And Who Says Romance is Dead?

A male friend of mine asked for some dating advice the other day. Yeah, I know it's laughable isn't it? Not only am I single but I'm not even a regular girl! Now don't get me wrong, I have all the physical attributes in the right places but I'm just not very conventional in many other ways. I don't get the whole don't call for three days rule. If you like someone....call them! I don't understand why high maintenance women are seen as even remotely attractive. If I'm totally honest, I just don't understand the dating game. So good luck to my friend following my advice!

Anyway, this little foray into dating advice got me thinking about romance in general. What does romance mean these days? For centuries men and women have been conditioned to see certain actions as the only way to be romantic. Just look at all those knights in shining armour slaying dragons and rescuing damsels in distress from huge towers. Men are expected to save and protect, women to swoon into their arms and be thankful. Times have changed (thank goodness) and these days women are more likely to fend off the dragons with their steely sharp and deadly heeled Jimmy Choos before making an escape rope from their vast selection of clothing than to wait around for some bloke to turn up and save them.

So what does romance look like in these modern times? It's hard to pinpoint exactly. Everyone has their own ideas I suppose. So I'm going to start with a list of what is definitely NOT romantic.

It is NOT in the slightest bit romantic to do any of the following:-

1. Declare undying love after the first date - it's just scary!
2. Serenade your loved one at 3am with a tone deaf rendition of Lady in Red - I am still in therapy!
3. Arrive home at 3am, drunk as a lord, switch on the bedroom light and announce in what you think is a romantic tone 'I weeallly loooovvvvveeeee you!' Guys please note this point is never, ever, EVER romantic!!!!
4. Take your loved one to a vastly over priced and crowded restaurant on Valentines Day - it's just not original
5. Tattooing your loved one's name across your chest
6. Buying flowers from the garage - ever!
7. Buying cheap and nasty, tacky and tarty lingerie


Having read that list you are probably thinking this girl is having a laugh - she's more high maintenance than the lot! But I like to consider it as just fussy! So what does this non-conventional, fussy female see as romantic?

It is the epitome of romance to do any of the following:-

1. Buy gig tickets for a favourite band
2. Buy a book that you think your loved one will like
3. Buy flowers just because...not because it is their birthday/you are saying sorry/they were on special in the bargain basement (see point 6 above)
4. Make dinner
5. Make a cuppa and take it to them in bed
6. Organise a surprise weekend in Bruges,Venice, Prague or Iceland (to see the Volcanic ash for yourselves). Actually just organise a surprise weekend anywhere should do it.
7. Take them to the theatre
8. To arrive home at 3am blind drunk, quietly crawl into bed and pass out (see point 3 above)


There, simple really. But that of course is just my opinion. I'm sure there are plenty of girls who would love to be rescued by a knight so they could swoon seductively into their arms. I on the other hand am fully aware that if I attempted such a thing I would inevitably miss his arms and end up with concussion and that really wouldn't be romantic at all!

Nanny Liverpool

Today would have been my Nan's birthday. If she was still with us, she would have been 96!! As it happens she made it to the grand old age of 94!!

My Nan was a real character. She was a fiercely proud Liverpudlian - NOT Scouse (the only Scouse she ever named was her famous stew). She was full of fun and energy. She was hilariously funny with the most infectious laugh. Although to be fair her humour was often very unintentional but she joined in with us as we laughed at her as well as with her! And God help you if she got a fit of the giggles because you would succumb too - no matter where you where.

I have so many wonderful memories of my 'Nanny Liverpool'. In many ways she was a typical Gemini. Sometimes, she was as easy to read as a book yet at other times, the still waters ran deeper than the ocean. She flipped from happy to low in the blink of an eye. She flitted from conversation topic to conversation topic and believe me, keeping up could be exhausting. She was incredibly protective of her loved ones and loved her children and grandchildren dearly.

Of all the memories to choose from, the one that stands out for me is her 90th birthday party. My nan was a dancer. After my Grandad Lennon died (before I was even born) she joined a Modern Sequence club and never looked back. She went on holidays with them, she went on cruises with them, she went on days out with them. Dancing was very important to her (it's where I get it from).

And I truly believe it's one of the reasons she stayed so young at heart. If there was a party or night out, Nan would be the last to leave. And her 90th was no exception. Having rounded up her dancing pals, family and friends she hired out a local venue and proceeded to have a ball.

