Friday, 21 December 2012
'Hail Mary, full of Grathe,' lisped the archangel Gabriel. 'Blethed art thou amongtht women, you thall bear a tthild and itth name thall be dthethuth.' 'But how can that be?' Mary asked, amazed, 'for I am Not Married!' 'You thall be filled with the Holy Thpirit, that's how,' he
thaid said, helpfully, and we all nodded sagely. The nativity play was acted out by the sweetest year sevens I've seen in a while, led by the truly angelic P, as the Archangel Himself. No sheep though, which was disappointing.
Sunday, 16 December 2012
The tree has been waiting patiently for us to decorate it for nearly a week, ahemming tactfully at me every time I go into the room. Too busy, I say apologetically - and it's true, I have been. But today's the day, and Buster will at last have his annual treat. These are toys he really likes to play with. The tree decorations are to be snuck up on, patted slyly as he walks past, and chased under the sofa the minute he gets them off their branches. And it is for that reason that I spurned the magnificent baubles, snowmen, firebirds and santas going for £20 a throw in the Conran shop. That cat is not to be trusted, no matter what he promises. He can't help himself.
Saturday, 8 December 2012
The alarm went off and the whole school
ran slumped, walked in an orderly fashion outside into the freezing playground to wait for the all-clear. We gathered in our respective meeting places, to be counted and ticked off the list. It was a drill, it turned out, and after about ten minutes of roll-call and lecturing for poor performance, 1000 people grumpily trooped back in again to resume lessons. Twenty minutes later, as I got down to a promising and productive art lesson with my VI student (of which, more anon), the alarm went off again. I had no coat, and neither did she. 1000 people left the building for the second time that day, back out into the brittle winter weather. It was serious this time, clearly - we have never had two drills one after the other. We waited, trying Not To Talk. Those in charge wore grave expressions, and muttered with solemnity amongst themselves as the cause of the alarm was investigated. Suffice to say, the three beautiful RE teachers are now strictly forbidden to make toast without opening the window first. That'll teach them to get hangovers on a Friday morning.