Oh God, I find this whole Christmas malarky so awkward. I go to parties and try to pretend that I am not about to pass out from the effort of masking my panic. I fear the simple hug or handshake, in case well-meaning friends discover that I am actually a quivering, sweating mass. I field perfectly innocent questions from friends about my alcohol-free drinks, turn them inwards and feel like a leper. Then I run away, hide in my lounge and drink a cup of tea, breathing a deep sigh of relief that it is all over. How can you let friends know that it is not them that freaks you out, but the experience of having to converse and appear confident in front of more than 20 people without looking like a mentalist?
The whole experience of receiving gifts embarrasses me beyond belief. Example: I won a tin of Roses at the school Christmas dinner on Wednesday. I was delighted and grateful. What a shame I was so petrified that I shuffled up to receive my gift like a sulky teenager. I was afraid of being looked at. I was sharing centre stage with two elves and a Santa so, with hindsight, I can see the focus would have been elsewhere. I just wanted to disappear. Schoolchildren are not a problem; they look at me all day long and I don't care. Fellow adults, however and increasingly, terrify me.
I have noticed that, with age, I am actually becoming LESS outgoing. I am certain it's supposed to be the other way round. Perhaps it's because I've gained weight in the last 3 years, I don't bother getting dressed up anymore because I don't feel like I could look good in anything except jeans and a t-shirt. Don't get me wrong, I have always worn jeans and t-shirts, but I would occasionally mix it up and wear a skirt and some fishnets. I used to spend 10 minutes a day applying liquid eyeliner, and now I'm lucky if I remember to run a brush through my hair. Part of the reason is tiredness; I'm doing quite well in my NQT year but I'm wearing myself out worrying about messing it all up. I am so exhausted at 3.10pm that I am only fit for napping on the train home and sitting in my lounge staring at Living tv, absentmindedly stroking my cat. The spunk has gone. I don't feel interesting anymore. By the time I get to thirty I will probably be living in a cave somewhere off Lands End, and will have named all the seagulls within a 3 miles radius.
Some of these issues are perennial, but mainly they tend to come to the fore at Christmas. More people commit suicide at this time of year than any other, and while I have no plans whatsoever to shuffle off this mortal coil anytime soon, I can understand why. The pressure is intense. Especially if you already have a slight predisposition towards depression. That baby Jesus has a lot to answer for. Little fucker.
And the worst part of this Christmas nightmare? I know that it is all my own doing. If I weren't so bloody inept at being sociable I wouldn't make mountains out of molehills. Molehills seem like a cosy refuge right now. Mmm, molehills.
Friday, December 19
Friday, December 12
Card dilemma?
How do you judge when you've become acquainted enough with a person to send them a Christmas card? I have about 70 Christmas cards. I have made two lists; one where I just send cards to my close friends, family and my department at work, and another, extended, list that includes most people that I have come into contact with in the last 12 months.
If I send the first list out I'll feel mean, but if I send out the second list I might look a bit desperate and mental.
What should I do?
My cat is obsessed with the Christmas tree. We haven't decorated it yet, because we're trying to acclimatise him to it gently, but he keeps chewing the fake needles and trying to clamber up the wire branches. I am definitely going to come home from work and find it sideways on the floor, aren't I?
If I send the first list out I'll feel mean, but if I send out the second list I might look a bit desperate and mental.
What should I do?
My cat is obsessed with the Christmas tree. We haven't decorated it yet, because we're trying to acclimatise him to it gently, but he keeps chewing the fake needles and trying to clamber up the wire branches. I am definitely going to come home from work and find it sideways on the floor, aren't I?
Monday, November 3
Introducing: My Dreaded Year 9s!
Today was the first day where I was able to take stock of how far I've come with my unruly, disruptive and, frankly, insane Year 9s since Sept.
Weeks 1-3: Chaos. It took 15 minutes for them to quieten down sufficiently for me to give instructions, even then nobody listened. I was issuing detentions and sending notes home almost every day.
Week 9: After 2 minutes standing in front of the class silently with my arms folded across my chest, staring wildly and malevolently the class are, finally, silent. I call this technique 'The Pirate Stare', I imagine that I am about to make them walk the plank. If they disrupt this quiet again I just say, very softly, 'that's fine, I'll just come and fetch you at the end of the day to make the time up, you know I'll do it'.And believe me, they know. I have pursued them relentlessly, like a hound on a scent, since September. With 21 kids out of 30 on the school's special needs register (mostly for behavioural difficulties) I have to be on my toes and work them like a drill sergeant.
