Heather sustained a ding on the head last night from dropping an i-pod speaker upon herself from a great height. This resulted in the application of a cold compress to stop the bleeding and the possibilty of growing a bump the size of a grape or potentially an egg. She said she slept well afterwards.
Unlike me who was woken in the wee small hours by what I thought was a gushing torrent of water a la the volume of Niagara Falls.
My immediate, and irrational thought was,' Oh blimey! The water tank in the loft has burst!'
To wit the rational part of my brain (which was clearly more awake than the rest of me) said, 'Don't be an idiot - there isn't a water tank in the loft. Much Malarkey Manor is, in fact, water tankless.'
'Thank goodness for that,' I thought. 'And then I thought, 'Oh blimey! The new shower has burst and is flooding the house whilst I lie here like a fool trying to sleep at 1 in the morning.'
I got out of bed. Luckily, the floor was dry. Even more luckily, my brain had achieved correct functioning synchronicity with my ears and I realised I wasn't, in fact, hearing gushing water, I was, in fact, hearing a helicopter.
Opening the bedroom window, I looked towards Orion. It was a very clear night. Clear and freezing cold. 'Jupiter looks very bright tonight,' I thought. Then Jupiter started flashing red and orange lights and moving at a remarkable speed and I realised it wasn't Jupiter, it was the helicopter. I cursed the helicopter for waking me and went back to bed.
The helicopter hung around for ages. Back and forth it went. I thought, 'Oh blimey, suppose it's a police helicopter searching for an escaped crazy gun-toting criminal? What if we are all about to be murdered in our beds?'
And then I had to sit up and say a 'look-after-this -house-the-people-therein' prayer. And then another one for Chris, Leane and Kayleigh in case the crazy gun-toting murderer was over their neck of the woods. And then I said another one for the neighbours in an act of selfless neighbourliness, even though some of them are really irritating people, with their stupid car parking antics and loud drunken barbeques that go until Lord knows what hour of the night during summer.
About an hour later I was woken by the Saturday night parade of cars passing by belonging, I assume, to people returning from clubbing in the town. I thought, 'Clubs should close at 11 p.m so everyone is home by midnight, thus allowing NORMAL people like me the chance to get a decent night's sleep.' And then I thought I was being a sour-puss, grumpy-face party pooper. And then I thought no, I wasn't, and that when I was Prime Minister I'd pass a law to shut all pubs and clubs at 11 like in THE GOOD OLD DAYS.
An hour beyond that I woke with the mother of all hot flushes so I hung out of the window again and had a discussion with Orion about the price of self-raising flour AND plum tomatoes going up again and what was the world coming to? Luckily, the helicopter had gone and the crazy gun-toting murderer presumably caught and in prison.
By 5 am I was thinking that maybe I should offer my writing room to Heather and her boyfriend because it is bigger than the room they currently share. I would then move up into their room which is a bit smaller but has the advantage of being sunnier and brighter. They have alot of combined tat between them and I think it was partly this that caused the crashing of the i-pod speaker into Heather's head. I thought, 'If we swap rooms I would have my writing room next to Andy's study and we could converse with each other at a normal volume rather than yell at each other up and down the stairs as is our current wont to do when we are working and a tea break is imminent. Also, if Heather and her boyfriend have a night out, they wouldn't disturb us when they come back home and have trouble putting one foot in front of the other in order to negotiate the stairs quietly. I mean, I'm not likely to become Prime Minister for a year or two so shan't be able to implement my early closing for pubs and clubs law for a while.'
At 7 I was prodded by Andy who declared he'd had a great night's sleep and here was a cup of tea for me.
We then had a chat about how, now we are back on our healthy eating plan in an attempt to lose another stone each, that we should rename Saturday 'Fatterday' because that's our weigh-in day, and if we couldn't have a diet splurge straight after that, then when could we? Then we larked about with song titles that had 'Saturday' in their titles and thought it was all very hilarious! I blame it on lack of sleep - I don't know what Andy's excuse was.
