And...relax...(until next time).

The assignment has been sent! Cue sigh of relief and Chinese take-away. I was thinking I could give myself some time off, but have just realised I have two new assignments due in early January; one is on children's poetry, and the other is the story that I've not actually done any planning for yet. But before all of that, I really need to read a crappy book. My brain has been frozen by intellectual worthy-ness, and I need to thaw it out with some rubbish. I'm thinking Bridget Jones, or something similar. And then I'll see a mindless but watchable film - School of Rock? When my brain is sufficiently mushy, I'll get back to the studying. 

As for school - it's that time of year again. If someone tells me, yet again, how many sleeps until Christmas, they may not live to see it. We have the infants practising their play, which, admittedly is quite fun, especially when you have to play 'guess the animal' with the children in the front row. A monkey in the stable?? Oh, it's a cow, I see...You always have the child whose mum is a great dressmaker, and who puts everyone else to shame; two shepherds in Power Ranger dressing-gowns, plus one with a tunic, beard, and sandals, complete with lamb.

I must get some Christmas cards. We have a school post-box under the Christmas tree in the hall, and I have to try to remember all the children in the classes I work in. My surname is not an obvious one to spell, and I get many interesting variations, some of which I can't work out what sounding-out method got them there. The cards with additional messages like, 'You're cool,' or 'Thanks for being amazing,' I put in prime position at home. 'See,' I tell my family, 'someone thinks I'm great...'

And I really, really must start buying presents. My husband has hinted that he wants a printer. I can't get my head around presents like that. I want something for me, that I don't have to share with anyone, and that isn't practical. Or books. My friend's husband bought her a hoover once. He lived to tell the tale, but only just. I need to cut out lots of pictures of present ideas and stick them to various surfaces around the house. I'll prime the children, too. 'Ok, you need to say "I overheard Mum saying she's really short of £500 Waterstones vouchers," got that?'

My brain hurts

I've given up on the assignment-writing for today. I've worked every spare minute for the last three or four days and have ended up with 5000 words of notes for a 2000 word essay. And I'm not even sure if I'm sticking to the question. I'm just pleased that I've already read the set books once, and was able to enjoy them before picking them to pieces and analysing them. Apparently Long John Silver's missing leg is actually a reference to the fear of castration that all little boys suffer. Oh please!!! For the last assignment in the Children's Literature course, we learnt that Little Red Riding Hood is really about sex. Of course. Isn't everything??

 

I do like to re-read favourite books, but having to read, re-read, skim, and make notes from any book is enough to make me hate them. I'm really not into book-burning, but I'm not sure if Little Women is going to make it to the end of next week...

I'm not looking forward to picking apart Mortal Engines, because that was a brilliant book, and I want to read the rest of the series, but I'm worried that studying Junk will make me actually use the stuff, because I hated that book with a passion. 

Anyway, as I said, I've given up for today. I need another coffee and to sit down and watch some rubbish on tv. I'm a Celebrity is probably sufficient mental-slobbery, but I'll top it up with some Strictly Come Dancing. See you soon, if my brain hasn't melted.

A Quick Note...

Just a quick one to promote a great site. If you're a facebooker or a blogger, go and take a look at the Blogging page on facebook. It's a very friendly and helpful page run by Hasnain. I'm shamelessly plugging it as he's done me a huge favour and featured my blog on the page. Have a wander over and say hello.

I'm kind of studying...

I'm sitting here in the little computer room (which is actually just the hallway with the front door blocked off), pretending to study. I have a creative writing book open in front of me, a few post-its scattered around, and an Open University tab open on the computer, just in case anyone comes past. I have actually been fairly good today - I've finished looking through Treasure Island for examples of fatherhood, I've got a page of notes, and I've opened a new word document ready. That'll do for today. Tomorrow I may type a few bits and delete them again. I kind of know what I want to write about, which makes a nice change. I also have a better idea for my creative writing assignment. My story about the scarlet fever outbreak in the village has been shelved as being complete twee-rubbish and far too Larkrise to Candleford, so my young village school-teacher can rest easy in that I'm not going to kill her off. My new idea combines:

with:

They're just the pictures that fired off an idea, anyway. Probably to be shelved as rubbish sometime in the near future... 

Advice I've seen is to write what you know, and I did used to work in a bookshop. (I was terrible. I was 18 and hated, hated answering the phones, which got me into no end of trouble. They were probably hugely relieved when I left to move to Norfolk.) That 'write what you know' thing is rather worrying, I think. A friend once lent me a book about a man who killed people and left a dead bird sewn inside them. And then there's American Psycho, which I couldn't actually finish. 