Drizzle, dark evenings and delays
There were a few pleasant ripples in what was otherwise a washout of a day today. The journey to school was HORRIFIC, and I was forced to ride 4 separate Underground lines because of a 'person under a train'. Why would a person choose such an inconvenient time as rush hour to throw themselves under a train at one of London's busiest stations (Oxford Circus)? Actually, now I think about it, why wouldn't they? I have felt dangerously close to suicide several times on the way to work. Maybe one day I will actually do it and manage to piss off a few hundred bustling commuters in the process. Death and major annoyance; the phrase 'two birds with one stone' comes to mind...
The children were particularly exuberant after their half term break, and consequently more difficult to control than usual. To try and divert myself from giving up and sitting on the floor in protest at their behaviour I have begun mentally compiling a sort-of dictionary of all the terms they use in their silly W9 patois. I will share a few with you now:
Jokes: Funny. As in 'Remember when Abdul and Ryan had that fight? That was jokes!'
Butters: Ugly. As in 'Miss, so basically what you're saying is that Richard III was butters, right?'
Swag: Unusual. Quirky. As in 'Miss you're looking a bit swag today'. I was wearing bright pink shoes, a bright green cardigan and a yellow top. I deserved it.
Still haven't got to Westfield. I'm showing unusual restraint. However, I did find out that many of my students are now already hanging about there and referring to it as their 'yard' so it's probably wise not to go after all.
* My cat has an incredibly annoying habit of nuzzling underneath my hand and forcing me to stroke him while I type. If I refuse to cooperate he shoves his huge boy-cat face in front of the screen. He's doing it now. I feel cruel shooing him away. That's actually bollocks. I don't give a fuck. I just wanted you to think that I am kind to animals.
The children were particularly exuberant after their half term break, and consequently more difficult to control than usual. To try and divert myself from giving up and sitting on the floor in protest at their behaviour I have begun mentally compiling a sort-of dictionary of all the terms they use in their silly W9 patois. I will share a few with you now:
Jokes: Funny. As in 'Remember when Abdul and Ryan had that fight? That was jokes!'
Butters: Ugly. As in 'Miss, so basically what you're saying is that Richard III was butters, right?'
Swag: Unusual. Quirky. As in 'Miss you're looking a bit swag today'. I was wearing bright pink shoes, a bright green cardigan and a yellow top. I deserved it.
Still haven't got to Westfield. I'm showing unusual restraint. However, I did find out that many of my students are now already hanging about there and referring to it as their 'yard' so it's probably wise not to go after all.
* My cat has an incredibly annoying habit of nuzzling underneath my hand and forcing me to stroke him while I type. If I refuse to cooperate he shoves his huge boy-cat face in front of the screen. He's doing it now. I feel cruel shooing him away. That's actually bollocks. I don't give a fuck. I just wanted you to think that I am kind to animals.
Sunday, November 2
ValiFUN
I had 6 diazepam tablets left over from my holiday (I take them to alleviate plane-stress). A couple of hours ago I was feeling a little anxious about returning to school and resuming my hectic working life, so I took a tablet. Is this drug abuse? I do feel much better. But a little guilty.
Saturday, November 1
Guten tag!!!
I have made a half-term resolution to blog more often. This is bad news for whoever still bothers to read this (blah blah blah), but a positive effort on my part, to try and maintain the cheery mood that has lingered for the last couple of weeks.
School is going reasonably well. I have had two 'good' inspections; one from OFSTED and the other from Westminster LEA. I am up to date with my marking. I am keeping my head down and trying not to get involved with the gossiping networks that pervade all staffrooms across the UK. I have not been stabbed or happy slapped, yet. I have only made two children cry. And it is only seven weeks until the Christmas hols.
Last week James and I had a much-needed city break in Berlin. It is, without doubt, the coolest place I have ever been in my life. Everything there just works. For a place with such a troubled and tragic history it is the most tolerant and 'together' city that I have encountered (in my, I admit, somewhat limited travelling portfolio). We stayed in a tongue-in-cheek DDR retro hostel in East Berlin, amongst the rows and rows of identical towering grey apartment blocks. It looked bleak, but felt quite cosy. We tried to fit as much into our trip as possible, leaving room for beer drinking and sausage eating, but I was most impressed by a visit to the Stasi headquarters. It's quite a way off the main tourist drag, and barely signposted, but an utterly fascinating and terrifying testimony to a ludicrous regime. I took some photos of the mental surveillance equipment that they used, and will hopefully post them as soon as I work out how to get them out of my dad's digital camera.
I haven't felt like lying down and switching off, or rampaging through Oxford Street with my Solo card for a few months now. The routine and stability of my home and my job has evened me out marvellously. The only problem now is that I find myself occasionally terrified of losing everything that I have worked so hard for, especially James, who made it all possible.
