Why isn't it half-term yet? I am so tired. *Sigh*. I fear tiredness is causing me to become one of those scatty old teachers, who mumbles to herself, crashes into filing cabinets and leaves things everywhere.
I was observed by my mentor lesson 2 today with my monster year 8s. The scattiness came out to play - I forgot my lesson plans and worksheets(left them with the year 7 tutor group I'd registered that morning) and thus had to freestyle a whole lesson. I tell you, "if you fail to prepare, prepare to fail" really is true. Dang my new-found absent-mindedness.
On the plus side, I played countdown with the year 7s in afternoon registration. They loved it. I put the letters EAFTROSW on the board and asked them to make up words. I was desperate for one of them to say FARTS, but none of them did, so either they are really mature, or too well behaved to say anything like that. Very strange since my Y7 maths group laugh whenever I say dick (this doesn't happen too often, but has happened in the past). Anyway, I think I will provoke them with some other ruder word hidden amongst the letters next time we play.
Tomorrow is our first maths subject studies' day, which is ace, not just because it's a day off from school. Whooooop! It's at Birkbeck, an establishment I have often wondered about, so maybe a bit of adventuring is in order for tomorrow.
And finally, there are only 30 pages left of one of the worst written books I think I have ever read. It's called Love Rules (I shoulda known it'd be rubbish with a title like that, but I do like rules). I have a strange compulsion where I have to read the whole of a book even if it's rubbish, which has meant the past two weeks have been reeeeeaaallllyyyy slow on the story front, but then end is in sight. Maybe I will read it to my kids when they are bad.
Here is a quote to give you a taste:
The pain weighs heavy. Crying hurts. The pain underscores everything she does. It's the punctuation mark at the end of every thought. It catches in her throat and alters the timbre of her voice. It stumbles her walk and has decimated her posture. It prevents her digesting her food. It inhibits her hearing the loving support of Alice, of Sally, of Souki, though she attempts to listen. It's the bed of nails on which she tries but fails to sleep. It hurts, it hurts. It hurts all the time.
Bloody hell, it hurts to read this book. Get on with the story already. I will not be paying 20p to hear this again, no sir.
I was observed by my mentor lesson 2 today with my monster year 8s. The scattiness came out to play - I forgot my lesson plans and worksheets(left them with the year 7 tutor group I'd registered that morning) and thus had to freestyle a whole lesson. I tell you, "if you fail to prepare, prepare to fail" really is true. Dang my new-found absent-mindedness.
On the plus side, I played countdown with the year 7s in afternoon registration. They loved it. I put the letters EAFTROSW on the board and asked them to make up words. I was desperate for one of them to say FARTS, but none of them did, so either they are really mature, or too well behaved to say anything like that. Very strange since my Y7 maths group laugh whenever I say dick (this doesn't happen too often, but has happened in the past). Anyway, I think I will provoke them with some other ruder word hidden amongst the letters next time we play.
Tomorrow is our first maths subject studies' day, which is ace, not just because it's a day off from school. Whooooop! It's at Birkbeck, an establishment I have often wondered about, so maybe a bit of adventuring is in order for tomorrow.
And finally, there are only 30 pages left of one of the worst written books I think I have ever read. It's called Love Rules (I shoulda known it'd be rubbish with a title like that, but I do like rules). I have a strange compulsion where I have to read the whole of a book even if it's rubbish, which has meant the past two weeks have been reeeeeaaallllyyyy slow on the story front, but then end is in sight. Maybe I will read it to my kids when they are bad.
Here is a quote to give you a taste:
The pain weighs heavy. Crying hurts. The pain underscores everything she does. It's the punctuation mark at the end of every thought. It catches in her throat and alters the timbre of her voice. It stumbles her walk and has decimated her posture. It prevents her digesting her food. It inhibits her hearing the loving support of Alice, of Sally, of Souki, though she attempts to listen. It's the bed of nails on which she tries but fails to sleep. It hurts, it hurts. It hurts all the time.
Bloody hell, it hurts to read this book. Get on with the story already. I will not be paying 20p to hear this again, no sir.
