Hello... over here! *waves*

Here I am.....
http://www.strictlywriting.blogspot.com being all bloggy about how writing has always been an integral part of that four-letter word - WORK.

And for anybody who's ever wanted to know anything about shrinkwrapping, look no further!

Proud Parent Moments

It's no secret to any of you that I am THE proudest Mummy in the entire world for having the most beautiful, funny, intelligent, caring and talented daughter ever (even if she DOES still spill tea on her duvet cover in the morning).
And the past couple of weeks have made me want to toot my horn of proudness even louder.

Since finishing her AS Levels she's been on study leave and so has been accompanying me to school to help out with the mountain-load of stuff that I always seem to have there.
She's helped  produce the biggest, loudest, most creative display in the entrance hall we've ever known, she's been a constant source of delight and brought me back to earth when all I've felt able to do is flail wildly; and she's turned mad situations into areas of relative calm.

She's also made me laugh so much I can't imagine going back to work without her now and everyone's been telling me how clever and lovely and helpful she is. Things I already know but am incredibly proud to hear repeated over and over and over.

Which reminded me that she designed me a book cover a little while back and I only came across it just now when I was trawling mindlessly through my archives (also known as writers procrastination) and I wanted to share it with you.

Isn't she just amazing?

HERE’S ONE I MADE EARLIER

This morning, when my husband asked me what I had planned at work, I replied: “I’m turning a sheet of cardboard into a Native Indian Camp using sand, rabbit straw and PVA glue. Then I’m making a 3D totem pole and action figures. The children made their own teepees.”

He looked a bit incredulous (but he’s heard a lot more convoluted) then laughed: “You don’t go to work, you go to playschool”. And I have to admit that at times it does feel a bit like working behind the scenes at Blue Peter.

It’s also approaching ‘that time’ of the year again - when I’m asked to weave a bit of special magic at school.

Where in the past I’ve made a library out of a stage, a leg of lamb from a piece of foam and a pair of tights; a witch squashed under a wooden house from much the same things and where I’ve turned ten children into trees and twelve little girls into sunflowers.

I’ve made a Chinese dragon out of a pink sheet, raffia ribbons and four excitable girls and when the enormity of trying to paint an Aladdin backdrop turned me into a quivering, snotty mess last year, I learned when it was okay to say ‘enough’.
This year we are to transform the stage into the ballroom scene from Beauty and the Beast; make cutlery out of children, turn one boy into a grandfather clock, another into a mirror and make sure the Beast’s ‘head’ stays put.
We have the added complication of making 4 framed 'works of art' which will be smashed over one actor's head by another every night whilst ensuring no violations of Health and Safety regulations are infringed.

It’s not going to be easy, but it’s always (in hindsight, anyway) a lot of fun. And very, VERY messy…

Excuses, excuses...

I’ve been meaning to do a post on this subject for ages. Ever since the mornings started feeling like the middle of the night and getting dressed for work feels not dissimilar to placing anything clothes-shaped onto a fuzzy-felt form in a dark room. Cupboard. Wherever. By Midday I am always embarrassed to note how terrible my endeavours to assemble myself of a morning are. Shocking. Beyond shocking actually.
So, it tickled me this morning: green cords, clashing (which at 6.30am looked complementary) green top and multicoloured scarf (thrown on to detract onlookers from predictable mid-morning eyeball assault) when a colleague commented that it felt like a Saturday and her body thought it should be at home.
And I remarked that this would be a fabulous ‘excuse’ for NOT going into work. (“I didn't come in – I thought it was Saturday”) And there're others I’ve always thought would be so cool if no fibs were necessary:
Like… (pretend you’re on the phone at home, heating turned up, surrounded by chocolate, cups of coffee and the daytime TV listings.. or whatever floats your particular Boat of Skive)…

“I can’t come in today, I’ve nothing to wear”
OR
“I’m in the middle of a really good discussion on Facebook/Twitter/social network of choice.”
OR
“It’s too nice and warm in bed. I can’t get up; it could be fatal.”
OR
“Isn’t it raining? What? What do you want from me!”
OR
“I can’t come in, my hair won't go right."
OR
“My husband forgot to leave me a cup of tea. I can’t function without a cup of tea. I can’t even get my legs to slide out of bed.”
OR
“I need to watch the last part of Silent Witness – I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else until I know Whoddunitt.”
OR
"I'm waiting on a poo. I can't go at work. You know what it's like."
OR
“I’m rubbish in the mornings. I’ll pop in later. If I remember.”
OR
“I didn’t enjoy yesterday – I think I’ll give it a miss today and try again tomorrow.”
OR
And my particular favourite (which I would use EVERY day in an alternate universe)
“Ah, I can’t be arsed.”

