Anyways. I have knackered my knee. And I done this knackering by playing football. I have to fill a whole bunch of �extra hours� in my new job, which I don�t really get paid for but kind of count towards the massive amount of paid holiday I get so Ive been trying to find something extra curricular that I can take part in other than fucking CPD meetings where people look at me with a �WTF are YOU doing here, oh lowly support staff?� look on their faces sometimes.
I tried my hand at gymnastics club but was spectacularly bad at it and only really excelled when it was time to put the mats away and I found I was able to carry two at once. I don�t think that�s really what I want to be known for around school, my upper body chunkiness. I don�t want to be �Gym-mats Miss�, thanks very much. (It�s a school nickname system that I am gradually learning � the kids cant be bothered to learn your name so they just define you and add �Miss� or �Sir� on the end, depending on gender. There�s �Cooking Miss�, �Computer Sir�, �Big Tall Sir�, �Pregnant Miss� etc etc)
So, I talked to a couple of teachers and found there was a space going at �Yr 7,8 & 9 Girls Football�. I played a fair bit as a kid and do, at least, know all the rules and how to �do� football, unlike my pisspoor showing the week before where my inability to know how to execute a handspring/cartwheel/anything really led to a certain degree of discrete tutting from the other helpers (and some of the kids).
Ran out onto the Astroturf in my asda trainers and borrowed trackie bottoms and found half a dozen or so girls already there, practising their shots at goal. Teenagers love to ask questions �
Are you a football coach, Miss? No, Ive just come to help
Whose mum are you, Miss? I work here at school. With Year 11, in ILN.
Do you really work at our school, Miss? (Glad I�ve made my mark, then!) Yes, I do. Come and see me tomorrow and I�ll give you a detention to prove it.
Are you a policelady really, tho, Miss? NO! I work at school! *fumbles for security pass* SEEEE! Look! There�s my face and my name and what I do and everything!
Once they�d assured themselves that I wasn�t a child-snatcher or a policewoman or anything else sinister, they let me play. Admittedly, at first this seemed to be just shouting out �Miss�s ball!� as they kicked it miles past me, so I would have to run and get it but they soon let me join in with proper kicking and stuff. This, obviously, was to be the instrument of my undoing.
Half a dozen passes, flicks, crosses and backheels later, I found myself level with the centre of the goal, just outside the 18 yard box, as a cross came over from my left around two foot off the ground.
If you like to replicate other people�s injuries for your own amusement, you may now stand up.
Turn your feet slightly to the right (to 2 o�clock-ish).
Bend a little at the knees and lean forward so that your (considerable) weight is entirely over your left leg.
Lift your right leg and turn your body to your right, keeping your eyes on the ball coming in from the left.
As the ball starts to pass you, swing your right leg back and then extremely quickly forward, twisting your hips back to the left as your right instep makes perfect contact with the ball.
Keep your left foot still on the ground (and still pointing to 2 o�clock-ish) and keep your eyes and head straight forward as you watch the ball fly off your instep and cannon, on a completely level trajectory, into the back of the net before the keeper has even noticed it coming.
The follow-through of this astonishing goal will cause your entire body to pivot leftwards, whilst your left foot remains on the ground, pointing slightly to the right, as if nailed there.
At this point you will hear a large amount of teenage cheering and shouts of �OH, MISS! Good GOAL! Good GOOOOOAAAAALLL!�. While you are accepting all this acclamation, you may also hear a tiny �bink� sound. That will be the cartilage and bones of your left knee joint doing something unpleasant to each other.
You may now spend the remainder of the week hobbling slightly, wincing when bending and generally coming to the slow realisation that professional footballers, with access to dedicated physios, scheduled �rest days� and the finest training programmes (with warm-ups and everything) known to sport, have all generally retired from the game by age 30-ish. There are certainly very few fattish 44 year olds returning to topflight match fitness and representing their country after an absence of , oooh, 30 years?! I am an idiot. Nevertheless, I am an idiot who will be there on the pitch again next Monday, making things much worse and pretending to be a) young b) fit and c) good at football.
Still on the subject of a) making an arse of oneself b)sporting greatness c) both of the above, I learned another valuable PE lesson today. In the interests of broadening the curriculum a little, I shall present this new knowledge in a Mathematics stylee, possibly (but probably not), having a nod to simultaneous equations (since all these things happened at once):
Slight corpulence + exertion = sweating
Sweating + gullies created by small yet significantly placed rolls of flab = trickling
Trickling + pale coloured yoga pants = small yet unattractively visible moist patches
Small moist patches + dropping trousers on wet floor whilst sitting on school loo = Large visible moist patches
Large visible moist patches + presence of teenagers = total humiliation of self if discovered, as looks like peed oneself
Tying sweat top around waist to hide moist patches + exertion = more sweating
Repeat selected parts of all of the above for fifty long minutes.
If this should happen to you, or anyone you know, I recommend the following remedial action:
Remove to staffroom (lest ye hear any hissing of �Look! Did Miss piss herself or something?�). Hold head in hands. Rock slightly. Wait til next lesson starts. Take off yoga pants in staff loo. Dry under hand dryer. Almost cry. Resolve firmly to wear BLACK yoga pants in future. Go to next lesson. Stare down kids who might look at you enquiringly. Give out indiscriminate detentions to make you feel better.
Tim (not sure which one so I cant linky y�all to him) asks if I do recipe requests. Yes, Tim old pip, I most certainly do, and the very next time I make a curryish delight, it shall be documented for your delectation.
Apologies for brevity of entry, dears, I shall return at the weekend with tales of Jooj�s FIFTEENTH birthday! (how can that be? I am barely out of my teens myself! *cough*)
Laters
S
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