The events kicked off at 4pm with the Compere from her Dance club taking to the mic. Witness a room full of gleaming white heads, twirling and swirling in perfect time and rhythm. I can see why my Nan thought that youngsters can't dance. In comparison to that we look like gangly, new born calves. Anyway, back to the evening. Not content with an afternoon dance, my Nan had also booked a DJ for the evening proceedings. These continued until 11pm with Nan on the dance floor for most of that time. She put us youngies to shame!

Nan often spoke of that night as a real highlight for her. Unfortunately, not long after that, her age started to catch up with her. But I will always hold those memories dearly. As a snapshot of my Nan and her attitude to everything in life it was the perfect portrait.

When Nan finally decided she'd enjoyed the party on earth for long enough I wrote a few words for her funeral. My Nan's side of the family are not huge fans of poetry unless it rhymes, so the ditty I wrote does just that. It probably sounds a little bit twee to outsiders but to those of us in the Lennon clan it says it all.




Nanny Liverpool

Our dancing Nan
So full of fun.
Always laughing;
never glum

Cream cakes and biscuits,
an ice cream or three.
Whisky and water,
'a good cup of tea'

Laughter and giggles,
dancing all night.
She may have been tiny
but she made up for that!

These are our memories
the ones we will keep
Of a lady who loved life
and who's now at peace




Wherever my Nan has ended up now, I am certain she is sipping a scotch and water before taking to the dancefloor with her beloved Jim (my Grandad Lennon). Now that really would be her idea of heaven!

Honesty isn't always the best policy

The little people I work with are a constant joy! I can go into work feeling rubbish and one smile, one giggle and one funny statement is enough to banish the rubbish feelings and make me feel like laughing again.

I have been told I look like a princess. I've been told my hair looks pretty. And I've been told I am their 'best teacher'. It's moments like this that help to brighten my day.

However, on the flip side, these wonderful little humans can also be blunt, tactless, and too honest for their own good.

Take today as a case in point.

It's lunch time and the children are lining up. One little cherub is finding it hard to line up without bumping into his classmates. I take him aside for a quiet word and remind him that he needs to do the right thing. I ask if he understands and he nods.

Just as I'm about to get up from the back killing crouch I have adopted he well and truly takes the wind out of my sails.

"Miss Lennon, what is that on your head?"

Now I'm used to being covered in glue, paint and glitter. If I get home without some dubious substance attached to my clothes I consider it a good day at the office. So with some misgiving I turn to my colleague and ask her what's there. She reassures me that (for once), there's nothing there. Feeling relieved, I turn to the Cherub and announce with great confidence

"It's alright sweetheart, there's nothing there"

"Yes there is!" replies cherub with feeling. And to back the statement up, he jabs me in the forehead with his finger. "It's there"

Realisation dawns on me with ego-crushing effect.

There's only one way to reply to such honesty...

"Ah" I say with resignation "That is a wrinkle" And the cherub who is highly satisfied with my answer goes off to eat his lunch.

I on the other hand am a broken woman. Turning to my colleague I whimper "If you need me this afternoon, I'll be in the cupboard - crying, loudly"

I'm sure there's a saying somewhere about not working with children.....

T-REX

Today was our school trip. I was responsible for getting 100 small children to The Natural History Museum in one piece and then all the way back too.

School trips are exhausting - there really is no other way to describe them. Parents trust you with their most precious possessions and you've got to ensure they are safe, secure and happy. I spend the whole day counting like a lunatic, checking children are present, making sure children are safe and making sure they have a good time. And all without time for a cup of tea!!

This year we decided to visit the Dinosaurs to tie in with our topic on...you guessed it...dinosaurs.

Having held meetings with the volunteer helpers and made up info packs for them all; having done a risk assessment to check any possible dangers; having organised 100 goodie bags to be collected in the shop so parents don't have to go through the nightmare that is negotiating the gift shop with a measly £2 to spend; having considered every possible event that could or would or might happen it was finally time to go.

Despite the headaches, stress and worry I wouldn't miss these days for anything. For some children it is the only time they go on a day out. There are children who have never experienced a trip to the park, the zoo or a farm. There are children who spend their weekends glued to the telly or in a supermarket. There are children who have no stimulating or exciting events to look forward to. For one little boy today, the highlight was eating his lunch on a 'real picnic'. He would have been quite happy to have got back on the coach after this monumental event. It really does break your heart and make you realise how lucky you were to be brought up by parents who thought regular days out and excursions should be part of the upbringing process.

