The dog ate it.
Easy as A.B.C....
I just passed my literacy test! Officially now I am good enough at spelling, punctuating and grammar-type exercises to be a teacher, even if I am not at the standard that certain 20sixers would hope for (yes, that's you Mukiwa). ffice
ffice" />
Now I just have to get to grips with numeric.. and it's fair to say that I am a real numerical blonde... Sometimes I have flashes of inspiration (like when I am trying to justify the purchase of new shoes, or when I am trying to convince myself that one more bottle of wine won't hurt my AMEX too much), but mainly where my numerical skills are concerned there is really just a large void in my head filled with images of shiny things and diamonds.
Anyway, I'm a history teacher surely as long as I know how many shillings there are in to the pound then I'm fine right?
Ring a ring of roses...
I have a cold.
I just can't battle it any more and the medicinal lunch time beer doesn't seem to have worked as well as I had hoped.
... so, I am going to have to face the fact that I have to meet my Mentor sounding like Mariella Frostrup.
Sometimes it feels like god doesn't want people to take me seriously...
Ch ch ch ch changes....
I'm going to meet my mentor this afternoon (that's MENTOR not MAKER, stop talking at the back and concentrate).
I've just spent the last few weeks becoming 'fun student beer guzzling Daisy' and now I have to transform into 'professional tweed wearing history teacher Daisy'. It's like being Worzel Gummage or the witch from return to Oz. It's confusing and exhausting, yet strangely exhilerating... I just hope that I don't accidently screw on the wrong head for school.
'How was your day Jonny?'
'Oh it was fine mummy until Miss Flower started pole dancing on her desk'
These boots were made for...
If I'm being honest here, most of my shoes are a wee bit slutty... while I managed to grow out of clueless style mini skirts and bust boosting crop tops, I never quite conquered my love of sexy, slutty cheap stilettos. For work I was quite capable of wearing a Nicole Fahri suit with a crisp white shirt and battered old white cowboy boots which needed re-soling, re-heeling and possibly just binning.
But things must change, because on Monday morning I am going into a secondary school for the first time as a teacher-type person. It's an all boys secondary school and really not the kind of place that white whore-boots would be best suited for. I can imagine that my current shoe wardrobe would not only send some establishment eyebrows raising but also some unwelcomed teenage hormones racing and believe me I have enough to worry about at the moment trying to remember the events of 1649...
So, naturally, (and ONLY BECAUSE I HAD TO) for the last week I have attempted to resolve my issue through serious magazine research and shoe shopping... but it appears that old habits really do die hard and although I am now the proud owner of a pair of brown stiletto snake skins boots, some beige stiletto's and a pair of riding style fuck-me-boots... I am still no closer to discovering a pair of shoes that will not only look good in the classroom, but also one that I can can actually cope with parting with my cash for.
Finding shoes for school is the shopping equivilent of drinking non-alcoholic beer in a strip joint at happy hour.
*Mature* student
My first lecture is at 1pm and yet I find myself in college before 9am.... alive and writing my essay on the History of Medicine (or some such nonsense).
How can this be Dear Reader? Has Daisy suddenly methamorophed into an apple bearing teachers pet?
Oh no no no.... It's just that at some point this weekend Daisy went drinking round Liverpool with the boys from Northern Ireland and as a result everything that was meant to be done this weekend wasn't exactly achieved.... although we can put a big tick next to eating McDonalds, drinking shots, dancing to Tiffany, eating McDonalds, watching back to back 'Bands Reunited' on VH1, lying on the sofa saying 'help I'm dying', eating McDonalds, winning a Bacardi dancing competition with the aid of a trusty pole, drinking more shots.... You get the idea. I suspect that I still might be rather damaged, hence talking about myself in the third person... like I'm not really here.
Talk to the hand...
I wonder if its possible to sue Jerry Springer for loss of essay writing time...
Reflective learning, or learning to reflect.
I have coffee
I have a large pile of books
I have photocopied journal articles
I have lecture notes
I have an essay to write - my first in 6 years.
I am a grown up now embarking on a serious career... time to buckle down and get writing...
*cough* but first, I'll just have another coffee, text my friend and browse through some blogs.... after all it would be a shame to work too hard, too fast. All students need plenty of breaks plus adjustment and planning periods. It's the rules. Or something.
PS Museums are cool... yesterday I got to dress up in 400 year old armour and was taught to load a musket with gunpowder. All very useful... so watch your backs if you are planning to overthrow the queen.