Cob Nuts and Blankets

I forgot to mention two other pressies from yesterday - a cobnut tree and a wool blanket. I forgot the blanket because it's already on the sofa being tres snugglesome and I forgot the nut tree because it arrived last week and I thought it was Lego (don't ask) and it got planted in the garden at once because now is the time of year for nut tree planting.

Auntie Pollie noticed the nut tree and she said she'd be along to steal nuts as soon as they were ready. I have posted a nut-tree goblin guard at the front gate in order to thwart her in her nut-nicking mission.

Anyway, remember the Stalking Stabbing Boy at school? Well, yesterday he went for me. More verbally than physically, but it got pretty close. He didn't know it was my birthday - well, I 'd like to think he did know it was my birthday because I had written 'MY BIRTHDAY' on my whiteboard in big purple letters, which he should have been able to read but maybe his stoned-out-of-brain little eyeballs were having trouble focusing. Anyway, he was duly carted off, permanently, and an alternative curriculum in a special place and an appointment with a mental health specialist were promptly arranged.

And I was left to swelter in my classroom which is fast turning into a hot-house in summer because the heating thermostat has gone haywire but it can't be adjusted because the key to the casing that surrounds the thermostat is 'misplaced'. Lewis in Year 11 suggested I 'smash the cover, ma'am! Go on! Smash the cover!' I declined on the grounds I am now officially too old to be charged with criminal damage. Instead, nearly a week into November, I opened ALL the windows, plus the sky lights and tried to cool the room down that way. I apologise for the microcosm of global warming I am creating.

A new student is joining my English Lit class this week bringing the total to 11. I have warned him that he MUST WORK HARD to catch up and he MUST NOT FUSS about the extra work and ANY ARGUMENTS and he'll be out on his little ear. Actually, two students tried to join the group, the second one being French. Now, this shouldn't be a barrier, but I set him a little assessmentette to gauge his English Language skills, and it transpired they were generally, well, dire. In fact, my French was better than his English. So I suggested that maybe the finer points of Shakespeare and Jane Austen and a bunch of eccentric poets probably wasn't the best way for him embark on an A level education.

However, his father is VERY KEEN for him to do English Literature. But I shall stick to my professional guns. 'NON, monsieur! Pas de tout. Votre fils ne connait pas la difference between le rhyme et le rhythm. Absolutement PAS!' I shall dit.

I am glad it's Friday tomorrow. I am pooped. My power of rational thought is disappearing. I mean, coming home at 5.30 this evening, in the dark and the rain, I thought it's be a jolly good idea to pop into Sainsbugs and get a couple of bags of shopping. And then it took me half an hour to get back out of the car park into the rush hour traffic.

Doh!