Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
The laws of irony have done themselves proud. I decided to start stopping work at six, and my HoD turns around and points out all the things I'm not doing. I am waving goodbye to my evenings. Or perhaps not waving, but drowning. |
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Oct. 13th, 2009 @ 04:29 pm
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Gotta tell you, internet, I'm fucking miserable at the moment.
Work is getting me down; Fake Ofsted are coming on Monday and Tuesday; I have felt close to vomiting since Sunday night - I nearly passed out in my Y8 lesson this afternoon; nothing is *ever* enough; I haven't seen anyone in so long I can't actually remember how long it's been; my mum is going to Spain forever tomorrow; and I can't make the heating in my house work.
I want to curl up under the duvet and never come out. |
My mum is here. She is here because I haven't eaten a proper cooked meal in the best part of a month, except on Saturdays. I have eaten pizza and ordered out and occasionally boiled some pasta to eat with cheese.
Aside from Mum being here, I spend my time trying desperately to make up for the weekend in Tunis.
Lessons are good and the kids are nice; the school is a nice place to be. The workload is immense but will hopefully trail off a bit as things settle down. I cannot wait for half-term.
Each week I spend an hour on Thursday at a kind of aerobicsy type class which is at school and free. My legs are absolutely caning from the skipping this week. On a Friday I leave work early, at about four-thirty, and spend two hours in the pub sipping a pint of shandy so I can still drive home and then I come home and watch a crappy film and go to bed.
Today, my Year 9 class were learning about Homophones. They came up with some pretty good ones (heir and air is probably my favourite) and then they wrote puns. The best one, in my opinion, was "Your teeth are so yellow, it's no wonder your dad calls you sun'.
My eyelids droop and sleep is upon me. |
I got home tonight at the very reasonable time of 6.15. It's the earliest I have been home this week and I was very excited about not having to plan for tomorrow, watching some crap tv and going to bed early. I changed into my pyjamas as soon as I got in because it is my favourite thing to do.
But I was out of loo roll.
I grabbed a couple of quid from my bag and popped over to the shop to pick some up. Waiting in the queue, I jangled my change in my hand.
And nearly threw up all over the floor.
My keys were not jangling. The money was jangling but the keys were not jangling. Why were the keys not jangling? Because the keys were on the other side of my front door, locked on the inside of an impenetrable box. I, in my wisdom, have not got around to taking my spare key to Phil and Kate's, so it too was stored safely in the kitchen drawer.
There is nothing worse than that whoosh of realisation: it is a hot flush, tingling-electric skin, hammering heart, prickling fingers, waves of nausea feeling as you realise you're predicament:
I was wandering around Loughborough Jct, in my pyjamas and sandals, white as a sheet, with absolutely no way to communicate with anyone, at 6.30 on a Thursday evening.
For a while the only number I could remember was Transport for London. Looping through my mind was 'I'm going to Tunisia tomorrow and I'm locked out in my pyjamas. How am I going to get there?'
Anyhow, after a reverse charge call to my mum and the wonderfulness of Spice of India (if you live South of the River, make them you're curry house of choice: they are truly amazing) who saved my life, I arranged for a locksmith to come and sort it out.
Cue: waves of nausea number 2. He broke into my house with quite astonishing ease. By sticking a kind of clamp through the letter box, he just flicked the lock down and pushed open the door. While I am grateful for the service (in spite of the ninety-odd quid it cost me), it has made me certain that I will never be leaving my house without deadlocking it again. |
Shame on you all for having better things to do than come into the woods this weekend.
With little more than a google print out, a tent and some pimms, Ray and I set forth at midday yesterday for an only-very-recently-disclosed location just south of Tunbridge Wells. It took just an hour and a half to arrive on a winding lane in the Kent countryside with a sign saying 'In The Woods This Way', where two nice young ladies took our reference numbers and sent us off across the field.
We arrived at about half two, in perfect time to park (with about 20 other cars) a mere stone's throw from the camp site and pitch up. Strolling across the field towards the loos and what looked like a signpost, we came across a 20ft high *vast* wickerman waiting to be set alight later in the evening.
Reaching the end of the field, a narrow straw-lined pathway with lampshaded lights strung above led the way into the woods. Bewaring the river concealed by vegetation on the left we arrived at the tiny second stage, or Laurel Lounge (it was constructed beneath the laurel trees; such luck!), where a selection of folky acoustic types would be filling the gaps between acts in the main beechwood arena, on a strawbale stage beneath a shimmering three-runged ceiling chandelier strung below the laurel canopy.
