doesn't know what's hit him the past fortnight, poor thing. And, even though the 10 mile charity run is at the forefront of my wanting to get fit, I'd be lying if I said that my gorgeous new bikini for A and I's holiday to Greece didn't provide a fairly healthy dose of motivation...

Horses for Courses

Sorry - been neglecting the blog again! Made the most of my extended weekend though - lots of sleeping (far too many all-nighters last week), socializing and horse riding.

My year 8's have been causing me a few problems recently. There are 32 of them, and they are seriously boisterous. In fact, I think I've blogged about them before - this is the class that have spent my lesson doing somersaults before (I've definitely blogged about that somewhere). Usually we get on fine, but I've felt the respect slipping away as they take longer and longer to get quiet each time. With my recent sleeping habits, my voice is almost completely gone so I can't raise it. Last time I attempted to shout, one pupil asked if my voice was breaking. Non-verbal signals they pretend not to see.




Honestly, the above picture is comparatively calm. So today, first lesson back after almost a week, I thought I'd nail them to the floor and then we could relax again. I had a friend email me last week asking for behaviour tips - I emailed her a thesis on the subject and thought it was about time to practice what I preached.

So I walked in, recapped the rules and consequences. They ignored the rules; I turned into the cow from hell. I had one hour of silence. Almost every child actually completed the work set. And I didn't have to attempt to shout once. No one was sent out (possible for the first time ever). No one left their seat (definitely the first time ever).

Was it one hour of blissful silence? Nope. Was there a productive, purposeful atmosphere? Nope.
It was one hour of sheer awkwardness during which I attempted to evade the rays of hatred emanating towards me. The auras of livid 32 kids require some serious mental shields, I tell you...

To be honest, I absolutely hated doing it. But I was out of ideas - the class are notoriously awkward across the school so other teachers were not a great source of advice. I'd tried rapport and getting to know them as individuals. I'd tried killing them with praise and doing pacey, personalised lessons. Ultimately they just took the mick.
No idea whether I did the right thing. Have I screwed up or can I relax next lesson and hope the fact that they've seen my nasty side will be enough to keep them on track for the next four weeks? I have no idea. We'll have to see what happens on Friday. If no post arrives between now and... let's say about six weeks from now, as I'm not too hot on posting regularly... you know they've eaten me alive.


Question is, can I have a middle ground between discipline and dislike or riots and friends? Cake and eat - ooh yes please.




AMAZING cake hey? Shame it's only just been my birthday and I will probably have forgotten about this by the time my next birthday comes around.

Moving on to real horses, real courses: Sion and I are so busy at the moment. Some of you may remember my blogging that we'd qualified for a competition in Wales - well, that was a couple of weeks ago. I had the absolute time of my life. He did some beautiful jumping and some superb (unplanned) rodeo displays, so we managed to keep the crowd entertained regardless of whether we were actually getting over the fences. I think they knew from the moment that we entered the ring backwards (because the poster opposite the gate was far too scary to walk towards) it was going to be an interesting round.
So, we had no rosettes but it was our first weekend show away from home and I think he did exceptionally well considering that over the four days he went from muscular to skeletal with all the stress.
Last weekend we attended a home show, and he was much more his usual self - he was just on fire (I never thought I'd need to clarify that this was metaphorical, but I mentioned this today in my year 7 class and then had to spend five minutes reassuring/disappointing them with the news that my horse had not spontaneously combusted because of his speed). We entered two classes and got four clears. We won one class by almost 10 seconds, and came second in the other - by 0.4 seconds!
We have another show this weekend, plus a gymkhana. We've qualified to go back to Wales this summer, plus I've applied to attend the Training Academy beforehand - just waiting to hear whether we've been accepted. I hope we are!
Whether we are or not, with all the other shows and cross-country competitions we've entered we have a busy, busy summer ahead.

I'm also off to look at another horse this weekend. She's stunning - hoping to BSJA affiliate with her as Sion is limited to about 1m now because of his hocks; plus he's obviously not getting any younger. We don't compete at 1m anymore - far better to keep it low and enjoyable for him. 2'9 is as high as he'll go over a course, although having said that we'll be doing 3ft this weekend! I haven't told Sion I'm going to look at this mare though - in a daft, unjustified, sentimental way, I feel like I'm cheating on him...

Exchanging Heels for Trainers...

Time is running out - I'm down to my last seven weeks of student-hood before I have to join the real world! This is exciting, and quite sad - being a student is amazing. The four years I've spent at the two universities really have been the best years of my life - clichéd I know, but it's the honest truth. I wouldn't change a thing. Well, except maybe one...

This past week seems to have been a real success-period for people getting jobs/MA courses/deciding what exactly they're doing with their lives.
This time last year I lived in a terraced house with five floors and five other people. Our lives were fairly clichéd, exactly what you would expect of students. The house was clean and tidy but not immaculate. The wall paper had certainly seen better days. We built snowmen in winter and held barbecues in summer. Every so often a traffic cone or road sign would appear in our garage and then disappear a few days later, sometimes replaced with various other 'trophy' items - usually plastic swords or fancy dress masks, although we did once end up with a piano. The image of three boys pushing a piano through the streets of Durham appeared on nearly everyone's Facebook: I was amused until I discovered the three boys in question were in fact sitting in the kitchen below my room, toasting their acquisition with Redbull and cider.


We were close.
We used to mark off our deadlines (different for each person) on a big calendar and for that day, all six students would hold their breath nervously and cross their fingers. When important post arrived - PGCE and law course acceptance letters, interview invitations, exam results, etc - the same anticipation and nerves rattled throughout every floor in the house, no matter whose name was on the envelope. When one person did well, five other people celebrated the success as if it was their own.

One year later, we're often too busy to speak frequently. But when we do catch up, the conversation continues from last time as though the intermittent time never existed. Things are very different, of course: one is married whilst another has just broken up with his girlfriend of six years; one is already a successful lawyer whilst one is on the dole. But the intensity of friendships formed over cheap wine and ludicrous fancy dress costumes is still there.

One of our housemates died last November, of leukemia. It was ridiculously sudden (five days from symptoms to death, only two days from diagnosis to death. Those two days were spent unconscious on a life-support machine). I've blogged about Tom before, but I haven't blogged about our bid to raise money for Leukemia Research.

