Thank you for your kind concern- especially, Dormouse, if you popped back to check on me! I am still here, and am very happy. I needed neither to call 999 (because the Principal patrols the corridors) nor consign my children to the fate of the latch-key (though they were quite looking forward to that bit).
I don't talk a lot about work, because I too, Frances, am bone idle. But perhaps I should clarify how it came about that this fraise came to have a wholly schizophrenic relationship with the work ethic. So, at the risk of turning each post into a Robert Frost tribute, here we go with chapter one:
I used to work in one of this little nation's finest schools. It is a very fine school. Obviously, therefore, it would be madness to leave. But I had had two suns in seventeen months, was teaching A-Level to young women ravenous for perfection, and thought I might implode if I had to do numbers 1 to 100 in French with a sixteenth cohort of eleven year olds whose Primary School teachers all thought that neuf rhymed with Smurf.
In my leaving speech I did confess that "I took the one less traveled by", and frankly "that has made all the difference". I firmly believe that women can and should work full-time as well as bring up children, if that's what they want. It just didn't work for me.
So here I am, doing bits of this and bits of that, and quite a lot of the other at the minute. Not quite a full week this time, but there was half a day on Monday and all day tomorrow, which is all good. And I'm nearly ready for the other thing I have to go and do after school tomorrow...
Many things have made me smile in the midst of rediscovering the joys of marking and inventing worksheets. One afternoon I decided to delve into the previously unopened Spam folder of fraise lach. Gosh. It really is a good idea to ban anonymous comments! Many were lovely. If that was you, thank you very much! I'm so sorry that I ban anonymous comments.
Many seem to have been commercial although, since they were written in Russian or depressingly incomprehensible French, that is admittedly a guess. Others were brilliant. Quite fabulous. I had a tiny post ages ago, which really just linked to Hookery the morning Heather Boss and I went to St George's Market. This prompted the question, "Is smoking m_____a good for hyperthyroidism?" I don't know, friend, but I wouldn't have thought so.
More recently I described a very lovely weekend, but one that will apparently lead to a sad and unfulfilling life. The thing is, fellow traveller, unlike roads in yellow woods, this is my fairytale and I know exactly where it's going!