Undressed

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.

FIRE!!!!

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.

En route

I finally have enough empty time to take stock of our house. Every room has goods in transit…

… a bag waiting to be posted back to my mum… 

… thread on the way to the thread box…

…a shawl on its way to being darned…

…clothes on the way to the charity shop…

…junk treasure for the car boot sale (if I ever get round to it)…

…to the loft …

…to the coat cupboard…

…well, that's a start… 

…(the black thing in the background is a router on its way to the tool cupboard)…

sleep like a baby

In the 'thank you' prayer, at the start of an RE lesson, L, a badass yr7, chose to thank God for his onesie. 'What's a onesie?' someone asked. The teacher helpfully explained that a onesie is like a babygro, but bigger. A titter ran round the room. Think L may have lost his street cred - for good.

all my own work

I made these labels to restock my Etsy shop. I love making them - they look so simple although they are quite fiddly to make. They use feed sack, vintage embroidery thread and imagination. They are a lovely way to send a message - 'happy birthday', 'thank you' or simply 'I love you'. If you like them please let me know!

Champing at the bit…

They can sense the finish line, and like nervy race horses they are champing at the bit, tossing their fringes and dancing sideways, while they wait for the off. Some spectacularly silly behaviour may end up in disqualification for a couple of them, which will be a shame. Summer holidays are 1 week away!

Left over right? Or right over left?

Last Friday was a Holy Day of Obligation. Two masses were given, one for upper and one for lower school, which I attended with my VI student. It ended 20 minutes early - exactly the amount of time needed for a shaming from the Head. Some people did not know how to approach the priest correctly to receive the host, and did not say amen! Others did not genuflect in the correct direction (my VI student's genuflection is a sort of abstract Jackson Pollock affair)! And the lack of audible responses! Sir was embarrassed and ashamed.

As a result we are to devote a lesson to 'how to attend mass properly'. Which is marvelous, because I seriously have no clue, never having attended mass till I came here. It's all been a wild stab in the dark. I did manage to mutter amen as I received my blessing from scary Miss NoSmiles, and as it turns out that is the correct response. Phew.