In January, when my car was on holiday in the garage I was given lifts into school by a PE teacher. She told me about a 10 mile run around a local city in order to raise money for charity - so I signed up that night, dug out my trainers* and - of course - set up the obligatory Facebook group to ask for sponsorship/support.



* I'd love to be able to run in my heels, but sadly given my appalling lack of coordination that would only lead to disaster.

Messages of support came flooding in, even from complete strangers. They were really inspiring. My housemates, though, went further. First one, then a second, then a third - "change the Facebook group name. I'm running with you." Even one from a girl who now lives in Germany - "I'll be there. Sign me up!" So, after three changes to the Facebook group, we are training like mad across the country. And it's so nice. We are divided by hundreds of miles at the moment - south coast(ish), north east coast, Germany, London - yet we stay in touch (through Facebook, of course!) reporting our progress, photos, routes, times and distances and generally keep each other going.

I love my friends.
I really think I hit the jackpot when I went to uni - I've never known such an incredible group of people! Their always-positive attitudes, willingness to help anyone and experience anything once, combined with wicked senses of humour make them fantastic to be around. University is what you make it, I think. I got very, very lucky on Day One with the people on my corridor and subsequently had the best three years possible.

Volcanic Ash v. My Guilt Complex

So Easter hols = lots of fun = lots of posts. Unfortunately the only one that's finished is the most boring post ever, but hey. It's also the most recent, which means a lot of backtracking when the others are up.. Never mind. Here we go.

I went home* last week to visit my family. It was great to see them, but I did have a more serious reason for going - my nephew was having an operation, and I didn't want to leave Mum (who worries like a champion) on her own that day. It wasn't a major operation, but it did require a general anaesthetic. Last time my nephew had one of those he was horrifically ill, so I can understand her concern. My family are all on a bit of a descent into total deafness - and my poor baby nephew is accelerating past us all at a scary rate. This is his second operation to try to restore his hearing. So far, fingers crossed it worked.


*I suppose I should say "parent's home", given that I don't live there anymore. But it's still my home! I'll just be like the Queen.

But, the weekend was fast approaching and with it the end of the Easter hols (boo!). I was seriously running out of time to fulfil my good intentions of being fully planned for the first two weeks back after the hols. Time for me to look at returning down south in time to get organised (ha) for my final six weeks of training (21 lessons left with year 8!).


My first flight home was cancelled; I rescheduled. Not a problem – plenty of time, safety first, etc etc.
My second flight home was cancelled. I rescheduled. Inconvenient, but can't be helped.
My third flight home was cancelled. Seeing a pattern emerging, I declined their offer of yet another rescheduled flight.

That third flight was supposed to be this afternoon. The last opportunity to get back before Monday morning. The last direct train to my local station left an hour before the flight (no, I didn't check this earlier, when I could actually have done something about it). The only alternative was a seven and a half hour journey involving five trains in total and a £197 ticket. Pfft. No thanks.

So instead, I'm sailing down the M6 at 110mph (obviously not behind the wheel). Struck by a major guilt complex, I couldn't bring myself to take tomorrow off school and get the direct train home – even though I have no lessons and will spend the entire day watching my school laptop load, freeze, restart, and freeze again. Madness, I know, but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't phone and say 'I can't get in' until I'd tried EVERYTHING. So I did what every normal girl would do – I called on Daddy. Actually... that's not really true – I'm not very good at asking for favours either. Dad offered. I declined (the whole guilt thing again). He asked what else I would do. I accepted. Now he's driving me from one end of the country to the other, and returning home again ready for his work (in Scotland!) tomorrow, in the space of one afternoon. Dad's Audi was stolen from the driveway a few weeks ago, so we're currently in his new Passat. I really like the new car, although Dad as a die-hard Audi fan isn't too happy. The Audi didn't half make you travel sick, though – this is MUCH better. I would never have been able to type blog entries/read Anthony and Cleopatra in the A6.

I am going to owe Dad a LOT of chocolate and beer after this. I'm going to be sending them over by the bucketload for the next six months.

Backflips and Breakthroughs

Easter holidays are here!!

Drove home in the sunshine, pile of books/tests/mocks on the passenger seat beside me, singing along to the radio and feeling *good*. But Skinny Love comes on the radio and the next thing I'm wondering why I can taste salt. I hadn't realised I'd begun to cry.

I've heard that song a few times since Tom's funeral and whilst it takes me back it doesn't always make me cry. It's never caught me so unexpectedly though. Maybe it's because I'm tired. Scrap that - I'm exhausted. Never in my life before yesterday have I gone to bed at 6pm (admittedly I got up again at 7.30 to eat/do work, but I just couldn't carry on without sleep first!). I am so ready for this holiday.

The kids were WILD today! And I do mean, wild.* For a moment I knew how nursery teachers feel. And monkey-trainers, although my apes didn't appear to be even remotely trained. Where is the 'dislike' button?



(Weird, huh? I hate monkeys.)

*Having said that they were wild, today we had no backflips, which meant that my heart rate remained largely normal for the entire hour with that class. (Seriously, Monday's lesson - I discovered I have most of the school gymnastic team in my class. And they decided to showcase their routine for me. Their ordinary teacher LOVED it. I was panicking like a... crazy, panicky thing... "No no no don't do it! [Oh, can't watch!]" The lighting in that room is LOW. Their backflips were HIGH. (They tried to do them off the desks, initially, but I managed to override the class teacher on that one). So they settled for doing them on the floor - safer, right? Well, maybe, but everytime their hair brushed the carpet I felt a little more sick. It was the kind of routine you would pay to see. But I would willingly have paid them to NOT do it during my lesson...).



But, today everyone remained in their seats - bonus! AND I made a major breakthrough with one child who is surrounded by C.P. issues: he spoke to me. He arrived early to my lesson - presumably trying to avoid being in the crowded corridors. I smiled, said 'morning' - cue awkward silence whilst he stared blankly at me and I carried on setting up my laptop, trying to look busy and hoping other kids would arrive soon. After a while, I heard "It's nearly the holidays, miss." Didn't recognise the voice. Turned round - still only him in the room. He doesn't sound at all how I imagined he would. Still - A.Mazing. On the way out, a quiet "have a good birthday miss". My word C, I could have hugged you.


But anyway, who decided it would actually be a good idea to put the end of term assessments (in exam conditions) on the last day of term??
When I am fully qualified, the last day of term shall be reserved solely for DVDs. I shall choose a few of my then-favourite films, whack them onto the projector at 8.30am and allow kids to file in and out every hour until it reaches 3pm. I may even share my popcorn with the lucky ones.

