Food and Fotos

Popped into school yesterday to pick up my new timetable for September.

'Go into the Hall NOW!' shrieked Yvonne, the Head's PA. 'The photographer's in there! Now! QUICK!!'

Yvonne looked stressed which is unlike her. I could only assume she was having trouble coralling staff into the Hall to have photos done and had adopted the line of least tolerance and maximum determination in order to get the job done. I scuttled into the Hall. I was very aware my hair is due for a cut 'n' colour. I did some frantic sans mirror grooming. I thought, does this bright pink cardi compliment my pink, sun-kissed face?

'So,' said the photographer, after asking my name, rank and file, 'you're an English teacher?'
'Yes,' I said.
'Good,' he said. 'We like English teachers. Smile!'

And he took a photo.

'Course, they don't do Literature in schools now, do they?' he said. 'Smile again. You look a bit wild and squinty in that last one.'
'I certainly do teach English Literature,' I said. 'It's my favourite thing.'

He took a second photo, declared it delightful, and I was allowed to go, taking my mad hair and my squinty wild eye with me.

My timetable is packed with Years 9, 10, 11 and 12. Not a tiddler 7 or 8 in sight. This means lots of coursework to mark, but less general noise and wildness. And less tripping over tiddlers fresh from primary who still think it's all right to hide underneath desks and play with Lego.

On to the pet emporium to stock up on cat litter, filters for the cat water fountain and a new brand of cat food. VERY EXPENSIVE cat food. This is because old lady Phoebe has developed chronic diarrhoea and the Chief Cat Pooper Scooper, i.e me, is getting fed up with the yuk 'n' niff. However, a change in food to Iams Senior seems to be gelling things together, so to speak. Unfortunately for my purse, Tybalt has also decided he likes the Iams Senior. But he is entitled to eat it as he is now a senior cat himself, being 8 and a half years old. Pandora, at two, is not supposed to eat it.

'But it tastes really nice,' she says. 'I lurve it mucho!'
'I'd rather you carried on with the Whiskas,' I say.
'No,' says Pandora, who always uses one word where half a dozen mught be a little less harsh.
'Good job I'm working full-time in September then,' I say, 'to cover the massive increase in cat food bills.'
'No-one made you have three cats,' says Pandora.
'True,' I say. 'I admit my weakness for a pair of large liquid eyes and cute furry choochy-face cheeks.'
'Alpacas?' says Pandora.
'Shush! I said.