Once you have negotiated the busy roads, coach steps, lunch time, museum steps and crowds of secondary kids who seem like giants in comparison the real reason for the trip is ready to be enjoyed. And when you take your little companions to look at the life size, roaring and moving T-Rex any stress and worries are all forgotten.

"Wow!" is the silmultaneous word that emerges from their little mouths. The children were truly awe struck.

"Can we take him home?" enquired one little girl.

"I'd love to but the coach is full" I told her.

And lucky for me it was - there and back!

Edith

As you travel on life's little journey you gather more and more memories. More dates to remember, more photos, more people to add to your address book. Unfortunately, the circle of life being what it is, you also start to lose people too. This weekend marks yet another anniversary.

After my Mum died, understandably I was devastated. I felt like a leaf on top of a madly rushing river. Pulled this way and that by the tide but no control over where it took me or what I bumped into. One of the many people who tried to keep me sane during the following weeks, months, years was my Grandma (mum's mum).

My Grandma was an amazing woman. In fact the whole of my maternal side is full of strong, amazing, selfless and wonderful women - it's quite something to live upto believe me. But for now, let's return to Grandma.

Her life had been far from rosy. Her first husband was a violent alcoholic who broke most of the bones in her body in his drunken rages. Back then society was less supportive. It was just after the second world war and many women had lost their husbands. The general consensus was that my Grandma should be grateful - at least he had come back! And so she continued to take the knocks for more years than she should have done.

Because of his drunken behaviour, my Grandma had to bring up her kids with no money (it went on booze) as he would spend his wages before he came home and then take it out on her when there was no food to cook! One day she even came home to find that he had sold every stick of furniture in the house just so he could buy his latest fix. 'Even the children's beds' she told me once in disgust.

Grandma spoilt her grandchildren rotten. Birthday's, Christmases and special occasions were something to celebrate. My Grandma could put on the best spread at a party so I'm sure it must have killed her not being able to provide a decent meal for her children. It must have broken her heart not being able to buy them proper presents for their birthdays.

Eventually she got rid of him and married the man who to all intents and purposes was my Grandpa. A lovely, kind, gentle man who cherished her and would have wrapped her in cotton wool to protect her from the East wind if he could.

But Grandma's knocks in life had not ended. In January 1996, my Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer and then in November 1997, her eldest daughter, died from the dreaded C. My aunt was a Matron and kept her illness secret from the family. She didn't want any fuss, didn't want to be treated with all kinds of drugs and so she kept quiet. To this day, I'm not entirely certain what kind of cancer she had but I think it was lung. This was a devastating blow. I cannot imagine anything worse than having to bury your own child. It goes against the law of nature. Parents are not supposed to outlive their offspring. Grandma did not let this break her.

Nor did she let it break her when in 2001, my Mum also lost her long battle against cancer. And this was despite my Grandpa's Alzheimers taking hold with a vengeance. Talk about timing. On the morning my mum died, my Grandpa (the gentle, lovely man) descended into the worst part of Alzheimer induced confusion. He accused Grandma of lying about about mum's illness so she wouldn't have to spend time with him. And then to top it off, he threw his zimmer at her. She was 82, frail with acute Angina (and though we didn't know at the time, riddled with bladder cancer) - the eternal creaky gate. So as well as dealing with everything else that day, we also had to contend with getting my Grandpa out of the house and into a nursing home so he could no longer be a threat to my Grandma. I've got to be honest it was pretty damn horrific.

And through all of this, my Grandma remained strong, brave and dignified. This is just a snap shot of the woman she was. Of the woman I adored. The woman who became my second mum. The woman who in so many ways read from the same page as me. It was amazing how in tune we so often were. So now you have got a glimpse of her we'll return to 3 years ago and the anniversary in question in this blog.

Once again, the Hospice had become a refuge for my relatives. Grandma had been taken in for some respite. She had finally been diagnosed with Bladder cancer after years of being fobbed off with tablets for cystitus about a year earlier. By now my brother was living in Newbury and I was still in London. We had the routine down to a T. When Grandma was taken in it was my cue to pack a bag and keep it in the boot of my car.