I read somewhere that the books you choose can say a lot about your character. I'm not sure whether I disagree with that or just find it disturbing. For example, I enjoyed Last Exit to Brooklyn; well, 'enjoyed' is probably the wrong word, but you get what I mean. However, I don't really identify with drug dealing prostitutes who end up... well, anyway... I just think my bookshelves say that I'll give most things a go. Not the activities in Last Exit, I hasten to add, I meant books...

As a total contrast, a child at school has just lent me 'Jacky Daydream', by Jacqueline Wilson, which I'm loving. And which I must go and continue reading...

Perks of the season.

Lots of people are complaining about the cold weather, but I love this time of year. I like coming in from work, closing the curtains and shutting the world out. My cotton skirts can stay in the ironing pile for another few months, and I can dig out the cosy jumpers from the back of the wardrobe. All of those thick layers do wonders for hiding my waistline, so bring on the biscuits! Actually, an extra layer of insulation helps during those freezing break times on the playground, so I'll have a hot chocolate too, thank you. There's a nice amount of rubbish on the tv, so I can waste the time I should be studying by watching 'I'm a Celebrity,' or 'Strictly Come Dancing.' So sad, I know...

Oh, if I must...

And then there's Christmas shopping to be done. Well, thought about, anyway. We picked our 'Secret Santas' today. Everyone's name is put in a bag, and whoever's you pick out, you buy a present for. On my first go, I picked my own name, but very stupidly put it back. I could have bought something amazing, costing a vast amount of money, and made myself look valued and well-loved. Instead, I was pathetically honest and picked again; I can kind of imagine a present for this person, so I got off lightly. At least I didn't get one of the male teachers. Buying presents for men is a nightmare, in my opinion. Even choosing something for my husband is difficult. I'm sure he unwraps presents from me with a resigned sigh. The person I can always find something for is me. I wander round town with a budget and I return with a book (for me), some make up (me), a nice scarf (you've guessed it) and a pair of earrings (yes, yes...). I'm sure my husband gets suspicious at how presents bought doesn't equal presents given, but he'd never complain because he hates Christmas shopping and wouldn't want to be landed with it all himself. I just see it as a shopping bonus. 

I hear that it snowed in Somerset recently. We need some snow here - piles of it, so the playing field can be covered in snowmen, igloos and giant snowballs that don't melt until March. Bring it on...

Sorry, but I don't do 'fun'...

The children had to vote today on how to raise money for 'Children in Need' on 16th November. They were given the options of coming to school in spotty clothes, pyjamas, or general non-uniform plus teddy. I was taking an infant class today (I know, I'm heavily into the wine tonight...) and the first few children I asked decided on the pyjama option. As much as I tried to dissuade them, more added their voices to this choice. 'Seriously?' I asked. 'Really? Are you sure?' Vigorous nods, and we ended up with a 20+ majority. I'm sorry, but I will not wear my pyjamas to school. Partly because I wear holey old Primark pyjama trousers with whatever t-shirts my sons have grown out of, but mainly because it's bound to be the day the rather lovely relief postman is working in the village. I do drive the quarter of a mile to school, but there is a road to cross, in full view of the high school bus. I have a reputation to keep up you know (ha ha, yeah, right... sigh...). Plus, pyjamas are for sleeping in, and I have enough trouble keeping awake during maths.

Actually, it's not the worst idea I've seen - the 'Children in Need' website is encouraging people to 'Go Bear-faced' on 9th November. The theory is that you're sponsored to go without make-up for the day. Now, I was once seen without make-up by one of the school governors on a field trip to Cumbria, and it was an experience neither of us wants to repeat. To expose children to the horror of a dozen members of staff with no make-up would be cruel and uncaring. And anyway, the 9th is a Friday, and I need a double layer of pan-cake by then.

So it looks like it'll be pyjama day, once all the votes have been collected and counted. Mr Chaos said his class all voted for pyjamas, and he's already planning to buy a cow onesie, complete with udder...

I have ten days to convince the children that I wear jeans to bed. 

You're not cooking are you?