Continuing along the path, it narrowed to an oil lantern-lit gate into the festival proper. An ivy chandelier hangs above, lit from below and just beyond it a series of lightboxes in the trees form a surreal art installation. Further in, Oxjam have a 7" jukebox for a 10p donation, and Craftivists created a grotto lit with tealights and bedecked in white origami swans, with a selection of fairycakes for sale.
Next came the barbecue, selling homemade burgers, sausages and veggieburgers, and cheeky vodka smoothies. It ran all night and made everything a little bit better in its greatness.
Finally, we arrived in a natural amphitheatre, enclosed by 50ft beech trees where the main stage is located. Because it is at the bottom of a bowl, you can stand all the way around and see the stage without it being more than 3ft off the ground. A sparking chandelier is again suspended from the trees above and lights shine out over the trees.
It is nothing short of magical.
Anyhow, quickly onto the music: there were bands on from 4 til midnight, and as mentioned earlier, the Laurel Lounge had acoustic sets during changeovers. I enjoyed almost everything on. I thought Anna Calvi was a bit dull, and Conan Mokasin was a bit too indulgent for my liking, but: Honeytrap and Olivia Cheyney were fabulous; Pete and the Pirates were nice, middle of the road, good to dance to guitars; Micachu was a bit of a revelation for me, I really really liked her last night; Laurels were as fabulous as they always are, but a little bit more even; The Invisible were alright, but a bit like listening to the same extremely long song for 40mins (disappointingly they were not invisible).
Late late in the night, after all the bands, and the djs are over, it was time to light the Wickerman. Wow. That was fucking cool. A 20ft high towering inferno with an effigy on the top! Amazing.
Good overhears included:
"Hello Mr Beetle, what are you doing there? Of you scuttle now!"
and
"It's not me. It's not Hermione, either. It's up to you, Harry!"
Best. Festival. Ever. And all for £25 with a free 7" thrown in! |
Today was my official First Day: the new term has begun though the children have not yet returned. I have been both excited and terrified about this for the last week or so, not aided by the stupid bloody fucking arsing timetables.
When you're at school, I dont think anyone pays much attention to timetables, do they? The only time I remember them impacting upon my life was when Environmental Science and French fell in the same band at A-level and therefore ran concurrently, and I was mildly peeved by the inconvenience of having to make a choice. Now though, I realise that timetables were sent by the devil and belong somewhere around the 4th circle of hell.
Imagine, if you will, 1100 odd students and some 70 staff. Imagine that almost every one of 500 of those those student has a near unique set of 30 lessons/week to attend. Imagine that you don't even know how many students will be taking a subject (if any) until 3 weeks before the deadline. You have to make it possible for every child to be in the correct lesson, in the correct set, at any given time. Every teacher has to have their correct number of frees as per their statutory requirements (which are standardised generally, but also different depending on the stage or level of responsibility of the teacher), and where possible a fair spread of classes.
Now imagine that the Timetabling Lady goes on holiday at the end of July.
My timetable and group list has changed three times since last Thursday. I spent all of last week, and a considerable amount of time at home too, planning over the summer holidays. It is almost all redundant now.
Other news about the day:
- classroom looks like a gulag
- old dept member has terrifying (no really) nails
- core subject was an awful decision. Why didn't I decide to teach History?
- attached to Y11; I'm the HoY's bitch
- other new teachers in Dept great
Things will be better once the kids are back, right? |
Went to Italy.
Bought two dresses and a pair of offensively large sunglasses.
Swum, read, saw some Culture.
Came home. |
Things which are good about my new flat: - the taps turn on and off whenever you want them to
- the hot water comes out of the tap when you turn it on so you never have to wait and it never runs out
- the shower
- the little yardy bit at the back
- the teeny tiny bathroom window
- the iron gate
- the freezer (which I dont have to share)
- the fridge (which I dont have to share)
- the wonderful cooker
- the washing and drying in one machine
- all the space (which I dont have to share)
Things which are not so good about my new flat: - the security gate
- all the boxes and the need to unpack
My new flat is the best place ever ever ever and when it is all done it will be impossibly beautiful, you'll see. |
I have got myself a salaried job which is On The Career Ladder.
Now I have put down a holding deposit on a one bedroom flat on Coldharbour Lane.
I feel like a grown-up and it's un-nerving me a little. |
I have just been to see Death and the King's Horseman at The National.
If you are able to, I strongly recommend that you do too. It isn't a long run though, so hop to it! |
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