Sunday, 30 January 2011

Weekus Horribilis


My mood? Guilty, and nervous. I had spent at least 98.5% of my weekend;

a. Horizontal.
b. Wearing garments made of flannel.
c. Watching this funny little man on QVC.

The thing is, we are due an OFSTED inspection, so I should have been working on inspiring lesson plans and ensuring all my marking was up to date. OFSTED will only give us two days notice, you see. They can call on a Monday or a Thursday, and will be in 2 days later.

'Let's just not answer the phone on Mondays or Thursdays.'

That was my utterly genius suggestion to Pompous Pilate (our headteacher). He is a man on the edge. He's as hyped up and jittery as Charlie Sheen in a 4am Las Vegas hotel room. I could see he was secretly deeply impressed by my lateral thinking and problem-solving.

I did have another suggestion for the beetrooty bounder, although I was too cowardly to mention it.

'Change your shirt Pompous.'

Pompous has taken to wearing pink gingham shirts. It is something of a sight to behold. Pompous is a bald, 18 stone Yorkshireman with high blood-pressure and a job running the most infamous school in the city. Boden pink-gingham may well work for chinless, floppy-fringed, corduroy-elbow patched, liberal types down South but it strikes a slightly discordant note at the School of Hard Knocks. Pink gingham lacks gravitas, it lacks a certain Northern 'grrrrrrrr'. Pompous needs to inspire fear and respect, but he looks like he would struggle to knock the skin off a soy-milk rice pudding. No wonder, when threatening some of our more violent ruffians with a trip to the Headmaster's office, they simply fall about laughing. It must be as terrifying as being disciplined by Doris Day.

Anyway, we did indeed make it through Monday without getting 'the call'.

Monday = OK.


Rochester promised me a phone-call on Tuesday night. I love Rochester, but I have the perspective and balance to see that he is utterly wrong for me. I dream of being Mills to his Boon, but I expect I am more Mills to his McCartney. It is a relationship doomed.

  • I am agonisingly insecure. He is eternally unreliable.
  • I am pathologically introverted and like hibernating at home. Rochester is rampantly social and confident.
  • I am essentially an old-fashioned, girl who believes in monogamy. Rochester is a notorious fanny rat.
  • I like sharing sweet and tender thoughts and feelings with Rochester. Rochester's idea of a sentimental compliment is 'you do have a big arse, you know.'
See? Oh, and he's married(ish). Have I mentioned that?

Anyway, the odd thing is, despite our many differences, we do have a very strong connection. BUT, after seeing Rochester at Christmas (for the first time in almost 2 years) I have barely heard from the recalcitrant cove at all. This whole blog was started when Rochester and I separated, 2 years ago. It was my way of coping. The hardest aspect of his personality to deal with is his brooding silences.

On Tuesday, the phone call never came. I don't think I every really expected that it would.

Tuesday = sorrowful.

(You can read about my first date with Rochester here.)


My plan to banish the mid-week blues was to settle down with the last episode of Zen. If my very own mumbling malcontent was ignoring me then at least Rufus Sewell wouldn't let me down. In the first two episodes I was very impressed by Zen's ability to maintain an air of swaggering nonchalance throughout. Even when he was being bundled at gunpoint into the boot of a Fiat Punto (something that happened every 20 minutes, at least) he only ever looked wryly piqued.

I found a clip of Rufus Sewell being interviewed about Zen. That was a bit of a let-down. He was wearing an ochre coloured lambswool jumper and had rather unkempt hair and eyebrows, more Michael Foot than Michael Corleone. I couldn't see his nether regions, but I did get a very strong sensation of threadbare corduroy. All in all, Sewell looked more like a shambolic Geography teacher than a sardonic Italian sex god. Mind you, the clip in question was indeed on the Guardian website. It could well be that they make all their interviewees dress like Michael Foot. The male ones anyway. I suppose the female ones will be forced to dress like Glenda Jackson. They will be compelled to wear chunky amber jewellery, John Lennon spectacles and pudding-basin hair cuts.

Ah well. Zen on I-Player. The perfect Wednesday night treat. The only problem was, I had forgotten to download the cunting progamme, so my pleasure was tragically denied.

Wednesday = despair.


Not much to say about Thursday. I did enjoy fish shop chips and curry sauce for lunch. With extra batter. That was HEAVENLY.

Thursday: mood = lighter, arteries = harder.


On Friday I was FORCED to confront my own mortality. It was all Waffle's fault. She had posted a desperate 'cry for help' on Twitter. She was running amok in M&S and was in need of an 'intervention'. Desperate times called for desperate measures. I suggested she visit the M&S Classic section and tried to picture herself in a June Whitfield cardigan and elasticated-waist slacks. That would surely have her running like the wind, empty handed, out of the store.

Of course, that got me thinking though, I am probably only 10 scant years away from being in the M&S 'Classic' demographic myself. I began to wonder how old June Whitfield was when she started filming Terry and June. I bet she was in her 40s. Suddenly, my charitable Waffle intervention had left a sour taste in my mouth. It was the bitter realisation that I do, indeed, have . . .

