[loud whisper] Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually an elf... [/loud whisper]
Wearing my coat, pinstripe black trews, red shirty thing and my trainer socks
Eating/Drinking nowt.
Hearing Guillemots - Moonlight
Dreamt about nowt, as I recall.
Currently reading nowt atm. :(
Present MSN name ...And if you'd like to write jokes for the show, all you need is a crayon.
Talking to no one. MSN's being crap.
Last text from Bo-ho-ho.
Word of the Day elf
I met Neil, Paul and Joe at the MuteMath gig and it was incredibly cool. Since Joe’s all married now, he’s a bit rubbish, but Paul was really nice and chatted to my dad then me until it got awkward and then we drifted off.
Then after a brief interval of V and myself floating about, I went over to talk to Neil and catch up with him. He was just like his old self again, still very gorgy, and contrary to the pics on his MySpaz, not camp… though he was wearing this lame little scarf, but I don’t suppose it can be helped.Then after being interrupted about a hundred times, I told him I’d catch up with him and then V and I went to have our photos taken with Paul from MuteMath who was lovely and not as arrogant as I thought when he was on stage.I was so close to them, though. MuteMath, that is. I was squished in on the first row and Paul basically sat on my hands a couple of times when he was bouncing off the walls and doing his acrobatics. The man is talented, yes, yes.
It turned out we were in this crummy little place next door to the big Carling Academy that we managed to queue for and get into… until it was apparent that it was the wrong gig. I have to say, I thought it was odd with the sort of audience that was queuing.
Umm… what’s new on the street? Well, literally; my next door neighbours moved out very suddenly a few days ago without a word to us, which we thought was odd. And then we got some new neighbours who no one’s EVER seen. Not ever. Not once. As far as we know, we just have a couple of boxes and a red car for neighbours. Perhaps we ought to take around a housewarming gift, like a person to use them? I vote we get rid of Danielle. Or maybe Daniel. He needs a home, surely? Why else would he spend so much time at everyone’s houses? He’s definitely a stray. Someone out to call the RSPCA and report a stray guinea pig, cos let’s face it, that’s what he is. One of those little furry ones with all the hair and stuff and when they walk around it’s like little wigs walking across the floor or the ceiling or highway or wherever they just happened to end up. They get around fast. Heck, our Wiggy the Guinea Piggy ended up in Lincolnshire after a short scamper. Haven’t seen him in a while, so presumably he’s either dead or met a rabbit and is busy trying to make friends. God knows why rabbits and guinea pigs are put together. Certainly an odd match. It’s like putting a common or garden giraffe with a lesser spotted dingo. I mean, they’re not even vaguely alike or from the same country even! I will make it my mission (I actually just did a typo and wrote pission… it amused me) to find out why; why in the name of Tom Jones’ fake tan, why?
Moving swiftly on, however, I had to jump out of a window today with Dorian aided only by a stool and… the window. The window being a factor in jumping out of a window does indeed help. Anyway, it all started when I went for my bass lesson, and Mr Gatford was locked in the room and I was locked out, and so I got a key from SuperGlue (w/o cape, sadly) and was let in. I had the bass lesson, embarrassed myself by squeaking at him (early development of guinea pigs? I hope I don’t have anything of the Wig about me… :S ) when he asked my if I wanted his MySpaz addy for his band. And for some reason I didn’t really answer, I just gave him this high pitched noise which he seemed to interpret as a yes. Then I walked out (after tripping over my bass’ bag straps… not a particularly classy exit, I should add) and wandered into C13 where I was greeted by some guys in year 9 or 10 or something. Well, not so much greeted as not noticed. Nonetheless, I was unfazed and tried to get out the door, but it was locked and apparently the key didn’t work. So one of them climbed out the window to try the key on the other side and that didn’t work either. I possibly should have suggested that they may have been using the incorrect key, but it was amusing to watch them with the one they had, until I realised I was supposed to be meeting Dillington and so then I asked them to hurry up. But they didn’t, so I pulled up a stool, handed the year 10 outside the window Dorian and then stepped up and jumped out, straightened my collar and then took my Dorian again and walked off with as much class as I could muster, mainly for comedy value than anything else. So I didn’t look back. When I got to C16 I told Mrs Birchall that the boys were locked in C13 and they could get out, though, apparently she took it the wrong way, thanked me and stormed off. So I ran as quickly as I could to get to the common room because I didn’t want to be seen by the guys and given a bollocking from them for dobbing them in, which I didn’t mean to do. Ah well. No harm done. Though I might want to take an attack whistle and a handbag with a brick in next time I go for my bass lesson, as very often the boys are there as they may actually eat me.