So when the phonecall came in at school telling us that we should probably get ready to say our goodbyes, I took to the tarmac (again) collecting Lenny on the way. Once again, we arrived at the Hospice and were shown through by the amazing staff. As we rounded the corner I stopped dead. Oh my God I thought she's in the same bed as mum was. It probaby seems like such a selfish thing to think of at such a time but all I could think was 'Bloody hell, I'm gonna end up there too'. Swallowing my fear, I walked to the bed.

It really was like de ja vu. A frail lady who looked vaguely like my Grandma lay there twitching on the sheets. She seemed to realise we had arrived and once more I was able to tell a wonderful woman I loved her. She seemed to understand and at that moment that was all that mattered. The twitching continued, as did the moments of lucid speech. After several hours Len and I decided we could take no more and we left my Uncle and Aunt there.

It probably sounds awful but I just couldn't do another bed side vigil waiting for someone to die. It is draining and awful and exhausting and the harsh reality is they no longer know you. They no longer recognise you. They no longer call your name or ask how your day was. I squeezed her hand, told her I loved her again and then had to walk away.

Yet again, true to the tradition of the females in my family (we are a stubborn, strong lot), Grandma didn't die that night. She held on til May 22nd. Lenny and I weren't there. We had made a joint decision that we would return to work and just wait for the news there. And this time, I didn't feel guilty. I'd done all I could. I'd told her I loved her. My Uncle and Aunt were with her. She wasn't alone.

And now I'm carrying on her tradition. My Granmda kept a blog but back then it was called a journal or a diary. She even started to type it up on her typewriter. It makes fascinating, funny, tragic and inspiring reading. And that's something else I'd like to live up to.....I can only keep trying.

High Tea at the Lanesborough

I've just got back from a lovely afternoon in the Lanesborough Hotel. A few months ago I came up with a plan 'Ten Things to do Before Leaving London'. As usual the months have flown by and I am now left with mere weeks to cram everything in. Obviously this isn't going to happen and many things on my wish list will have to remain unfulfilled.

Luckily, I got pro-active in January and actually booked a table at the Lanesborough for afternoon tea. I've been meaning to go for Afternoon Tea in a lovely London hotel since moving down here and it's only taken 11 years to get it sorted.

But I'm mighty glad I did.

The Lanesborough is a beautiful, exquisite, tasteful and refined hotel. Their afternoon tea is meant to be amongst the best. So seven of us set off to find out if this accolade is deserved.

Aside from the gorgeous setting the tea and food were absolutely amazing. The tea is served piping hot in solid silver teapots. The teapots are kept on special stands at the side of the table and the waiters top you up on regular intervals. I'm used to people giving me scornful looks when I order my Hippy Rooibos but here it is deemed a delicate and tasteful tea. So there!

The food is presented beautifully and is delicious. There is a lovely array of sandwiches (all with crusts removed) and although it all looks very delicate it is actually really filling.

And then the cakes....Oh my word. The cakes are something to behold. Two tiers on the cake stand full of mouth watering, tasty and no doubt highly calorific goodies. And then they brought out scones, toasted teacakes, clotted cream, lemon curd and strawberry jam. Yum, yum and more yum!

It probably sounds quite extravagant to spend £35 on an Afternoon Tea which is essentially a few sandwiches, cakes and a pot of tea. But the whole experience is so much more than that. It really is luxurious and as a treat I think it's pretty good value.

So there's the first event from my Ten Things to do. Only 9 more to fit in....

F.E.A.R

I've got to admit, I'm feeling a bit stressed out! Actually, if I'm totally honest, I'm feeling more than that: anxious, nervous and worried will do for starters. But the over riding emotion is Fear.

As I've said on several occasions, I love my job. And (more importantly for the children involved) I appear to be quite good at it. Living and working in this mad, amazing and crazy city has done wonders for my career. I've worked with some brilliant people who have taught me so much. I've taught some great children who have overcome hurdles higher than any I have ever had to clear. I've worked for some excellent Headteachers (and some not so great) who have encouraged me and allowed my creative mind the freedom to teach the children in a fun and imaginative way. In many ways, I'm a lucky girl.

So why the fear?

At the end of July my time in London will be at an end. I'm moving lock, stock and barrel back up North. But isn't this what you want I hear you shout in frustration!?