Wouldn’t it be GREAT though?!

To your knees, people, Boudica is IN THE BUILDING!

I've been compared with many female characters in my lifetime.  The first, obviously, because of the freckles, was Anne (of Green Gables).  Did she have a surname?  *Google says 'Shirley'* (co-incidentally my mother's name). 

Have YOU seen my tonsils?

When I had my tonsils out at the rather decrepit age of 24 (and put in the children's ward, which is the USUAL place for humans having their tonsils out - they being at most 8 years old) I managed to find a grown up TV-area one evening and a old dear in there looked up at me (tonsil-less and probably swollen of throat) and said "you've the look of that Stephanie Beacham off the telly".  And, delightedly, as an avid follower of 'The Colbys', I took it as a compliment.  Until just now when I realised she could've meant when she starred in 'Tenko' - 

 

My GBF once told me I had the legs of Christie Brinkley but then he also told me I had the sex appeal of a road accident.  Both these 'compliments' were, of course, aided and abetted by copious quantities of Special Brew and I appreciate that neither are entirely accurate.

And finally, today, after nearly 7 years of working at our local Middle School, I found out why it is that most of the kids there (I mean  young students, of course I do) either avert their eyes and pin themselves up against the corridor walls when I pass, or else hold my gaze so disconcertingly that I often have to whip out my mirror when I get back to my room to check for food-in-hair/teeth/eyebrows.  

My lovely colleague told me that when she used to teach a class about  Boudicea, when describing the Queen of Icani (that's, rather unexcitingly, *Norfolk* to you and me) she used me as a reference.  And although my initial reaction was "Eurgh - not that Dyke in the Chariot!", since Googling all manner of images of her, I found this rather lovely description and I'm sticking with that, thank you very much:

 Wikepedia says:

"... that she was "possessed of greater intelligence than often belongs to women", that she was tall, had long red hair down to her hips, a harsh voice and a piercing glare, and habitually wore a large golden necklace (perhaps a torc), a many-coloured tunic, and a thick cloak fastened by a brooch...."

That's me to a Tee - minus the cloak and the bling, obvs.

Oh, and the harsh voice.  

And the piercing glare (I hope)

So, just the greater intelligence and the red hair then. Which isn't quite waist-length.

And the tallness.

Def. not the many coloured tunic.  I've only got one of those and I'm still not convinced myself... not enough to lead an army of men from Norfolk on a merry rampage, anyway.

In fact I'm not even sure I'd feel overly confident in a many-coloured tunic going round Sainsbury's these days.

Here's what I've been doing...

Just in case anyone's been wondering if I'm still in the land of the living... here's what I've been busy with...

The school stage had to be turned into a background scene for the summer production of Aladdin.... and even though there was ONE teeny tiny meltdown in my immediate vicinity (i.e. me) on just the one occasion, where I spent the entire day sobbing every time anybody dared to even mention the words 'paint' and 'scene' and/or 'Azkhaban', it did finally get done - after a whole five days of blood... okay  then, vermillion paint, sweat (proper sweat, it was VAY hot in there) and many aforementioned tears...

Even the Girl got involved and made the greatest bouncing melon in the history of.... well, bouncing melons (a papier mached netball "borrowed" from the PE Department)



And if anyone is thinking of zooming in on this to embiggen it - yes, it does look like we're 'painting by numbers' and that's because we had manly assistance in the form of the caretaker (thank you Mr Peddar) and several cohorts as we're not ladder trained and this is a very important thing to be... if you're up a ladder that is...


Which I DO appear to be in this one.  Only, I'm not technically UP it, I'm kind of more gossiping around the bottom rungs with my lovely work friend Luisa and holding a piece of paper which makes me look all efficient and organised. See - even SHE's holding a piece of paper (we WERE really gossiping!).