A Pupil Broke My Heart Today...

I have a real thing for the underdog children.

I realise how wrong that sounds - but hold off calling the police because it's really quite innocent. But, I have a couple of rough classes at the moment and seem to - unintentionally - get on best with the kids in my classes who everyone else seems to despise. I root for them. I talk to them in the corridor. I defend them when the staffroom turns on them like wolves and a chipmunk - and I always get eaten alive, because funnily enough experienced teachers don't always like to hear that the trainee doesn't agree with their bitter description of their nemesis.


This week, though, the boys I have been defending have let me down. Big time. More than that - (brace yourself for that immortal line) - they have really, REALLY let themselves down.

In fact, they could only be described as purebred idiots. Imbeciles. Fools. Twits. Tw*ts, even. Absolute flaming F'wits.

I'm only going to tell you about one today because I only have the time/mental stamina for one!

There is a current epidemic throughout the school for fighting. It only started recently, but has escalated with terrifying speed. The fights get more dangerous and more frequent every day. Only year 7 are not infected - but it's probably only a matter of time.

So, during tutor time today I overhear a conversation which makes me - literally - want to scream. And weep. And shake the child involved until his brains fall out because he clearly isn't using them.

Said boy - N - is in my year 11 class. They're predicted E grades - some Ds. N, however, is desperate for a C and together we're going to make sure he gets it. He is a lovely guy, works SO SO SO hard and is always friendly - very popular with his classmates.

He threatened someone with a weapon today, and then beat them unconscious. In front of a small number of teachers - most of whom were too afraid to physically intervene because of the extreme violence and the fact that there were weapons involved.

Hearing about fights at school is always sad.
But to hear that it was one of my favourite pupils...

I was just gutted.

What is going on in school at the moment? There seems to be no reason, other than bored and the rain (I've learnt that teachers blame a lot of things on the weather).

Bring on the Easter hols!

Domestic Gods: Nice thought, but no thanks.

The boyfriend invaded my territory last night.




Stop laughing - that isn't a sordid euphemism.

In our house, I own the kitchen. I also have responsibility for the lounge, the bathrooms, the bedroom and the study. That's basically the entire flat.

Last night, I found my boyfriend loading the dishwasher.

Until now, I didn't realise he was aware that we actually have a dishwasher. Well, obviously the dishes are cleaned somehow - but I thought he assumed that was me.
But no, last night I discover him stacking plates in the dishwasher. I was stunned, pleased and a little amused.

I am completely ambivalent about this situation.

1. Oh, he's finally recognised its existence... thank goodness... Less work for me. Result. And I didn't EVEN have to hint this time (my hints usually go along the lines of "please can you put those plates in the dishwasher? Plates? Dishwasher? - Please?" whilst resisting the urge to click my fingers and point). Housework does build up quickly* in our flat, even though there are only two of us: I have taken over most of the free space with files, document boxes, my laminator/photocopier/guillotine etc. Teacher-y things have spread from the study into the lounge, and have well and truly taken over now. A couple of months ago we discussed getting a maid - then decided that it was a silly idea because the flat was too messy to ever invite anyone into, much less expect them to attempt to tidy it. So if the boyfriend is now going to share the housework with me, that is absolutely awesome.

*I feel I should point out here that our flat is CLEAN - there are no piles of last week's takeaways, dirty laundry, etc. It's just not that tidy.

2. The kitchen is my domain... The dishwasher my favourite ally.
And there is a system, actually... Everything has a place otherwise it doesn't all fit in. No, small bowls go on the bottom shelf and why have you spaced it out like that so there are only two saucepans on that row instead of four?! Now we'll have to put it on twice! Oh, you've already turned it on? Honey, it runs for over two hours and is SO LOUD. Do you never wonder why I only put it on overnight??




You see guys, whether you meticulously attempt to help with housework or wait until the rats have moved in and the entire inside of your fridge is covered in grey fluff, you will be in trouble. Your best bet is honestly just to keep your head down and avoid all confrontation with the kitchen. Feminists will die a little inside at that comment, but I don't care. There is a reason those sexy maid outfits only come in female versions.


Alright, so we are overworked and stressed and we may well get up an hour before you, get in an hour later and rarely go to bed on the same day we woke up because of the amounts of work we bring home. And sometimes we prioritize essays and our year 10s over hoovering the lounge (solution: get a Roomba). We put away washing and tidy at 2am because that's the only point we have time.

And of course it would be lovely if a magical housework fairy (that's you) did all the work whilst we typed and wept and consumed gallons of wine/tea. But don't feel the need to get too carried away with being 'helpful' or we may just wonder what you hit your head on. Even if you don't understand the intricate way of positioning the plates on the racks and don't put all the forks together in one compartment, we still love you to bits.

The Truth, The Whole Truth, and Nothing But...

Depending on who you are and how close we are, you either know everything about me or very little. I'm all for sharing with my friends.

You would think that, with an anonymous situation like blogging, free-for-all detail would be the way forward. But I think I'm actually really conservative - there are a few things I just don't blog about.



1. Work
Sure, I'm quite open about the fact that I'm a trainee teacher. And that I've recently been employed and therefore am well on my way to becoming a genuine teacher. But you don't know where - and that's really important! I don't usually blog about school but it's bound to come up sometimes - and it'd a *Disaster* if it got back to my Department/the kids. In a career where it's technically inappropriate and irresponsible to go out and get drunk at the weekend, blogging too openly is not really a smart move.

2. Religion
I'm a Christian, but I don't feel the need to use my blog as an evangelic vehicle. I'm more than happy to discuss my faith, but I strongly dislike sounding as though I'm just out to convert the masses and put another notch in my Biblical bedpost.
I wasn't too impressed to come across a New Scientist headline the other day about atheists having a reputation for being "well educated" - the implications about people with faith being all too obvious. I also hate the word 'religious' - I get riled when people refer to me in that way. It has awful connotations - yes I have faith, and I'm not ashamed of it.I'll talk about it happily with anyone. But I hate having a label which reminds me of those people who force their unfounded and usually outrageous beliefs down the throat of anyone within earshot of their megaphone. Hell - they drive everyone mad so please don't judge other 'religious' people based on your experience of people on street corners.