Yes, absolutely I want to live somewhere less hectic; somewhere I can actually afford to buy a house, somewhere with fresh air and open spaces. Plus if I'm honest, being a single girl in this city can be a pretty lonely experience. I would like to meet a nice guy. Actually forget that last statement 'nice' is a bit too bland. I'd like to meet a funny, exciting, creative, romantic (but not sick inducing!) imaginative, fun, dependable, adventure seeking guy who wouldn't think twice about heading off around the world if we won the lottery. Oh and own hair and teeth are also essential! Not much to ask for...

At the moment, there's just one flaw in my careful plan - I HAVE NO JOB!!!! For the last few weeks I've done nothing but fill in application forms, write letters of application and sit with my fingers crossed. Without wishing to sound like a big head, my CV is pretty good. I have a wealth of experience in the classroom and on the management team. I'm dedicated and hard working. I have a great rapport with children (kind of essential really). And yet Nada, nothing as yet!

I have a couple of theories about this.

1. I'm too expensive! I may well have worked my way up the professional ladder. I may have all this experience to offer. I may have excellent references but this counts for nothing in this economic down time. At the end of the day I cost too much!

2. I'm just not right for the jobs that have been advertised.

Either way, it's a lowering thought. I've built up a reasonably comfortable life style with a busy social life and a great mix of friends and hobbies. I think nothing of going out for dinner or the cinema (or even both) once a week. I splash out on gigs and theatre tickets without a thought. I have got used to this way of life. Whatever happens, I won't be out of work. I never have been. Even if it means getting a job in Tesco, I'll find something. But it's not what I want to do. I want to teach. I was born to teach. I love teaching! Plus I've got used to a certain standard of living. If I'm blunt, I've become quite spoilt.

So there's the fear right there. Fear that I won't get a job. Fear that all my plans of moving North for a better lifestyle will come crumbling down around my ears. Fear that I'll be living back at the family home for the next 5 years (not a prospect that either Dad or I would relish). Fear that my career will take a nose dive. Fear that my terribly Middle Class existence will become a little frayed around the edges. Fear that despite moving North, Mr Right will still remain as elusive as the Scarlett Pimpernell.

And breathe Jude! Once again in times of stress I turn to music to try and retain my hold on sanity and rational thought. My signature tune at the moment is a classic by Ian Brown. F.E.A.R....For Everything A Reason.

And that is what I keep trying to tell myself.

'And the sign on the door said long haired freaky people need not apply'

I had all kinds of great plans for this evening.

I was going to have a long, relaxing bubble bath. I am the expert at these and have to get several things sorted in order to maximise the relaxation experience.

1. The music is carefully selected with chilling out firmly in mind. I generally find that Air, Carole King, Zero 7, Fleet Foxes, Joni Mitchell or Beth Rowley do the trick.

2. The bubbles are added to the hot water which is left to run whilst I put the kettle on.

3. Make a cup of tea

4. Find book of the moment (I've normally put it down in some random place as I tend to read on the move as well as sitting or lying down)

5. Take tea and book to bathroom and sink into bubbles.

6. Remain here til wrinkly!

It's quite simple really. And that was my plan for the evening. Followed by a mammoth blogging session, a bit of poetry writing, and catching up on phone calls.

HA! HA! HA!

As you may have worked out, things didn't go to plan!

Last March our school underwent the horrors of OFSTED. Basically put, inspectors come around and do their best to demoralise you and make you feel useless. Luckily, our school did incredibly well - outstanding in fact. Since then we have been waiting for the RE inspectors to pay their little visit too (I work in a Catholic school despite being non-Catholic).

So guess when the call came in to announce their little visit? Yes, that's right, today! They are coming Wednesday. Brilliant! So instead of my lovely, soothing bath, I've spent the evening reading books, sorting assessments, choosing children's work to put before them and trying to get my head around the feast of Pentecost which I will have to teach in front of the Inspectors. If I was religious, I'd be down on my knees begging for deliverance. But instead this Hippy, Pagan will have to rely on good luck.

I think I'd better just go and say a prayer to the God of Lost Causes!

Precious Bundles

It's official - I'm cross!!!

I work with young children. Precious little bundles who are like little sponges taking in every word, action and event with wide eyed wonder. Don't get me wrong, they can be exhausting. Nothing will tire you out more quickly than a day with a class of 4 and 5 year olds - mentally and physically.

