Saturday, 19 June 2010

Notes from a Shambles


Well. This week it was time for my much dreaded lesson observation from Pompous Pilate (our oafish headteacher). The man is, as you know, King Cunt of Cuntopia. He relishes lesson observations. He adopts the persona of the most pedantic, pen-pushing OFSTED inspector and gleefully rips all of our best efforts to shreds. This is ironic, as the beetrooty boor has on numerous occasions confessed that as a teacher he himself was only ever 'average'. Modesty is not a quality usually associated with Pompous, but this critical self-assessment is usually a preface to him proclaiming his particular skills lie in 'leadership'. I pray to God one day we get the chance to rate him as a leader. He will certainly be put in the OFSTED 'special measures' category.

Anyway. You may recall, in my first lesson observation last summer I was rated a 1/2 (good with outstanding features). In my last observation I was given a '1' ( all-round 'outstanding'). BUT, last time I was assessed with my gifted and talented literacy class. To be honest, they are so enthusiastic and keen to learn that they almost teach themselves. I was more uncertain of a positive outcome when teaching maths to my class of guppy brained nitwits. Yes indeed. This is the class that I have spent an entire year teaching 2p+2p=4p.

The lesson was to be on measuring length. Not leaving anything to chance I had spent the entire week prior covering this very subject. I'd knitted some terribly sweet snakes that the children could measure. I'd even designed an activity entitled The World's Longest Chocolate Bar. I'd gone to a lot of trouble. Thankfully, it all went terribly well. I was very proud of my class (for once). The result was another OUTSTANDING rating.

Later that day Pompous called in to my classroom to see me. He was there to pay me another compliment. After assessing the whole school's results he proclaimed that my classes had made the most progress that year. Consequently, it appears he is giving me first choice of classes next year and he will allow me to do my own 'creative curriculum'. I can teach what I like! (I kind of do that anyway, as I think he suspects). So, it will be Sylvia Plath in literacy, Nick Cave in Music, Dogs Playing Pool in art and Fanny Magnets in Science! Oh, and maybe I could set my new class up with a blog. What a fascinating project that would be. Its name? Notes from a Shambles, of course!

I am beginning to suspect that Pompous is indeed in love with me. All I do is scowl at him and treat him with venomous contempt. Maybe Cosmo was right - , cool indifference wins hearts every time. I was probably just too darn
nice to Rochester. I never wanted to scowl at him. . . I just wanted to cook him cauliflower cheese, rest my head on his shoulder and feel his stubble on my skin. He made me smile, not scowl. Until, of course, he ripped out my bleeding, tortured heart and stamped on it with his suede Val Doonican slippers. Then he made me cry. The bounder. I can't do 'cool indifference', I'm afraid, but it is a skill I need to learn. Are there nightclasses in it?

McFireman gets his carriage clock.
This term my class has been studying a different artist each week. They have then been producing work in that artist's style using a variety of mediums: pastels, acrylics, collage, watercolours. The purpose is to sell the children's work at our forthcoming Summer Fayre. So far we have studied Cezanne, Van Gogh, Paul Klee and (my favourite) Henri Rousseau. It has been a great project - I'll post some pics of the work completed soon. I am planning a very messy Jackson Pollock day next week! My rationale for Pollock is that even the most cack-handed imbeciles within my class will be able to dribble onto a blank sheet of paper. Hell, that's how most of them spend each and every lesson!

A couple of weeks ago I asked McFireman for propositions of other artists we could study. His suggestion of Rubens, with me posing, did not go down too well. He also made some rather snarky comments about 'pearls before swine' and why was I bothering with such high-brow topics on my sink estate ruffians. Not long after that McFireman and I stopped communicating altogether. He was just too prickly. He was retiring this year, after 31 years in the fire service. I imagine there would a be tumultuous mix of emotions about leaving, after such a long time. I asked him if he was viewing the prospect with joy or dread.

'What a stupid question.'

Was his snippy reply.

So, in terms of relationships, I am back to square one. No doubt I will give internet dating another go over my summer holidays.

Aldi Absurdity

I am still on a budget, so I am still shopping at Aldi. I actually get a perverse joy from how ridiculously cheap things are there and am beginning to learn what is good (bread, fruit and veg, household stuff) and what should be avoided (butter, cheese, meat).

Of course, the clientele can sometimes leave a lot to be desired. I overheard a truly hysterical conversation there this week, between two shellsuit wearing dolehounds.

Woman: What's lamb mince? Is that the same as beef mince?

Man: Dinna. Just mince innit?

Woman: Aye, but its beef isn't it? Lamb mince is beef.

