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Quickie
*Whispers* Hello? Hello?
My voice hurts, my legs hurt... I'm knackered and if one more boy under
the age of 18 says to me 'With all due respect Miss Flower....' My head
will probably fall off and be eaten by hungry wolves.
...and in less than an hour my new flat mate moves in... so, I better do my homework quickly.
That will teach them.
Its Saturday... and it is 7.30 in the morning. But I can't sleep - I
woke up at 6.30 ready and willing to go to school. My beloved very
quickly got sick of me tossing and turning and thinking and sighing and
so I thought I better go and do other things - like research political
statistics on the web. Mmmmm.
Yesterday, as I finished my afternoon (6th form history and 6th form
politics) having chaired an 'interesting' debate on female MP's (22
boys - and, erm - me - no-one won, but I was right). I made my way down
the corridor to the staff room. I have never been so tired in my life -
I swear - I was even stumbling slightly.
The music teacher stopped me as I turned a corner:
'I've been hearing things about you from year 11' She said
'Oh yes?' I admit that I panicked slightly - was this the class that I
had told that I couldn't shout because I didn't want to ruin my
'karaoke voice'?
'Yes - they think you are wonderful - they talk about what a great
teacher you are all the time. You have certainly stamped an impression
on them.'
I couldn't believe it - suddenly the aching head and throbbing legs
didn't matter anymore. The approval and acceptance was so desperately
welcome, because - its so hard to know how you are pitching yourself...
and these boys that she was talking about are going to do their GCSE's
this year - so its very very important to got it right for them.
I possitively glowed as I walked towards the bus stop, and I know that I was smiling.
*drip*
I looked at the sky
*drip*
Uh oh
*drip drip drip*
Ah shit...
The heavens opened and it started to pour with unbelievable amounts of
dirty London rain. My umbrella managed to keep three of my boys dry
(the tallest held it), but the the huddled crowd of 30 suffered a
horrible wetly dripping fate.
Then, the bus took 20 minutes to arrive...
We were all absolutely soaking by the time it rumbled round the corner - completely full.
My heart sank as I realised that I was doomed to wait another 20 minutes for this unreliable (but very funky) red bus to return.
And then to my absolute surprise - my boys completely insisted that the
bus driver at least let Miss Flower on... because she was a teacher -
and a lady.
Even though I was dripping wet and completed knacked I grinend all the way home.
...and chivalry is dead is it? Schools are desperate places of gang rule and a lack of discipline?
My arse.
Up, down - turn around...
Today was OK.
I hate 'OK' days. Days where nothing goes wrong enough to be upset about and nothing goes right enough to make you smile.
...and that is it. For some reason I feel properly rubbish today - even
though the sun shone for a while, nobody died, my lessons were OK
(although no desk standing or declarations of undying love for a
teacher) and apparently England won the cricket - which frankly I have
about as much passion for as, well, as I do for paint balling*.
Maybe its because I have been working my ass off all night learning
about the Americans involvement in Vietnam. Maybe its because I ate
cheese (Stooopid thing to do), maybe its because that girl from
Emmerdale is in Coronation Street, maybe its because I have a blister
from my new school shoes. I can't really put my finger on it... but....
I am not glowing at all today.
I think I am tired.
* I HATE the very idea of
paint balling. It is a demonstration of the crapness of males in our
society that they need to shoot each other with multi coloured balls
that hurt a bit... but not much. Bring back National Service I say (and
remember what happened to poor old PJ).
What? What?
I burst into tears at the bus stop this morning and went to bed at 5.30 as soon as I got home tonight.
I am tired.
Whoops
I went shopping this wekeend and look what I bought!
Whoops.
Oh well - 20six... meet little Ringo. He's a dude.
Worried mother.
I miss my kitten. Perhaps I should consider investing in one of these....
Like the Paris Hilton of the teaching world... and he could bite any late comers.
No!
Please don't eat my kitten...