But the benefits outweigh this in my humble opinion. Not a day goes by when they don't make me smile or laugh or enjoy my job. They are funny, smart, engaging, creative and inspiring little beings.

So when I hear about anyone hurting a child (emotionally or physically), it makes my blood run cold. There are so many ways to inspire children to do the right thing without resorting to more draconian methods. For the majority the old school Victorian attitude of children should be seen and not heard or else is thankfully a thing of the past. Unfortunately, for some, this is still the daily reality of their lives.

And my heart bleeds for these children. I have quite literally shed tears over the conditions some of these fragile little things live in.

So far, I have made the choice not to have children. I'm far too selfish at the moment. I enjoy my freedom, my independence, my carefree existence. I love the fact that if friends call me away for a last minute break, the only thing I need to consider is what to pack. But I also know that if I ever do have children I will have to change my way of life. I will have to make sacrifices. I will have to forget my own leisure pursuits in order to nurture theirs. I will have to devote time, energy, love, encouragement and probably a copious amount of money to them. And if that day comes, I'll do the best job I can. What I won't do is take out my resentment on the child. I won't lash out at them because I am sick of having no life. I won't attack them verbally for ruining my life.

Children don't choose to be born, we choose to have them. And having chosen them, the least we can do is bring them up without hurting them. Even if that does mean giving up certain things. Afterall, that's what being a parent is all about.

Yellow, Green, Red, Blue?

I don't often get political, but if I can't do it now while election fever is firmly amongst us I never will. So here goes...

Please whoever gets in take a minute to consider the words of a hardworking, overstretched teacher. My demands for education aren't many but they are important and would make a world of difference.

1. Cut class sizes to 24. 30 small children in a small box is bordering on cruelty. Children need space. Especially those who live in cramped, crowded living conditions. And far more of them live this way than you could possibly imagine. Part of my role is to visit children in their homes before they start school. Some of these children live in conditions I would deem unsuitable for a dog. So the least we can do when they come to school is give them a bit of space to play in!

2. Pay our hardworking and terribly underpaid support staff more. Without them our jobs would be impossible. Plus the government has implemented many changes in the last few years which has meant more hours, more responsibility and more work for people who earn just above minimum wage. It's criminal!

3. Allow teachers to teach! Forget the stupid exams for 7 year olds. Forget teaching children how to work out equations by the age of 8 (I've never ever needed to use this skill in my real life). Forget trying to force our children to grow up too soon!

4. Look to Scandinavia and follow their example. There, children are allowed to learn through God forbid PLAY. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when you are a child? There results are some of the the best in the world and yet they don't start formal education until 7. Until then, the child is allowed to learn by touching, exploring, investigating. It's what most of us do in our adult lives too.

5. Give power back to teachers, heads and schools. The mob mentality of some parents has been allowed to take over for so long and with frightening consequences. We now live in a society where a 15 year old pupil (who can to all intents and purposes be as big as a full grown man) can attack teachers verbally and physically and the teacher has to stand there and take it. There are thousands of violent attacks towards teachers every year. The job should not need to carry a health warning!

So there you go. Hardly rocket science. Hardly revolutionary stuff. But important just the same. Now if only I could convince the big wigs of Downing Street (whoever the heck they are going to be)....

Walking With Dinosaurs

In two weeks I will be in charge of a party of school children on a day out to the Natural History Museum. Being in charge of a class of 30 on a daily basis carries stresses and strains. However, these pale into insignificance when compared to the overwhelming responsibilities that come with co-ordinating 100 small children (3-5 year olds) and 39 adults. Parents entrust us with their precious bundles of joy and it's my job to make sure that the same number come back as go! No pressure then!

To control damage limitation we do a risk assessment to check out things like toilets, uneven flooring, steps etc etc. This probably sounds over the top to people who don't work with children but believe me when it comes to being in charge of other people's children in a huge and busy London Museum, no risk assessment can be too thorough.

And so my two colleagues and I made our way to the museum to assess the suitability of the venue.

I should point out that our topic is Dinosaurs hence the visit to the museum. If you haven't been can I take a minute to recommend that you do. We only looked around the Dinosaur section and I can honestly say it was amazing.

