4 weeks in...

Hello all,

Friday's here again. That means no lessons tomorrow (it only happens twice a week so it's a VERY wonderful thing). I can halt the planning train and take a bit of time to reflect (and give you a catch up).

I'm over half way through my first placement. This means 4 weeks teaching, which sounds like nothing, but I feel like I've been doing it for months! I learn new things every day, but I'm so busy planning, marking and teaching that I don't really notice it's happening until I stop for a moment. Then I realise how far I've come since my first lesson. Life is good when you think you're getting somewhere.

Now I'm sitting here while Chris is out, drinking a glass of wine, eating cheese and biscuits and just flopping. I've got to start thinking about things non-school; Christmas shopping for one! We've started receiving cards and it's wonderful to hear people's news, but I feel sad and guilty that I don't have the time to reply properly. Maybe I'll catch up at the end of term!

I remembered that I have a mini christmas tree yesterday, so Chris and I put it up, dainty decorations and tiny lights too. It's not the most festive setting I've ever seen, but it's better than nothing.

This post is getting a bit rambly so I'm not to sure how to draw it to a close. Maybe I'll just say that I send you all lots of love, I miss seeing and speaking to you all as much as I would like, and I hope that we will all catch up properly over the festive season.

xxx

Friday feeling?

It's Friday.
So tired.
Can't speak, type, move.
Going to drink tea. Maybe wine. Maybe gin.

x

1 week down - thoughts on the profession.

Six lessons done, and a day without lessons tomorrow! I feel so relieved by the idea that I will not be 'performing' again until Monday. It felt a bit like betrayal, this relief. Why am I putting so much effort into learning these skills if I counting down to the days when I am free to not use them?* Having discussed this matter with other teachers, it's not at all uncommon. It is shocking what a love-hate profession teaching is.

Today I had two classes, each made up of about 25 12/13 year olds, each looking at exactly the same topic. The first lesson involved a lot of voice raising, sighing, fighting against a sea of noise as students chattered and were silly and showed little interest in listening to me or each other. I sat them away from their friends and all they did was turn their chairs around and talk with their backs to me. When they finally left (I kept 8 in over break) I tidied up the chaotic mess that was left behind which included crumpled, torn worksheets and numerous paper aeroplanes.

I wasn't too despondent (I've seen this class with several different experienced teachers in several different subjects, and they caused havoc in over half the lessons) but I was very tired, and desperately seeking solutions so that it didn't happen again.

Then, in the last lesson of the day I taught the second class. They have a reputation as a noisy lot and I thought that by 14:50 they would be ready to riot, but in fact they were almost angelic. Interested, curious, engaging in the subject, getting the most out of the tasks I set them. It was great!

So teaching is full of ups and downs. Classes never do quite what you expect, which is why the job in interesting; it demands that you be dynamic, flexible. But it also means that you can't just drift off for a moment of relaxation mid-lesson. So, however interesting I'm finding it, however much I'm enjoying seeing the kids' reactions and listening to what they have to say, I'm counting down the hours til my next lie in, and the days til the Christmas holidays, and the weeks until I have a 6 week summer stretching out ahead of me. No wonder teachers have such long holidays. They'd never get through otherwise!


*Allow me to point out that although tomorrow will be free of teaching, it will not be workless. It takes me at least 3 hours to plan each lesson at the moment, and another hour or so to prepare resources. I have 6 lessons to prepare for next week, and several uni assignments that I need to start, so it is not a day off!

What should teachers do?

Today I was back in University for the first time in over two weeks. The day progressed in the standard manner: 9-5 seminars on varying topics, including a lot of sharing news and experiences (us students haven't seen each other since our first fledgling attempts at teaching so there was a lot to say).

However, at the end of the day we were asked to do something unusual. We were instructed to go to a lecture, led by the theorist Etienne Wenger, who spoke about his career and research in something called "Community of Practice", a term which, according to wikipedia, "describe[s] a group of people who share an interest, a craft, and/or a profession. It is in the process of sharing information and experiences in that group that the members learn from each other, and have an opportunity to develop themselves personally and professionally".

He spoke about how a student's interests and sense of identity affect their desire and ability to learn; how, as teachers, if we can present ourselves as inspirational, even aspirational figures, we will have the opportunity to share our knowledge with our pupils, because they will want to gain access to our universe of experience. Am I making sense?

So essentially, if I understood correctly, I should try to make my subject relevant to students, make it something which they can connect to their sense of identity, their image of themselves. They can enjoy reading, because I enjoy reading and am so passionate about it that they think 'Hey, I want to be a part of that'.

The idea was a little controversial. Some students felt that this theory is nothing new - of course we will try to be passionate, inspirational, relevant. Others thought it was not their job to help students "find their identity". We have enough to do: juggling targets, a curriculum, trying to get all 31 students in your Year 9 class to remember to bring their books and to sit down when asked.