So, there we are. At some point over the next week I shall be relocating upstairs, Heather's bump will subside and after Friday will come Fatterday.
Sunday, 15 January 2012
Saturday, 14 January 2012
Mr Pie Man
I didn't know what to write for today's blog. The week, per se, has been fairly uneventful. Work has been okay. The weather has been okay. I've made it to Day 14 of No TV For Me without any adverse reactions. I even managed to resist the new series of Hustle last night.
I've bought two new books on quilting, patchwork and applique and have been dreaming about setting up some sort of arty quilting/ patchwork/ applique business when we finally move to Herefordshire.
One of my sixth formers, who had previously declared that she 'hated' Pride and Prejudice has now declared it as one of her favourite books and she's going to read all the others Jane Austen wrote. My inspirational teaching job is done.
Mrs Pumphrey is looking broody - well, she's been in the garden flinging bits of grass and straw onto her back which is a sure sign there could be a egg on the way, although she is 4 years old now and we're not expecting much vis a vis quantity and quality.
And I have logged into the blog twice today, stared at the screen and found myself devoid of anything witty and/or intelligent to say.
And what was Andy doing all this time? I'll tell you what he was doing. He was making a PIE, that's what he was doing!
And here it is!! (It's at the top of the blog, too, but for some reason the picture moving doo-dah is being very resistant to moving pictures where I want them to be moved.)
What a pie!!!! Isn't it MAGNIFICENT??? It's chicken, ham and apricot, so I shan't be eating any, but I am mightily impressed with its overall stature. In fact, when we move to Hereford, I think Andy should have a pie making business next to my sewing business and we could call it something like... er... well, I'll have to think about that one.
What a pie!!!! Isn't it MAGNIFICENT??? It's chicken, ham and apricot, so I shan't be eating any, but I am mightily impressed with its overall stature. In fact, when we move to Hereford, I think Andy should have a pie making business next to my sewing business and we could call it something like... er... well, I'll have to think about that one. Crust 'n' Quilt? The Appliqued Pie?
Okay, so the concept may need working on, but it could work. And given that I read in the paper this morning that there is a company that organises parties for pregnant women to celebrate the first scan of their baby foetus, I think there could be a market for less ridiculous ideas.
Wednesday, 11 January 2012
8 Hours
It is Day 11 of No TV For Me and I have to say the whole resolution caboodle is proving far easier than I expected. This could be, of course, that there REALLY is nothing to watch on TV these days and I know instinctively that I'm not missing anything. Or it could be that, by not looking at the TV schedules in the paper, I remain unaware of missing anything decent on the telly. Or it could be that I am feeling particularly stubborn at the moment and I don't want to give in because I don't want people saying, 'Ha! Told you so,' when they catch me, goggle-eyed on the sofa at 2.30 in the morning watching 4 year old reruns of 'Come Dine With Me.'
Anyway, I became aware of another benefit of the 'No TV' thing this morning in that I slept solidly for 8 hours last night which is something I haven't achieved for years! Well, except when I had norovirus last Easter, but that was more the sleep of a drug -induced stupor and desperate exhaustion rather than a state of natural blissfulness, so that doesn't count.
I read a bit beforehand - some more Stella Gibbons and a book on quilting as I am thinking it seems appropriate I should get very involved with some sewing on these long dark Winter evenings - then it was lights out, head on the pillow, instant zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz and the next thing I know it's 6am and I'm hopping out of bed ready to meet the day and 11X1 head on. (11X1 are being especially trying at the moment. I don't think they've twigged they will be leaving school to join the big wide world in less than 6 months,; they still think school is one big laughy youth club kinda thing. Exams? What exams?)
It must be the lack of telly agitating my brain, I thought. That's why I'm sleeping so well. And I'm not having such weird dreams either which is a relief to both me and Andy.
So I feel encouraged to continue ignoring the TV. This evening, Andy and I ate dinner in the kitchen whilst listening to some comedy and then the Archers on the radio and sharing events from our busy working days. And now I am doing some writing and am about to dig out some sewing and go and join Andy in the living room where he is listening to classical music!