3. Sex
I know what some of you are thinking.
The reason I don't discuss sex is because of the above point - clearly, I don't have any. You're wrong, but let's leave it there for now. I'll probably come back to this topic when I eventually get round to blogging about H.

Baby Gets Shaky After School...

'Shaky' is probably going to be a very apt description of my state tomorrow morning... I've got some celebrating to do! I'm heading out tonight with some of the IBM boys to celebrate becoming, in their words, an official tax payer and no longer a scrounging student.


It sounds much more exciting in my words: a REAL, PROPER, OFFICIAL, grown up TEACHER!


Yesterday I had the interview for the VIJ (actually, a quick scan of my drafts folder shows that I never published the posts leading up to this, so I should probably explain that VIJ is the Very Important Job that I've been desperate for) and...

1. I have never been so scared in my life*
2. I really enjoyed being there and know it's the right place for me
3. They employed me!!
4. There was another girl at the interview too, who was so lovely - and they've employed her too, so we'll get to work/be NQTs together!
5. They employed me!!

I officially start in September, but will actually start in late June. I am SO excited, although I woke up this morning CONVINCED I'd dreamed the whole thing! (Yesterday morning, I was convinced I'd slept through the interview, which would have actually been quite an achievement considering I didn't sleep).

I had such a nice time yesterday seeing the department I started my training in. They were all exactly the same - still fabulous. This shouldn't be surprising as it really wasn't that long ago that I was there, but it feels like a VERY long time ago! I can't wait to go back in September as an official teacher, knowing that this time there's no countdown until I have to go. The person leaving is moving onto an even better situation (if such a thing is imaginable); so whilst I am really sad they're going, I'm also incredibly excited for their adventure. (I LOVE it when life goes through those phases of being one big happy adrenaline rush).


As the only girl in the group going out tonight, I usually do all of our organising - but tonight I've been spoiled! The boys have chosen a restaurant for me, one which I've never been to but have been assured is very good. It's Asian, and I love Asian food. Then we've booked a table at P&P, which does a beaauutiful chocolate cocktail... After several of those, we could end up anywhere!







Then tomorrow, I can rejoin the real world of lesson planning and marking - the mocks year 10 did in my absence yesterday are eagerly anticipating being smothered in green** pen...


* That's not strictly true. The scariest moment of my life was when my horse nearly died and I was signing the 'yes you can put my horse down if you need to' papers (they made me!) with one hand; holding a tube in position up his nose with the other; desperately pretending I couldn't feel the blood soaking my legs. Whilst surrounded by six - I exaggerate not - SIX student vets frantically prepping him for surgery. But that's a whole other story.

**(Heaven forbid I use red pen...)

Glitter & Champagne (& hoping I didn't dream it...)

Particularly apt, given that I'm from Cheshire, wouldn't you say?
Earlier this week I posted something about 7 Reasons My Life is Amazing. Today just happened to top the lot. Twice over.


I'll elaborate when a) I'm no longer speechless and b) I have finished clearing* the lounge in order to make room on the table for champagne and lemon cake...


*this is a short way of saying that I'm madly throwing everything bar the sofas and bookcases into random boxes and then hiding them in the study.

In Summary...

'The Cure' were right about boys...

Dear Duke,

It is a girl’s prerogative to be ruled by her emotions and not by any law of common sense. We've all seen examples of how catapulting from one extreme emotion to another is just a daily occurrence in a girl's life. This can be anything, even things that men find trivial - including, for instance, (but not limited to) ecstatic squealing that a certain handbag has been released in purple, and subsequent hysterical sobbing because said handbag has sold out.

Girls are naturally open. Ask a man about a film he’s seen – “it was good, yeah. Special effects are great” or, if it wasn’t too successful, “rubbish plot, not much happened.” Ask a girl – “it was great – made me cry/laugh!” or “I felt really bored for most of it.” Sharing emotion happens without any intentional thought. And, I have to admit, that’s something I love about my female friends. Being with people who are so emotionally honest allows for really close friendships.
(You may take that any way you wish).


However... With true female ‘logic’, I’m now going to go back on what I’ve just said.

The more serious the situation, the less emotion is immediately visible. This is the point at which to raise your guard even further – and make sure the kettle is on. Biscuits can only help matters further – even if the girl is upset because she mistakenly believes she is the size of a baby elephant.



(This is a FACT. It says so on one of my Facebook groups...)

Once the tea is made (Amaretto if it’s serious) and biscuits and tissues are within reach, you have two main choices of where to wait out the storm.

1. If you can't bear tears but suspect that they are on their way (and believe me, the longer she pretends “everything’s fine”, the more tears are imminent), make a hasty exit to the pub. Whilst you’re gone, your girlfriend will cry, phone her [female] friends, cry more, eat the biscuits, cry a bit more, rack up a huge phone bill, and eventually feel better for it. In the meantime, you have a laugh with your friends. When you come home, you face a sullen, pale raccoon who sulks because you ‘abandoned her’; but at least she isn’t sobbing incoherently into your chest and wiping mascara and snot all over your t-shirt.

2. Assemble tea, biscuits, tissues – and get ready to offer them in turn. Flashcards would be an extremely useful addition here – definitely a niche in the market for those.

A word of advice? Option 1 is really appealing. And sometimes you’ll be able to pull it off. But if in doubt, go for 2. She doesn’t need to know that whilst you’re ‘mmhmm’-ing and pulling her closer than you’re mentally replaying the game from the weekend. And if you get your t-shirt messy, you have little option but to take it off. At which point you can trade in all those brownie points you’ve just earned for staying with her and listening to her...


A.x


I had planned to conclude with some intelligent musings on why it wasn't (as) acceptable for men to cry.

Then I found these images and the second one made me laugh, which I think answered my question. A crying girl can, allegedly, mix vulnerability with some kind of pathetic yet admirable beauty. (Note to girls: amount of dignity retained is in negative correlation to amount of alcohol consumed before crying episode).





And what about crying men? Well...

I challenge you not to even smirk...

7 Reasons My Life is Amazing!

Monday: My loverly, wonderful, super little pony jumped over a course of jumps which I'd 'jazzed up' by throwing colourful rugs over them. He was shaking with nerves, but still did it. 'Proud' doesn't even cut it. (This is another reason I don't particularly want children. I honestly don't think they be able to would make me as proud as he does. He is my baby).