The lecture got me thinking about what I am trying to do by becoming a teacher. Am I just going over to the dark side? Making children jump through hoops, forcing irrelevant literature and grammar into one ear, only for it to fall out the other side as they leave the room? Does it matter if they remember the names of the characters in Much Ado About Nothing, as long as they leave my lesson feeling confident and as if I am interested in what they've got to say, whether it be about Shakespeare or the episode of Family Guy they watched last night? Does my main responsibility lie with the subject I love, or the interests of students I'm teaching, or is it somewhere in between?

I'd be really interested to know what you think. What do you remember about teachers who inspired you? Who made a difference to you at school? What is education, anyway?

2000 words, on my desk by Monday morning. Please.

Remember me... ahem

Hello all,

It's been a long time!

I think I'm discovering that PGCE timetables are not so compatible with blogging... but I am going to persevere.

Thanks to nagging readers (esp. Susanna and Noemi) for encouraging me to get back online. Following advice, I'm going to try to get into a routine of writing little and often. Hence this excerpt from recent events:

Taught my first four lessons in secondary school this week. Pupils all left with limbs attached, so not too bad. Have enjoyed it actually, but following one frustrating lesson today I feel I have a lot to learn about behaviour management before it will be as successful as I would like.

Also celebrated my birthday. Chris treated me to a fabulous dinner; he cooked while I planned lessons. Was delicious! I was also treated to surprise cake at work. I was very touched. And thanks to you for all the messages and cards! :D

I'm off now. A bientot. xx

My first lesson and a weekend visitor from Germany

Hello there,

I'm now into my second week at the Primary School in Manchester. It's been great. I actually feel very settled and I'll be sad to leave tomorrow! It's hard to leave in the midst of half-term. I want to see what the kids will catch in their insect traps, know how tall their bean plants will grow and see how their WW2 day goes. They're having an Eid party next week and will all be bringing in food and I'm very sad that I won't be there to see it (and taste a few dishes!).

Today was particularly good. I taught my first every lesson - fancy that! Like a real teacher and everything. Well, sort of... I had the last lesson of the day, an hour long, in which to get 24 boys and girls to think about the lives of world war two evacuees, and write an imaginary evacuee letter home. It went really well. We had some great discussions about words they could use, and what life was like in the country compared to the city. The children then went on to write some great letters! Best of all they were all enthusiastic, if a little chatty and excited by the end of the class. Let say it didn't put me off at all!

For a seasoned teacher, this lesson would just be one of several in a day, nothing special, but for me it feels like a real achievement. I faffed and worried about my plan and my resources. I had a very thoroughly drawn out lesson structure, and thought I might be complicating things so much that I'd get lost in it. I was also feeling nervous about what it would be like standing at the front of the room, with 27 pairs of eyes (there was a teacher, a classroom assistant and another PGCE student in the room too) staring right at me.

I reassured myself, however, that I would have the whole of the previous lesson to set up, because the students would be in the hall doing PE. So after lunch I waiting for my opportunity to print off my plan and get myself well prepared, with all my resources ready before 2:30. However, the clock hour hand reached 2 and the students still hadn't left. They were running so behind, the teacher decided to skip PE. So suddenly my cushion disappeared. I had 5 minutes to get everything ready and read over my plan quickly. So not as calm as I was hoping! But as I said, it all went well in the end, and I'm feeling much more confident for the start of my course next week.

Steffi, me and Chris at Bramall Hall near Manchester

In other news, last weekend, we had our first real visitor! Steffi, a German au pair who I met while working in Paris who is now a student, was visiting London for a week with friends. At the end of her visit she came to stay with us for 3 nights. It was really fun to have a chance to do a bit of tourism together. We went to the Town Hall, the Cathedral, the John Ryland's Library (which is very beautiful) and on Sunday we went to a Tudor house called Bramhall Hall. We learned a lot about Manchester, and talked about the differences in our cultures. I feel I learnt almost as much about Germany as she learned about England. We also treated Steffi to a whirlwind of English cuisine, including sausage and mash, cornish pasties and egg custards, a meal on the Curry Mile, pork pies and Dairy Milk, and finally a Sunday roast with chicken, roast potatoes, vegetables and homemade gravy and bread sauce. A real treat for all of us!

Me humiliating a chicken, dressing it with butter and herbs ready for roasting

We also had two of my cousins Bernie and George over for dinner last week, making boeuf bourguignonne. Bernie is a chef so we were a little concerned about how he'd react to our food but he seemed to like it, and even brought over a brilliant raspberry and white chocolate bread and butter pudding with homemade butterscotch sauce. Yum.

All this talking about food is making me really hungry! Luckily I'm sitting in front of a cake which I have baked for Chris because it's his birthday today. Shhh, don't tell him though! He doesn't know anything about it. Hopefully he's cycling home now though, so he won't have a chance to find out about it by reading my blog! If he doesn't get home soon I'm going to have to eat it myself anyway... Unfortunately it is one of the ugliest cakes I've every baked, otherwise I'd have included a photo.