It's all very civilised and peaceful.
Anyway, I became aware of another benefit of the 'No TV' thing this morning in that I slept solidly for 8 hours last night which is something I haven't achieved for years! Well, except when I had norovirus last Easter, but that was more the sleep of a drug -induced stupor and desperate exhaustion rather than a state of natural blissfulness, so that doesn't count.
I read a bit beforehand - some more Stella Gibbons and a book on quilting as I am thinking it seems appropriate I should get very involved with some sewing on these long dark Winter evenings - then it was lights out, head on the pillow, instant zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz and the next thing I know it's 6am and I'm hopping out of bed ready to meet the day and 11X1 head on. (11X1 are being especially trying at the moment. I don't think they've twigged they will be leaving school to join the big wide world in less than 6 months,; they still think school is one big laughy youth club kinda thing. Exams? What exams?)
It must be the lack of telly agitating my brain, I thought. That's why I'm sleeping so well. And I'm not having such weird dreams either which is a relief to both me and Andy.
So I feel encouraged to continue ignoring the TV. This evening, Andy and I ate dinner in the kitchen whilst listening to some comedy and then the Archers on the radio and sharing events from our busy working days. And now I am doing some writing and am about to dig out some sewing and go and join Andy in the living room where he is listening to classical music!
It's all very civilised and peaceful.
Monday, 9 January 2012
St Fillan Had the Right Idea
Today is St Fillan's Day. 'Tis (or 'twas until 19th century)the day when lunatics were taken to the valley of Strathfillan and immersed in St Fillan's Pool. His bell was then placed on their heads, and they were left tied up in the ruined chapel, where the saint is buried, for the night. And in the morning, those 'patients' who had freed themselves from their bonds were deemed cured of their affliction. Seems a lot simpler than months of expensive cognitive behaviour therapy, doesn't it?
'I'll say,' says Mrs Pumphrey, who has been immersing Mrs Slocombe's head in the water bowl and dinging the dinner time gong in her ear for nearly four years now in an attempt to cure her lunacy.
'I should have used this method today with my sixth form,' I agree. 'Especially as two of them are having trouble reading 'Pride and Prejudice' because apparently it's not 'their cup of tea. And I expressly told them they HAD to read it over Christmas. They are disobedient children, that's what they are.'
Mrs Pumphrey and I are at our weekly Pilates class, and I am wishing I hadn't partaken of chilli bean casserole with a side serving of broccoli and sprouts before I came out. Mrs Pumphrey is exercising her controlled breathing which is just as well as she is still trying to shift the extra couple of pounds that she found located in the region of her thighs just after Christmas and her corset is stretched to its limit.
'If they are having trouble reading a novel,' says Mrs Pumphrey,'why are they doing a Literature course?'
'My point exactly,' I say. 'And when I asked this question I was met with shrugs of the shoulders and rolling eyeballs. I mean, it could be worse. I could be asking them to read 'Captain Corelli's Mandolin', or 'Brighton Rock'.'
'Or 'A La Recherche du Temps Perdu',' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Both parts.'
'Yes,' I say. 'It's only 'Pride and Prejudice'for heaven's sake and most of the class have enjoyed it AND read it at least twice more.'
'Which is what one wants from Literature students,' says Mrs P.
'And the excuse to watch the boxed set where Colin Firth emerges from a pond in a clingy shirt, tight pantaloons and riding boots,' I say.
'Did he have a bell on his head?' says Mrs Pumphrey.
'Not that I'm aware,' I say. 'I wasn't really looking at his head.'
We pause for a moment. A spine can be heard creaking and cracking. Not sure if it's mine or Pumphrey's.
'So what are you going to do with the reluctant readers?' says Mrs Pumphrey.
'I don't know,' I say. 'They think they are going to be able to get away with watching the film of the novel. I've told them they will fail their A level if they adopt that approach.'
'Bit harsh, isn't it?' says Mrs P.
'No,' I say. 'I also told Chloe in Year 9 that she was a gob on a stick. I've been telling the truth today.'