Tuesday: My friend/guitar teacher's band's demo album was FINALLY ready. I bought several copies, so I could have one in each car and one in the house... Love that band and have been rocking out en route to school every morning. On a school note, year 10 have finally finished their coursework and we could actually get on with some teaching. And for a group which were initially super glued to their normal teacher, they were really good.

Wednesday: I found some backbone and pulled out of the interview for the job I didn't want. All about having faith that what's meant to be will be.

Thursday: My university tutor came in to observe me with my mental, bouncing-off-the-walls class and graded me 'Very Good' (top mark). I was extra pleased considering I'd planned the lesson in half an hour after being told in the morning that the SOW I'd planned was being put back until after Easter, therefore I couldn't teach the lesson I'd prepared for the observation.

Friday: I was at the stables and ended up riding an 18.3hh monster. Who was a dream ride.



Saturday: A friend bailed us out by going to IKEA with the rest of our shopping list (the stuff that wouldn't fit in the car last week) and then helping assemble it all. Not only do we have great friends but now we also have a gorgeous lounge to entertain them in.

Sunday: I met the loveliest girl at Church, and we've arranged to go and see Jane Austen's house one Saturday.

Monday: Hasn't happened yet. But I'm sure it will be good.

Why I Love IKEA

Because I'm not ashamed to admit that I do love it. So much so that I got up super early today to make the first Church service so that the boyfriend and I would have more time to traipse round the hallowed furniture store, fussing over whether to go for the glossy or matte finish on our bookcases and arguing over whether a furry rug was a bathroom necessity or not. (I lost the argument and we came home rugless.)
But I am fully aware that most [sane] people hate IKEA. With the sort of passion I usually reserve for football. Giving up my Sunday afternoon for that? No thank you.
So, why do I love it so much? Well, there are two reasons. Firstly, I’m a real home-loving, house-proud girl. Interior design, colour schemes, wacky props and understated designs are all my kinda thing. I ADORE seeing all the furnishings and colours and mentally redesigning every room in our flat. When we finally get a house, the boyfriend and I have agreed that we’re going to have a library/study. That’s my favourite room to design, because it’ll be the room I spend the most time in. I’ve always wanted a library – I blame my childhood fascination with ‘Beauty and the Beast’ and my mum's fascination with reading to me all the time. Gotta love her for it.


But, besides the excitement of planning our future home, I love the constant entertainment of IKEA. Oh yes. People watching – no better place for it. Forget watching soaps or studying psychology from textbooks – just get yourself down to IKEA and prepare to watch all kinds of dramas unfold before your eager eyes. And they're so predictable. The couples. I'm not ashamed to admit how amused I get when watching couples argue over the black sofa or the green one (not full blown rows; they’re embarrassing and tasteless. But watching a girl try every trick in her book to get the green sofa? Gets a smirk every time).
The children, and mums running after them, begging them to put down the Swedish novel/fake TV remote/kitchen fork that they are absentmindedly chewing as they wander in blissful ignorance through the stampede of stressed out shoppers. In amongst the crowd is the flustered browsing of women, who insist on picking up every item within reach (‘ooh – would this look good in the lounge? Mark never buys me flowers anymore, but maybe if we had an empty vase on the table...’) The men who have been here before have learnt, and usually have a firm grip on their wife’s elbow. This allows them to steer her away from unnecessary items which might distract from the task at hand, and propel her along through the different sections before she can get any dangerous ideas about redecorating the bathroom ‘whilst we’re at it’. ‘Must get shopping done ASAP’, the men think. ‘It’s hot and crowded and we need to get back to assemble these flaming wardrobes before the match starts. No darling, stop looking at the lightbulbs. Elizabeth, we DON’T NEED any more flaming lampshades!’
Then there are the students. ‘We need a desk. What’s the cheapest one available? This plastic one here? Cool. Ohh, it only comes in luminous yellow or pink? Umm... That’s okay. We’ll take it anyway. It’ll be quirky.’ No boys, it’ll be dreadful. But priceless.

I don't know how the boyfriend and I manage it - perhaps because we think the same way - but IKEA rows just don't happen for us. We go in, see something we like ("oh! I was JUST about to point that out to you! Let's get it!") and come home with it. Sorted.

Our 'rows', however, come once we're home. My sophisticated boyfriend loves nothing more than letting his guard down and being 'macho' every now and again by whacking bits of wood with a hammer. I like to read the instructions. Clear a suitably sized floor space. Line up all the parts and tools in the order I'll need them, with the appropriate tools - including necessary glass of Shiraz - within reach.

We drive each other bonkers, in the nicest possible way.

Eventually, we compromise. He whacks bits of wood with a hammer. I instruct on WHICH bits of wood to whack and concentrate on tightening the screws with a suitably sized screwdriver ("just use any old one," the boyfriend advises occasionally when he sees me delve in the box to find a new screwdriver for the new screws. This advice is duly noted and ignored.) and checking that all the angles are perfect. Yes, I am a neat freak. Even with flat pack furniture.

Posts Are Like Buses...

Another post?
Yep, well, I thought I'd better do something about the fact that my dashboard is a list of drafts.



Today has been weird. I think I have offended everyone I could possibly have offended, apart from the assistant head at the school which rejected me who phoned about half an hour ago to tell me to apply if they had any future vacancies. Who I probably did offend, because I think I responded with "I'll think about it" or something similarly noncommittal, even though I was exceptionally grateful that he'd called but just too tired to inject enthusiasm into my voice or construct coherent/relevant sentences.

You know how sometimes you feel too tired to sleep? Sounds paradoxical, but if it's ever happened to you then you'll know exactly what I mean.
Well, this is my current state. It's incredibly irritating but has its useful moments. For example, I have a fabulous friend who I adore but don't see very much - a side effect of her disappearing off on a gap year to Japan. Four years ago. (What is with people emigrating all of a sudden? I can think of at least 5 people who've recently decided to abandon England.)
Japan and England have enough of a time difference that we very rarelyremember to be online at the same time but the other night we managed it.

"I've got a boyfriend!" she announces proudly. I've known V five years and in that time she has never once dated. Not even a single, innocuous coffee on a Saturday morning. Now she's gushing about Mr. Perfect and her voice seems to have gone up several octaves.

Gushing in someone as matter-of-fact as V is never good. It's too out of character.

"V?" I manage to squeeze into the millisecond pause as she inhales. "He sounds too good to be true. He's not married or something, is he?"

Okay. The silence is a little unnerving. I was joking.

"Yes." She sighs.
"Divorced, right? Where does he live?"