Anyway, I hope you're all well. Please leave me a comment to let me know how September is treating you! xx

Back to School

Today I spent the day with a year 6 class in a primary school in Moss Side, Manchester, where I will be helping out and observing for the next two weeks. I can happily and wholehearted refute recent irresponsible comments made by the Shadow Home Secretary. These 11 year olds showed no evidence of being involved in urban warfare. There were no bullet wounds, and not even a hint of a Baltimore accent. They were bright and enthusiastic kids who could probably do without thoughtless politicians labelling them and their home environment by comparing Moss Side to The Wire.

Anyway! Primary school seems to have got a lot more sophisticated since I was there. I got to witness a "Shake Up, Wake Up" assembly, when a dance troop of pupils performed to a song called "Show your national colours". It was really upbeat and the rest of the school got to join in at the end. Next came an hour of numeracy, a break, then 95 minutes of SFA (Success For All - today, conflict resolution and emotional vocabulary. It felt a bit like group therapy...). Lunch followed, then a brief spell of handwriting, which involved an programme on the smartboard that included videos of people leading hand warm up exercises! Next came science, when the students had to plan an experiment, including how to make it a fair test! Did we even discuss the concept of a fair test at primary school?? Finally there was circle time, which involved a couple of rounds of wink-murder, with some very dramatic death performances.

Generally it was all very enjoyable, although it was a bit awkward at lunchtime in the staffroom. No one seemed at all curious about who I was or what I was doing there, and although I tried to start conversations with them about the school, or their class, no one really seemed to want to chat. Hopefully this will improve with time. If not, I'm going to start bringing a book...

Will keep you posted on whether I have to resort to that or not!

What happened to August?

It's been a short age since I last wrote a post. August seems to have passed me by completely. Only now do I feel settled enough to actually try and get this key-tapping business back on track.

I think I haven't written recently because I've seen so many people in the last month. I didn't really need to use my blog to keep in touch. Since my last post I have:

- Been to Carlisle three times (For birthdays and visiting my new niece!!)
- Been to Pembrokeshire for a big family party
- Been to Peterborough twice (For packing, School friends reunion at the Beer Fest and another big Family party, this time a surprise which I helped to organise)

I have also moved house, which has entailed all sorts of things like BT engineers up telegraph poles, washing machine deliveries and a whole lot of box-filling, box-carrying and then, inevitably, box-emptying. It was all worth it though because for the first time since June I am not living out of a suitcase. It's stupid to be attached to lifeless things, and the two months without them has been refreshing, but at the same time I am oddly comforted by being reunited with my books, my hole punch and my potato masher, among other items. I like having these things here, under my roof, rather than worrying about whether mice have got into my boxes at Mum's house and chewed their way through my new Samuel Beckett book...

The new flat is GREAT! Sharing space with just Chris is supremely superior to sharing it with him and his housemates. Somehow, having responsibility for everything between the two of us is much easier than the casual arrangement at the previous place. If there is a problem, we have no choice but to deal with it, but we don't have to dither and check with others and wait for someone else to get round to something.

Chris is in Rome this week so I have spent the past 5 days in the flat by myself. Although it's been quiet, I think it's been useful. It's the first time I've arrived in Manchester and he hasn't been around to meet me. The experience has made me realise that this is my home now. I'm not just visiting any more. I have got a little bored though. Starved of human company I have watched two series of The It Crowd and most of the first series of The Mighty Boosh. Things are looking up today though, because I have arranged to meet some friends for lunch.

Friends? What friends? you might ask. Well, my move up north has been made considerably easier by Chris' friends from Uni and more accurately their wives and girlfriends. I've been lunching with the physics WAGs throughout August. I've never been one to go in for girly groups. The idea of meeting up with people whose only common trait is their partners' occupation is a bit abhorrent to me - like we're just an extension of the Manchester University Theoretical physics department - but I've been pleasantly surprised. Our lunches have little to do with the blokes and much more to do with our mutual appreciation of cake and craic.

Next week, phase one of my teaching course starts in earnest. I'm starting at a Primary school for two weeks of observation. I am a little concerned that it's going to be a fortnight of being covered in glue and glitter, incessant cries of "Miss, Miss! What are you doing here Miss?" and having to sit in mini sized chairs with my knees sticking up to my chin. I'll report back soon.

Clothes-munching varmits, Cocktails and Pirates, and somewhere to call home

I spent last weekend down in Peterborough with friends and family. The first task when I got there was to clear up all of the boxes and bags that had been dumped in my room. When I left London almost all my belongings (kitchen bits, books, files, winter clothes) were taken up to Peterborough by my Dad and left at my Mum's, where they have been cluttering up the place for over a month. When I arrived last week it was clear that if I didn't do a bit of tidying up there'd be nowhere for me to sleep!