'It's a full moon,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Your waters are being pulled in an uncontrollable fashion.'
'I'll say,' I say. 'Either that, or my leotard is too tight.'
'Is your ear still whooshing?' says Mrs P.
'Occasionally,' I say.
'Has someone been surreptitiously dunking you in a pond and attaching a bell to your head?' says Mrs P.
'Probably,' I say. 'But I always escape.'
'I'll say,' says Mrs Pumphrey, who has been immersing Mrs Slocombe's head in the water bowl and dinging the dinner time gong in her ear for nearly four years now in an attempt to cure her lunacy.
'I should have used this method today with my sixth form,' I agree. 'Especially as two of them are having trouble reading 'Pride and Prejudice' because apparently it's not 'their cup of tea. And I expressly told them they HAD to read it over Christmas. They are disobedient children, that's what they are.'
Mrs Pumphrey and I are at our weekly Pilates class, and I am wishing I hadn't partaken of chilli bean casserole with a side serving of broccoli and sprouts before I came out. Mrs Pumphrey is exercising her controlled breathing which is just as well as she is still trying to shift the extra couple of pounds that she found located in the region of her thighs just after Christmas and her corset is stretched to its limit.
'If they are having trouble reading a novel,' says Mrs Pumphrey,'why are they doing a Literature course?'
'My point exactly,' I say. 'And when I asked this question I was met with shrugs of the shoulders and rolling eyeballs. I mean, it could be worse. I could be asking them to read 'Captain Corelli's Mandolin', or 'Brighton Rock'.'
'Or 'A La Recherche du Temps Perdu',' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Both parts.'
'Yes,' I say. 'It's only 'Pride and Prejudice'for heaven's sake and most of the class have enjoyed it AND read it at least twice more.'
'Which is what one wants from Literature students,' says Mrs P.
'And the excuse to watch the boxed set where Colin Firth emerges from a pond in a clingy shirt, tight pantaloons and riding boots,' I say.
'Did he have a bell on his head?' says Mrs Pumphrey.
'Not that I'm aware,' I say. 'I wasn't really looking at his head.'
We pause for a moment. A spine can be heard creaking and cracking. Not sure if it's mine or Pumphrey's.
'So what are you going to do with the reluctant readers?' says Mrs Pumphrey.
'I don't know,' I say. 'They think they are going to be able to get away with watching the film of the novel. I've told them they will fail their A level if they adopt that approach.'
'Bit harsh, isn't it?' says Mrs P.
'No,' I say. 'I also told Chloe in Year 9 that she was a gob on a stick. I've been telling the truth today.'
'It's a full moon,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Your waters are being pulled in an uncontrollable fashion.'
'I'll say,' I say. 'Either that, or my leotard is too tight.'
'Is your ear still whooshing?' says Mrs P.
'Occasionally,' I say.
'Has someone been surreptitiously dunking you in a pond and attaching a bell to your head?' says Mrs P.
'Probably,' I say. 'But I always escape.'
Friday, 6 January 2012
My New Jumper
I have a new jumper. It has many exciting features. Well, exciting for me, given all my previous jumpers have been of the plain knitted, two arms attached to a body with a hole for the head variety.
The exciting features of my new jumper are as follows:
1) it has angora mix. This means that I am constantly followed by a cloud of jumper fluff, as it sheds at the hint of the slightest movement. I find bits of jumper fluff in my eyelashes, between my toes, in my cereal and stuck in the hinges of my spectacles. The furniture gets covered in jumper fluff, so do the cats. In fact, given how much jumper fluff I shed, I am surprised I still have a jumper left, and not something more akin to a string vest which would be a very unattractive look for a woman of my age and physical proportions.
