This is hallowe'en...

My God but they're a hardy bunch up here!

It's FREEZING cold. It's blowing a hurricane. I'm currently sitting in my living room, wrapped up in Ugg boots, tracky b's, a cashmere polo neck and a hoody, huddled in front of my electric heater hoping that if I keep on typing long enough I will regain feeling in my fingers (not sure what to do about my toes yet...) and wondering if there's any way I could teach the cat to turn on the heating before I get home from school.

Has this baltic weather discouraged sugar-hungry guisers? Has it buggery.

And so all efforts to warm myself or my house are being thwarted by the fact that every ten minutes or so I have to open the front door and give sweeties away. Of course, this inclement weather does mean that I have no interest whatsoever in any 'tricks' that the little demons/witches/vampires/school kids (no school uniforn up here so it has a bit of a novelty value)/old people/etc might have prepared to earn their sugar hit, and so I'm saved from my usual Hallowe'en tantrum that kiddies these days get arsey over the fact that you expect them to offer you some sort of entertainment in exchange for sugary goodness. Not that I have high standards - a simple joke will do. I distinctly remember being forced, age 13, to escort my 6 year old brother and his friends around North Berwick. My darling little bro's party piece was just such a simple joke - he'd made it up himself, and was indescribably proud of it:
Bhrian: "Knock knock"
Unsuspecting neighbour: "Who's there?"
Bhrian: "Dinosaur"
Unsuspecting neighbour: "Dinosaur who?"
Bhrian: "Dinosaur's don't say 'who', they say 'rooooaaaaarrrrr'!"
Cue hysterical six-year old laughter, unsuspecting neighbour bemusement, sugary goodness for all!

Needless to say, Bhrian has never yet been allowed to forget this early evidence of 'comic genius', but it has ensured that my trick-or-treat standards remain suitably low. I do usually expect some sort of effort, but tonight, what with the hurricane that appears to be blowing directly from the arctic circle (can you get hurricanes in the arctic?) I'm more than willing to waive my rights to demand entertainment if it at least means I don't need to have the door open for more than 30 seconds at a time.

Reader, she married him.

I'm well aware that this post is nearly two weeks late, but as I was on a boat at the time it aired, today was, in fact, my first opportunity to watch the final episode of the BBC's Jane Eyre (thank the gods for programmable VCRs).

And so, I now find myelf sitting in my living room, not giving a hoot that my fire is stubbornly refusing to catch, with an utterly ridiculous, probably bordering on the fatuous, smile upon my face, my whole faith in true love utterly reaffirmed. So much so, in fact, that I'm only marginally irritated by the fact that the iconic declaration of female empowerment that is "Reader, I married him" did not in any way, shape, or form feature in the episode. Give me time to come out of my 'true love conquers all' bubble of happiness and I've no doubt I'll find it in me to be truely outraged, but at the moment...couldn't care less! Likewise, I have no qualms whatsoever with their rather un-proprietous getting jiggy in the meadow at the end. I mean...Toby Stephens...who could blame Jane for wanting to finally get her rocks off?

She married him. He's lush (just look at him - would you say no?) and he loves her desperately. All is right with the world. *sigh*

I'm off to daydream delightfully about Mr R/Toby Stephens (either would do) declaring their undying love and affection...*sigh* I might even finally be ready to re-read the actual book...

Back to Isolation

It’s been all quiet on the blogging front recently because for the past two weeks (well…12 days, but close enough) I have been in civilisation! That’s right – I have been back in the land of Starbucks, cinemas, and shopping, and I’ve been loving it. Even more than the excitement of Edinburgh, though, was the visit to my own personal Mecca – Bloomingdales, New York City!

Maria and I fly off to NYC last weekend for a three night jolly (as you do!) and it was FAB! We did a city-tour on Saturday (because we were only there for a couple of days we figured it was the best way to see as much of the city as possible in a short amount of time), went to an amazing restaurant called Tao, drank cocktails that were dangerously drinkable, I shopped until I almost literally dropped, I had…wait for it…a Jamba Juice (Berry Lime Sublime with Energy for those to whom that will mean anything)…we got $9 manicures, ate far too much food…it was fab!

It was lovely being back in the ‘burgh too – seeing everyone, going to the cinema, generally being able to walk anywhere without ALWAYS seeing at least one person that you know…to be perfectly honest, I didn’t really want to come back up, but…the call of the pay-check was a bit too strong to ignore.