I polished and scrubbed and hoovered (very uncharacteristically) to give everything somewhere clean to be put once it was unpacked. Once the boxes were cracked open it was quite satisfying to put things back into their original places - books into the gaps where they once resided, good albums squeezed next the other ones that weren't deemed worthy enough to come with me to uni (when most of my boxes were originally packed up!). Then I tackled my clothes. It was time for a sort out. I still had clothes that I first wore to school discos in year 8... Anything bobbly, stained, too big, too small, or just unlikable was put aside for charity shops and rag bags. The first bag was empty and I wasn't left with much left to wear!

Next bag I tackled was filled with winter clothes. I pulled out my trusty blue duffel coat and long teal wool vintage coat. Underneath, on a white bag, were lots of little blue crumblike dots. Strange... Next I pulled out my feather-filled slippers. They looked oddly straggly. I took a closer look and realised that there was something moving on them.

LOTS OF WHITE SQUIGGLING
MUNCHING LITTLE BEASTS
(Photo: www.reviewmylife.co.uk/blog/2008/05/14/clothes-moths-attack)

What I found looked a bit like this picture - the larvae of clothes moths. And at first they seemed to be everywhere! In both my coats, my favourite jumpers, my slippers. YUCK! After the drama of the tick I was not impressed to be under attack from creatures again so soon.

Mum and I spent ages brushing, shaking and spraying my clothes. We put them all out in the sun. Unfortunately the duffle coat was so holey it had to be binned and my slippers were too moth-eaten to keep. Everything else was salvaged, but does look a wee bit nibbled.

Lucky lovely things happened in Peterborough too. I went for a drink my Dr Kirsty, who had just passed her driving test (hooray!). I went to a beer festival with my Dad and Stepmum. I also went to my Cousin Henry's 30th birthday party.

Henry and his Balthazar
(© Sunil Patel, Facebook)

There was much champagne, a cocktail party/pirates theme and a cake in the shape of a Millennium Falcon. Awesome. It was brilliant, and as you can see from the picture, Henry had a pretty good time too.

Since I got back to Manchester Chris and I've been undertaking "Operation Find-a-Great-Flat-on-a-Limited-Budget" in earnest. I've spent hours trawling the internet and calling estate agents. Over the past 2 days we've had 7 viewings.

Thursday:
1) The estate agent didn't bother coming, but the tenant kindly showed us round. Too small and stuffy and modern. Also, no dining table to speak of.

2) It was big and light, on the top floor of a tall Victorian house, but it had very odd sloped ceilings that made me feel claustrophobic, and there wasn't much in the area except a park.

Friday:
3) The estate agent cancelled on us 20 minutes before the viewing (we'd already got the bus there and had been wandering around for 15 mins before they called...)

4) Agent was over 30 mins late. Office called us to tell us there had been an electrical fault, the agent, when he arrived told us that he'd been double booked. Ahem. The flat was great, but it was in the basement (this hadn't been mentioned in the ad online...).

5) With the same agent as No. 4. We were told it was also in the basement (again not mentioned online) so we didn't even bother going.

6) THE FLAT WE CHOSE! Will tell more below.

7) We turned up and had a look outside, but were rung 5 minutes before the appointment to be told that the person who was supposed to be showing us round had called in sick.

In summary, estate agents are not the most reliable of people...

We headed straight back to flat no. 6 and put down a deposit, securing a wonderful flat, and we'll be moving in towards the end of August.

I don't have a picture to show you, but the house looks a bit like this one which is from the same street:

It's a Victorian semi with a two-bed flat on each of its three floors. We get the whole of the downstairs of the left house, except the small hall which is communal. We have a big kitchen, a really big sitting room/dining area, a brand new bathroom and most important TWO double bedrooms. Get that? One for us, and one for VISITORS. Everybody welcome!

We also have access to the communal outside area. There's a lots of space in front and behind the house, although it's gravelled and used for parking. A bit dull but plenty of scope for pots, BBQs, deck chairs and maybe even a mini veg patch, as long as it doesn't get run over!

The road's in West Didsbury, which is about 20 min bus ride from the uni, 30 from the city centre. That's a bit further than we'd planned to go for, but the advantage is that we get more space and the area has its own nightlife with good pubs and a good mix of hippy cafes and independent restaurants. I can't wait until we move in!

We now have a good 3 weeks to trawl Manchester's salvage yards and reclamation joints and see if we can snaffle some bargainous furniture. The flat comes with beds and sofas etc, but we need a table and some shelves, maybe a desk too, and I'm sure we'll find something old and interesting and cheap without too much trouble.

When I was 11 I used to watch Home Front and Changing Rooms religiously. I thought I might be an interior designer when I was older. And now for the first time ever I have a whole flat to play with! Chris may also be allowed a little creative input. No painting, obviously, but a lot of temporary decoration none-the-less.

So get yourself on the train and you can come and see for yourself!

Mining Museums and Bed Bugs

This Saturday Chris and I headed off even further north to Penrith, to spend a couple of days with Chris' parents and younger brother who were staying up in Keswick. We were met at the station by my brother and sister-in-law who kindly took us over to the holiday cottage and stayed to have dinner in one of the village pubs.