One Footglove in the Grave

Friday = fearful: fearful of dying certainly, but also fearful of spending my twilight years reading the Lakeland catalogue, by a one-bar electric fire, in an aqua, M&S polyester cardigan.


Saturday was a game of two-halves. The first half I spent in bed, eating Galaxy Bubbles chocolate and fannying about on the Internet. The second half was spent in bed;

  • Eating more Galaxy bubbles chocolate (some fuckwit has put it on special offer at Sainsbury's).
  • Trying to watch the film Inception. Inception was surely written by a nerdy, 42 year old virgin, who lives at home with his mother and has a PHD in astrophysics. I could make neither head nor tail of the film. It's a nonsensical, head-fucking cocktail of James Bond and Professor Stephen Hawking. I gave up in the end, I switched over to The Tudors. The Tudors is also drivel (Henry VIII is in his twilight 'Katherine Howard' years, yet is lean, gorgeous and, bizarrely, very tanned). At least The Tudors is rompingly enjoyable drivel.
  • I also decided I should open the last of my Christmas Prosecco. Hmmmm. That was possibly a mistake, as I ended up . . .
  • regaling Rochester with about 87 drunken text messages. I can't actually remember what any of them said. And, if it's OK with you, I'd rather not even think about it. I know, I know, I've let myself down. I've let women everywhere down. Maybe he didn't even notice the messages. (weeps). Shhhhhhhh, I tell you what, let us never speak of this incident again. . .

Saturday = humiliating


  1. In America, instead of M&S Classics, we have Lands End ( I get one of their catalogs about every other day because I've ordered stuff from them for my mom. Every time I go through the catalog and find myself liking something, I cringe, even though (a) they *have* updated their styles over the last few years and (b) like you, I am drawing closer & closer to the target demographic. And given that our house has no central heating, I'm sitting near something similar to a one-bar electric fire as we speak. Maybe there is some kind of convent we can join when the time comes.

  2. What a week of highs and lows! Anticipation, despair, mortality and chocolate...

    By the way, I'm totally with you on Inception. Everyone raved about it, but I couldn't quite fathom all the fuss. My brother also agreed with me and gave this brilliant review "Is it not totally confusing? Why were they skiing? Is it a totally pointless story? Or am I missing something?"

    I suppose at least you dodged the dreaded OFSTED inspection. But, if they come next week maybe you could impress them by recounting this joke:

    What did the inflatable headmaster say to the inflatable boy who brought a pin into the inflatable school?

    You have let me down, you have let your school down, but most importantly you have let yourself down.

  3. Laura: I get the Lands End catalogue too! I am not sure why. I never requested it. I even bought some suede, sheepskin-lined boots from there. I told myself they were just for 'walking the dogs on cold mornings'. I think even the dogs must felt embarrassed to be seen with me in them, Cyril chewed them to pieces one day, while I was out!

    Ah, neuroticnotes - I am SO glad you agree with me about Inception. It probably didn't help that I was (a) pissed on Prosecco (b) dizzy with excessive amounts of Galaxy and (c) distracted by texts to the Swarthy Rogue but THE FILM MADE NO SENSE TO ME AT ALL!

    As for OFSTED, we could get 'the call' tomorrow, and I am equally as unprepared this week too. Will I ever learn?

  4. One Footglove in the grave was the high point of my week. Mrs Trefusis and were laughing like mad women at it.

    Please explain the Galaxy Bubble. More like an Aero or a Wispa? I am a cheap chocolate crackweasel.


  5. Pah no! Galaxy Bubbles is far superior to Wispa and Aero (although the concept is the same). The real difference is that it is Galaxy chocolate - which is my favourite cheap chocolate around (you can keep your Green and Blacks thank you very much - tastes just like Good Boy dog chocolate to me).

    Galaxy Bubbles is also very light and airy, therefore will surely contain almost NO calories. I can find myself devouring a whole bar (large) quicker than a starved lurcher. I am now resolved never to buy it again, for that reason alone.

  6. Soooo glad to have discovered you - via Waffle. Have trawled your archive, absolutely love your writing style - laugh out loud, snortingly hilarious. You remind me of Marian Keyes, warm and so engaging but with added feels really exciting to have found such a well-written, intelligent and interesting blog. I may start the campaign to get you a book deal.....the nods to Galaxy must surely be a shoe in to the Richard and Judy Book Club - do they still sponsor that?

  7. Thank you Rachel,

    That is a lovely compliment, I ADORE Marian Keyes, she is a real heroine of mine. A book deal would indeed be the stuff dreams are made of. As would a Galaxy sponsorship!


  8. I love your writing & perspective on life. Have you a space here somewhere for kindly, unsolicited advice on your personal life? xx

  9. IsabelleAnne,

    Thank you for the comments and, of course, I have plenty of time and space for ANY kindly advice.