1. A slow puncture. Not good when you're 4 days away from pay day and have £3.36 in your current account and a MENCAP trolley token in your purse.
2. An EPIC and TORTUROUS staff meeting with Pompous Pilate to discuss our imminent OFSTED inspection. The School of Hard Knocks' SATS results have just been published. Ok, ok, it was not good. BUT, it could have been worse. There was indeed one school (out of the hundreds in the area) below us in the league table. In our defense, we are the only PRIMARY that employs a full time educational psychologist and police officer on site to deal with our 'challenging' children. Our results will no doubt prompt an inspection. Pompous is on the edge. I haven't seen a man as red-faced, sweaty and wild-eyed since Mel Gibson's last mug shot.
3. I sent a current inteweb dating desperado a link to Parma Violet Tea, forgetting I had recently described the very cove on here as being 'rather dull and looks like Bruno Tonioli's more effeminate older brother'. Oh dear. Yet again, to quote the film As Good as it Gets, I have ruined everything by 'being me'. I did the same thing with McFireman. I THOUGHT I'd deleted all mentions of him before sending him the link. I had, tragically, overlooked the most damning reference, the one that said "Dear Reader, I just don't find the man attractive.' Oooops.
4. I have just sold my last Lola Rose necklace on EBAY. It did indeed fetch me £40, but I am now left with only one silver chain and a rag-tag, magpie assortment of gaudy tat from Claire's Accessories.
5. I have not heard anything of Rochester for a week now. I have Googled 'double glazing salesman in BMW death crash' and there is nothing. I have Googled 'Bristol fanny-ratting adulterer castrated by wife'. Still nothing. So, he is not dead. I don't know whether that is a relief or not.
1. Belgian Waffling kindly mentioned enjoying my blog on her Twitter page today. This has resulted in many new readers. I love Belgian Waffling, so I was incredibly touched by her comments.
2. Zen. I am BESOTTED. I am IN LOVE with Zen. I refer, of course, to the BBC detective, not the mystical Eastern religion (watching Midsummer Murders is the closest my brain gets to an empty, zen-like state, plus, orange really isn't my colour). Anyway, I have spent a blissfully cosy weekend in bed, catching up with episodes of Zen on I-player. The protagonist's cynicism, darkly brooding good looks and low, sensual mumble do all remind me of Rochester (if a fanny-ratting, Geordie, double-glazing salesman can ever truly be equated to a testosterone-heady, Venetian murder squad detective). I love it. I am bereft that it is over. Policemen in my town do not look (or act) like that. I am trying to picture Rufus Sewell with a Greggs sausage roll, a pint of Brewn ale and a copy of The Daily Star. It is not working for me. It really isn't.
3. My Year 2/3 class are utterly obsessed with our Tudor topic. As usual I do worry whether my slightly dark and morbid nature is healthy for my 7 year old proteges. Today we reenacted the execution of Anne Boleyn. Later in the week we are holding a Tudor witch trial and writing ghost stories set in Hampton Court Palace. I am considering getting the children to make (for Design and Technology) a mini-rack, on which they can stretch a Plasticine traitor. Bless them, they are even playing a game of chase in the playground called 'Richard III'. The first kids caught are sent to the Tower of London and smothered in their beds! Ahhh. It makes me so proud! Now, I must sign off. I need to research where I can find some leeches for our lesson on the plague.