Come to think of it, I DO pass a lot of staff in the corridors who wander about holding bits of paper.  I always think they look like they're doing something very important too.

So, can you tell what it is yet?!

A Kiss Before Dying

We have an 'unofficial book club' at the place where I get paid to arrive at and remain for 4 hours a day.  There's me - obviously.  There's the Librarian - even more obviously.  There's the Lab Assistant and there's A Reception Lady.  But come to think of it - we don't read the 'same book' and report back with vastly differing or scarily similar reviews.  I guess we kind of do a bit of a dance with the books we read.  A dosey-doh, if you like.   We're more the share-if you-think-I'll-like-it kind of group.  We must come up with a better slogan.
Anyway.  The latest book I was offered (by our American Lab Assistant) was 'A Kiss Before Dying' by Ira Levin.  Written in 1953.
Ira Levin also wrote 'Rosemary's Baby' and 'The Stepford Wives' to name but a few.  I'd never heard of it but I thought I recognised the man's face on the cover and mentioned he reminded me of the 'Hart to Hart' guy, Robert Wagner.  Which, it turns out, the picture was actually of because it was made into the movie of the same name.
Not being a huge reader of  psychological thriller type books, I was sceptical.  But the minute I'd read the first sentence I was hooked. 
"His plans had been running so beautifully, go goddamned beautifully, and now she was going to smash them all."
Hooked.  And all subsequent sentences were the same.  Technically, essentially brilliant.  No more no less than what was required to write the most gripping book I've recently... no, make that EVER read. 
Not only was this book a simple delight to read - edge of seat, exciting stuff - it was an education.  I felt like I had a 'Master Storyteller' in my hands.  No word was superfluous.  No situation unnecessary.  No character over-writtten.  Just perfect.  It's on my list of re-reads already.
Read it - you'll be very happy you did.

Snippets from The Resources Room

I should explain that the Resources Room is where I spend 4 hours of my day.  I get paid for creating backgrounds onto which children's work is displayed throughout the school.  There're loads of them. Sometimes it feels like the're taking over the world. And some of the discussions overheard within our hallowed walls you probably wouldn't find in any other occupation...

1. "Do you think we should put the Lunar Module actually ON the surface or leave it hanging about in space?"

(Unlikely to have been said by anyone in NASA at the time of the moon landing although I haven't  bothered to confirm this. Anne Other and I decided that our contribution to the historial event would probably have been "Houston we have a problem - we're clean out of Hob-Nobs")
 
2. "Oh my god I left Queen Victoria in the Printing Room!"
She was wondering where I'd got to.

3. "The world needs blowing up before it goes in the Library"
(I can never remember to say "enlarging")

4. "Pauline's making the muscle man bigger - she's better at it than me"
She is.  What can I say?

5. "Should Albert go beside Victoria or does he look better on top?"
We positioned him in a manner less open to controversy in the end.

6. "We need to do something with Uranus, it looks more like a Christmas pudding from here".
It still does.

I'm so glad I don't have a *normal*  job - this is way more fun!

Wishes Never Made...

My lovely interweb writer friend, Deborah Durbin (no relation to the black and white Deanna of 1950's Sunday afternoon musical fame) would probably back me up on this - come to think of it, so would Noel Edmonds with his Visualisation techniques and his Golden Orbs - but we'll stick with Deborah because that's a much less cringey image!.
It occurred to me in the shower this morning - the best place for any kind of creative thinking bar none - that in my life I already have things I never wished (aloud) for but which I certainly could not nor would not be able to function happily or properly without.  These being :

1.  The most beautiful, happy, level-headed, content-in-her-own-skin with no hang-ups whatsoever daughter who continually (even though I shamefully embarrass her on occasion) tells me she loves me and wants to be just like me when she grows up (okay then, so slightly worrying on the mental stability front, but we can't have everything) and with whom I have the best relationship I've ever had with anyone my entire life. *sob*.

2. The most incredible husband in the world who, for some reason seems to love me for my faults and not despite them and who never fails to lift my spirits with either a reasoned argument in spirit-lifting favour or else a supremely amusing face-pull/dance/moonie at precisely the right moment.  He remains my breath of fresh air, keeps me grounded and loves me whatever my mood and state of dress.
(Disclaimer:  Actually I DID wish for him and that'll be the subject of another post - with grateful thanks to Deborah for her amazing book "There's a Little Witch in Every Woman" and to my friend at the time, Tracey for giving it to me).