There were only two pubs - The Salvation and The Horse and Farrier - and they were 1 minute walk from each other (and one minute from the cottage, conveniently). On inspection of their advertised wares, it seemed that they served identical bar menus. Lasagne and burgers are pretty standard fare, but they had both chosen to champion Bean and Celery chilli on their veggie section. There didn't seem to be waiters scurrying across the main street, so we speculated about whether they shared a vast underground kitchen. The plot thickened two days later when the waiter who had served us on Saturday in The Salvation showed up behind the bar in the Horse and Farrier. Very odd. Perhaps not all that interesting in itself, but somehow it made me think that this was only part of a much bigger Cumbrian village conspiracy, which probably involves putting lost and forlorn fell-runners into pies.

The next day we went for a walk around one of the lakes, managing to get more than a little confused about which direction to go in. It was sunny. It was beautiful. It was exasperating not having my swimming things!

On Monday we went to Castlerigg Stone Circle and watched as tourists clambered all over the ancient stones. The setting was stunning, as the picture I found below shows.

http://townhousegallery.co.uk/shop/, Copyright © 2009 Town House Galley
Clearing Storm, Castlerigg Stone Circle, Mike Shepherd

However, it was just depressing to see children kicking at the carefully placed rocks. The sign said that getting them into their current formation would have taken as much planning and work as constructing a medieval cathedral. I'm not sure I'm entirely convinced by that, but I did find it unsettling to see people being destructive in such a beautiful serene place.

So we headed on to a somewhat rickety labour of love, the Museum of Mining and Quarrying. I can't say that the digging of minerals out of the earth down a deep dark hole is a particularly appealing topic for me, but the museum had been put together with such care and attention to detail it was fascinating to look at, even just to appreciate it as a collection of information.

Outside the main building were what looked like over a hundred old machines - diggers, steam engines, cranes. The man at the shop explained that they were restoration projects, but I thought that bringing all those rusty metal contraptions back to life would take a century or more. Perhaps it would make a good site for another Transformers movie? Or maybe Scrapheap Challenge would be more feasible?

I forgot to take many pictures of the landscape but I did get this single moody shot from the window of the train on the way back to Manchester. The hills make me want to pull on my walking boots and get climbing. Don't mark me down as some breed of fresh air adventure though. Unfortunately the clouds make me want to take shelter in a pub with a pint. And if I'm unlucky, perhaps I might look like a straggler and end up in a Salvation pie.

Once we got back home I took this picture. It's a shot from Chris' bedroom window, so it's the view we wake up to every morning, and this photo sums up what it's like at the moment. If there's not a shower on the way, there's one just been!

The streets around here are crammed full of these red terraced houses, with alleys running in between the backyards. I'll take some pictures next week to show you the neighbourhood.

The last adventure of the past few days began this morning. Chris had gone to work and I was in the shower when I noticed a dark mark on my leg. I reached down to investigate and realised that something was stuck to my skin. Not just anything, though. A creature! I was horrified. I pulled it straight off and attempted it squash in between some toilet roll. Having lived with cats most of my life, I have on occasion had to contend with cat fleas. They are speedy little blighters, so to avoid further bites and possible infestation the only course of action is to grab them and pinch them as soon as they are spotted.

This bug was refusing to be squished. It wasn't jumping anywhere though, so it wasn't a flea. I decided to deposit this new breed of biter into a pint glass and see if I could identify it. The persistant beast started to climb up the pint glass, so I decided to fill it with water to hinder its escape, and also preserve it so that Chris could help me identify it when he got home. It didn't seem to mind the moisture though. It spent hours floating on the water surface, looking like it was having a jolly afternoon doing the backstroke.

I looked up biting creatures on wikipedia and decided that I'd been nibbled by a bedbug. The monster looked a lot like the pictures, and it was possible I'd picked it up in the Cumbrian cottage bed. The possibility of a bedbug infestation was not a pleasant prospect though. I set about washing all bed linen, pyjamas and towels on a boil wash. No nasty eggs were going to survive on my watch.

In the afternoon Chris came home and had a look at our uninvited guest, who was still enjoying the swimming facilities. He took one look and decided that I was wrong. It wasn't a bedbug at all! It was a tick, that must have climbed aboard when I was in the long grasses of the Lake District and had been clinging on ever since. Yuck! I remember when my cat would get ticks and we'd have to coat their swollen blood-filled bodies in Vaseline until they suffocated and dropped off. And I'd just wrenched one off in the shower! It was, however, very little and doesn't seem to have got more than a little nibble at me, so I think I'll live. Probably.

A snapshot I found online of a beast that was pretty close in appearance to my creature ( from www.businesspundit.com/tick-warning/).
Not my finger! There are many more gross pictures if you care to google the subject, but I decided to spare you here.

