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Sorry I'm late.
I kissed a geography teacher on Saturday... He wore the whitest shirt that I have ever ever seen... it was all terribly exciting... a mass of chistmas cheer, fairy lights and fancying someone rotten... Someone who then storms up to you on the dance floor and spins you round and round and round until you collapse into giggles. I suspect we looked like the bastard love children of Brendan Cole and Tara Reid.
Anyway, Mr Geography has buggered off to the Isle of Mann for the next couple of weeks and so I will have to keep myself jolly by playing with my blue eyed Irish boy... Although he couldn't be tempted out of his hangover on Sunday - even by the promise of real fresh donuts from the pikey market... So, I forgot about him and bought my self a beautiful scarf made of rabbits... real ones. Kate Moss has a lot to answer for. Tsk.
Apart from wearing real rabbits, kissing boys and eating donut's, what else do I have to tell you all?
Well, I've started teaching full time and so have bought myself some rather special grown up teacher clothes.... new brown suede stiletto's that I could just eat, matching with a 40's tweed skirt (well, I am a history teacher darling) and a shirt almost as white as Mr Geographys (until I dropped marmite on the sleeve). My class of 14 year old boys told me that I looked 'really fit' and at my over-worked grand old age I thought that that was rather a compliment....
Excellent, so - I covered new shoes and marmite... I think that might be all...
Oh, except that sometimes I miss London so much it's almost like I can't breath... and in the morning as the train goes past the misty white fields that Jack Frost has been playing on all night I could just cry... It's my best friends birthday today and I would give all that I owned to be celebrating with her in Covent Garden...
So, excuse me for it's time for red wine...
Here's lookin' at you kids....x
Desperately seeking...
So, I've never really been a big believer in fate. I'm more one of those people who gets easily bored and assumes that fate needs a big kick up the butt to happen.
Ultimately, as I get older and more grown up (TM) I see that this is actually what works against me in mny situations.
Veni Vedi Vechi and all that Jazz
I come, I see, I get... and I am immediately bored. Looking for more stimulating pass times, more exciting drinking partners... men who don't just love me - but pose a challenge, or better still - a threat. Fate can bugger off - excitement and glitter is what's happening in Daisy-ville.
...and yet, I look at those girls with long term boyfriends (the type that leave the pub at 10pm) and almost for a while I envy them...
'That could have been me...' I think to myself... 'If I'd only stayed with the boy I lived with. was engaged to/ was married to (none the same - natch), I could be going home for egg and chips to argue about the mortgage... and perhaps sometimes when my feet are cold in bed in the morning, or I need someone to make me a coffee I feel like I'm missing out... but most of the time I pity the poor fools who have given up on the possibilty of something better... and the rest of the time my feet are being massaged by a blue eyed Irish fling.
...and that's why from now on, I'm putting myself in fates hands, because mine seem a wee bit slippery.
Two enthusiastic thumbs held well up!
Something struck me today as I waited for the train on a little rural platform in the middle of nowhere with the ice slowly sticking my feet to the platform...
It's probably - in hindsight - the reason that I have had bloggers block for the last couple of weeks...
I've always felt before that wanted more and more of everything (see yesterday entry about fate) - that where I was wasn't good enough - that I could be better, do better, kiss better, work better. And now it seems for the first time in a long time, all I really feel is just, well, contented.
Which is nice.
Holiday Season. The plan...
Wednesday: Pre holidays drinks with college mates. Possible chinese meal.
Thursday:
Friday: Cocktails, meal and drinking with all the sirs and misses from school (memo to self, last year one of the student teachers was never seen again...)
Saturday: Drive to London. Christmas supper and merriment with friends (there will be 5 joints of meat - I hear), followed by birthday party for fellow London blonde IT chick. Est. end time - 5am.
Sunday: All day mincepie eating at friends house (with generous helping of mulled wine), followed by somewhat inadvisable meeting with ex boyf Jk (Memo to self - bring extra tinsel and leave mistletoe at home!!)