3. The absolute best (paid) work in the world for my mentality. If, during 'Career' lessons at school, it had been suggested I should remain working at a school, only I wouldn't be actually teaching, I'd be cutting, sticking, mounting and stapling work onto massive three metre display boards - after firstly having designed a whole mural associated with said work, I think I'd have peed myself laughing.  A ridiculous job like that?  Me?  Are you mad!  And yet I am the Middle School equivalent of Rolf Harris working to an academic timetable ("can you tell what it is yet?").

4. Of course Bill Gates has to have played some small part in the next non-wish scenario but where would I/we be without the amazing technologies surrounding our pc's and the things we can do with them?  No more am I sitting huddled over a manual/electric/golfball/daisywheel  typewriter (remember those?) with stupid sheets of carbon and silly little strips of tippex, wondering how I can *seriously* cut and paste a whole section of story without making the manuscript look like a Christmas decoration or a doiley.  Thank the God of technology for the wonders we are able to use today - and thank goodness s/he was listening through my frustrations of finding an easier way to do it.

5. Never in my wildest (and believe me, I've had some) imaginings, could I have dreamed that One Day I could finish reading a book and then send the author a message telling them how much I enjoyed it and have the author then reply back saying 'thanks'. My god, the conversations I could have had with Enid Blyton, Jilly Cooper and Marian Keyes had this form of tehnology been available to me decades ago!

6. And a list wouldn't be complete without a mention of the Perm, would it?  Who'd have thought that all I had to do to get the hair of my dreams would be to give birth.  Not a mention of that one in the Pregnancy Manual.  I think I'd have noticed.  And I have to thank L'Oreal for keeping it 'real' and not making me appear as the silvery-haired crazy lady who sticks kids pictures on walls for a living whilst dreaming of becoming a proper author-type person one day!

Snow Day Anyone?

It's getting beyond a joke, isn't it?  Along with the ' leaves on the track' and the 'wrong type of rain' (seriously) British Rail will do anything to get round a reason for a  train delay. And now they'll be turning to the old 'it's been snowing' chestnut - again.  For the second time in as many weeks.  I ask you.
And whilst this doesn't in any way affect me per se - I drive to work ... like a silly scaredy nellie currently, maybe you've heard - so this weather is definitely going to put a lot more wind up me than is necessary right now.  If anyone cares to pop along our road at 8.15 am tomorrow morning be prepared to witness the latest audition of OAP's on ice.  In cars.
And there was a definite frisson making the rounds at work this afternoon as I left.  Little squeaks of "Oooh, might not see you tomorrow if it snows tonight" and excited whisperings in the corridor about how we might all be stranded in our homes when we wake up in the morning.
Which thrill is all well and good before the event, but come the morning, after the initial euphoria of waking up to five inches (ooeer missus) we half-expected and then getting the phone calls and texts from excited colleagues heralding another "snow day - school shut - woo-hoo - enjoy!"  there's the dull realisation that actually it's going to be bloody freezing, we're about to run out of loo rolls and Sainsbury's is a treacherous slalem away as the tobboggan flies.
And if, like me, you don't particularly like snow except to look at (and after a while you need sunglasses and a couple of Panadol even for that) through a window with a fire keeping your calves warm - yes, we even have  the livestock in the living room on a snow day - then  the actual event is a trying one at the very least.  The woo-hoo, we can't get to work kinda wears off on me after about twenty minutes.
Woo-hoo - ok, tea, biscuits, Jeremy Kyle, now what?
Write.
That's what.
With sunglasses on.
And that, folks, is no(w) joke!

TIERS FOR SOUVENIRS

So it’s a bit depressing at our school right now. If we could get away with it, we’d all be wearing black armbands and walking around humming the Funeral March – because we’ve (and that’s a County-wide We’ve) lost our very valiant battle to retain our Three-Tier Status. And we’re a Middle School. So put simply we’re doomed. No longer required or deemed necessary.
In a nutshell-y type way it means that after decades of having Lower, Middle and Upper schools in Bedfordshire (along with the Isle of Wight and Harrow- maybe Leicester) we’re finally going to be stripped of our three-tier position and asked to fall in line with the rest of the United Kingdom.

