Cheddington

Another walk last weekend – this time without any animals ganging up on us. We did walk past a few horses who observed us attentively making us feel uneasy after the Wing cows experience, but luckily they made no attempt at intimidation.
The walk is picturesque, a big part goes along the Grand Union Canal with a double lock and we’ve spotted a few lovely thatched cottages – apparently it is very expensive to own a thatched roof as it requires a lot of maintenance.
This time we also managed to eat at the pub – The Old Swan – and it was delicious! I had a roast with the best Yorkshire pudding I have ever had. I do recommend it (in case you’re ever in Cheddington…).

"I love you. Will you do a French GCSE please?"

I think everyone finds parents evenings draining. I know I do. But then maybe no everyone gets as emotional about them as me? Who knows.
We had a year 9 parents evening on Thursday, and as my form is year 9, I spent over 3 hours talking non-stop. At 7 most teachers had left - I was still there talking. I have to say that I'm kind of grateful to have been abandoned for the day today - at least I don't have to open my mouth!
It is always interesting to meet your students' parents - helps you understand your students better. Also, you can sometimes make powerful allies. Or reward the nice kids, who never get enough of your attention because you're busy dealing with the culprits.
But it is draining - you talk, and you talk and there is often an emotional response to what you say, people getting all proud and happy, others almost crying (I know some teachers find it wrong, but I tend to tell the truth as it is, without embelishing it too much).
By the end of the night I had managed to tell one student I loved her, tell another one he was an idiot (in front of his mother of course), promise another one that I will wear my glasses if he wears his, promise to tell X's teachers she can't sit next to Y, to tell Z's teachers he should sit alone in the front cause then he's less tempted to mess about, to find out for A why her science teacher wants her to do triple science while she feels she's rubbish at it, etc. On top of that I'll have to go through endless sheets of statistical info and past results to help all 30 of my little monsters make informed decisions when it comes to choosing GCSE options. I don't think I'm going to leave school at all next week.
Any volunteers willing to mark my books for me? There's only some 200 of them to do...

7 am

The school is eerie, like a little ghost town of its own. Everything is dark, in the reception area the lights go automatically on as I walk in and I know they will switch themselves off soon after I'll have walked out. The corridors, which are usually full of chatter and noise, are empty and hollow. I feel like I'm the only person there. I know that I am, cause as I left the reception, my name was the only one with 'in' marked next to it.
But I'm wrong.
In the early morning, the school belongs to the caretakers. They walk the grounds and the corridors silently, ghostlike. They go about their business, checking things, fixing things, making sure everyone is safe and warm as the day begins. They smile and greet me as I walk past them, and I feel reassured by their presence.
As soon as I get to my own classroom however, it's just the empty building and me all over again. So I put music on loud and sing along as I get ready for the day to begin. And it's great, because I have lots of time to do all the things I have to do and all the energy I need to do them.
If you had ever told me that I would enjoy being at work at 7am, I would think you were crazy. But there we go.
The only bit I don't like about it is having to get out of bed. But I would hate that part regardless of the hour!

Half-term

Half-term is almost over.
I've been sick for most of it, a really nasty cold, which was made worse by travelling and stress.
We went to Poland for a couple of days for my parents' 40th anniversary (!) and it was good, but tiring and hard in some ways as Mother wasn't very well at all and Parents were Parents, so I mainly got back feeling fat and worthless. They mean well, I know they do, but the message getting through is that I don't really have anything interesting to say (at least not anything that would call for a response or a question aiming to find out more, not to speak of letting me finish my sentence), that I'm gaining weight (even if I've actually lost some) and that the only reason why I'm actually taking care of myself and am going somewhere is that I'm with Paul.
It's really curious how some people express their love!
So now I could really use a few days to get over it all but Monday is back to school. And I feel completely out of it, I am sure that there were things I should follow up etc. but I just don't have it in me.
I need a holiday.

Wing cows are vicious

At one point it became clear that weekends couldn’t be about just sorting the house out anymore – we needed a break, even if it meant some boxes staying around for longer. So we decided to go walking. I had bought myself a pair of outdoor shoes I didn’t really need (and yay to that!) and a “Pub Walks in Buckinghamshire” book, and yesterday we set off to do the closest one – in Wing.

