Monday, 11 February 2008

There is only change.

There are a million things I could (should?) be doing instead of writing this: ironing, shredding documents, making dinner, washing up, folding washing, thinking about my lessons tomorrow, getting ready to go out to the pub (at the moment I'm looking particularly ruffled in tracksuit bums that this morning I walked 6 miles in). However here I am.

It's been quite a week. On Wednesday, Adriano was made redundant, fairly suddenly. On Thursday, he got a call from HR, saying 'we may have been a bit hasty'. Today they offered him another role, albeit a temporary one. Whatever happens, it probably spells the end of a long time in London, and may hasten us to Brighton. As my Auntie said, 'interesting times'. It could all still take us in a multitude of directions, but we are trying to look on it as positively as possible, bearing in mind that we have been trying to get out of London for a while now, and he didn't like his job much anymore anyway. (Can you write 'anymore anyway' and get away with it? I will soon find out.) I have done my best to put down roots here, in this actually-rather-lovely part of London, but I can't escape the regular feeling of claustrophobia that comes (for me) from living away from the sea, and away from old friends.
The scariest part of it, and yet the handiest bit also, is that we both finish our contracts on exactly the same day. We will probably have to cut down our honeymoon by a week, but after we're back there'll only be a week or so and hey presto we'll both become unemployed on the same day. Wow. Welcome to married life!

At the moment we're both feeling a tad wobbly in different ways, but I think it'll be OK in the end.

Thursday, 7 February 2008

Out of the ark

I tell the children in Year 6 "By the end of the lesson you need to have started work on a poem expressing the feelings of either Tom or Will at this point in the story." The book is set in 1939, in WWII. I remind them that poems need not rhyme.

One boy writes:
It's awful that you have gone away, I feel so alone
I think I will call you on my mobile phone.

A know-it-all girl sitting next to him reminds him that they didn't have mobile phones in WWII.
"Oh yeah", he says. He rubs out 'mobile' and writes in 'wooden'.

About Me

My photo
* proud new mother * last child * youngest daughter * tallest sister * favourite auntie * honest lover * furtive photographer * diary writer * compulsive dancer * tree hugger * mooncup promoter * chocolate taster * house plant murderer *