The last time I was in this museum, I was 15. The only dinosaur I remembered being there was the huge skeleton in the main entrance hall. Don't be alarmed, he's still there looking huge and majestic. But now there is also a whole exhibition devoted to the walking giants of the past. This room is dripping with skeletons that have been found all around the world. The most bizarre being in a Belgian Coal Mine where they found 34 dinosaur skeletons just lying around waiting to be found. There are small models of moving dinosaurs perched at regular intervals. And, even more exciting in one room there is a HUGE, life size replica of T-Rex complete with sound effects and fake blood dripping from his sabre like teeth. If the kids aren't terrified I expect a refund!

Whilst wandering around this wonderful exhibition, it dawned on me that really, history is pretty amazing. Millions of years ago, these huge creatures ruled the blue and green sphere that we know as earth. Millions of years ago these huge creatures were in charge. And although they died out (for reasons still not fully explained or understood), they have left their legacy. All modern day reptiles are descended from them. A dinosaur nest complete with eggs was discovered in South America (I think) and unbelievably, the nesting set up is identical to the one used by reptiles today. Pretty cool huh? Well I think so.

I know the children will have a ball. For some of them, it will be the first time they've been on a day out; the first time they've been on a coach; the first time they've had a picnic lunch. Yes these days are exhausting! It's draining beyond belief to be constantly counting, constantly checking, constantly looking. I generally get back to school with a banging headache, aching feet and an exhausted body. But I wouldn't give days like this up for anything. Every child should have the opportunity to see these wonderful things. And if I am the only way that will be possible so be it!

Flick your goddam hair!

I've just driven back from town. My route home takes me through the picturesque and quaint village of Churchtown. It's a pretty little place with white thatched cottages, the local gentry manor, pretty village church (where my parents were married and my brother and I were Christened), cute shops and the all important village pubs.

There are two of these said village pubs on offer here, one either side of the church. They are always fairly busy but come this time of year they become a mecca for those people searching for an outdoor bench in the summer sun.

Although the weather today is less than warm, it is bank holiday and it isn't raining - yet - so the pubs were fairly bustling with people enjoying an al fresco pint.

Now some men will tell you that summer begins when the ladies start to wear less when they go out during the day. Forget the clocks going forward and the BBQ being fired up, ladies in short skirts, cute dresses and skimpy tops are a more meaningful benchmark for some.

And today was no exception. As I drove up to the junction with the church and the aforementioned pubs I became aware of a sort of stir. On both sides of the road from a distance of 100 metres and in both of the pub gardens there were men of all ages and backgrounds standing still with tongues hanging out. Tumbleweed drifted past as time stood still for the dumbfounded male species. One man even forget to get his pint glass as far as his mouth -surely an unheard of event!

I followed the gaze of the bedazzled menfolk of Churchtown and there they were...3 undoubtedly gorgeous young things. All tall and leggy, all blonde and gorgeous, all looking like something from a Timotei advert. And all dressed for an evening clubbing rather than a quiet pint down the local. The poor men didn't' stand a chance!

Some girls have this ability - you know the one that causes grown men to forget the power of speech. The one that makes all men turn gooey. The one that gives even the hottest men an inferiority complex. I have never had it - being short, brunette, a bit of a tomboy/hippy and nowhere near glamorous enough. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't suffer the odd pang of envy when these gorgeous creatures walk down the road and quite literally stop traffic. But on reflection I really wouldn't want to be like them anyway. Just think how exhausting it would be to have to spend all those hours looking fabulous before you could even go out for a lunch time drink.

I'll leave the traffic stopping to them and get myself to the bar instead. After all that's what you should be doing on a lunch time drink in the pub!

The Big Sell

I am in the process of filling in job application form after job application form. And yet again, my blog is proving to be a work avoidance strategy!

I hate the whole process. Filling in form after tedious form (although at least applying on line has made it slightly easier) is just no fun. Like everyone in teaching I have my own Professional Development Folder. This is the place where I am supposed to file all the useful information that will help to make job applications easier. I should put all my course confirmations in here, paperwork from courses, certificates etc. Unfortunately, like most busy people, I have not always remembered to do so. Which is a bit of a bummer when I am trying to recall useful and relevant courses to put in my applications. If I had to write my own report it would definitely say 'must try harder!'

And then you have to do the 'big sell' in the supporting letter. You know the type of thing: say how brilliant you are and how they'd be mad not to employ you and all without sounding smug, arrogant or desperate!

That's exactly what I should be doing at the moment. So I'm going to practice here. Please give me a job, I'm great! How can they possibly refuse?!