It quickly became clear that this particular pub walk would not include the pub bit, there was however nothing I could do about the pub stopping serving food and not serving again until several hours later. Oh well, if I wanted pubs serving food all day long I should have stayed in Brum.

The walk started off lovely, the sun was shining, the countryside was picturesque, following the route indicated in the book was easy. The first obstacle we encountered was a large group of cows scattered in a field we were supposed to cross. We joked that the guide should really be saying “go over the stile and among the cows” and that we hoped they would not gang up on us. They didn’t. They gave us strange looks as we went past but resumed munching almost immediately.

Encouraged by this experience, we approached our second herd of cows with more confidence, especially while they were lazily lying in the grass and looked oblivious to our presence. As we got closer they stood up and walked away, which was even better. However, as soon as we were on their level, they hurried back towards us and the next thing we knew we were ducking under the electric fence and desperately trying to get through overgrown bushes which would sting and scratch but not give way. The cows stayed put on their side and watched us as we retracted our steps through the bushes on the other side of the fence getting stung and scratched until we were far enough to venture getting back into the field.

Uh oh. Scary!

On idiots of various sorts

Ever since we have moved into our little cottage I have been cycling to school. I am proud to say that I am getting more and more confident on my bike and develop more and more normal speeds now. My first ride to school was 40 minutes. Now I’m at 25 and I tend to prefer roads to pavements (at least on my way to school – in the afternoon there are way too many cars!).

I have however quickly understood that most drivers don’t give much heed to us cyclists. Like the idiot who was stationary right across the red way the other day, even if he had plenty of driveway in front and in the back. Did he move when he saw me? No. What for if I can get off my bike and go around him like a good girl?

Like the idiot who sped off the roundabout the other day on a red light that he did not see because he was busy looking for something on the floor of his car. He probably didn’t notice the fact that he almost took my front wheel off either. Thank God I was slow getting on my bike!

And finally yesterday’s idiot – I was nearing a roundabout where I turn right so I needed to get into the right lane. Now, indicating right is really hard. I stick my arm out but I wobble and stress and all. So I hate doing it. Still, since I knew there was a car behind me, I stuck my arm out and after a few seconds started changing lanes. And that idiot decided to still take me over and get onto the roundabout a few centimetres in front of me sharply getting back into the left lane cause he was going straight.

Still, the most disgusting story of all is probably that of an 11 years old girl from Paul’s form who was knocked off her bike by a reversing car. The driver did not even get out. He stuck his head out of his window and shouted abuse at her.

Not even an idiot that. A sorry excuse for a human being.

I’m back!

Until yesterday I have been completely cut off from the internet (if you don’t count school, but the network won’t let me access the interesting sites anyway) – hence the long silence. An update is therefore due – lots to tell, could type pages, but will do it in brief:

The school is great. Love it. Absolutely. As of yesterday I even have a form. Inherited from a teacher who was too burdened by his personal problems to remain a good form tutor. They’re spoilt. They lack both care and discipline. They’re year 9 so their hormones are through the roof. It will take a lot of hard work, sweat and tears before I break them into decent human beings. But I will. And in the meantime I shall be faithfully reporting on all the jewels coming out of their mouths.

We’ve moved into our little cottage on September 5th and it hasn’t stopped since. Boxes. CD towers. A drill. More boxes. Throws and cushions (cause we are happy owners of a very comfortable yet seriously ugly couch). Some more boxes. Mirror in the bathroom. Desk up into the loft – take it apart, put it together. Yet more boxes. Shower curtain (cause as it was taking a shower implied a flood in the bathroom). Change address with school, bank… Internet. Boxes… gah.

Weekend? Sorry, what?

At this point we are connected to the outside world (and right on time, as am expecting loads of birthday messages tomorrow!), we don’t have to mop the bathroom every morning, the living room is done and box-free.
The loft contains desk, computer, two chairs, some piles of books and… boxes.
The bedroom is ok but contains unpacked bags.
The conservatory is full of boxes (although some of them empty).
But we have bird feeders in the garden.
And we know how recycling works.
We’re home.