Sons One and Two have decided to do some cooking, so if you don't hear from me again, think of me fondly. They're making an apple crumble, and the clean-up bill, as they say on the news after major disasters, will run into the millions. This, I believe, is their first contact with the oven since primary school. My daughter, having moved out a while ago, is rather good at cooking - regularly posting photos on facebook of steak in Stilton sauce, or similar 'Master Chef'-standard dishes. Son Number One's girlfriend is keen for him to get cooking. I see a good example of future planning there. She does keep me on my toes, though, as she's quite happy to help in the kitchen when she's here. I've had to make a hasty dash for the oven and say, 'Oh, let me! You go and sit down - I'll give you a call when it's ready!' For which she thinks I'm super kind and thoughtful, but it's actually so she doesn't open the oven and see the pizza-cheese-encrusted bottom. I will clean it. I know I've been saying that for a year or two, but it will get done...

Well, the apple crumble is out of the oven. All we have to do is open a carton of custard, and that's half of tea sorted. You'll have gathered that real cooking is not my thing. For this I blame my mother, who, when my father tentatively made a joke about home cooking, snapped, 'Okay, I'll just give up work and cook all day, shall I?' I really cannot see the point of spending hours making food that will either disappear in minutes, or be scraped in the bin with cries of, 'Why can't we just have pizza?' A male relative of mine married an amazing cook. We were talking about her once at my parents' house, over the traditional Sunday dinner of Aunt Bessie's Yorkshire puddings and five bottles of wine. My mother whispered, 'She makes her own custard...' and a silence descended as we pondered how you would even do that, let alone want to. Needless to say, she's never really fitted in...

I love this woman...

I'm hoping that my parents live to a good age, because I know I'm not ready to take on the Christmas Dinner responsibilities. The older I get, the more I can see myself as the Christmas Dinner Prince Charles. Mother's not ready to hand things over yet, so it may as well pass straight to my children. I know that instant gravy won't be acceptable, and I can barely time beans and toast to be ready together, so Christmas Dinner would just be a disaster, darling. 

Well, I'm off to the loft. The computer keyboard has a very klunky space-bar and it's irritating enough for me to get off my backside and sort it out. I must do it now before the motivation wears off.

I Know, I Know...

You'll have realised that the autumn theme has been and gone. That bright orange was making me feel sick, although that may have been all the left-over Halloween sweets I've been eating. I'd bought so much and we only had four callers. Probably because I was sitting in the dark, hoping they'd all go next-door instead. We used to 'do' Halloween, when my children were younger and I was less grumpy, but now I just sigh heavily every time the doorbell goes. Plus, this year, we're playing 'Musical Cats' every day. One cat in the kitchen, one has the run of the house. Merlin can't go outside yet, so there are regular screams of, 'The cat's coming! Shut the ******* door!' If Georgie wants to go out, Merlin has to be distracted, or blood is spilt. So every time someone visits, they're probably mystified by muffled shrieks and slammings of doors, especially as Merlin is determined to get out one way or another.

I have actually done some OU work this weekend. Really, real work. I've got a sort of idea for my next Creative Writing assignment (2200 words of fiction), too. I'll need to check our old school log books on Monday, as I know there was a time in the early 1900s when it was closed during a scarlet fever outbreak, and I need to kill off a character. I'm all heart. 

Anyway, I'm off before the children find the sweet stash...

Really, really important things...

That's half an hour of very important tinkering done. I decided that having an autumn feel to the blog was far more important than starting 'Treasure Island'. Actually, I have done some OU work this morning - I read some of the study guide over breakfast. That directed me to a chapter in a course book, which pointed me to 'Treasure Island', so there I stopped. To clarify, and so it doesn't look as though I'm totally lazy, I have read the book once, during the summer holidays (and enjoyed it hugely) and I will get my assignment done in time, I promise. I've often panicked, but never submitted my work with just two minutes to go before the cut-off time. It's been at least half an hour. If I was going to be very procrastinational (??) I could watch the four-hour Sky version of 'Treasure Island' and pretend it's helping me study. Shame I haven't got the Muppet film...

Things have gone downhill with the cats. One surprised the other, chased it through the house, and they ended up fighting on sleeping Son-Number-One, who was not happy. It wasn't lunchtime, and he had at least three hours of sleeping still to do. The cats are now banished to separate rooms and sulking, while Son-Number-One is moaning about the lack of antiseptic wipes. Come on, a few scars on the chest could be attractive to the girlfriend, stop complaining. At least you didn't get peed on. 

Well, it's twenty-past coffee time, so time to go. Then I'll do some work. I have started my assignment, by the way; I've underlined all the important bits in the guidance notes, and typed the title out. I've checked my word count, and that's thirteen words already.