2) the jumper has a hood. It means I am now officially 'a hoodie' and my plan is to walk around town, hood-up, so as many of my students see me as possible and realise that wearing a hoodie is 'uncool' if grannies are wearing them, and then they will stop wearing their own hoodies and hopefully get a haircut and pull up their trousers to the correct height, too. Unfortunately, wearing the hood up means I transfer jumper fluff to my hair which a) makes me look like I have a woolly halo and b) confuses my hairdresser. However, it is a sacrifice I am willing to make in order to smarten up the youth of Kent. Especially Ben in 11Y2 who wears a bright green hoodie when he thinks he can get away with it, and who yesterday announced he'd had an epiphany re: stop messing about in class and start concentrating for his exam, but it transpires his epiphany lasted only as far as the end of yesterday's Parents' Evening when he was afeared I was going to nab his mother as she did the rounds and tell her what a horrid and lazy child she had.
3) pompoms. My jumper has two pompoms hanging from the hood which I like to twirl in moments of random staring-into-spaceness. I have learned, however, the folly of twirling one's pompoms and staring into space especially in the presence of a cat, namely Pandora Kitten, because of course cats love nothing better than to launch themselves at a twirling woolly ball on a string regardless of how close it happens to be swinging to, for example, a person's face. On many occasions have I stopped twirling just in the nick of time when I have suddenly become aware of Pandora concentrating on the twirling with a wild look in her eye. It's like playing a game of Extreme Danger Pompom Cats.
4) a Nordic pattern. So if I ever find myself in, er, Nord, I shall blend in beautifully. But only if I'm wearing my new jumper at the time. If I am wearing my burgundy velour trousers and purple linen top I shall stick out like a sore thumb and get eaten by a wolf. Or adopted by a bear. Or something.
And this blog, dear reader, is an example of what happens when someone is on Day Six of No TV For Me. It is the result of an over-excited imagination, an imagination that hasn't been drained by telly drivel and desperately craves a creative outlet.
It can only get worse. You have been warned.
The exciting features of my new jumper are as follows:
1) it has angora mix. This means that I am constantly followed by a cloud of jumper fluff, as it sheds at the hint of the slightest movement. I find bits of jumper fluff in my eyelashes, between my toes, in my cereal and stuck in the hinges of my spectacles. The furniture gets covered in jumper fluff, so do the cats. In fact, given how much jumper fluff I shed, I am surprised I still have a jumper left, and not something more akin to a string vest which would be a very unattractive look for a woman of my age and physical proportions.
2) the jumper has a hood. It means I am now officially 'a hoodie' and my plan is to walk around town, hood-up, so as many of my students see me as possible and realise that wearing a hoodie is 'uncool' if grannies are wearing them, and then they will stop wearing their own hoodies and hopefully get a haircut and pull up their trousers to the correct height, too. Unfortunately, wearing the hood up means I transfer jumper fluff to my hair which a) makes me look like I have a woolly halo and b) confuses my hairdresser. However, it is a sacrifice I am willing to make in order to smarten up the youth of Kent. Especially Ben in 11Y2 who wears a bright green hoodie when he thinks he can get away with it, and who yesterday announced he'd had an epiphany re: stop messing about in class and start concentrating for his exam, but it transpires his epiphany lasted only as far as the end of yesterday's Parents' Evening when he was afeared I was going to nab his mother as she did the rounds and tell her what a horrid and lazy child she had.
3) pompoms. My jumper has two pompoms hanging from the hood which I like to twirl in moments of random staring-into-spaceness. I have learned, however, the folly of twirling one's pompoms and staring into space especially in the presence of a cat, namely Pandora Kitten, because of course cats love nothing better than to launch themselves at a twirling woolly ball on a string regardless of how close it happens to be swinging to, for example, a person's face. On many occasions have I stopped twirling just in the nick of time when I have suddenly become aware of Pandora concentrating on the twirling with a wild look in her eye. It's like playing a game of Extreme Danger Pompom Cats.
4) a Nordic pattern. So if I ever find myself in, er, Nord, I shall blend in beautifully. But only if I'm wearing my new jumper at the time. If I am wearing my burgundy velour trousers and purple linen top I shall stick out like a sore thumb and get eaten by a wolf. Or adopted by a bear. Or something.
And this blog, dear reader, is an example of what happens when someone is on Day Six of No TV For Me. It is the result of an over-excited imagination, an imagination that hasn't been drained by telly drivel and desperately craves a creative outlet.