Flat hunting, room tour, graduation

It's been a funny couple of days. Things do feel a lot quieter and calmer, with all the coursework out of the way, but I'm still pretty busy. I've been filling out endless forms for my course: health forms, CRB declarations, Primary School placement details. The worst was writing an email to the French police asking for a Criminal Record check. I don't even know what 'Criminal Record' is in French... It took quite some composing.

Yesterday Chris and I went flat viewing. We saw three places. For the curious, you can check them out here: http://www.samproperties.co.uk/2-bed.htm

The first one - Hathersage Road - was a write-off. We didn't even get to see inside because the agent had forgotten his key (classic...) but given the broken window and the fact that he was almost able to force the lock to show us inside, that was off the list.

Number two was stunning from the outside: a beautiful redbrick listed building on Swinton Grove. But once we got into the house and through the rather depressing corridor to the flat door we had more problems. Keys a plenty, but inside we were confronted by 10 up-ended sofas, littering the sitting room. As we squeezed past the excess furniture, we noticed that the flats had been created by putting up little pinboard walls because the building was listed, and the whole thing looked pretty shabby.

Finally, number 3 was a possibility. It was in a place called Plymouth Grove. New purpose built flats in good condition, and we were shown around by the caretaker rather than the slightly shambolic agent. Although it had 2 bedrooms, everything was a little bit pokey and it's right at the top of our budget, so we're going to hang on for a bit longer and see a few more before signing up for anything. The hunt continues next week!

This morning I went to my cousin's graduation (well, the drinks after the ceremony). He's been at Manchester Uni studying chemistry for 4 years and came away with a first class MChem for his troubles, so it was a good opportunity to celebrate all his hard work.

George and his proud parents

They have a long drive back to Pembrokeshire, so I came back to the flat in the pouring rain and have been sheltering here ever since, looking for flats and temping jobs (and occasionally sneaking in the odd chapter of Roald Dahl's book Boy which is utterly compelling and in places terrifying...).

It had occured to me, though, that you have no idea where I am living up here, so I thought I'd take some pictures to give you some idea of my current living circumstances. As I've explained in earlier posts, I've moved into Chris' room in his shared house, and therefore my stuff has had to squeeze in around all of his belongings for the time being.

The edges of his book shelves house my toiletries and bits and pieces. The bottom shelf is mine and mine alone (eager eyes might spot The complete works of Shakespeare and a Louie highligher).
Chris' desk is covered by his computer and my laptop, so I've had to seek alternative storage. The floor is currently my admin hub, covered in CVs, letters (thanks Laura!), university tick lists and scripts.

I've got half the wardrobe to put clothes in. See how the pole bends... We had to empty the whole thing and glue all the joints a couple of weeks ago, because it was getting dangerously wobbly. It leant forward away from the wall, and everytime I took something out it seems to loom over me as if awaiting an opportunity to lose its balance and flatten me. That wood glue sure showed you, huh, wardrobe?

And these are where the rest of my clothes huddle, in boxes in the corner. See how neatly I keep them all? Looking for clothes in the morning is a bit like swimming through fabric.

On the whole though, even with these slightly makeshift storage solutions, it is great being here. I LOVE eating with someone. We get up and have breakfast while watching BBC1, taking the piss out of the presenters over our porridge and toast, laughing as the poor weather presenter has to make an outside broadcast on a golf course full of waving, camera hungry tossers. We cook dinner together, or apart (when I say apart I mean Chris cooks, normally because I'm lazily watching telly. Ahem...) and share washing up. We talk about important things, or silly things, or we don't talk at all. It's actually nice to share.

Next week I'll take some more pictures of what the room and the house are like. I might even show you the petshop across the road!

I can't wait until we get our own flat and people can start visiting to see our place for themselves!

The First Northern Post

I am here! You might be forgiven for thinking that I never made it up to Manchester, given my silence over the past month. It is slightly ridiculous to have a blog set up to report your move to the North, only to neglect it entirely once you're out of the confines of the M25. But no longer!

I actually first arrived in Manchester on Friday 19th June, but I stayed around for less that 12 hours, so I hope you'll forgive me for not posting. After that I headed straight down to Devon for a week with friends. We roasted in the sun, shivered in the sea, enjoyed the almost deserted beach and many a glass of pimms, and even went to a dance at a National Trust house (a rock and roll holiday all the way...).

A delightful picture of Chris and me in Devon

The week we got back I had an interview for my teacher training course. I was very nervous. I'd done a lot of preparation, but you can never be sure what will happen on the day so I was very relieved when it was all over, and even more relieved when I heard 3 days later that I had been offered a place! My friend Kirsty had given me a badge saying "Inglish Teecher" before I left London, so now I feel I can wear it with pride.

Last week I spent hours writing film outlines, character profiles and plot summaries. I've been attending an evening screenwriting course since Jan 2008 and the final deadlines for my coursework were coming up. Chris* was required to read draft after draft of my scripts, but he did it all with patience and many good suggestions, and I am happy to say that the last of the work was sent yesterday!

