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First degree burns...
It's my first day at school tomorrow ever as a teacher-type person and so I am about to embark on a frenzy of shoe cleaning and pencil sharpening (just as soon as I manage to get rid of last nights slight headache).
I'm meeting my friend Ringo on the train at 8am and we are heading in together with bright eyes, bushy tails, smart clothes and (hopefully) an air of authority.
I must confess my lovely 20sixers that I am a little scared that despite my love of history as a subject, I will hate teaching and realise that I gave everything in London up for nothing... thus making this the biggest mistake of my life to date!
Let's just hope no-one steals my dinner money.
Longer than a piece of string.
...and just like that, my first proper day as 'Miss Flower' the history teacher is over...
...and I really enjoyed it to be honest. Even though Ringo was being a right grinch when we were on the train home, secretly I think that he enjoyed it too.
We were just observing today. Sitting at the back of the class pretending to be Very Important while trying to answer questions like 'how big is a lions den'?
I offer a sweetie to the best attempt at a reply to that... because I'm sure you can all be far more create than Ringo and I.
Oh Captain, my Captain.
Today I was the responsibility of a small year seven boy, and despite his best attempts to lose me in the playground/ poison me in science/ stick things to me in art/ ask me for help with long multiplication in maths (the fool) I managed to stalk him through all of his classes until the end of the day. Poor child, god only knows what long term damage the experience of having 'Miss' as your best pal has done him.
Anyway, my year seven pupil, his class and I were treated today to the best lesson I think I have ever seen.
There are English teachers who have twinkly eyes which look into your soul, who refuse interactive white boards in their classrooms because they prefer chalk and when they start to talk you feel a thrill up and down your spine. They make you want to write poetry and read great words of literature, and when they talk to a classroom of boys then all of the children lean forwards hanging onto every word they say.
It's true, they still exist, not just in Robin Williams' Hollywood, but in real life and I should know because today I got to see one in action.
In the words of my small guardian 'I like English best because the teachers really good.'
Indeed he is.
Excuse me Miss...
Miss, Have you got a boyfriend?
Miss, I like your nails.
Miss, I'm going to ask to change to history because you're teaching it...
Miss, If I'm naughty will you punish me?
Miss, I'll have a detention if you are taking it....
Miss...
Halcyon days... I know. Wait until they have me for double modern history with a side order of discipline...
Whispering at the back of the classroom...
...during a year 11 lesson on the Wild West.
Miss Flower: So, if you were starving to death in the middle of winter on top of a mountain while trying to find California would you kill and eat me first or our Native American guide?
Mr Ringo: I think I'd just go for whoever was fatter.
Miss Flower: So that would probably be me then?
Mr Ringo: Probably, yes. What about you?
Miss Flower: Ohhh, it's a tough one. I mean I like you and everything and you do make me laugh, but I think the guide might be more useful to me alive in the long run....
Mr Ringo: Yes but if he was that good, why would be lost in the first place?
Miss Flower: True... true... maybe I would eat him then, and keep you a bit longer to cheer me up.
Mr Ringo: It's irrelevant really though, isn't it, because at the end of the day you wouldn't get a chance because you are the weakest, and probably the tenderest so we'd well have eaten you first anyway.
Miss Flower: MMMmmmm... Hang on. SETTLE DOWN NOW YEAR 11, NO TALKING PLEASE, YOU SHOULD BE WORKING IN SILENCE FOR THIS PERIOD. THANK YOU. I just can't believe you'd eat me Sir. I mean where's the loyalty you big fat cannibal? BOYS, PLEASE - I SAID NO TALKING!
Mr Ringo: So, where do you stand on the emancipation of women?
I blame the scarecrow
My best friend has just had a baby.
A real one.
I sent her this...
You know, we must had hit one hell of a cross-road early this year because tonight I will be downing tequila slammers in the bars and clubs of Liverpool with a pack of decadent Irish boys, while she plays mummy to a whole new person...
A bit of me wishes with my whole heart that I could be there... Certainly I will be raising a shot glass or two in the direction of London town tonight.
Stop Out (none of the dirty though!)
You can be fairly sure, despite some sqiggly bits of memory, that your night was pretty good when you spend the morning eating chocolate hobnob's in a huge purple bed, wrapped in a giant white bathrobe and then you get a ride home in a silver jaguar from a beautifully decadent Irish boy.
Ha ha!