Now, I want you to squeeze the balls between your thighs. Some of you have got small balls but that’s ok – they’ll work just the same…
“One Roast-Chicken-Dinner-For-One,” says Mrs Jones.
“One Roast Chicken-Dinner-For-One,” says Clark-from-Sainsbury’s-telephone-ordering-service.
“Eight bananas,” says Mrs Jones. “As green as possible.”
It’s March the first, hey nonny no, and my muse, like my garden, is frozen.
I made a bash this morning at a blog on the theme of snowy days in school which inched towards the spell-binding conclusion that children like snow and cleaners don’t. So if today is cold and miserable, well – at least I spared you that.
So I’m going to palm you off with some pictures of our most recent visitor. Stay warm, stay safe; speak soon.
Margaret played first clarinet and collected the subs. In truth, we barely knew each other; I mimed with the second flutes and we rarely rubbed shoulders with our reeded sisters.
But she sent me an email in June 2012 which meant a lot to me at the time and still sits in my Parkinson’s folder, in case of wobbles.
“I know this is a difficult question,” says LovelyFuneralDirector, “but have you thought about what you want to do with the ashes?”
She is a woman, by the way, this LovelyFuneralDirector. All three of the funeral directors we’ve met are women. As are both registrars, the minister and the train driver on the Yorkshire to London Express. Sisters are doing it for themselves. We just need one of us to find a cure for cancer and we’ll be well away.
Elizabeth popped up in my dreams last night; just as Hale and Hearty, Stuff and Nonsense as she was the week I started teaching in the adjoining classroom at Thrush Woods. Middle Infants – me, and she had Tops. We bonded a couple of days into my first week, when a passing ‘what are you doing with your lot this afternoon?’ revealed a shared love of Schools’ Television.
What shall I bring back from this holiday:
Our tour round Northern Europe on the trains?
What memories for when I’m old and grey?