Oh, and for reasons which I don’t want to go into right now, Amy and I apparently aren’t friends. Or so it seems. I’d make a bigger deal out of it, but there’s no point. I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no point in worrying about it. What will happen will happen and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Yes, I’ve never been so passive before. But it’s her move. I’ve apologised and tried to avoid the argument, but that’s made no difference. So it’s her turn to do something other than pointedly ignoring me. This isn’t a criticism on her, but then again… hmmm. The ball’s in her court, and it’s not my job to run over and retrieve the ball, then run back to my side of the court and lob it over again (or hit it, it would depend on the game. Volleyball? Tennis? Who really knows? On the other hand, if it’s squash then I could easily, as we’d both share the same court, however, I digress.)I don’t want to make too much of a deal of it, because, despite everything, I do still like the girl, even if she doesn’t seem to like me. I’m just sorry that apparently we don’t ‘get’ each other as well as I thought we did.
Hmmm... fencing was on Thursday and it was jolly good. Had a genuinely good time, although I missed Fishy. Mick said it was good to see me smiling and enjoying myself again, Floyd didn’t force me to do epee (or bloody foil, although I did foil anyway and it was good fun, if painful) and Jamie said I had a ‘set face’. To which I replied with what I hoped was a quizzical look, but like I’ve told Clem, most expressions [if held for too long, or he’s doing them] tend to look like one has wind, so it was only fleeting. Not the wind. The look.
Anyhoo, he said that I have a face that looks like I’m about to kill you if you don’t know me that well. And I have about two expressions: my ‘set face’ or a smile and that’s only rare, few and far in between. Something like that, anyway. I wasn’t sure what to think. Then he said he was like that too, and I gave him a grin and he returned it. I can’t remember how the conversation came about. We have some odd ones. Earlier in the evening we were talking about sheep. As one does, of course.
Dilly said today that I wasn’t small either. Actually, that sounds wrong. But I was running after him… hmmmm, *thinks* …wrong again. But then Tinderbox shouted out, ‘Mr D’Elia, there’s a small person running after you!’ or something along those lines, and Dilly joked, ‘Where!? Where!?’ and then looked at me and said, ‘You’re not small.’ So there we are. From the Rock God’s mouth. Looking back on it, I should have said the line of this post in a loud whisper, if only I’d heard it before then. I reckon it would have been quite funny. Though, for all my jokes, he doesn’t find me funny, just a ‘little sweetie’ which I suppose will do.I mean, I told him about the window fiasco and he didn’t even bat an eyelid. He only asked me if I had a calculator (I didn’t) and then he got out with titration tutoring (bless him, I don’t know what I’d do without him.)
Speaking of which, I did some in-class support on Wednesday with Gingey which was good fun and certainly interesting. It was with this year 7 group in D11, the computer room, and well… in all honesty… the horror, the HORROR.I mean, the kids were alright and Gingey was very nice to me. In fact, she even said, ‘Natalie’s very good at spelling. She’ll help you.’ And that was that. Everyone called me ‘Miss’ which amused me. But the reason I say that it was just… horrific… was because… they couldn’t use capital letters for proper nouns or spaces between words, nor the correct use of commas and full stops, let alone brackets, hyphens, semi-colons (which apparently a couple of kids who I spoke to about them hadn’t heard of, so I added them into their work for Gingey to find – after all, I am renowned for my extensive use of them *sigh*) and the like. It was dreadful.
And then they couldn’t spell either… I am surprised that I lasted a whole hour without creeping up to a corner of the room, sitting down with my knees hugged up to my body and just staring – staring and rocking – whimpering about the horror, oh, the horror.I reckon it could have been quite effective, but perhaps not on the first day. Not if I ever plan to ever tell the tale.
There was one amusing if slightly embarrassing moment when Gingey started reminiscing about me to the class; particularly to one girl whom she said was quite good at English, about when I was in year 7 and how I used to write stories and give them to her, ‘real little page-turners’ so she said, and how she used to really like them. There were all these little beady eyes on me, just blinking the word, ‘swot’ in big, beady blinks complete with evil glare. But the kids liked me overall, so that’ll do, Kep, that’ll do.
Erm, I think I’m going back to The Cunning Ham’s class for next week and then move onto Gingey’s year 10 group as well as her year 7 group. Can. Not. Wait. But, I really think this Nottingham Uni thing is going to get in the way, which I’m not happy about, seeing as I don’t really like it all that much. Meh. We’ll see.
