Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the "Story So Far" Page above this and the "New Readers" tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Thursday, 13 September 2012

Some people get pick of the pops...

"An' I get pick of the twats!" - Gene Hunt

You're surrounded by armed bastards!
Big day on Wednesday - all me at work.  Organising about 80 staff and about 1,400 students into some semblence of order and with a centralised planning structure... well, it was huge.  Hence the lack of posting.  There's more, there's always more, and the situation at work is not exactly set to improve.  We have about seven non-specialists in the bit I'm supposed to be in charge of but with a newbie sharing a course at Year 13 and a new GCSE course and nursemaiding my boss with the existing GCSE and planning a trip at the wrong point in the year and writing an analysis of last year's results I'm not sure I'm doing what's expected of me.  Back on the support I go, I guess.  No one said life had to be fair.  However, I did get the album by the Pet Shop Boys yesterday and it is good.

"I know enough is enough / and you're leaving / you've had enough time to / decide on your freedom / but I can still find enough / hope to believe in love" - Pet Shop Boys

I wrote a while ago about failing at therapy, the very polite but firm "fuck off" letter.  It said that I had been referred to be tested out for having Asperger's Syndrome and that if I had any questions I should refer to my GP.  That was a while ago now.  I haven't heard anything.  To make matters worse, the place I've been referred to, whilst definitely in existence, appears to have no virtual presence beyond the address and no phone line that I can find.  So I can't even phone to find out what's going on or if I need to do anything about it.  I guess that means I need to contact my GP, which would be fine but for the fact that I'm wary enough in contacting such professionals at the best of times.  I always find myself worrying what they're thinking of me and whether or not I'm going to come across as some wierd kind of hypochondriac.

"Whatever I have said and done / doesn't matter in this chatter and hum / I'm invisible" - Pet Shop Boys

Rather than alleviate any of the pressure of things to do this evening before I left work, of course, I ended up wandering the campus.  Back when I first started teaching I had a Form group and the very first day they were in there was a treasure hunt task to basically acclimatise them to the new school.  I remember it quite well.  For the day I organised on Wednesday I resurrected it for the new Sixth Form intake and tried to use some of the same questions.  The upshot was that I needed to check quad names about the school (yes, we're one of those schools) and I ended up back in the old Department.  It's been extensively re-modelled so that my old teaching room no longer really exists.  What I was totally unprepared for then were the feelings that washed over me as I stood at the old door to the room (now a fire exit) that still had the same surrounds.  I actually felt like crying.  And thag lump in my throat continued as I wandered through the new suite of three small rooms that makes up where I taught for four years.  I remembered the room and everything that went on there.  The mistakes I made with the Form group that left a festering hatred of me in the girls, no, really, and the good parts as well.  It was... unexpected.

"Gyaaah!  I've had it wit you!  Every five minutes something's exploding or something!  Zzz-zzz-zzz!" - Ruby Rohd

Korben, Korben, I don't feel right...

For whatever reason I ended up digging out that skirt from the understairs cupboard that isn't really under the stairs this morning too.  Back in October, when I first started recording things, I spoke about it.  It's a skirt that Tilly maintains will never fit her again but won't throw out.  In fairness, I can see exactly why she won't, it is a beautiful thing.  I'm too tall to wear it properly (she needed heels to get the hem off the floor enough to walk and it hangs above my ankles) but I do enjoy the feeling that it gives when it flows, and it flows, around my legs as I walk.  I like the softness of the fabric, the whisper of it as caresses itself.  I love the embroidery down the side, same colour thread as the shiny satin but noticeable by the shanging quality of fabric, and the way it catches the light.  The breeze that it creates and the trapped air that allows fdor warmth in cold and the coolness in warmer conditions.  Obviously, I wore it again to dry the pots and do some basic marking in the kitchen.  I fully intend to be wearing it in the morning again too.  My shoes are in the kitchen now, I took them out of the cupboard after Tilly started making noises about reorganising it, and they are currently cowering at the back of some old jars.

"You said - we all can make mistakes / it doesn't matter that much. / I said - really? / Everything means something / yes, even our mistakes: / carelessness means something / no simple give and take. / Everything means something / and something has occurred. / Everything means something / although the meaning can be blurred" - Pet Shop Boys

I applied to the MoD for another teaching post.  I got an interview.  I honestly did not expect that.  My application was filled with guff about "table culture" and the importance of food in building and maintaining teams.  I waxed lyrical about the diverse culinary influences on British food and the power that this has on shaping culture.  I, essentially, bluffed my socks off and talking irrelevant bollocks.  I should not be called for interview on the strength of that sort of gubbins.  It would mean a huge uprooting and moving if I were to take the job and even this step means that my boss has written me a reference at some point, without telling me, and that my vicar has too.  I... I don't even know if I should accept the invitation to interview.  I don't know what to make of the whole episode, I applied out of... curiosity?  I don't know.  But... I got into the whole teaching gig by accident, Him Upstairs had a great deal to do with it and, back in those years, I firmly believed it was where He wanted me to be in life.  I'm no longer so certain.  I moved on to be a boss too quickly and in the wrong place and I seemed to lose the thread of what He wanted me to do.  I sacked another colleague and then moved back to where I started.  Am I serving a penance?  Did I miss the boat?  Is this being back on track?

"[God] plays his games and we play ours" - Gunnery Sergent Hartman

If you ladies leave my island...


  1. Regarding the job interview~~you must do the interview, whether you have any intention of taking the job or not. If nothing else, it's practice. You seem desperately unhappy with your work situation, and you have to have a job, so the only solution is a different job. Talking to them in person might make you want the position. Change is good. No, no, controlled change is good.

    1. Picture me nodding profusely. Despite my protestations I of course ended up taking the interview, we'll see how that goes. Embarrassingly the meeting with my boss was... painless.

      My aim when I originally got the job where I am now was to stay until they carted me out in a box. I like the place, despite everything, and know that I'll outlast the current educational vogue if I can stick it. My currenty bosses will leave, move on to bigger and brighter things, and I could still be here, quietly slogging away.

      When I've taught the grandchild of one of my students I'll know that I've made it.

      You are also correct: controlled change is very good.


All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!