There's that pause again.

"He lives with his wife."

Flipping heck. What do I say to that? The obvious. "Kids?"

"Two."

My turn to sigh. I don't want to judge or preach. But neither do I want to change the topic - partly because it's great to hear her happy but also because I don't want her to be involved in something messy, especially not with children involved. We settle for an awkward conversation about how he really does plan to ask for a divorce and move out soon.

I was going to say I smell a rat but the stench is more like a whole plague of them. Is that really cynical?
If he turns out to be a rat I shall fly over there and break his legs. Except that whilst my judo is passable, he's in Japan and therefore is probably some kind of unstoppable fighting machine.



I love judo. I'm going off on a tangent but V won't mind as that's how we met anyway and she completely shares the passion. She was my randori (fighting) partner for most of her last year, although we used to get told off for messing about, pretending to do kung fu moves and throwing in the relevant sound effects. The sound effects for our groundwork fights were better though - the real competition was who could make the spectators blush first.
The problem with no longer being a real student is that I have to join an adult club - which means less frivolity and generally involves being surrounded by ... hmmm, how to be diplomatic... men of a certain age and weight. Being 5'3'' and 55kg, I usually get paired with the man of the lowest grade on the grounds that it'll be a fairer fight. Pfft. The relief of finally having someone they can actually pick up and throw around turns girls into large stress-balls for said lower grades. I don't blame them though. Throwing people around is a great feeling.
Maybe I should look up some local clubs...

Well, McDonald's are always recruiting...

Wow, can't believe it's been over a month since I actually published anything on here.
Sometimes I forget that drafts aren't visible so I think I've done more than I have, but no - my poor blog looks extremely neglected lately.

So much has happened it's ridiculous. There have been some awesome moments in the past month, which I will get round to blogging about properly because frankly, the events of my friend's hen night deserve their own blog. Blindfolded 4x4 driving needs the glory of a full post, not a short paragraph at the start of what is ultimately going to be a big moan.

Yes, my first post for ages is a whinge. There's a surprise!

I'm scared, bluntly.

I loved the course when I started it. Now I'm counting down the days until I finish.
Funny what a marked difference being in the 'right' school can make.


The days left at school are also, at the moment, days until I am officially unemployed and can't hide under the umbrella of 'student' anymore.

I've had two interviews so far.
The first, my lesson didn't go too well (class were absolutely MUTE) but my interview went very well. The panel took nearly two hours to deliberate and finally decided that I interviewed "too well", gave "some of the best answers we've ever heard" and consequently am "too textbook, too based in theory". You know what? a) I'm an English student. Reading textbooks and theory is what I enjoy. b) your excuse smacks of "we just didn't like you" or "you can't teach". Which is fair enough, but have the guts to say it.

The second interview I enjoyed, but ultimately they had four internal candidates (four!) and, as my mentor has been warning me for ages, "unless you just want a practice interview, applying to a school with an internal candidate is a waste of time". Or maybe it was just another case of "we don't like you" or "you can't teach".


I'm also confused.I don't want any of the jobs I've applied for so far - they're practice for the job I do want. But at the same time, knowing that they don't want me either is a major concern. Feedback suggests nothing I can improve on - just 'we just preferred him' or 'well we already knew she was good as she's been here a year'.

I'm starting to doubt my ability as a teacher; whether I'm worth employing.
Maybe I should apply for jobs outside of teaching, just in case. Working with horses, maybe. Or admin.




Maybe I should stick with my dream as a child and run away to join the circus. How hard can it be?




But there are still two teaching jobs advertised at the moment, both of which are still open so I don't know whether I'll have an interview at either yet. One I know I don't want, one I desperately do.
What I need to do is find some way of persuading them that I am worth employing...



Ha. I wish.



Now this, I could do...

Wear Sunscreen

Some more advice: don't talk to strangers and don't attempt to pick up spiky plants.


Hectic week this week, what with writing my essay/taking over my classes/writing enough job applications to satisfy the sudden mountain of vacancies; so although I've scribbled various posts I haven't actually finished any enough to publish them. So I'm going to compile some vague ramblings now into one mammoth post.


I deliberately didn't blog about school for the first couple of weeks - but it's getting better now that I'm actually teaching. I am SO excited about next lesson with year 7 - it's tomorrow, but I planned it after our lesson together on Thursday and have been looking forward to it ever since! I'm writing my own poetry SOW for them, which I thought would be tough but it's amazing. I love it! Best of all, they seem to as well.


I've also been getting lifts into school with a PE teacher, and consequently am now an honorary member of the PE dept. That's nice - they're far more sociable than the English dept (who are friendly, but prefer to work alone in their own rooms so the staffroom is permanently deserted apart from the half-hour lunch break). I did, however, manage to meet one NQT long enough to have a bit of a barney with her.

I'd like to say it wasn't my fault but it probably was. I'm not too good at the whole diplomacy side of things.

Everyone knows that when you meet someone new - especially when that someone is a lost and lonely looking trainee - common ground is a great place to start. However, a word of warning - make sure you know their opinion on said common ground before beginning to voice your own.

This NQT (let's just call her Liz) came to sit with me at lunch and began her conversation with, "I hear you were at [Hogwarts] before here, what did you think?" I opened my mouth to wax lyrical about said school when she subsequently launched into a slight tirade against it. Not angry ranting, just whingeing. I sat in shocked silence for a while, using body language/facial expressions to signal to her that she could shut up any time she liked.

She didn't.

I'm quite opinionated. I can be a real cow. I know that biting my lip is usually the best way forward, especially at work, but if you press the buttons in the right order then sometimes I can't help myself. Like when people remark that footballers actually deserve their wages (I can feel my blood simmering already). So when Liz moved onto people that I knew personally, enough was enough. I began with that awful cliche, "no offense, but I really think..." and began my own side of the debate. In what was, for me, actually quite a diplomatic manner - I think the worst I escalated to was, "well, no. I'm really sorry if what I've said has offended you in any way, but to be frank I couldn't disagree more. Maybe we should move on from this topic now."

There was a slight atmosphere for the rest of the conversation.




I also made a complete prat out of myself in the library on Thursday - I was walking past a shelf when I saw a display and something inside my head went "ooh! Shiny!"