Roger, over and out, for now.
Eating/Drinking nowt.
Hearing Guillemots - Moonlight
Dreamt about nowt, as I recall.
Currently reading nowt atm. :(
Present MSN name ...And if you'd like to write jokes for the show, all you need is a crayon.
Talking to no one. MSN's being crap.
Last text from Bo-ho-ho.
Word of the Day elf
I met Neil, Paul and Joe at the MuteMath gig and it was incredibly cool. Since Joe’s all married now, he’s a bit rubbish, but Paul was really nice and chatted to my dad then me until it got awkward and then we drifted off.
Then after a brief interval of V and myself floating about, I went over to talk to Neil and catch up with him. He was just like his old self again, still very gorgy, and contrary to the pics on his MySpaz, not camp… though he was wearing this lame little scarf, but I don’t suppose it can be helped.Then after being interrupted about a hundred times, I told him I’d catch up with him and then V and I went to have our photos taken with Paul from MuteMath who was lovely and not as arrogant as I thought when he was on stage.I was so close to them, though. MuteMath, that is. I was squished in on the first row and Paul basically sat on my hands a couple of times when he was bouncing off the walls and doing his acrobatics. The man is talented, yes, yes.
It turned out we were in this crummy little place next door to the big Carling Academy that we managed to queue for and get into… until it was apparent that it was the wrong gig. I have to say, I thought it was odd with the sort of audience that was queuing.
Umm… what’s new on the street? Well, literally; my next door neighbours moved out very suddenly a few days ago without a word to us, which we thought was odd. And then we got some new neighbours who no one’s EVER seen. Not ever. Not once. As far as we know, we just have a couple of boxes and a red car for neighbours. Perhaps we ought to take around a housewarming gift, like a person to use them? I vote we get rid of Danielle. Or maybe Daniel. He needs a home, surely? Why else would he spend so much time at everyone’s houses? He’s definitely a stray. Someone out to call the RSPCA and report a stray guinea pig, cos let’s face it, that’s what he is. One of those little furry ones with all the hair and stuff and when they walk around it’s like little wigs walking across the floor or the ceiling or highway or wherever they just happened to end up. They get around fast. Heck, our Wiggy the Guinea Piggy ended up in Lincolnshire after a short scamper. Haven’t seen him in a while, so presumably he’s either dead or met a rabbit and is busy trying to make friends. God knows why rabbits and guinea pigs are put together. Certainly an odd match. It’s like putting a common or garden giraffe with a lesser spotted dingo. I mean, they’re not even vaguely alike or from the same country even! I will make it my mission (I actually just did a typo and wrote pission… it amused me) to find out why; why in the name of Tom Jones’ fake tan, why?
Moving swiftly on, however, I had to jump out of a window today with Dorian aided only by a stool and… the window. The window being a factor in jumping out of a window does indeed help. Anyway, it all started when I went for my bass lesson, and Mr Gatford was locked in the room and I was locked out, and so I got a key from SuperGlue (w/o cape, sadly) and was let in. I had the bass lesson, embarrassed myself by squeaking at him (early development of guinea pigs? I hope I don’t have anything of the Wig about me… :S ) when he asked my if I wanted his MySpaz addy for his band. And for some reason I didn’t really answer, I just gave him this high pitched noise which he seemed to interpret as a yes. Then I walked out (after tripping over my bass’ bag straps… not a particularly classy exit, I should add) and wandered into C13 where I was greeted by some guys in year 9 or 10 or something. Well, not so much greeted as not noticed. Nonetheless, I was unfazed and tried to get out the door, but it was locked and apparently the key didn’t work. So one of them climbed out the window to try the key on the other side and that didn’t work either. I possibly should have suggested that they may have been using the incorrect key, but it was amusing to watch them with the one they had, until I realised I was supposed to be meeting Dillington and so then I asked them to hurry up. But they didn’t, so I pulled up a stool, handed the year 10 outside the window Dorian and then stepped up and jumped out, straightened my collar and then took my Dorian again and walked off with as much class as I could muster, mainly for comedy value than anything else. So I didn’t look back. When I got to C16 I told Mrs Birchall that the boys were locked in C13 and they could get out, though, apparently she took it the wrong way, thanked me and stormed off. So I ran as quickly as I could to get to the common room because I didn’t want to be seen by the guys and given a bollocking from them for dobbing them in, which I didn’t mean to do. Ah well. No harm done. Though I might want to take an attack whistle and a handbag with a brick in next time I go for my bass lesson, as very often the boys are there as they may actually eat me.
