Friday, November 28, 2008

circles 'round the sun...

pic by paul oliver (www.

righto. lashings of apologies. i have been thinking about blogging everyday since the last post. truly. just been madly busy educating the masses, you see.

and riding horses. and raising my kids. and dealing with psychotic ex friends. and oh, morphing into a theatrical director, with, aherm, aggressive aplomb.

but the beautiful week-end has arrived and i fought for this space, for this time To Blog.

here i sit. . . . fingers drumming away on the desk. me staring vacantly out over the valley which is slowly turning green before my eyes. we have had gently soaking rains, accompanied by spectacular lightening storms. great pulsating veins of light lashing out at the hills. cross fingers it doesn't lash out at our hill. not going to say anything silly like " if there is a god strike me down on this very rock" like i did once, temptingly, many years ago in a storm. i was not struck. not going to risk it again though. he might have been joking. whoops. He might have been joking.

yesterday at school i found my class gathered outside, squinting heavenwards into the sun, pointing at this wondrous rainbowed circle around the sun, all thinking this heralded the end of the world as we know it.

"don't worry people. the earth will not fall," i said, " it's still spinning and there will be a tommorrow so get into the classroom now and hand in your homework."

hopes dashed, they disappointingly shuffled into the stuffy, hot classroom, which smells of old books and dictionaries. the circle was a wondrous thing indeed. something to do with frozen rainbows making icicles in the sky; if you were close to this frozen circle, i would like to think you would hear icy wind chime music...


where was i? oh school. so yes. been doggedly marching on towards the end of term. this dogged and determined march has been marred by some bizarre nasty twist of fate. the entire school production has landed, by a series of underhanded manipulative "moves", on my and ali's plates. it has morphed into Our Responsibility. our names will be in torrid print on the programme. our reputation as leading bohemian intelligentsia is at stake.

it's just hideous. it all began with me trying to be nice and helpful and being pathetically unable to say NO to assisting with school "clubs" - drama being one of them. my group of adolescent prima donnas decided on doing a spoof on the musical chicago. well actually. i suspect they thought they were seriously doing the musical a favour. not going to crush their inspiration....anyway. we were happily pootling along, them dreaming about being hollywood starlets, and trying on sparkly little (VERY little) black dresses in the girls toilets. ali's group were doing something african...folk tales...running around in green goblin suits and the other lady (still don;t know her name) took on jamaican culture. all i could hear was lots of bob marley tunes wafting lazily on the heat waves under the flame tree. still. guess it's genuinely jamaican. (who is that other lady? she isn't a teacher.) everything was just drifting peacefully and lazily along, until the headmaster announced that this in fact was supposed to be The School Production. oh shock. oh horror. oh vomit in panic. impossible.

so we gathered together, ali and i stricken and pale faced, to watch all the little productions, to see if we could pull something together. quite suddenly, none of the other teachers were there. mr f was apparently vomitting at home. the lady who we never knew her name, popped by and said bob was all they had and vanished never to be seen again. ms j, the one who had got me into this mess, had done a runner. so there ali and i stood. open mouthed and gaping at the prima donnas, singing hit the road jack whilst murdering a wayward lover, tottering about in VERY high black stilletto ankle boots in the tiniest sparkly dresses you have ever seen. the one with the tiniest dress and the highest shoes and the sexiest moves (she is only 16) has the fiercest arab father...

we groaned. we are doomed.

ali managed to convince the head to move the play from town, away from the public eye, back to the school campus in the hope that people won't be fagged to come all the way from town to watch it. she has also convinced the head that we couldn't possibly charge people an entrance fee. but, to date, she has not been able to convince the head that it is absolutely essential to make the audience slightly drunk on some ghanaian brew before the beginning of the play. we thought of making a vicious little cocktail which you have to drink before you enter the ampitheater. he was resiliant. it was an adamant No.

right. plan b. become horrible mean shouting witch director. change identity. kick some adolescent butt. and take this big lumbering misguided bull by the horns and grin and bear it. it's not going away.

we have prayed for hurricanes.

and if these lightening storms and circles around the sun are anything to go by, our prayers might yet be answered by wednesday evening.. . . .

although, wouldn't it be terrible if this whole thing lumbered into next term because of a silly little hurricane?