Monday: Late (because of scheduled hangover) *ladies who lunch* lunch with ex flatmate, followed by orgy of Selfridges shopping. Evening - meet best friend in world to discuss my bridesmaid role (v excited), birthdays missed and shiny shoes.
Tuesday: Final shopping and wrapping followed by drinks with the delectable sjp and a group of university reprobates.
Wednesday: Farewell breakfast with beloved London and then fly home
Thursday: Sisters work do in local pub. Karioke and gin provided
Friday: Boozy supper with parents, then pub with roaring fires for red wine and chips with rather foxy neighbour!!
Saturday: Sleep. Oh, sorry - that would be Christmas day then.
Sunday: Fancy dress party in Preston. I am going as a Native American... a blond one... with pheasant feathers in my hair which my father is plucking especially. Don't ask....
.....and don't get me started on New Year!
Fuck me.
The fullness of time
I've been reading today. Reading and reading vast works or historical
importance. I have digested chapters about Charles II wigs, Elizabeth I lead
makeup, Helen of Troys cunning and Cleopatra's ambition.
You see I am writing a new scheme of work for my boys and starting January we
will be learning - the history of beauty.
But now I feel fuzzy and my head is full of Greek ships crossing the Aegean, of
ballrooms filled with exotic monarchs and of bathing in milk with a snake
wrapped round my neck. I always thought that my vagueness at university could be
attributed to the many and various hangovers I suffered, but now I see it was
something else...
I don't see the pale blue bleakness of the staff room with it's dodgy 70's
chairs, I don't hear the sounds of boys shouting and laughing and I can't
remember what I am doing tonight...
Then , that would be because
....for now, I am somewhere else entirely.
Don't stop me now....
As I was walking down the road last night all prepared for organic spicey lentil
soup and a roaring fire I became aware of somebody or something watching me from
the corner of the road.
Innocently I stopped walking and pretended to look for something in my bag,
then, slowly I glanced behind me.
I opened my eyes wide in horror, because what greeted me was more horrific than
I could have ever imagined. Standing in the front garden of an innocent family
home was a giant evil Father Christmas. He looked like the bastard child of Alf
Stewart and a wind-sock and was definitely staring at me in a menacing way.
I hurried on. It was more important than ever now to make it home to paint my
toe nails and grade the mad ramblings of bottom set year nine. I turned the
corner into my road and stopped dead in my tracks, for there he was again - this
white bearded Alf Stewart, and he was not alone, for with him in the garden of
this once peaceful thatched cottage was a snowman.
An evil Snowman.
I'm not sure what these creatures are after, or indeed where they are from, but
at least in my part of the world they seem to be everywhere. This morning I
counted about 5... hanging out by front gates, lingering by the garage and one
even had the audacity to be standing outside the newsagents.
I might have to give up smoking.
So, let me know if you see one... and don't approach them under any
circumstances... not until we know what their demands are.
A day of bribes.
So, I woke up this morning to find my eyes were completely stuck together and refused to unstick, resulting in me having about 15 minutes to get ready for work. I think it may have been the 5 pound curry night I attended the night before (for what is a curry with out a drink or two??).
I knew then that it was likely to be a challenging day.
I forgot my packed lunch and so had to eat school dinners, then with my blessed year nines immediately realised the error of deciding to do a lesson on mistletoe... 20 minutes into the lesson one had punched another in the face, someone had been squashed by a desk and burst into tears and someone else was kicked so hard that he claimed to have broken his leg. Three boys sent to the nurse in less than 10 minutes during a seated history lesson is surely something of a record?
Still, at least they have all become completely obsessed with little Britain and so every question that was directed at them was met with the reply 'Yeah, I know' or sometimes 'eh eh ehhhhh'. Oh how I laughed.
You think I would have seen it coming when someone asked for a closer look at the mistletoe.
Anyway. One day left. Just one day... and then the staff night out (you've seen 'teachers' on channel 4 - right??....!!).
Then, oh my goodness - I am going to London. To lovely lovely London where there are shops and friends and pink champagne and no little horrors to ask me if my name is really Daisy. (No, silly boy - it's Miss of course).
Sometimes I suspect that they don't take me seriously at all.... but then - who would?