So I stopped to look. 'Recommended Reads for Year 9' - "hmm, could be useful, I'll just grab myself one of those leaflets..." I leaned over to get one and promptly knocked the librarian's plantpot onto the floor in the process. Mortified, I bent to pick it up. The pot was still intact, fortunately, but when I picked it up and saw the plant still on the floor a momentary panic set in. A cactus? Seriously? Are they not poisonous???
But I couldn't just leave it - I had to get it back into the pot, preferably without year 7 noticing what on earth I was doing kneeling on the floor. So I gritted my teeth and grabbed it.


Please don't ever feel the need to test my hypothesis that picking up a cactus with bare hands is a painful experience.

Anti-snow/ice/garage repair men rant...

I gave my car a makeover a couple of days ago.

By which I mean I slid on some ice on a country lane and crashed through a metal fence. Then I drove a few miles to school whilst the fender worked its way loose. Finally, to add insult to her injury I parked her in a side street and walked the remaining way to school, leaving her looking sad and lonely and no doubt feeling very sorry for herself.

Poor baby. (Yes, I believe I did actually call her that out loud when I was driving home that evening and begging her not to collapse in a heap. She got me all the way to a garage and promptly fell apart).

This all sounds very dramatic, but I assure you that fortunately my car is a tough little cookie and actually, in terms of how battered she looks, I think she emerged relatively unscathed. A friend managed to fix her up a little on Wednesday night so that she held together, told me it was all just cosmetic damage and I decided that overall, the railings had come off far worse.

After D's handiwork with a pair of pliers and some duct tape, I expected this accident to set me back around £700. Inconvenient, annoying, but manageable. So when the nice man at BMW phoned me up yesterday morning and began our conversation with, “are you sitting down, Miss?” I knew the diagnosis wasn't going to be great. I wasn't sitting down, but I managed to balance my coffee so that I could grip onto a friend's wrist instead.

“You're looking at three and a half grand to start with, then...”
He did carry on, but I was too busy mouthing “WHAT?!?” to my friend and whispering the numbers so she could share in my fury.

Now normally I would be very careful about posting anything to do with who I actually am – I don't put pictures of myself, my friends, my horse up; I don't name my friends or school; and generally on the Blog Paranoia Scale I'm about a 6, usually. (No One Reads the Copy's BPS can be learned about here).
But this has incensed me so greatly that I'm going to show you part of my car so you can see how totally UNDAMAGED she actually is. I think I might take a sledgehammer to the bonnet and headlights, just to make sure I get my money's worth from the repair man.



It would actually be cheaper for me to write her off, as then Mini would replace her for free. It would also be cheaper to just buy an old banger to drive around until I've found a Saturday job to pay for the car/had time to take it back up north where it will be considerably cheaper to fix. In the meantime, I need to find a way of getting to school (which is handily situated in the middle of nowhere).

Horse and cart? (love this idea, Sion probably wouldn't).
Skis? (would work at the moment, but the snow is going).
Unicycle?

Application Number One.

Probably out of several, but I'm going to stop counting after 5.

So, this application has taken me one weekend plus four snow days to write. Ironically, the bulk of it was written within about an hour and a half and the remaining six days were spent persuading it to fit onto the application form and crowbarring in all the necessary lingo whilst trying not to sound pretentious.

Short of replacing my printer's ink with my blood and stapling my soul to the back as an appendix, there's nothing more I can do to it now.

So... Here goes! Sending... Sent.
I spoke to the Head's PA earlier as the upload link on their website doesn't work, and she offered to give it to the Head this afternoon if I emailed it over today.

EEEEEK!

I wonder how soon I'll hear back? Or whether I'll hear at all? Teaching might be one of those professions where they don't actively reject you, they just ignore you. In a 'no news is terrible news' sort of way. How utterly soul destroying that would be.

Fingers crossed for shortlist.

Not Waving But Drowning.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I seem to be going in reverse.

I loved my first school; I had a great time. Even when my outside world was falling apart, school was something I looked forward to and could rely on.

I don't start my new school until Monday and my new mentor has already had me in tears. I'm burning out with work and I haven't even started.



Rats.

*Grits teeth.*
I AM going to pass this term.

"... I guess you had to be there".

Isn't that possibly one of the most annoying phrases someone can say to you? Especially when it follows their lengthy attempts to relay some "absolutely hilarious, honestly" event, which you can't hear through their uncontrolled giggles and what you can hear just makes you think 'seriously? THIS is what you're hysterical over?' But you stand there quietly, trying to look amused whilst expending all your energy in willing the side of your lip not to curl in disdain and persuading your raised eyebrow to resume normal position. After all, you can totally see the reason why this tale is so side-splittingly, belly-achingly hilarious. Right?

Unfortunately, as much as I hate this phrase, this is exactly what I was guilty of last night. It was dark, nearly midnight; the boyfriend has almost drifted off to sleep... and he's suddenly aware that the bed is shaking.

He rolls over. "(April)? WTF are you laughing at?"
He knows me too well. I can laugh pretty much silently - upto a point - but the tears and trembling will give me away every time.
So, for fifteen agonizing minutes, I tried to form sentences - words, even - through my stutters and explosions of laughter... and failed miserably. Boyfriend politely tried to find the funny parts in my story, although he had to give them up after a while and tell me to just shut up. Which I couldn't. There is something about knowing you shouldn't be laughing which just makes you laugh harder.

I eventually managed to splutter "I guess you had to be there" and left him to sleep in peace.




What was I actually thinking about?
Well, we had this TERRIBLE lecture yesterday. Really, really awful. He spent ten minutes searching for a 'safety tested' sticker on the bottom of a fire extinguisher, which fifteen minutes earlier he had told us was capable of burning off eight layers of skin! In the next sentence, it was capable of burning through TEN layers of skin! And so on.

... Do we even have ten layers of skin?


Anyway, I digress. Which was exactly what this poor chap did. For a whole hour. He knew he'd lost us, but did he brush himself off, change tactic and try to recover the lecture? No, he continued talking about fire extinguishers and sticky safety labels and did his best to ignore the 120 quivering shoulders and stifled snorts. My friends and I hid our heads on the desks initially - we couldn't look at each other - but our violent shaking just caused our pens to create a huge rattling noise against the desks. By the time he'd moved the discussions onto the correct positioning of fire blankets, we were weeping openly.

What did this have to do with teaching? I have NO idea. But I know you're not finding it that funny, whereas I'm still laughing away over the mere picture of the fire extinguisher.

Excitement!