It can only get worse. You have been warned.
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Day Three of No TV For Me
My decision to avoid television this year has, as you might imagine, been met with much derision by other inhabitants of the Manor.
'You'll never last!' they said when I announced my intention. (I'm not going to name names, Heather, but you know who you are.) 'Something to do with Hugh F-W, or cooking or gardening or dancing will appear and you'll cave in!'
Andy said this morning, 'I see Aleisha Dixon has quit as a judge on 'Strictly Come Dancing.'
'Oh really?' I said. 'That news is of no concern to me because I have forsaken televsion for this year.'
Andy has also tried to sell the benefits of what he calls 'good' television. 'What about wild life documentaries and educational programmes?' he said. 'What about using BBC i-plyayer, so you can record the 'good' programmes and watch them instead of scanning free-view in desperate 'must watch TV' moments where you end up watching 'bad' TV?'
'Bad TV,' is Andy's definition for TV I quite enjoy watching sometimes because it takes no brain power to watch and is just the ticket for after bad days at work. Things like 'Don't Tell the Bride', and 'Celebrity Fat Club,' and Jeremy Kyle car crash stuff.
My definition of 'bad TV' could extend to programmes that Andy likes to watch, because bad TV is all a matter of personal taste, but I'm not going to start TV mud-slinging and mentioning things like, er, Doctor Who and anything presented by Dr Brian Cox.
Long-term resident of Much Malarkey Manor, Olly, has assured me that watching DVDs is NOT the same as watching TV. I am pleased about this; it means I can now watch the second disc of 'Monty Don's Italian Gardens' to progress my knowledge of Italy in preparation for the Italian holiday 2015. My plan is to save the disc for moments of TV weakness which I am realistic enough to accept will happen, probably tomorrow when I go back to work.
But until then, it is now nearly three whole days since I watched telly. Andy has watched telly, but not as much as he would normally watch. He is being selective. However, he has been pretty much glued to the i-pad I got him for Christmas.
So far, I have read a Stella Gibbons novel, done some writing, completed masses of work for school, been on several walks and kept up with the housework. I have listened to several interesting programmes on the radio and given the writing room a good sort-out. I have yet to start my 'Easy Learning Italian in a Click' programme but that's on the agenda for later this week.
There has been no shouting at the TV (there has been a little bit of shouting at the radio, but old habits die hard), no sighing at endless stupid advertising breaks, no mindless flicking up and down the free-view channels and watching some repeat of a film I've seen a hundred times before. I have found it useful to avoid the TV guide pages in the newspaper because if I don't know what's on, I won't miss it, will I? Ha! A cunning plan, you see, is all you need.
Right, back to work. I'm close-reading 'Pride and Prejudice', 'The Yellow Wallpaper' and a selection of poetry at the moment, which I'm hoping is exactly what my sixth formers have been doing this holiday. I'm at the advantage of having read them all several times before. I've told the students we won't have time to read everything together in class. I suspect there might be some excuses of 'not having had any time to read stuff properly at home.'
I might suggest, for the health of their education, that they give up watching TV.
'You'll never last!' they said when I announced my intention. (I'm not going to name names, Heather, but you know who you are.) 'Something to do with Hugh F-W, or cooking or gardening or dancing will appear and you'll cave in!'
Andy said this morning, 'I see Aleisha Dixon has quit as a judge on 'Strictly Come Dancing.'
'Oh really?' I said. 'That news is of no concern to me because I have forsaken televsion for this year.'
Andy has also tried to sell the benefits of what he calls 'good' television. 'What about wild life documentaries and educational programmes?' he said. 'What about using BBC i-plyayer, so you can record the 'good' programmes and watch them instead of scanning free-view in desperate 'must watch TV' moments where you end up watching 'bad' TV?'
'Bad TV,' is Andy's definition for TV I quite enjoy watching sometimes because it takes no brain power to watch and is just the ticket for after bad days at work. Things like 'Don't Tell the Bride', and 'Celebrity Fat Club,' and Jeremy Kyle car crash stuff.