Oh, and according to Wikipedia, Gibraltar also follows a similar structure. I mean – ‘nuff said! We all know how the grades are going in Gibraltar, right?!

At the local council’s Monday night meeting to decide the fate of our future, the voting was apparently 17 for retaining the current Three-Tier system and 19 in favour of abolishing it for Two-Tier. If that one elusive councillor had swayed just that little bit more, then the Mayor had Simon Cowell waiting outside in a black Mariah to referee  a Deadlock situation.

(He didn't really but I bet the Twins would still have somehow got through)

So what does all this mean?

Upheaval on a most major scale for any children due to start Middle School during the changeover (starting 2012) with building work and temporary classrooms and all kinds of incredibly inconvenient stuff happening whilst the whole thing is sorted out.

Re-training for all Middle School teachers so that they’re equipped and refreshed on either Lower or Upper school teaching methods and a lot of lost jobs.

It’s a pain. It sounds like a nightmare. It feels like it’s such a waste of a perfectly adequate system and because our school was given an ‘Outstanding’ Ofsted report 2 years ago, it kinda hurts all the more. It must make those teachers who’ve been at our school for 20 or more years, feel incredibly deflated.

But it’s a challenge. Isn’t it?

And we didn’t give up without a fight, did we?

Personally, although I know it will never be the same again, I did always think that kids who go to Upper School from Middle and are only there a matter of months before they HAVE to decide on their GCSE choices, was all a bit too much to ask. I think having them change to Upper school at aged 11 instead of aged 13 gives them a far better breathing space in which to grow and relax into the idea of subject choices before they start to panic and wonder what to do because they haven’t been allowed enough time in their new environment. I know I panicked at just this time. And it’s a crucial time in a child’s education.

So if I want to whistle a different tune whilst I’m at work right now, then I’ll have to give it a little more time for realisation to take hold and for everyone to get used to the idea of future changes.

Because nobody passes an Hors D’Oeuvre to the cheery person at a wake, right?

Doughnuts - now that’s a different matter.

Somebody has to do it, right?

Even though it’s half term, which usually means not having to go into work, this is the second day I’ve felt compelled to go in – because we have Open Evening the day after we return and everything has to be ‘perfect’ for it. In fact whilst I’ve been in, windows have been cleaned inside and out, floors have been buffed and polished to a wet-look appearance and all the skirting boards have been glossed. Anyone would think we were having the Queen to tea.

And the amount of abuse we (that’s me plus Anne Other) have had to contend with about the avoidance of touching these surfaces – pretty difficult when most of it IS flooring – is tantamount to bullying. In fact Ms Other even had a roll of masking tape thrown the length of a corridor at her to alert her to said areas of avoidance.
I’d have wrapped the guy up in it if he’d had the nerve to do it to me.
But it is lovely not having the kids there. Oh, and the teachers if I’m honest. We can get stuff done without every five minutes having to sort out a mis-feed in the photocopier (not our specialist area but because it’s IN our area, it has become so) and answering questions that always begin: ‘could you just…’ ‘can you quickly…’ ‘I don’t suppose you could…’ because these little ‘jobs’ fall under the ‘Any Other Duties’ part of our Job Description and even if we didn’t help out of the goodness of our hearts, we’d be contractually obliged to carry them out anyway.
And of course whilst the feeling is great that we’re making in-roads into turning the school into the most fabulously adorned secondary seat of learning in the area, it also means that I’ve done bugger-all on the re-write since I started weeks ago and since I announced to the world and his wife that I was on the home-stretch.
So now I’m giving myself the predictable guilt-trip.
Hence the stroppiness of the last but one post, I’m guessing.
And once more (is there a Guinness record for this I wonder?) I’m battling with flu-viral germs that have yet again deemed my body their chosen temple of worship. I cannot remember a year when I’ve had three bouts of germs in five weeks. It has to be a record.
But my, wasn’t it lovely weather today?
(*pathetic attempt at being cheery in face of adversity*)

p.s. this display isn't one that we've done - ours are far, far superior to this and next time I have a full complement of brain cells I shall take a photo of one of my personal bests just to prove this!