Oh, and for reasons which I don’t want to go into right now, Amy and I apparently aren’t friends. Or so it seems. I’d make a bigger deal out of it, but there’s no point. I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no point in worrying about it. What will happen will happen and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Yes, I’ve never been so passive before. But it’s her move. I’ve apologised and tried to avoid the argument, but that’s made no difference. So it’s her turn to do something other than pointedly ignoring me. This isn’t a criticism on her, but then again… hmmm. The ball’s in her court, and it’s not my job to run over and retrieve the ball, then run back to my side of the court and lob it over again (or hit it, it would depend on the game. Volleyball? Tennis? Who really knows? On the other hand, if it’s squash then I could easily, as we’d both share the same court, however, I digress.)I don’t want to make too much of a deal of it, because, despite everything, I do still like the girl, even if she doesn’t seem to like me. I’m just sorry that apparently we don’t ‘get’ each other as well as I thought we did.
Hmmm... fencing was on Thursday and it was jolly good. Had a genuinely good time, although I missed Fishy. Mick said it was good to see me smiling and enjoying myself again, Floyd didn’t force me to do epee (or bloody foil, although I did foil anyway and it was good fun, if painful) and Jamie said I had a ‘set face’. To which I replied with what I hoped was a quizzical look, but like I’ve told Clem, most expressions [if held for too long, or he’s doing them] tend to look like one has wind, so it was only fleeting. Not the wind. The look.
Anyhoo, he said that I have a face that looks like I’m about to kill you if you don’t know me that well. And I have about two expressions: my ‘set face’ or a smile and that’s only rare, few and far in between. Something like that, anyway. I wasn’t sure what to think. Then he said he was like that too, and I gave him a grin and he returned it. I can’t remember how the conversation came about. We have some odd ones. Earlier in the evening we were talking about sheep. As one does, of course.
Dilly said today that I wasn’t small either. Actually, that sounds wrong. But I was running after him… hmmmm, *thinks* …wrong again. But then Tinderbox shouted out, ‘Mr D’Elia, there’s a small person running after you!’ or something along those lines, and Dilly joked, ‘Where!? Where!?’ and then looked at me and said, ‘You’re not small.’ So there we are. From the Rock God’s mouth. Looking back on it, I should have said the line of this post in a loud whisper, if only I’d heard it before then. I reckon it would have been quite funny. Though, for all my jokes, he doesn’t find me funny, just a ‘little sweetie’ which I suppose will do.I mean, I told him about the window fiasco and he didn’t even bat an eyelid. He only asked me if I had a calculator (I didn’t) and then he got out with titration tutoring (bless him, I don’t know what I’d do without him.)
Speaking of which, I did some in-class support on Wednesday with Gingey which was good fun and certainly interesting. It was with this year 7 group in D11, the computer room, and well… in all honesty… the horror, the HORROR.I mean, the kids were alright and Gingey was very nice to me. In fact, she even said, ‘Natalie’s very good at spelling. She’ll help you.’ And that was that. Everyone called me ‘Miss’ which amused me. But the reason I say that it was just… horrific… was because… they couldn’t use capital letters for proper nouns or spaces between words, nor the correct use of commas and full stops, let alone brackets, hyphens, semi-colons (which apparently a couple of kids who I spoke to about them hadn’t heard of, so I added them into their work for Gingey to find – after all, I am renowned for my extensive use of them *sigh*) and the like. It was dreadful.
And then they couldn’t spell either… I am surprised that I lasted a whole hour without creeping up to a corner of the room, sitting down with my knees hugged up to my body and just staring – staring and rocking – whimpering about the horror, oh, the horror.I reckon it could have been quite effective, but perhaps not on the first day. Not if I ever plan to ever tell the tale.
There was one amusing if slightly embarrassing moment when Gingey started reminiscing about me to the class; particularly to one girl whom she said was quite good at English, about when I was in year 7 and how I used to write stories and give them to her, ‘real little page-turners’ so she said, and how she used to really like them. There were all these little beady eyes on me, just blinking the word, ‘swot’ in big, beady blinks complete with evil glare. But the kids liked me overall, so that’ll do, Kep, that’ll do.
Erm, I think I’m going back to The Cunning Ham’s class for next week and then move onto Gingey’s year 10 group as well as her year 7 group. Can. Not. Wait. But, I really think this Nottingham Uni thing is going to get in the way, which I’m not happy about, seeing as I don’t really like it all that much. Meh. We’ll see.
Roger, over and out, for now.
posted by ReddPhoenix at 11:03 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home