My definition of 'bad TV' could extend to programmes that Andy likes to watch, because bad TV is all a matter of personal taste, but I'm not going to start TV mud-slinging and mentioning things like, er, Doctor Who and anything presented by Dr Brian Cox.
Long-term resident of Much Malarkey Manor, Olly, has assured me that watching DVDs is NOT the same as watching TV. I am pleased about this; it means I can now watch the second disc of 'Monty Don's Italian Gardens' to progress my knowledge of Italy in preparation for the Italian holiday 2015. My plan is to save the disc for moments of TV weakness which I am realistic enough to accept will happen, probably tomorrow when I go back to work.
But until then, it is now nearly three whole days since I watched telly. Andy has watched telly, but not as much as he would normally watch. He is being selective. However, he has been pretty much glued to the i-pad I got him for Christmas.
So far, I have read a Stella Gibbons novel, done some writing, completed masses of work for school, been on several walks and kept up with the housework. I have listened to several interesting programmes on the radio and given the writing room a good sort-out. I have yet to start my 'Easy Learning Italian in a Click' programme but that's on the agenda for later this week.
There has been no shouting at the TV (there has been a little bit of shouting at the radio, but old habits die hard), no sighing at endless stupid advertising breaks, no mindless flicking up and down the free-view channels and watching some repeat of a film I've seen a hundred times before. I have found it useful to avoid the TV guide pages in the newspaper because if I don't know what's on, I won't miss it, will I? Ha! A cunning plan, you see, is all you need.
Right, back to work. I'm close-reading 'Pride and Prejudice', 'The Yellow Wallpaper' and a selection of poetry at the moment, which I'm hoping is exactly what my sixth formers have been doing this holiday. I'm at the advantage of having read them all several times before. I've told the students we won't have time to read everything together in class. I suspect there might be some excuses of 'not having had any time to read stuff properly at home.'
I might suggest, for the health of their education, that they give up watching TV.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
Last Year, This Year
Last year, aka yesterday, Kayleigh wasn't a very well little girl. But once she had vomited over my trousers, and I had prescribed the traditional Granny remedy of plenty of water, plain food, sleeping on the sofa and fresh air in the park, she perked up enormously and this year, aka today, she is well!
Last year...well, I wasn't particularly keen on last year. Oh, it had its good points - new bathroom, new cooker, the discovery of Herefordshire (by me, not in general), a bumper crop of apples and a significant weight loss - but as a whole, in general, it won't go down on my list on Top Ten Favourite Years 1965-2011.
Oh, and vis a vis the new bathroom, this morning I cleaned out the hair trap in the shower and I should like to say to the other inhabitants of the Manor who use the shower (unfortunately, I have had to share this facility), that yes, there IS a hair trap and YES, I am MORE than happy to share the cleaning out of the hair-trap, please don' think it's a job I am going to become precious about doing myself. And that's all. Actually, it's not - I should also like to point out that the new range cooker is also cleanable. I know! What a surprise! I'm just saying...
So, this year, here is The 2012 Plan! (It's okay, God is still at church so won't be able to laugh in the face of The Plan. Just as well, as Andy has already had a snigger at Item One of the The Plan which is...
1) Give up watching TV. So far, nearly 12 hours in, it's going very well. In fact, I haven't even looked at the TV guide!! I have decided there is far too much to do that is more interesting, creative and educational than staring at telly. For example...
2)Learn Italian. I have purchased, with a gift voucher, an interactive computer/ book/CD combo called 'Easy Learning Italian in a Click.' This is all to do with a decision to holiday in Italy when I am 50, which gives me 4 years to get a grasp of the language because I believe that if you are going to travel abroad it is good manners to 'when in Rome etc etc', rather than resort to that peculiarly rude English custom of shouting and speaking very slowly. However, this causes a problem with Number One (see above) because part of the whole Italian experience is watching 'Monty Don's Italian Gardens' on DVD. I have watched the first two episodes (last year aka last week), but there are still two episodes to go so the question is - does watching a specific DVD for a specific purpose count as watching TV?
