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The unimportance of being 'Daisy'.
Searching through the internet for some 'child friendly' Samuel Pepy's pictures...
Mr Ringo: You know Daise, the problem with the freedom of the internet is that it makes unimportant people feel like they can pour rubbish onto it, and they have the audacity to imagine that people actually want to read what they say....
Miss Flower: Yes... That is something that has crossed my mind.... *embarassed cough* Aha *hastily changing the subject* here's a picture of Samuel writing his diary... we could use this for the display.
Mr Ringo: Yes. That's good... print it off... So do you write a diary?
Daisy: Yes, I do actually...
Mr Ringo: Really??!? Every day?
Miss Flower: Most days...
Mr Ringo: What's the point if no one is ever ever going to read it...?
Miss Flower: Ops... look now Sir, the printer is out of paper...
A day of first's...
1. First time I have ever ever taught a full one hour history lesson
1. First time a group of 30 boys have ever chanted 'good afternoon Miss Flower'
1. First time I have ever had to attend a disciplinary tribunal (not my own I hasten to add).
1. First time I have ever grassed on anyone, ever.
1. First time that I have liken religion to football in a classroom situation (it turns out that much like the protestant rebels in Mary's reign most boys would rather be burned at the stake than forced to change football team allegance).
I am exhausted. This surely is 'the Year of the Grown Up (TM) and thus Grown Up (TM) I am being (Irish boys with nice cars accepted) but today was above and beyond the call of duty... running from a pack of Union reps to a class of 12 year old boys scattering paper in my wake... I am more exhausted than I can remember being for a long time, and having inhaled a plate of fish. chips and mushy peas (so so worth retunring back up North for)... I think that it might just be time for bed.
Me. Bed. 7.30.
What more can I say?
Electric Avenue
I felt a burst of electricity when I touched a friends arm today. The tickley warm bubbles spread up my arm and into my chest as I asked him if he took milk in his coffee.
I wasn't expecting it. This isn't some guy that I had ever looked at or thought about in this way and most importantly this is someone who is with someone.
Is it possible to you think, to have such a strong, yet unexpected reaction to someone? I know he felt it too because a look of surprise which passed across his face.
...and yet neither of us moved away for a long time....
Sometimes I suspect that my body is so much more switched on than my head. And yet, once again my head will win.
...apart from a little knowing sparkle lurking at the back of my eyes at coffee time.
Strutting peacock.
It's my friends birthday in Manchester this weekend and I will be mainly wearing this....
Sexy, slinky AND I can stick my stomach out after supper... what more can a girl ask for?
Who need enemies?
Today has been horrible.
Really really horrid.
No, wait. It's been a huge pile of fucking crap
Several weeks ago, when I first started my course we went away for a weekend. While there we all got a little bit merry and one of our number took the opportunity to start a number of fights with just about anyone and then he wet himself.
He wet himself all over the course leaders bed at the age of 32... How utterly pathetic?
Anyway... his victims were picked if he perceived them to be posh, or female, or blonde, or having a good time. Unluckily for me I fitted into all the key categories, and as such was called a bitch, threatened, bullied and finally had a cigarette thrown into my hair (a lit one), as I was crouching down… as if I were the gutter. Nice.
Now, for the record - I did not rise to this taunting, I did not react to the bullying and I am completely innocent of anything in the matter. This is nothing if not unusual for me, and just why my temper didn't kick in and I didn't beat his head repeatedly against a brick wall I will never know.
The boys on the trip also showed massive restraint throughout by sitting on him until he passed out rather than killing him, which would have been I suspect their gut reaction.
So the next day dawns, the fuckwit was sent home, we all assumed that we would never see him again and skipped off on a ten mile hike. Reports were filed, tears were shed and we drew a long line under the whole sorry incident. We then got on with the important task of having a good time training to be teachers.
NOT SO FAST though kids… because last week we found that he was pursuing the case and that he was demanding to come back to college despite the fact that my tutors had said that they didn't want him on the course, and the small matter of him being a violent bully.
On Tuesday this week I was forced out of my school to attend his hearing, to grass on him as it were and never before in my life have I been put in a position of feeling like such a victim. I was humiliated beyond reason and hurt beyond belief. When I was delivered back to my school it took Ringo about 3 hours to stop me shaking violently. In short I had one of those completely basic gut reactions to something that you can do nothing about. It turned out that I am terrified of this man and there is nothing I can do about it.
Guess what happened next?
You guessed didn't you? Yep, this morning I arrived in college in a happy frame of mind, looking forward to catching up with my mates after a week apart to find that the Fuckwit had been reinstated to the course. I was told that I was expected to sit in a room with my tormenter and discuss the National Curriculum. As if this didn’t make me angry enough his opening comments to me was about what a hard month he had had... like I was meant to feel sorry for him?
Now, I have always prided myself in being quite a strong person, but it turns out that this just isn't true because today I sobbed. I sobbed not because I felt bad for myself but rather with rage and injustice. Why should someone be allowed to get away with treating me like that, and yet seem to have no clue what they have done?
My friends dragged me to the union and boys poured wine down my throat, while the girls played with my hair. As I calmed down, I started to look around me and I saw on the faces of most of my class mates the feelings of rage and injustice. I saw my tutor almost cry because she was being made to teach this nasty specimen of humanity. I saw devastation.
My normally lovely group were divided between those who hated this creature and those who didn't. Some people just didn’t come to the union today… and maybe they won’t again. Most of the boys thumped their fists with rage, and we all discussed that if we had known that there would have been no possibilty of being thrown off the course just what we would have done to this little shit on that infamous Friday night.
But, as I have always made a pact with myself to always end blog entries on a happy note... I saw something else in the union today. My college may have let me down terribly, but my friends and peers - with a kiss on the cheek, a squeeze of the hand or a glass of wine couldn't have been more there for me.
Perhaps that's why that silly boy hated me, because he's never known what it was like to have friends like these.
Is it me you're looking for?
I kissed a boy last night in the rain in Manchester, wearing my beautiful peacock dress and naughty white eighties boots. Then I went to a bar holding his hand, danced the night away and promptly forgot to give him my number before staggering back to my hotel... The only glimmer of hope is that he is a friend of a friend and just might be able to track me down.
I think he probably could find out my number if he really really wanted to...
He was a nice boy with dark hair and soft lips... he is training to be a policeman.
I like policemen, they help old ladies, protect people and carry important looking belts filled with exciting goodies like trunchens and condoms.
I hope this new boy uses all of his copper-skills to track me down. I hope he calls me.
Well, if not there's always my lovely Irish boy to amuse myself with while I'm waiting....
He will call won't he?
Memo to self.
When you get over excited about a worksheet you have created about the Roman Empire do not jump up and down clapping your hands and shouting *this is sooo cool* in a high pitched voice because you can guarantee that if you do there will be a large class of year eight boys standing directly behind you looking at you as if you are the saddest, most mental teacher in the whole world.