So here I am…back up on the edge of the world. But only just. The ferry ride last night was….umm….interesting! There was a force 10 storm…it was great! Buck (who was in the Navy and then worked on the oil rigs up here and in the Far East and Africa) suggested that I either a) get off the boat or b) strap myself in and make my peace with God. Helpful, huh? Fortunately my cabin was pretty much in the middle of the boat so I think we were spared the worst of the movement (there were two of us in the cabin and by this morning it was a sort of blitz-spirit type thing!) Since arriving back in Lerwick the general response has been “Were you on the boat last night?” “Yup” (said with a deep sigh and a grim look). “Wow,” (laughing) “how was that for you?” Dontcha just love community spirit?

But now I’m back in my wee house (which is absolutely bloody freezing after my 12 day absence), desperately trying to convince my shitty fireplace that it does, in fact, want to become a roaring house-warming blaze – thus far it is remaining stubbornly unconvinced. Fonz is back from the kennels, looking only lightly traumatised but I think that had more to do with the storm last night than any fault on the part of the lovely people who have been looking after her, and I think that she’s almost forgiven me for putting her in there – although she does keep on directly disapproving little meows in my direction. And now I really must get around to the huge pile of marking which I’ve been studiously ignoring thus far…fun as procrastination is, I really need to do it.

PS: Hurrah – there are flames! There are definite flames – that has to be a good sign…fingers crossed…

Holiday!

Hurrah hooray let all rejoice for today is the day when happiness comes upon us!

That's right - school holidays started at 1pm today - it's a happy happy day! It also means that in under 72 hours I shall be back in civilisation, Starbucks in hand, and in a week I shall be at Heathrow airport, checking in for my flight to New York! Woohoo!

I do feel a bit guilty having just put the poor cat into kennels, but it can't be helped. Poor wee thing looked so confused - I came home and she was curled up quite happily asleep on the stairs. Next thing she knows she's shoved into her box without so much as a by-your-leave, put in a strange car and driven to the funny place that smells of other cats. And I leave her there.

I'm a bad person.

But hey, I'm a bad person who's going to New York - I'll learn to live with my guilt. Somehow.

Positive Behaviour

Today at school it was 'Promoting Positive Behaviour Day'. Well, afternoon. What this involves is...

Last week all staff were given a list of the first, second, and third year pupils. There was five categories of behaviour (punctual, attentive, attitude, homework, and prepared) and we ticked a little box to say whether they were generally punctual/attentive/prepared/etc etc. Each pupil got ticky-boxes from ten teachers, giving them a possibile score of fifty. If they achieved 44 out of 50 they got to spend this afternoon doing an activity of their choice. (I think the options were crepe making, design/craft, computer animation, music and 'extreme dodgeball' - not sure what that involves but it brings to mind lots of comedy Ben Stiller/Vince Vaughn images). Those who didn't reach the magic number of 44 ticks had to follow their usual timetable - or as close to normal as possible given that lots of teachers were involved in the activities.

Now, I'm all in favour of rewarding pupils - lots of attention tends to go to the 'bad' pupils and those who behave themselves can be just left to get on with it, but it does somewhat seem that today was rewarding pupils for doing what they're meant to be doing anyway - ie, paying attention in class, handing in homework, etc. They haven't done anything particularly impressive, or is it really so unusual for pupils to do what they're meant to that it has to be actively rewarded?

The other issue is the size of the school. As a rule behaviour really isn't a problem, so it turned out that the whole of first year got the required number of ticks in boxes, 23 out of 29 second years got it, and 13 out of the 19 third years got it. Which left not very many pupils not involved in the activities.

Failing to achieve 44 out of 50 ticks is not meant to result in a punishment (although it does result in a 'chat' with guidance) but with such small numbes involved...it's just a bit odd.

I wasn't involved in any of the activities so I found myself with the six unfortunate second years in my classroom for one period. Fortunately they all had an essay to finish off, so really all that not doing the activities meant was that they didn't have any english homework to do! For the other two periods this afternoon I found myself with two of the third years in my room, also working on an essay. They were timetabled for Practical Crafts and Maths, but requested time to come and work on their essays, and I was MORE than happy for them to do this. In fact, in period seven all of the five third years not on activites ended up working on their english essays, although they were split between my room and maths - having all five of the 'bad boys' in my classroom at the same time is not my idea of a relaxing afternoon!