Man: Isn't it made from lamb, like?

Woman: Ere' you're a stupid twat. How would they get beef mince from a fucking lamb? You're stupid you!

Dogging, of the non-lurcher kind

I do love looking at my blog traffic reports and the keywords searched in Google that brought people to Parma Violet Tea. I did snigger at the recent Google search oddities.

* 'Michael Gove spinach supper'
* 'South Shields dogging sites allotments'

I suspect both interweb ne're do wells were slightly disappointed to have been signposted here. I expect I failed to meet their needs!

I do wonder whether the South Shields dogging search was Rochester though (it is his home town). He has possibly taken up a new hobby (Sudoko is not really his thing). His 12 year old Nissan Almera rust-bucket would look right at home rocking in some moonlit, litter-strewn lay-by. I just hope the swarthy rogue has tidied it up a bit, last time I had a ride in his Noddy car I was distressed to find a mousetrap in the footwell. Can you imagine the injury that could cause on a dogging excursion? Dear God! Some flabby, sweaty, be-anoraked fool could certainly get more than he bargained for there!

Fanny Rat of the Month

A Lib Dem fanny rat, oh, the shame! Lib Dem Chris Huhne has been conducting an affair for over a year. The feathery stroking (see my critique of Lib Dem sex here) has even taken place in the marital bed. The spineless, duplicitous, chinless, tree-hugging Huhne was caught by the News of the World. When confronted with the impressive amount of evidence the paper had amassed the quivering minister confessed.

"I am in a serious relationship with Carina and I am separating from my wife."

Ahhh. I see. If it is 'serious', then that makes it OK. Interesting though that his decision to separate was only forced by the exposure of the affair. I hope his wife has made a bonfire of his C&A sweaters and slashed the tyres of his battery operated Prius.

Carina, Carina. . . you will never now know, is he with you now because he loves you, or because his wife chucked him out and changed the locks?

I know this NOTW investigation is not exactly Watergate, but I was pleased to see another smug, sanctimonious Lib Dem exposed. Mind you, the headline 'Huhne gets his Clegg Over' was not quite in the same league as the paper's classic 'Paddy Pantsdown' (Paddy Ashdown's affair). I seem to recall that quip kept my dad chuckling for about 4 years.


  1. Re: McFireman gets his carriage clock.

    Dear Reader (for their surely can't be more than one!)

    On a point of clarity, let me be clear that yet again Under-wired makes a mockery of the truth. To say she is economic with it would be the under(-wired) statement of the year.

    You will note she is constantly painted as the put-upon heroine...a Lady Jane Grey of the ether-net. Not so. My so called snippery is in direct response to Under-wired's own brand of character assasination; her pleasure being to ridicule others for their tastes and pleasures. She may well put the 'hyp' in hypocrite...but I favour she is not that trendy.

    Uncle Joe Goebbels could learn a lot from Under-wired.

    Why let the truth stand in the way of a good blog? However Under-wired, you cannot sneak up on your own reflection in the mirror - ergo, you know the truth of it.

    I confirm my resignation (although I lament not having the opportunity to grapple with your large arse and Weapons of Mass Distraction!) Adieu.

  2. Sigh.

    Another man quite obviously in love with me. If you have indeed resigned from the position of being the bane of my life, then what are you doing a'visiting my little blog?

    Joe Goebbels? Well, I haven't the slightest idea what he would make of Parma Violet Tea. Surely you would know that better than me. He was in your year at school, wasn't he? Didn't you sit together in 'Cantankerous Buffoonery 101'?

    It is ALL true, McFireman, as you well know. It is YOU who cannot face the truth. You will have plenty of time to consider your behaviour whilst polishing your carriage clock, playing golf and doing Sudoko.

    By the way, I expect that we lowly public servants will all have to take a 5% pay cut next year to pay for your pension.

  3. Christ almighty, you didn't tell me that he was a freakin' Sudokoer! Narrow escape pet. Narrow blinking escape. Glad Mattise day was a success.

  4. SCREAM! Heavens to Betsy. A comment from the Patron Saint of Swarthy Rogues. The shock has put me right off my ham and pineapple pizza and made me lose track of the plot of Marple.

    FYI Rochester - Matisse. One T. (sigh). Even my inbred, guppy-brained, ritalin-addled chavettes managed to spell it correctly.

    Keep your mince pies peeled for posted pics of our artwork next week. They are for sale, a mere £3. (Just in case you fancy a change from 'Dogs Playing Pool'.)

    I am not sure you should mock sukoko. I recall you could never complete more than 2% of The Times crossword. Stick with Spot the Ball, petal. It's much more you.