So now I have my first day in Manchester without an interview or a deadline looming. It feels significant, like this is the moment I can start making decisions for the next few months, rather than finishing off work that has been hanging over me since I left London. But what decision to make first? Summer job? Flat for me and Chris? Student Finance Forms (yuck) and reading lists? Maybe just a walk in the sunshine.

I'd better start finding something to fill my days, or I'll be stuck with the problem of having all the time in the world to write on here, but having nothing at all to say!

*along with Kirsty and James - thank you!

The end of an era

Today was my last day at work. I've been working there for over 18 months now, yet everyone seems to say "that was quick" when I tell them I'm leaving. 18 months, however, seems like a long time to me: travelling to the same place every morning, sitting at the same desk. I've never done such a rigid routine for such a long time in my life.

So today left me with a bundle of emotions sitting in my stomach: Excitement (I'm going to live with C!) and fear (I'm going to live with C!), but also nostalgia and fondness for people and places. I've seen my colleagues more often over the past year and a half than either of my parents, my brother or my boyfriend (probably more often than all of them put together). My colleagues and I have laughed and growled together, sung and danced together, invented office volleyball together... But because they are not linked into my life in other ways - we don't meet at the weekend, we don't go to the pub, we don't email - I don't know when I will see them again, unlike my other London friends. So today feels like a real ending. I do sincerely hope to see them all again. I just don't know when that will happen.


We did various special things to mark my leaving. Last Friday we made time to be particularly silly, singing along to the best karaoke songs that YouTube had to offer, and having a paper aeroplane competition (may I point out that we worked VERY hard the rest of the time... and the accountant won the competition. She is cunning and very clever!). We felt that it was necessary to get all that silliness out of the way because this week we have been working with my replacement, and as we hadn't met her at that point, we weren't sure if she was up for being silly. The past 5 days have thankfully shown us that she is more than capable of silliness and fun in general. It's nice to know Friday karaoke may have a chance of continuing.


This Friday was an altogether different affair. We worked hard all morning; there were things to finish off, goodbyes to email. And then LUNCH. Lunches involving the whole office have always been a long and boozy affair at my work, especially if it's a leaving/welcome lunch. We feasted, debated, laughed and in my case, cried... that was due to an unfortunate incident when I spilled a glass of red wine over my boss. Oh dear! (So nearly got out of the place without embarrassing myself!). He was as kind and jovial as anyone could be in such a situation (he was wearing a cream linen suit - eeek!), and my tears were half from laughter. Really it seems like an appropriate ending. I always seem to make my mark by ending on a ridiculous note.


As you can see from the photo above, I was quickly forgiven, and not only that, but sent off with wonderful gifts (thank you Hannah and Mui!) and incredibly generous words of encouragement. I am a bit scared of heading up north without a job in hand, but my colleagues have taken the edge off my anxiety, and made me feel utterly appreciated for the work I have done for them.

So it's the end of an era, and the start of a new one too, but I do hope that I will be able to drop by at the office again soon. I don't want to leave only distant memories and wine stains...

Being grown up and poorly

I have been living away from home for a long time now, since 2003. There are many advantages and disadvantages of moving away from the shelter of your parents' dwellings.

I loved learning to look after myself: to cook, to wash my clothes, to pay for my own essential items. I liked having that responsibility. Why I couldn't have embraced these tasks when I was actually living at home I do not know, because they would have been a great help to the aforementioned parents, but all I can say in my defense is that it is not uncommon for teenagers to behave in lazy and selfish ways from time to time, and I was no exception.

Away from the nest, friends became the major companions in my life. At uni we ate together, studied together, panicked and suffered and squirmed together. We would party, and we would play at being adults who did things like have dinner parties and that was great. My friends from my year working in Paris were amazing for exploring: we learned so much about the city and each other; countries, languages and people. And London has been such a strange muddle of school friends, college friends, new colleagues and housemates and friends of friends and a massive city mingled in between us all. Strange responsibilities like council tax, gas bills and landlords arose, which I had never had to deal with before... C soon became a part of the mix for a weekend or two each month, and when he visited it was wonderful. He shared the city and the fun, and even the chores with me. Most important, he shared my days, my space and - unusually for me - I didn't mind making room and time for him one bit.

Soon I will be sharing a lot of my space and time with him, and although I am a little daunted, as I have discussed, I am also eagerly anticipating this closeness. It will be the first time I will have lived with someone, rather than just alongside them, since leaving home. On this occasion hopefully most of the traces of teen-laziness will have been washed away by the puddles of experience I've splashed through since 2003.

To go back to my original title, the worst thing I have discovered about living as a independent human being is what happens when you feel unwell. Being queezy at work is horrible, taking the bus when your stomach and head are spinning in different directions is horrendous, and returning to an empty house, where you have to nurse yourself, is so lonely.