And therein lies the irony. These five are the 'bad boys' - not just of the year but of the school (there are a couple of others but they had somehow managed to get the 44 ticks...don't ask me how) and yet this afternoon was one of the most pleasant I've spent in the school. Thursday is my quiet day and I always have periods six and seven free for marking/preparing/whatever else is required, but to be perfectly honest by the end of the day I'm usually bored stiff. Teaching is really a profession for those with a short attention span - there's an endless variety of people and things to keep you entertained - and on Thursdays I only have two out of seven periods when I'm teaching - the rest of the time I'm festering in my classroom. And so having company while I sat and marked was a refreshing change. It was all perfectly civilised - the boys got on with their essays (and three of them got them finished and handed in - something I doubt would have happened had they been left to finish them for homework) but there was a lovely relaxed atmosphere. There was a fair amount of chatting, but as the work was being done I wasn't complaining, and quite a lot of it was the boys asking me about when I lived in California, university, what I thought of Shetland, etc, etc.

One of the lovely things about such a small school is that there's the opportunity for really good relationships between pupils and staff. There's so few of you that you have no choice but to get to know each other, and this afternoon I think I started to feel that relationship building up for the first time. It really shows you what a difference small classes make. That, and taking the time to actually TALK to pupils, and to treat them like adults, rather than kids. They do respond to it, and it can only make life easier for them and me.

Of course, it was additionally gratifying to think that spending the afternoon working on English essays was preferable to Practical Crafts and Maths, but whether that's a comment on me, or on the maths teacher (and the fact that PC was being covered by the Head today) I'm not sure...nor do I want to ask.

A New World Order

Today at school I found my entire world view in very serious danger of being turned upside down, inside out, back to front, and all sorts of other manifestations of weirdness being afoot. Now, this is not althogether unusual on a Thursday - there is a direct correlation between the nearness of the weekend and the general raucous-ness of school (and I'm not talking about the kids here). To add to this Thursday-effect is the fact that the October holidays begin tomorrow (HURRAH HOORAY YEEHAH etc etc), and this afternoon was 'Promoting Positive Behaviour' afternoon. However, it was none of these deviations from the usual routine by which I run my life that was messing with my head. No, the thing that was really sparking off my weird-ometer was this:

A PE Teacher in a SUIT!

I ask you - what is the world coming to? My first question on heading to the staffroom for the daily meeting was "Is he in court today?" A slightly irritable "I heard that" was the response - it didn't seem to help when I told him that he was meant to hear it! The French teacher asked if he was going to a funeral, and the general consensus amoung the kiddies was "It's just not right."

It transpired that the reason for the suit is the fact that this PE teacher is also one of the two guidance teachers at school, and he had to go out to visit the fourth years who are all on work experience placements this week. Apparently a quiet word had been had that last year he had looked a bit "scruffy" in his standard PE uniform of a tracksuit & trainers, so the other extreme was reached this year. Granted, the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that said PE teacher hadn't bothered shaving (a fact I was fairly quick to point out, in my usual charming manner) - this was a reflection of his 'inner scruff' - or alternatively that a certain someone was running late this morning.

Anyway, basically - it was just plain weird - PE teacher in a suit. It's just not right. Of course, the comedy of the situation was added to considerably at lunch time when there was a rather sheepish confession coming from a suited and booted PE teacher..."I forgot my PE kit!"

All is forgiven

I take back at least some of my pedantry towards the BBC's Jane Eyre - Mr Rochester is fabulous! Mad wife be damned, he can 'overwhelm' me any time he likes! Silly silly Jane - bollocks to morality, you just know that you'd run off with him to his 'whitewashed villa in the sun' if he asked...or is that just me?

*swoon*

It's Official: I'm a Geek.

I am officially a total geek. Having got overly excited that Level Two of the WOMBATs were available on JK Rowling's website last week, the results came out today. For those of you not in the loop with these sorts of painfully geeky things, WOMBAT stands for Wizard's Ordinary Magic and Basic Aptitude Test and is designed to test basic knowledge and survival skills in the world of Harry Potter. Being entirely a written paper it is open to Muggles as well as Wizards and Witches and is as good as we can get without sitting OWLS or NEWTS.

Like the OWLS and NEWTS the grading scheme is O, E, A, P, D, T. Standing for Outstanding, Exceeds Expectations, Acceptable, Poor, Dreadful and (god forbid) Troll. In Grade One - a fair while ago - I was alarmingly pleased with myself to get an O for Outstanding - the highest grade. This time round I'm almost ashamed to admit that I'm annoyed with myself for only getting an Exceeds Expectations in Grade Two. I clearly need to spend more time re-reading the books and wallowing on the Harry Potter Lexicon before the next and final exam!