Kitchen Board: Saturday Morning: 29 November 2008

Contributors: Veronica

Comments: worried that we might be eating too much nutella? safari craig and i have both noted that our clothes are ill fitting, lately. this is not due to nutella. this is due to, well, aherm, carbo overloading? we can't stop. it's almost out of control. something has to be done. watch these lists carefully. soon they shall morph into:

carrot sticks

celery sticks

green tea

living on nothing but fresh air bollox.

oh can't be bothered. how dull dull dull. love my tummy. love my hips. love my bingo flaps. love my breasts. love my big strong lovely healthybody...


love you all. of course.

so toodely pip and bisous comme toujours, rainy lightening ones. XX j


Dumdad said...

Yeah to red wine. Yeah to wine of any colour really. said...

oh pour me a glass. of wine. any colour. a big, big one. effin precision chucked us off the flight. overloading it's called. apparently. so they took the two smallest people off. stranded in an outpost. gng to drink wine and cuss in manner of fishwife. had so hoped to catch you in ars this week. now it'll be next year xx

Lori ann said...

Funny:) Good luck with that production,maybe bring in some crying babies and barking dogs for distraction you know?
GREAT photo.I love it. Pretty necklaces too.

Bill Stankus said...

You're dealing with innocence's and that something the World needs plenty more of - especially when terror and violence seem so close.

Janelle said...

precisement DD! rah rah! xxj

oh bollox about your flight anthea!! when you had everything planned etc...precision air has to be the worst air line on the planet...SO SORRY. dying to see you and catch up. xxx j

lori ann! brilliant idea. will take all four of my dogs...and slyly pinch any babies nearby on the night...brilliant! xxx j

the world is indeed a crazy place,bill. spinning out of control....and it must be said, that i have grown a sweet little affection for all those teenagers..and even for the play..! thanks for your comments. xx j

Elizabeth said...

What a rich and complicated life you lead.
Quite a contrast to my dull one.

I remember teaching well - with all the joys, chaos and utter hard work!

family affairs said...

OMG that sounds really scary....good luck. That horse of yours is smiling! Lx

alex said...

For some reason I had envisaged you teaching little under ten cherubs not sexy nubiles with scary Arab dads. It will be a challenging riot and just another opportunity for you to use your wonderful creativity and at the same time your formidable Sgt major skills. Good luck girl! I promise your bohemian reputation will be safe.
I am also embracing my chafing thighs and non ironing board belly. But i cant quite love my bingo wings which generate enough wind power for a small town.
i want to know who these pyshcotic ex-friends are btw..send me message...hehehehee mmwhaw

Dick said...

Oh, I feel your pain, Janelle. I retired last summer with over 50 productions behind me (I was a Head of Drama), each one of them at some point doomed to failure and thus me to ignominy. Have courage. Yes, you'll need a little enterprise and much hard graft, but beyond a certain point a production will begin to breathe unaided and momentum will carry you forward. Keep us posted.

Mud in the City said...

Psychotic ex-friends? Maybe you should sacrifice said 'friend' to the Gods in exchange for getting the audience artistically drunk for the Big Performance?

karen said...

good luck!! thanks for the laugh, and I'm sure it's going to be a fabulous success, with or without vicious ghanaian cocktails, scary arab dads, etc..
redwineandcheese... absolutely!!

Janelle said...

elizabeth. hardly dull, darling! x j

lulu..yeah happy hoss eh? and yes OMG and OMG and OMG. it was even more hideous this afternoon...x j sweet funny thang..oh you don't want to know about this particular psycho ex friend...flat lined... x

oh mud, god would want MUCH more than him. god would want someone good like, aherm, uuuuuuuuum, me? and he has the idiomatic balls...x j

oh dick i wish you lived here, just down the road. i would hoist you in in no time at all. lie about it, of course, until i had you there. to save it all. x j

karen. thanks for your calm confidence. . . xxx