Ohh, two exciting things happened to me today. In order of importance and excitement factor:

Firstly, 'Wales' wrote to me officially confirming my place with Sion in the Showjumping Finals. WAHEYYY! So I filled it the form, wrote my cheque and am all set to go. B thinks she can get us transport for the weekend, the dates are in the Easter hols (so no time off school; also Day One is my birthday!) and my new show jacket has arrived and is beeaaautiful.



No, sadly this is not us.* If only. The horse does look a little like Sion, but Sion has a white stripe. And is, obviously, more handsome, despite being about half the size of this horse.

Secondly, I have my first job application to fill out! This is so exciting. Who knew filling in forms could produce such a thrill? (Yes, I need to get out more/have more sex/whatever). I feel almost like a real teacher... Although I have so many ridiculously naive questions. The form says 'use black ink'; does that mean I have to handwrite it (please God let me be allowed to type it)? Is my referee my mentor or Head of Department? From which school? I've left one and haven't started at the other yet, so I'm currently homeless in that sense. Maybe I should wait a couple of weeks until I've started my second school...?
Fortunately I'm meeting with my uni tutor on Thursday so I can grill her then.

Heading off now to do the cooking/cleaning/general 'fun' housework/finish application form as far as I can/read up on my uni essay/work on my QTS standards tracker like I should have done over Christmas/open a bottle of wine.

Later!

*In order to protect myself from copyright Nazis suing me, I don't own the photo or any rights to it, etc etc. The photo is Little Big Man and Laura Chapot, winners of the $60,000 Kilkenny Internationale Cup at the Winter Equestrian Festival. Photo (c) 2007 Randi Muster. Just in case anyone was wondering...

Another Post?

Yes, another post in the same evening.
I've just worked my little (or not so little, see previous post) butt off writing a letter of application to give to my uni tutor tomorrow, and feel now that I deserve to sit back and write a load of rubbish.

I love being in uni, I really do. I love having a lie-in (7am, bliss), although admittedly I didn't particularly enjoy spending 10 minutes de-icing my car at -5 degrees this morning. That pre-icer you can buy, which you spray on the night before and then awake to a frost-free car? Lies. All lies.

I love the drive over to university as well. It takes about 40 minutes, during which I just sit back and watch the sunrise (it's 20-something miles of motorway; the car pretty much drives itself there whilst I gaze out of the window at the tree silhouettes and watch the sky change colour).

When I did my undergraduate degree, I had four hours of lectures a week. "Amazing!" everyone used to say. Yep. And exceptionally boring when all your housemates have the more normal schedule of between 3 and 6 hours a day and everyone on the same course as you insists on using their free time to 'struggle through the mountains of work we have' (er, sorry? What work would that be?).

This uni experience is totally different. I have lectures 9-4 (with 2 hours for lunch, admittedly) and I always look forward to them. There are four of us who stick together and we're usually the ones who leave with mascara-streaked cheeks from laughing too hard. We love just pratting about, but we do the work as well. In fact, we get a little carried away with it sometimes. One speaker gave us a 'write the next paragraph' exercise - we LOVED writing collaboratively and it resulted in us spending lunchtime completing an entire story, often laughing too hard to be able to actually write anything. Today's first lecture had me wrapping my arms around a guy I've never seen before and telling him about what I'd had for breakfast (honestly, we do whatever they tell us - sing, stretch, chant nonsense, write a poem - I've never come across any kids who are so blindly obedient. Zimbardo would have had a field day with our lecture group).

So far, the PGCE is one of the best things to happen to me (but ask me again in February when I'm struggling with behaviour and time management and searching for someone daft enough to actually employ me).

There's Such a Thing as Too Much Chocolate?

I love chocolate.

I love my boyfriend.

I love my boyfriend and chocolate.



Until recently, the boyfriend has been quite oblivious to/accepting of the fact that I have a slight addiction. Breakfast, lunch, dinner - whatever, if there's chocolate I will eat it.

Now I've put on quite a lot of weight over the past few months. I know this. And I also think, by my age, I am capable of realising that this is somehow connected to the fact that I no longer train obsessively for Judo, but still eat chocolate. Yes, I think I can figure out how this gaining-weight process works. I'm not slim, never have been, never will been; mostly I accept this fact, although I don't like it. And sometimes it gets me down and I might make a passing remark. Rarely, though. I don't particularly want to draw attention to the fact I'm becoming a heffalump.

Evidently my boyfriend has noticed though, and decided he doesn't like it. He seems to become genuinely annoyed when he sees me eating any. And it's Christmas - we've been given four boxes. Three are still unopened.

I threw the lot in the bin yesterday. We were lying lazily on the sofa and I leant over a took a chocolate from the open box. Just one. Still, it was enough to unleash a stream of remarks about my lack of self control and warnings about calorie content (yes thank you, I hadn't made the association between weight and sugary foods myself). I got up and just put the lot in the bin. He pretended not to notice, even when he went to put something else in there later.
I know it was irrational (I should have taken them into uni and shared them out really, but only thought of that much later) but I was so angry! No one has ever told me what I can and can't eat. It felt like a personal critisism.


But on the plus side, it angered me so much that I now have no chocolate. This can only be good for my waistline.

Electronic Hide-and-Seek.

Except in the real game, the person who hides is not also the person who then has to search. My laptop was clearly twirling its hair idly round its finger and gazing out of the window when the rules were explained.






My lovely shiny new laptop which my boyfriend gave me for Christmas has taken all my blog entries (written hastily in Word, as I didn't have internet) and hidden them. Now, admittedly, I asked it to. I didn't want A coming across them, as I knew he'd use this computer at some point. So, I clicked the 'hide folder' option. Lovely shiny new computer obeyed. But, I - somewhat naively, apparently - expected it to give the posts BACK when I asked for them. But no. It's squirrelled them away somewhere, and no amount of hazelnuts will convince it to return them. Perhaps it's decided that they're such dreadful drivel they should never see the light of blogspot. I don't blame it, but nor do I really care about its opinion. I want my posts back - and, more importantly, the notes for my novel; they were in the same folder.

Why is nothing ever simple with Windows? Why would providing a 'show hidden folders' option cause the world to collapse? Oh, it wouldn't? Then why, exactly, isn't there one?
I suppose my various ramblings about lunch with the in-laws, tattoos, being 'the other woman', fluffy slippers and chocolate will have to remain interior monologues until I manage to outsmart Windows. You can breathe a sigh of relief - for now.