Living in Isolation

I'm two months into life up here in Shetland, and most of the time I find I've come to terms with life on a small island at the edge of the world. I've accepted that roughly 90% of the school population are related to each other in some way (and that includes teachers, office staff, cleaners, dinner ladies and jannies - so basically you have to be VERY careful if you're planning on mouthing off about any of the pupils!). I'm fine with the fact that it is physically impossible to go to one of the two supermarkets without seeing, and having to stop and speak to, at least one person you know. I've come to terms with the fact that there are just not that many places you can get drunk, so, as with the supermarket, you will meet people you know - and pretty much the best you can hope for is that they're in a worse state than you. It is a fact of life that living on a small island, and teaching in an even smaller hamlet, means that absolutely everyone knows all that there is to know about your life - as evidenced by the fact that yesterday the lovely woman who cleans my classroom asked me how long I was going to New York for in October! (Oh yeah, I'm going to New York for a long weekend in October with Maria. As you do!)

Despite all this acceptance, however, there are times when I am forcibly reminded of all the things I'm missing. My major bugbears as far as this is concerned is TV adverts mocking my isolation from the amenities which those living on the mainland take for granted. By this, I particularly mean trailers for movies that I can't go and see (there's only a cinema in Shetland one weekend out of every month and they only show three out of date films!) and the food-porn with which Marks and Spencer titilates my tastebuds. Seriously - there is no M&S closer than a 12 hour boat ride - STOP ADVERTISING UP HERE! Today, however, it was not food-porn or a film trailer. It was not a Starbucks craving (although a grande vanilla mocha with whip would have gone down an absolute treat this morning before school). It was not even the fact that the disease-ridden children I am surrounded by all day have given me a bitch of a cold and I feel like my head is going to explode and there's no way my granny can come and bring me soup. No. What got to me today was reading through my mate Chloe's Blog.

Chloe's blog is really quite entertaining, and it keeps me up to date in my isolation with many of the cultural events of London. I have no urge to ever live in London, although I do like visiting, but reading Chloe's blog today reminded me of many of the things I'm missing about Edinburgh. Things that I usually take for granted. Living in Edinburgh, I tend not to visit the various museums and theatres as much as I probably should. I take total advantage of the ability to shop whenever I so choose. Most of all, however, one of the things I most love about living in Edinburgh is how easy it is to get everywhere else.

Chloe's blog reminded me of this today. In addition to details about a current production at the Globe and a Holbein exhibition, Choe's recent exploits include a Monkey Gathering in London. And early excitement at the Monkey Cottaging Extravaganza which is taking place in November. This is, in fact, Monkey Cottaging Extravaganza II and I am GUTTED not to be going. I was Monkey Cottaging Extravaganza I, I slept in a tent for Monkeys Go Camping, and if I was still living in the Burgh of Edin I would most definitely be back at the Cottage. Unfortunately, getting from Shetland to Wales for a weekend is just not do-able during term time. Gutted. My only hope is that I can convince the Primate Pride to come north for Monkeys Go Wild in Shetland! Hmm...if it wasn't for the extreme drunkeness, sexual innuendo, gratuitous nakedness, blatent homoeroticism and steady stream of obscenities that follows them, the Adventures of the Monkey Massive could almost be a series of successful children's books...

Alas, however, I'm in the wilds for the foreseeable so must kiss goodbye to Gibbon Grabbing, Rheusus Romping, and all other forms of alliterative Monkey Love. A Happy Belated Birthday to Jik, Jimbob and Jarvis, and big love to all Monkeys everywhere.

An Islan' in de sun...

...and no, I do not mean Shetland! (Well, actually...it has been nice and sunny here for the last couple of days, but no...I don't mean Shetland!)

Rather excitingly, for once my mother has actually come through on her fabulous christmas pressie-promises (I know, it's only the start of October, but you do have to factor in my mother's metalist tendencies) and I am now tribe member 970! For those of you not in the know, I recommend a jaunt over to the tribal pages to have a bit of a looksie. Essentially it's a time-share for the twentyfirst century, but it's cool none the less and my mother has just bought me a three year membership to this 'tribe' in Fiji - which entitles me to three weeks holiday on said island, food and accommodation thrown in (I do still have to pay to get there tho), spread over the next three years however I want. Cool, huh?

