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Magic Lamps.
I'm so tired...
I'm so tired that even the plot line of Eastenders is too much for me and the thought of walking downstairs to put the kettle on is too much.
Do you think I can train the kitten to make tea?
Today we learnt about Islam... about round cities built by Caliphs, Ali Baba and the world before they knew what zero was...
I can't tell you how happy I am to be this tired...
Extreme makeover?
Daisy: *shouting from the living room* Want to watch Doctor 90210?
My Sister: Of course. Wine?
Daisy: Naturally darling...
My Sister: I'll bring it up.
*They settle on the sofa*
Daisy: Now you see, she is ugly. Man is she ugly. I can completely see why she needs to sort that nose out.
My Sister: *Opening the orange matchmakers* Now don't be mean... she's probably Ok from the front....
Daisy: Whoa!
My Sister: Ok. I take that back....
Daisy: That's not a nose.
My Sister: Poor girl!
Daisy: *Eating a matchmaker* Take the name of the doctor guy will you. I want to have my cheek fat removed at some point.
My Sister: You can't go to that guy... how could you trust that guy... look at his wig.... Any way, can you even have your cheek fat removed?
Daisy: *Demonstrating the look she was aiming for with her hands* course... people can remove anything these days can't they?
My Sister: I would quite like to have my nose lengthened... is that possible...? *pushes nose down with fingers*
*They eat some more matchmakers*
My Sister; Ugh. No. Oh ugh. Look at what he's doing. Oh god... Poor girl... that won't fit there. Oh my lord.
Daisy: *hiding behind cushion* Eugh. That's not good... oh. oh oh. What is he snapping?
My Sister: I can't bring myself to tell you...
Daisy: What's that slushing noise?
My Sister: ---
*They eat some more matchmakers*
My Sister: You know - I've always really liked my nose. It's small and sort of streamlined...
Daisy: Yes.. and I'm quite proud of the fullness of my cheeks. They look very youthful I think.
My Sister: Oh yes. You don't look your age at all.
Daisy: You're very pretty actually...
Fin.
Missile Crisis
Being a teacher seems to mean that I can play all day in the interest of 'learning'.
So. I'm going to split my class into two groups - USA and USSR... then they are going to elect a leader each (we might have speeches), play some National Anthems and whip up some nice capitalist and communist spirit... we might have flags and possibly a baseball cap or two. I'm going to give the USA an Atom Bomb... and see what happens next. Hopefully we can have our very own mini classroom arms race.
Any protestors can sit at the front of the classroom and wear CND badges.
All I have to do this evening is make about 30 atomic bombs (preferably not too hard in case excitement takes over and the 'USA' launch one at the 'USSR' by mistake)... any ideas??
Oh - and I've had my Chirtmas lesson approved - despite the fact its totally non-curricular. My boys are going to learm about mince pies and Christmas trees and baby Jesus and why we have mistletoe. I am going to tell them the story of Saint Nicolas and show them pictures of the coca cola ads that first showed Santa Claus in red.
Excellent!
Shhhh...
We live in a world of noise. Cars, TVs, gossip, music, dishwashers, computers whirring... all of this I can hear right now, and yet I think this place is pretty quiet - compared to London.
Even at 11am today when I was watching the proud men bedecked with their medals standing straight and proud and tall wearing their poppies with pride, though I'm sure that there were less of them than last year... someone chose to ring me and the hugely inappropriate ringtone of Madonna's 'material girl' pealed into the cosmos shattering the quiet.
When I find out who rang me they will be very firmly off my Christmas card list this year!
My ex-friend aside, it's very fitting really, that in a world where our senses are constantly bombarded with bright colours, exotic tastes and digital sounds that the greatest respect we can show anybody who sacrificed their lives, so that our would be a better place, is to do absolutely nothing, but think and quietly remember.
Lest we forget.
Wrong time, wrong place
There was a boy I used to know. He was an improbable person really. He believed that any thing was possible and never in his life had anyone pointed out that perhaps this wasn't the case. Well, maybe they had and he hadn't listened.
I liked him.
I liked him because I am a scared person sometimes and I have never really felt a sense of belonging. His sense of belonging was so sure that I thought maybe if I held on to him tightly enough I would belong too. Then I wouldn't be scared any more.
It's easier sometimes to face up to who somebody else is, than to face up to who you are... It's easier to criticise someone else too.
And so, for a little while I belonged (by proxy) to a group of people with whom I had nothing in common. I liked finding out about them and and crawling further under their skin and into their lives. I liked the fact that I was a rare and exotic person within their group.... a wondeful thing to be... especially as it took no effort at all. I could be exciting just by being me. Boring little old me.
I wonder to myself, if perhaps I clung to hard... if maybe I was Kate Winslet and by clinging to the floating wood of his self-assured certainty, maybe by forgetting to be me - I let him freeze....
Dear god what a crap analogy. Somebody shoot me.
You know what I mean though?
Or perhaps things died because I have a horrible tendency to use seriously terrible analogies.
I guess I will never know.
Stags and hens
I am going to Leeds now...
....and I am going pole dancing.
I have to take two outfits with me... one to pole dance in and the other to erm... dance in. The former is plain white with a pale pink chiffon rah rah mini skirt, the latter is (as stipulated on the invitation) black and sparkly.
The word mutton is springing to mind.
You've got that vibe...
I went to a hen weekend in Leeds this weekend.
To be honest with you, I was a little dubious about going. The hen and I had been great friends in high school when we were 11 to 18. Even after that maintained a friendship of sorts, but as she became a doctor, and got engaged and we lived so far apart I realised that it had actually been a year and a half since we had seen each other last.
Still, I put this thought aside and thought that I would attend the drunken debauchery that was to be her last single weekend, and embrace the pole dancing lessons, chinese food and 12 hour drinking marathon. I felt I didn't really know her very well any more, and she certainly didn't know me, but I thought that it was worth something for old times sake.
When I got to her house I realised what a good decision I had made, because it turned out that there is only one photo in her living room, and that is of us... at our prom. I remember the picture being taken in 1995, because we had just gotten back from Tenerife and it was our last big group event before we all went our seperate ways to university.
...and so I looked for a while at the picture (cringing at my own style horror) and then I put on my glitz and I met all of her 'new' friends, and we drank and we laughed and we played forfits whilest flirting outragiously with the pikey men who seemed to cluster around the revolving dancefloor, as I dimly recall.
Then one of the girls who worked with the hen said to me...
'You're that girl from the photo aren't you?' How wonderful that you are all still good friends.'
...and she was right. I am the girl from the photo with bad hair, a wonky tan and a pale pink dress from Bhs... and we are still good friends.
And I'm glad.