stuck in a blouse, wearing a crown, doin' the moonstomp
2013-10-29, 11:53 p.m.
ThursdaySo. Here�s the thing. I get two, very precious, Planning lessons each week, where Im supposed to plan out my lessons and complete any paperwork that hasn�t yet been done, that kind of thing.
Trouble is, we finish for a week�s holiday tomorrow so there isn�t too much planning to actually do at the moment. Its been a weird old week up here in the Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know Department (or Altern@tive Le@rning, as its officially known). Tables have got flipped over, books have been thrown, and teachers have been told to Fuck Off. But also zombie apocalypses have been averted (I love a project, me!), poisonous spiders have been investigated, teachers have been called �Mum� by mistake, somebody managed a whole hour in the main school building for the first time in a year and a half and school trousers have been mended while their owners sat about sheepishly in their PE shorts. Hell, even a mock GCSE or two got attempted. Yesterday we even got a mum to agree to consider the possibility of a Special School place for her son, who is a whisker away from prison or drug abuse or gang membership�or all three. And none of those three are things you would wish for your 12 year old, are they?
Sunday
I cant even type an update in one hit these days, Im so tired. Seriously, dear D�land, all Ive been doing is sleeping, sometimes for more than 12 hours at a stretch. Oh, and sometimes Ive been�.
��Buying myself a pretty pink blouse, with short puffed sleeves. I didn�t try it on in the shop but Id guessed it would fit alright. It was pretty much fine when I put it on an home, except it did feel a little bit tight around the upper arm, what with me being so hench and all. Anyway, I thought it would be ok so I went to take it off. And then I got stuck. Trapped by the biceps in a yard and a half of powder pink gingham. Id already pulled it off my shoulders and Id reached a point of no return and had to do a mental �straight jacket� kind of dance around the bathroom, getting ever more sweaty and red in the face and with a rising sense of panic in case I had to call for help and one of the kids saw me wedged in a shirt like the skin on a gingham sausage. I am tragic. The blouse is nice though, in a Laura Ingalls Wilder way.
That ska band that was on the day after jarofporter went home and didn�t get to see, sounds like this:
Its not my best bit of videoing and that�s not because I was using my phone, nor even that I was a bit drunk and right at the back of the room. Its more that Im shit at videoing.
Actually, Im saying �that ska band� like Ive already told you about it, but Im pretty sure I hadn�t mentioned it. There�s this ska band, see. And I wanted to go see them when JoP was visiting but they were on after he�d lleft so I made L come with me and he totally hates ska. Obviously that made me want to go even more so I took Treacle with me too and we had a jolly nice time, no matter how many times L said �yeh, well, we�ll only stay for an hour or so� and �we�ll just pop down for a bit of the first half and then we can come back� and �no need to be there all evening�. I call it divine retribution for the many Many MANY hours of jazz and jazz funk and jazz fusion and jazz-based blues and jizz-based jazz and �clever� harmonies and all that bollocks that Ive had to sit through in the last 12 years. L bitched the whole time at the lack of �musicality�, but I was mostly interested in jumping up and down like a loon, drinking, and being surreptitiously chatted up by a bloke on the dancefloor when L was in the lav. I didn�t notice if there were any augmented 7th chords going on. I was too busy having a right laugh.
Because there�s very little that can improve an outfit of �no makeup, fleecy jacket big enough to keep a house cozy and scraped up ponytail� like a glittery crown fighting with a pair of sunglasses for supremacy atop my head
Mmmmmm, seck-seeeeeeee!