The new flat is really starting to feel like home. I love coming home to the suburbs every night and almost forgetting I live in London. I am currently hoarding items and cultivating a Moomin themed bathroom.
What else? Oooh, yes. I am VERY excited about going to Westfields Mall as it is very close to my school. I will try and drag my workmate Andraya there this week and take a few snaps of it's shiny newness.
Just read this back. It sounds very rushed and rusty. Ah well. I can't be arsed to rewrite it.
School is going reasonably well. I have had two 'good' inspections; one from OFSTED and the other from Westminster LEA. I am up to date with my marking. I am keeping my head down and trying not to get involved with the gossiping networks that pervade all staffrooms across the UK. I have not been stabbed or happy slapped, yet. I have only made two children cry. And it is only seven weeks until the Christmas hols.
Last week James and I had a much-needed city break in Berlin. It is, without doubt, the coolest place I have ever been in my life. Everything there just works. For a place with such a troubled and tragic history it is the most tolerant and 'together' city that I have encountered (in my, I admit, somewhat limited travelling portfolio). We stayed in a tongue-in-cheek DDR retro hostel in East Berlin, amongst the rows and rows of identical towering grey apartment blocks. It looked bleak, but felt quite cosy. We tried to fit as much into our trip as possible, leaving room for beer drinking and sausage eating, but I was most impressed by a visit to the Stasi headquarters. It's quite a way off the main tourist drag, and barely signposted, but an utterly fascinating and terrifying testimony to a ludicrous regime. I took some photos of the mental surveillance equipment that they used, and will hopefully post them as soon as I work out how to get them out of my dad's digital camera.
I haven't felt like lying down and switching off, or rampaging through Oxford Street with my Solo card for a few months now. The routine and stability of my home and my job has evened me out marvellously. The only problem now is that I find myself occasionally terrified of losing everything that I have worked so hard for, especially James, who made it all possible.
The new flat is really starting to feel like home. I love coming home to the suburbs every night and almost forgetting I live in London. I am currently hoarding items and cultivating a Moomin themed bathroom.
What else? Oooh, yes. I am VERY excited about going to Westfields Mall as it is very close to my school. I will try and drag my workmate Andraya there this week and take a few snaps of it's shiny newness.
Just read this back. It sounds very rushed and rusty. Ah well. I can't be arsed to rewrite it.
Tuesday, August 5
Stratford Upon RAVING
Yesterday James and I schlepped all the way to Stratford Upon Avon to attend a preview of the RSC's new production of Hamlet. Whilst the play in question is, in fact, one of my favourite Shakespeare plays, I am fully prepared to admit that the main draw for this particular performance was the fact that the lead role was being played by tousled TV pin-up David Tennant.
Wasn't all that impressed by Stratford itself. It seems to have all the outward trappings of a town with a rich cultural and historical heritage, but sorely lacks any depth or passion for the literature that it so desperately sells, and sells, and sells... I witnessed tourists having their photos taken outside mock-Tudor pubs, in a street that was consumed by a fire a number of years after Shakespeare's death. HE. DID. NOT. GO. THERE.
Tennant was an outstanding Hamlet, so good that I almost felt ashamed for initially being drawn to the theatre by the lure of his pretty, pretty face. He delivered those tricky soliloquys with fresh gusto, and commanded the space that he occupied. Similarly, Patrick Stewart was a fantastic Claudius, but an even more terrifying Ghost! Wasn't too sure exactly when the play was supposed to be set, but this is just nitpicking really. This 'review' is utterly useless to anybody considering queuing for a return ticket, so better check the press after tomorrow for the official verdict.
Wasn't all that impressed by Stratford itself. It seems to have all the outward trappings of a town with a rich cultural and historical heritage, but sorely lacks any depth or passion for the literature that it so desperately sells, and sells, and sells... I witnessed tourists having their photos taken outside mock-Tudor pubs, in a street that was consumed by a fire a number of years after Shakespeare's death. HE. DID. NOT. GO. THERE.
Tennant was an outstanding Hamlet, so good that I almost felt ashamed for initially being drawn to the theatre by the lure of his pretty, pretty face. He delivered those tricky soliloquys with fresh gusto, and commanded the space that he occupied. Similarly, Patrick Stewart was a fantastic Claudius, but an even more terrifying Ghost! Wasn't too sure exactly when the play was supposed to be set, but this is just nitpicking really. This 'review' is utterly useless to anybody considering queuing for a return ticket, so better check the press after tomorrow for the official verdict.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