I also want to...
3)Lose some more weight. Not too much but definitely the 5lbs I put on over Christmas, and possibly another 10lbs or so on top of that. Really I want to get fitter. To this end I have started the 10,000 steps a day thing and in the last week I have averaged over 13,000 a day. However, this average is in danger of plummeting if I don't get my backside in gear today, as so far the count for this year is 1640.
I think that's about it for The 2012 Plan. I'm probably going to have to start looking for a new job come Springtime, as my current contract is to cover Maternity leave and although the school say they are pretty certain they will be able to offer me a permanent contract, they won't commit to a 100% certainty, and I think it would be foolish of me to take the possibilty for granted. The sad thing about working in education is that you do have to look out for yourself if you are to survive.
Anyway, we at Much Malarkey Manor wish you all a Very Happy, Peaceful and Prosperous 2012, with no crazy or unpleasant surprises, like, oh I don't know, the Olympic Games suddenly turning up on your doorstep and wrecking the countryside.
What's that, Mrs Pumphrey? What was that you said about The Olympic Games? Sorry, I didn't quite catch that...
Last year...well, I wasn't particularly keen on last year. Oh, it had its good points - new bathroom, new cooker, the discovery of Herefordshire (by me, not in general), a bumper crop of apples and a significant weight loss - but as a whole, in general, it won't go down on my list on Top Ten Favourite Years 1965-2011.
Oh, and vis a vis the new bathroom, this morning I cleaned out the hair trap in the shower and I should like to say to the other inhabitants of the Manor who use the shower (unfortunately, I have had to share this facility), that yes, there IS a hair trap and YES, I am MORE than happy to share the cleaning out of the hair-trap, please don' think it's a job I am going to become precious about doing myself. And that's all. Actually, it's not - I should also like to point out that the new range cooker is also cleanable. I know! What a surprise! I'm just saying...
So, this year, here is The 2012 Plan! (It's okay, God is still at church so won't be able to laugh in the face of The Plan. Just as well, as Andy has already had a snigger at Item One of the The Plan which is...
1) Give up watching TV. So far, nearly 12 hours in, it's going very well. In fact, I haven't even looked at the TV guide!! I have decided there is far too much to do that is more interesting, creative and educational than staring at telly. For example...
2)Learn Italian. I have purchased, with a gift voucher, an interactive computer/ book/CD combo called 'Easy Learning Italian in a Click.' This is all to do with a decision to holiday in Italy when I am 50, which gives me 4 years to get a grasp of the language because I believe that if you are going to travel abroad it is good manners to 'when in Rome etc etc', rather than resort to that peculiarly rude English custom of shouting and speaking very slowly. However, this causes a problem with Number One (see above) because part of the whole Italian experience is watching 'Monty Don's Italian Gardens' on DVD. I have watched the first two episodes (last year aka last week), but there are still two episodes to go so the question is - does watching a specific DVD for a specific purpose count as watching TV?
I also want to...
3)Lose some more weight. Not too much but definitely the 5lbs I put on over Christmas, and possibly another 10lbs or so on top of that. Really I want to get fitter. To this end I have started the 10,000 steps a day thing and in the last week I have averaged over 13,000 a day. However, this average is in danger of plummeting if I don't get my backside in gear today, as so far the count for this year is 1640.
I think that's about it for The 2012 Plan. I'm probably going to have to start looking for a new job come Springtime, as my current contract is to cover Maternity leave and although the school say they are pretty certain they will be able to offer me a permanent contract, they won't commit to a 100% certainty, and I think it would be foolish of me to take the possibilty for granted. The sad thing about working in education is that you do have to look out for yourself if you are to survive.
Anyway, we at Much Malarkey Manor wish you all a Very Happy, Peaceful and Prosperous 2012, with no crazy or unpleasant surprises, like, oh I don't know, the Olympic Games suddenly turning up on your doorstep and wrecking the countryside.
What's that, Mrs Pumphrey? What was that you said about The Olympic Games? Sorry, I didn't quite catch that...
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