Deleted (I wish) Scene from the Office

Picture this: ME standing at main photocopier in school office with PA to head.
(the parts marked with a * are inner thoughts which weren’t actually voiced at the time)

PA: I hope you don’t mind me asking but have you put on some weight?
ME: (RABBIT CAUGHT IN HEADLIGHTS) (*actually yes I do mind so please don’t say what you’ve just said in case it offends the fu*k out of super-sensitive, creative-writer-type me) Pardon?
PA: Have you?
ME: Well, probably, I don’t know, we don’t have scales at home and I did spend the best part of the school holidays WRITING A BOOK (*can we please change the subject?)
PA: No exercise then?
ME: Um. No. (*Pretty much sat down for the whole writing book thing. I prefer that position, I find typing a little hard-going when I’m performing cardio-vascular movements in a leotard)
PA: Oh I’m not saying you look fat…
ME: No? (*so why the f**k say anything at all then, you heartless excuse for a human being, don’t you realise I could go home and slash my wrists over a comment like this, especially if I were the super-sensitive, creative writer-type… ah…)
PA: No, not fat – you just look more “solid” that’s all.
ME: (COLD-SWEATING) Solid? (*isn’t that another name for a lump of sh*t?)
PA: (NOT A SPADE IN SIGHT) How old are you now?
ME: (*why don’t you check on my personal file if you’re so bloody concerned about my age and my weight?) Forty-bleurgh.
PA: Ah, you’re getting to that dangerous age where you could start to pile it on and never get rid of it if you don’t start to watch out.
ME: (FISH IN BOWL) I don’t like diets, I hate being hungry and I never exercise – it doesn’t agree with me. (*plus do you remember I was crippled with pain even when walking until a few months ago, you heartless, heartless cow)
PA: Have you thought about dancing classes?
ME: (*leave me alone now, you’ve said enough, I just want to get my photocopying and disappear into the bowels of the earth, maybe lower and cry myself into an early grave) No.
PA: You still look lovely for your age, though. You’d never think you were forty-bleurgh…lovely skin.
ME: Yeah, thanks.

Depressed? Me?
(I've never wanted to feel less solid in my entire life)

What Work Experience did for me:

Actually it did whole lot of Nothing because I don't remember ever being 'placed' anywhere on Work Experience whilst at school. Either this subtle way of introducing unsuspecting teenagers into the hairy world of 'work' hadn't been invented when I was at school or I was off that day.
Once, at the school where I work, we had a very Bling girl who used to arrive wearing the latest high fashions which, inappropriately, included incredibly cropped, plunging tops and jeans tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination (we had a lot of visitors to our room that week). And she seemed to want to do everything splayed out on the floor. Everything was done from a crouching, leaning, bending-impossibly-over-at the-waist position. And always on the floor. Oh, we did TRY to tell her she'd probably be better of carrying out her tasks in a more elevated position LIKE NORMAL WORKING PEOPLE DO, SEE? - but she inisted she was fine where she was.'I prefer it like this'. Hmm.

This year we were blessed, yes, blessed, with the arrival of the Work Experience girl from Heaven. She was punctual, polite, amusing, intelligent, cheerful and willing to do absolutely anything we asked of her. Which was fortunate for me as I was in the middle of turning ten little girls into sunflowers, four lads into fighting trees and kitting out six flying monkeys with hats, wings and spears for our summer production of 'Oz'. Not to mention the cycloned house, the witch, the emerald city... you get the idea. So she was, in a word, an absolute Godsend (ok, that's two).
So at the end of our time together today I asked her what she'd learnt from her time with us and she smiled back 'I know how to laminate now'. OK. Not exactly the response I expected, but fair point. She does. And she can photocopy. And glue and cut stuff out and remove staples. She's also a bloody wiz (did you see what I did there?) at backstagery and organising costumes, especially getting the right child into the right one and on stage at the right time. Bless her, she never saw one scene from anywhere but behind the curtains and we never once asked her to make us a cup of tea/coffee (mainly because we don't have TIME to even fill the kettle up some days). I hope she got as much out of being with us as we did from having her there.

Thanks again, Becks. You done good!