This set of circumstances are what happened to me today. I am feeling a lot better now - I have managed to hold down a handful of fishfingers and a small slice of arctic roll so far this evening - but days like these, along with the thankfully infrequent other occasions in the past 6 years when I've been ill, always make me long for my Mum's special care, which consisted of carrying the TV and video up to your bedroom so that you could lie in a poorly stupor under your duvet, marinading in your favourite films, and also, if you were up to it, chicken soup, or some other such remedy.

C did text me from Manchester today to offer to make me soup, but the minor matter of 200 miles was standing in his way. He'll have to wait another couple of weeks before he can have the opportunity to try out his nursing skills. I'll let you know how he compared to Mum.

Tying up Loose Ends

On Friday I'm off to Manchester for a wedding, so the past two weekends in London have been special, because they were my last in my house before the Big Pack Up takes place in two weeks time. The sun has shone in London, and I've seen or telephoned most of my favourite people. Now that it's all over, and the countdown has truely begun, I am feeling nostalgic.

Friends outside in the square outside the Prince of Wales pub

London is beautiful in the summer. The days are longer, people loosen up a bit and smile more, and hours are spent outdoors calmly conversing and considering the world. All this makes it feel harder to leave London behind. Everything is just getting started. Parties are being planned, barbeques bought, holidays booked. Meanwhile, I am trying to fit in everything I need and want to do before I leave: Quality time with my beloveds, visiting my favourite places, exploring new undiscovered places, returning borrowed belongings, using up the food in the cupboards.

The view from Primrose Hill

This weekend I walked through Regent's Park and climbed Primrose Hill for the first time, just in time to catch the sun setting. It was stunning, standing at the breezy summit, surrounded by green and trees, with the city centre just on the other side of the park. I was taken there by an old school friend, who I haven't spent time with for ages, and even though I had a great time, it's sad that it won't be repeated soon, and I probably won't climb that hill again for months, perhaps years.

Tom waves goodbye

I've also started trying to use up all the baking ingredients that have been lingering in our cupboards. My two housemates and I have all gone through phases of dabbling in a little baking, and somehow we've managed to end up with 3 open pots of cocoa, 2 pots of baking powder and countless bags of flour. So I've been throwing together my old favourite, sponge cakes, and trying out new recipes, like scones. I've come to really enjoy my weekly whisking/kneading sessions. Sitting around enjoying the products of my handywork with my friends is a very pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

My first batch of scones

The ultimate "using-up" challenge took place last night, when my housemates and I roasted a joint of pork that we've had in the freezer for over 6 months (is that safe?). We named it Pig Day. It has been planned for several weeks because we're almost never in the house at the same time as each other, and so, Pig Day was the appointed Last Supper of our cosy abode in Kennington. None of us have ever successful roasted pork before, so we put out trust in Delia, and made crackling, roast potatoes and gravy.

Pig Day is served

As you can see from the picture above, it was a feast, and a memorable way to enjoy our last Sunday dinner together.

So I have had two wonderful weekends, that have given me even more 'London' memories to treasure. The problem that I've discovered with tying up loose ends, however, is that it seems to make me more entangled, more bound to the people and the places than ever.

Sleeping Diagonally

For most of my life I've been used to having plenty of personal space. I've always had my own bedroom. I've have lived with people - family, friends & even employers (when I was an au pair) - but I've always had a door I could shut to separate me from them, and the rest of humanity.

I find solitude peaceful. I arrange my bedroom as a santuary. Everything is where I need it to be: all my favourite things on display, everything I don't want to see tucked away.

So now, I'm about to head off to Manchester, and at the age of 24 I'm going to have to learn to share my space. I can't just do everything my way. And I'm fussy about my bedroom. How is that supposed to work?

I'm also fussy about my bed. I like having the whole of it at my disposal. I go to sleep on one side, and I wake up on the other. I wriggle and twist. I like to sleep diagonally... Where exactly will C fit in all of this?

I calculate that I have at least twice as many belongings as C. I'll be moving into his room, filling it most of it with my junk and my life. I can hardly expect him to sleep in a ball in the corner of his own bed. Maybe he could sleep on the floor?

I'm glad that I'm not the only person that has these problems. I spotted this cartoon in the London Paper back in February, and it made me smile (I hope it's not too small to read):










http://www.emcartoons.com/february-2009/

Maybe it's time I take half my belongings to the charity shop and learn to sleep in a straight line?

A beginning, and an end

In just over a month I'm moving Up North. I'm going to go and live with my beloved C, and find a new flat, a new job and a new direction in a new city, 200 miles from where I live now. The possibility of significant change stands before me, and it makes me feel excited and startled at once.

It's something I've been waiting for for six months now and I finally feel that my adventure is about to begin.

However, new beginnings are inevitably accompanied by endings. I've lived in London for over a year and a half and enjoyed the experience immensely. Soon I'll be leaving friends, housemates and colleagues behind. Instead of seeing my favourite people on a daily or weekly basis, I'll see them once a month or less.

Although this blog will never replace the evenings spent after work in pubs, catching up, philosophising, plotting and laughing, it might help to make those 200 miles feel a little less significant. That's the plan.