Now, Fiji is a bit of a trek for a beach holiday, but as I've been planning a jaunt down to the land of Oz for some time now, and the easiest way to get to Fiji is via Australia....I'm sure you can start to see my thinking.

Who knew hormones were air-borne?

You remember back in the halcyon days of your childhood, with all the excitement of school-photo day? You know, the day your mum’d do your hair specially and your teenage skin would rustle a zit which so big it practically needed its own seat on the bus? Yeah, turns out that that isn’t actually anything to do with being a teenager, it’s actually a natural body reaction to the words “school photo”.

Now, what’s even more impressive is that I didn’t even know that today was school photo day. I CERTAINLY didn’t know that I would be getting my photo taken (staff photo? Bollocks!) And yet my skin knew. With unerring skill it managed to summon a spot on a scale similar to Mount Etna. And where was the beauty? You guessed it, right on the end of my chinny-chin-chin! Oh the joys! I can only asume it's some latent side affect of spending the majority of my time surrounded by hormone-riddled teenagers. Surely adolescence is like chickenpox - once you've had it once you're immune, right? No-one at Moray House mentioned this as a side-effect of teaching....

I'm a Pedant, and I'm Okay

Poor, foolish BBC. It was all going so well, and then along comes that irritating thing called 'artistic licence'. What am I talking about? The BBC's current adaptation of Jane Eyre of course.

Those of you in the know will be well aware of my somewhat tyrannical approach to TV and film adaptions of favoured books. I have still not brought myself to watch the most recent film of Pride and Prejudice because, frankly, the thought of Keira 'I'm not anorexic, I naturally look like a malnourished stick-insect' Knightly as Elizabeth Bennet makes me come over all apoplexic. Now, I had high hopes for this Jane Eyre. The BBC has an excellent pedigree when it comes to literary adaptions. Pride and Prejudice? Brilliant. He Knew He Was Right? Spot on. Even the recent 'Shakespeare Revisited' series was really rather good. (Apart from the mind-numbing MacBeth, but three out of four ain't bad, and Much Ado About Nothing was inspired!) And so with an equal mix of excitement and trepidation I sat myself down to watch one of my favourite books. (I'm aware I haven't been able to bring myself to read Jane since the trauma of fourth-year dissertation writing, but I'm getting close.)

It started well. Granted, Mr Rochester is FAR too good looking, and when Jane says that she doesn't find him attractive I was hard pushed to resist throwing something at the telly while shouting "Are you blind???" quite loudly. But even if he is a bit pretty, Toby Stephens did manage to convey a suitably bastard-ish character for Mr R pre-transformation. And so, feeling considerably more relaxed I sat down to this weeks installment. And that's where it all went wrong. You see, I let my guard down. I really should know better, but I allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security and so I was wounded by the travesty that was to come.

Now, exciting as a ouija board may be, as far as I remember it features NOWHERE in Charlotte Bronte's masterpiece (or, infact, in any Bronte novels). From what I do remember (and I am willing to be correceted on this [Chloe?] if neccessary) it is the much tamer, and more traditional, parlour game of charades which is played at the Thornfield house party. Now, the charades section is fairly lengthy, and I can understand that it may not make for the most thrilling of TV. And that I could have forgiven, had it not been for the next nightmare.

The Fortune Teller. This is an absolutely genius section and it ranks up there as one of my favourite episodes in the book. In it, Rochester rather dexterously, if somewhat meanly, dresses up as a fortune teller to spread a few home truths to his guests, and to try and get to the heart of Jane's true feelings about him. It's brilliant. It also has the added bonus of featuring a major romantic hero in drag. Kindof hard to imagine Heathcliff or Darcy donning a frock in his persuit of the heroine ain't it? And it's this donning of drag which helps make Rochester one of my favourite of literary heroes. And did the BBC respect this truely inspired scene?

Did they bollocks.

Instead we have Rochester lurking behind a screen in a fairly nancy-boy-ish manner. Vile. Yes, he's still pulling the strings of the [female] fortune teller, but instead of being humerous, perhaps even heroic, and being fairly impressive as a demonstration of how far he's willing to go, even at this early stage in the novel, to get Jane, in this version he comes of as fairly petty and almost malicious. It's just not the same. Gutted.

P.S. I also have to mention that the technological honeymoon is over - this is the second attempt to post this blog, and if it doesn't work this time, I just don't think I can be arsed writing a third!