Tag Archives: dreams

260. Such stuff as dreams are made on.. .

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.

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117. Run that past me again…?

“The ratio of the shear stress to the strain rate in a fluid is commonly known as what?”

The students confer; Young Fogey whispering to Phiz Illustration while Hockey Captain checks with Normal Looking Kid. There’s a lot of confident nodding. Paxman looks confident too, but then he has the answer in front of him.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to understand the question. A-level Physics was forty years ago and the only thing I remember now is Mr Hurst setting his jacket on fire by pocketing his pipe while it was still alight.

The individual words make sense; it’s the underlying meaning that has me fogged.

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98. An April state of smiles and tears…

Ask me … go on, ask me…

Are you looking forward to retiring?

Hmm… tricky one… and an interesting and relevant question. You must be a very perceptive person. Let me see…

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80. Something sensational to read on the train.

Jan 1st   Had party at home. Went to Grandad’s. 

Jan 2nd   LittleSis lost piece of spirograph.  No. 42 ring.  Made bed.  Payed Coal Bill. Went to Town.

Jan 3rd  Found ring 42.  Lost magnet pencil of International Spy.

London at the height of the Swinging Sixties.  Still whistling World Cup Willie, we hunker down for the winter before the Summer of Love.  It’s all there in the heady entries of my 1967 Letts School-girls Diary; unearthed this morning from the loft as we haul up yet more of YoungLochinvar’s goods and chattels.

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79. More Reasons to be Cheerful…

– I woke up to find that InfantPhenomenon had not after all thrown over BikingLad in order to marry Gordon Brown and

– I spent a couplIMAG0523-1e of hours in the sunshine playing with my garden whilst listening to podcasts of In Our Time – (I’m partial to a bit of Melvyn) and

– I now know very slightly more than nothing about Classical Humanism (it was Roman) and the Medici family (they were Italian) and

 

– I’ve made a small impact on the jungle we inherited but still lots to get my teeth into and

– I wore my new fingerless gloves what Ma made me for Christmas and

– drank coffee from my new thermal mug what Secret Santa gave me and

– ate a toastie from the toastie-maker what Mrs Castle gave me and

– I’ve got a rather good detective novel on theDSC01355 (640x480) go and

– Ma wasn’t too traumatised by receiving fourteen garden gnomes for her birthday and

– Pa said at least it would be someone to talk to and

– we’ve managed to rearrange the bungalow to  squeeze in Young Lochinvar and Ms Tintin while they look for alternative digs – preferably somewhere that doesn’t give you an electric shock when you turn on the light and

– there’s still a week of the Christmas holiday left and – Oh joy unconfined!  Verily rejoice! –

– there’s a whole year before we have to do any more Christmas shopping.

Mind you, the 99p shop is already selling Creme Eggs.

58. The glory that was Rome was of another day …

Five more sleeps until the wonders of North London supplant those of the Eternal City.  I’m already itching to get back and play with my new bungalow but it has to be admitted that there’s some pretty darn impressive stuff here – and that’s not just the number 8 tram.

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