I have joined one of those scary clubs which mean that you get sticky ribbon and eyelets for 50p but you have to give them your soul in return. Its my scrapbook making obsession – it really has gone too far!!

In other news this week has been really not fun. I think its the waking up an hour early thing… it actually makes me a grumpy greasy haired monster. I need the weekend SOON. Still, one more week to my easter holidays. In your face all you sad bastards with real jobs.

Ha ha.

Today it happened… the feeling…

I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised – it’s what always follows with me when I am praised for my work. It’s the feeling that I don’t really want to do it any more…

This year has been the biggest challenge of my life, especially taking on Alevel history AND politics in my first year of teaching… and I am trying to get the kids the grades they deserve, which at my school are pretty bloody high. I just get this feeling though that in comparison next year will be rather, well, easy.

My boss wants to ‘fast track’ me which means getting more money and responsibilities and such. I have already refused the pastoral route (ie head of year) but it looks like I will be taking the teaching route and being sent around the shitty schools in the area demonstrating good teaching and learning. good for me!

Its nice to be recognised for hard work (not that I actually really work hard at all – I’m not the type) but I’m just not very good at ‘perfecting’… I’m much more of a make, do and leave kind of a girl… and yet all that is sensible in my head is telling me to stay.

I smile all day (because I love my job – I’m not mental or anything)

I am good at my job

I suit the school

My commute could be worse…

So why than do I have an overwelming desire to pack my bags and hot foot it over to America, Australia or Canada for a couple of years. Why?

Yesterday I talked a lot to my boys throughtout my 6 solid hours of teaching. Sometimes I remained on topic, but I spent a considerable part of the day explaining what Easter is and also explaining how you make a smartie shiny.

It was all very government adverty (until one of the boys told me that I was hot – tut tut tut). Anyway, I had a lovely day, then I went home ate smarties (despite the beeswax coating), cuddled my kitten and (finally) took delivery of my washer-dryer. I also watced gems tv, a truely horrible sky channel and dreamed about rubies. One day – little girl…

Tonight the boy and I are going to supper with my dad and I have managed to bribe the boy to drive me up north at the weekend to see my mummy, as the last time I saw her was New Year – IMAGINE!

I have bought her a wicked mothers day gift though. I can’t wait to see her face…

I’ve just had one of the best lessons ever. It was a revision lesson where my boys recalled everything perfectly from Sptember last, and almost in union repeated that which I had taught them. I was so proud of them… and of me…

On Saturday night I went out with my old crowd from university and ened up sitting with the boy and my ex fiancee and his fiancee discussing their imprending nuptuals. I thought how strange it was that the people who remain in your life aren’t always the ones that you would expect and that you can find yourself in situations that 5 years ago would have been impossible.

Everything changes when you find someone who will pick you up and cuddle you and make you feel like the most important thing in the world. I am so happy at the moment that if the sky fell in I would welcome the change of scenery as long as the boy was holding my hand.

Famous last words perhaps.

In other news I have a real life stalker. So far the police, my headmaster, my boyfriend and my head of department have failed to find out who it is… I hope they find out soon.

N x x

I am behaving erratically at the moment. I seem to either be the happiest girl in the world or be dissolving into tears. For example, this week I have cried down the phone to 3 different call centres. CRIED. ME. Shouting – yes, but not crying.

I keep trying to put everything into perspective (which as a history teacher is quite easy – every day you are faced with horror, bias and an infair world) but its not working. You would think that Boots Kitchen Appliances had murdered my first born child and that London Electrics had shot my mother, which (for the sake of liable) thay have not.

Still, I seem to be benefiting from all this… so far London Electrics have given me £75 and Boots £100.

Go on, cry – it will make you rich!

My boyfriend supports a football team whose name is synoymous with thuggery and burberry. I don’t mind this – infact, as long as he isn’t involved in either of those pursuits I find the working class hard man thing rather sexy. (If I were still on 20six, this comment would prompt a number of public school twats, pretending to be working class heroes to write nasty comments on my blog and tell me to get back to the real world. Yeah yeah.).

So on Saturday when he invited me to a game I was very excited. My team that I support is very high up in the premier and the tickets are more difficult and more expensive than the ones distributed by Willy Wonka… The idea that you could just turn up to his match and buy tickets was a head rush, as was the idea of drinking cold beer and hot bovril whilest chanting ‘the referees a wanker’ (which to be completely honest – he was).

I was completely charmed by the whole experience, the passion, the intensity, the sheer number of gold signet rings (the local Argos must be stripped bare every weekend). I wore my boyfriends knitted team hat (with a couple of minor embellishments), and froze my butt off. It surely wasn’t like watching Phantom of the Opera, I commented… and yet…

Anyway – the boys team won, which they don’t normally, I am reliably informed. This means that I am lucky and have to attend all of the games from now on, which to be honest with you is cool with me (although I might wait until its a bit warmer) because it was fun.

The point of this post? Do something new, and outside of your comfort zone. You might just like it, and if not… well, you can always blog about it.

My school and I are not of the same religion, which can mean that I find myself with random Tuesdays off work sometimes, or or hiding my kitkat while others fast.

 I took the job at this most orthodox of schools (possibly the most orthodox school in England) not because of the religion, but despite it (and because of the short Fridays perhaps). I was determined when I left college to work for one of the best schools in Britain, and I’m proud to say that I do, according to the Times at least. Also, I haven’t as yet destroyed my champagne socialist fathers opinion on private schools by being a sell out. By taking this job, everyone was a winner.

What I didn’t bank on was how much I would learn. I have learned so much about myself, about faith and faiths and about tolerance through understanding.

To understand where someone else is coming from that spending a term in their school is as effective, I think, as walking a mile in their shoes and considerably more fun.