In between Christmas dinners, physio sessions and daily addiction to TV soaps, I've finally managed to complete my Christmas shopping. I don't know how on earth I managed to NOT start in September in previous years, because I feel exhausted after three months of the intense frenzy and panick of searching my brain for ideas. I must be getting older. Before you ask, I have found something for my brother, and it is football-related!! How original. So I'm merely putting off for another year the painful task of finding an original idea for the men in my family. I would bet my own weight in dark chocolate that I will be just as stuck this time next year. Unless Sam finally signs that contract with Real Madrid...
Ebay has definitely been an extraordinary experience. I think it's the magic of typing something in the search browser and realising that pretty much everything is buyable. The fact that you can spend hours reading about all sorts of objects for sale, and they're yours at the click of a button. We were discussing "ebay methods" yesterday at yet another Christmas meal we were invited to. Talk about varying table conversation topics - what on earth were we talking about five years ago? How did the world ever exist without the internet? Anyway. The dilemma was whether you should bid early on and thus not be drawn into a bidding contest in the last few seconds, or whether this just pushed up the price of the item. Personally, I like the thrill of watching the item for hours, if not days, and then snatching it off at the last minute by putting a high bid on. It gives me almost more satisfaction than buying the item I want. Somehow, I'm almost disappointed if no one else tried to get the item. Perhaps there is a part of me that wonders if I'm getting some piece of junk nobody else desires.
I've also had my first negative experience on eBay. I bought a football glove signed by my brother's favourite goalkeeper from someone new to ebay and who had no feedback. That was about 10 days ago, and I knew that I would have to pay by paypal, otherwise I wouldn't have time to send a cheque in the post, wait for it to clear and get the item in time before we leave for Switzerland. Unfortunately, at the time of paying for the item, the paypal account of the seller was unable to accept payment, and the seller hadn't communicated an address for buyers to send their cheques. That was on a Wednesday. I emailed the seller every day until the Sunday to try and get an address, and when I finally got an answer, it was definitely too late. I emailed back, asking the seller to sort out his paypal account so I could pay him that way, but he did not reply. By that stage, I had asked ebay for the contact details of the seller and found out that the name he had given me did not match ebay's record. Anyway, to cut a long story short, he suggested to drop the sale, and demanded that I retract the negative feedback I had left him, otherwise he would complain to ebay that I hadn't paid. Highly dodgy, but I did retract my feedback, because to be frank, I didn't want a non-paying strike and people can still read the feedback I've left, even if it's retracted. And it worked - a few days later, I had the satisfaction of receiving an email from another ebayer asking for information about that seller, because they'd read the comment I'd left. Ha ha, I'm feeling avenged!! The Christmas spirit is upon me!!!
Sunday, 17 December 2006
Tuesday, 5 December 2006
Stuck for ideas
What do you buy an 18-year old lad? I've been asking myself the question for the past two months and I'm absolutely stuck for ideas. Matt reckons that my brother is quite groomed so some kind of aftershave would do, but I hesitate. Aftershaves and fragances are a bit of an "easy-lazy" present, unless you know exactly what they want. Otherwise it's hard to show that you've thought about it more than the 2 seconds at the counter, when there is a wide selection and you just have to pick a random box. Sam, my brother, used to be into football, so in previous years I had no hesitation - a football shirt or a pair of goalie gloves would do, but I wonder if he's grown out of it.
This is unfair. Things are so easy on men, there are so many things they can get for us. Just in case my other half is reading this, let me prove my point (hint, hint):
- any necklace or pair of earrings (apart from those in Claire's, too pink);
- nice underwear (must be pretty but comfortable to wear);
- any piece of clothing from Monsoon; I've also discovered Blackberry on ebay, which I recommend;
- Virgin Vie skincare;
- a pretty scarf with matching gloves;
- a book by Meg Cabbot or Sophie Kinsella;
- a subscription to a magazine (I like Essentials);
- a pair of shoes;
- a nailbar/spa voucher;
- an ipod;
- a couple of DVDs you men would never watch, such as Pride and Prejudice, Dirty Dancing, Bridget Jones, Moulin Rouge etc...;
- a pretty watch;
- a hamster (ok, this might not be suited to everyone, but I happen to like hamsters!)
I think I've made my point. There are loads of things to choose from if you buy for a girl, just none for lads. Granted, I could get a DVD for my brother, or a book, but the problem is that, living away in a different country, I've lost track of his taste, plus all the DVDs here are in English so he would never watch them. I could really do with someone posting a similar list for men - surely they don't actually use the talking robots and electric nail-clippers that seem to invade the shops at this time of the year??
PS: Because of its intrinsic beauty and sexiness, Nasty Ugly Walking Stick is now staying at home most of the time, where it can do no harm to my image and ego. I have decided that I have made enough progress in my physio to go to school without NUWS. After all, the consultant never mentionned NUWS, so I am investigating the likelihood that maybe this is a scheme of Jackie the Physioterrorist in order to take revenge on a teacher of the school that she used to go to. Hmm, very suspicious. Just in case you doubt it, look at the picture below!!
(I shall now be referred to as Charlie Chaplin)
This is unfair. Things are so easy on men, there are so many things they can get for us. Just in case my other half is reading this, let me prove my point (hint, hint):
- any necklace or pair of earrings (apart from those in Claire's, too pink);
- nice underwear (must be pretty but comfortable to wear);
- any piece of clothing from Monsoon; I've also discovered Blackberry on ebay, which I recommend;
- Virgin Vie skincare;
- a pretty scarf with matching gloves;
- a book by Meg Cabbot or Sophie Kinsella;
- a subscription to a magazine (I like Essentials);
- a pair of shoes;
- a nailbar/spa voucher;
- an ipod;
- a couple of DVDs you men would never watch, such as Pride and Prejudice, Dirty Dancing, Bridget Jones, Moulin Rouge etc...;
- a pretty watch;
- a hamster (ok, this might not be suited to everyone, but I happen to like hamsters!)
I think I've made my point. There are loads of things to choose from if you buy for a girl, just none for lads. Granted, I could get a DVD for my brother, or a book, but the problem is that, living away in a different country, I've lost track of his taste, plus all the DVDs here are in English so he would never watch them. I could really do with someone posting a similar list for men - surely they don't actually use the talking robots and electric nail-clippers that seem to invade the shops at this time of the year??
PS: Because of its intrinsic beauty and sexiness, Nasty Ugly Walking Stick is now staying at home most of the time, where it can do no harm to my image and ego. I have decided that I have made enough progress in my physio to go to school without NUWS. After all, the consultant never mentionned NUWS, so I am investigating the likelihood that maybe this is a scheme of Jackie the Physioterrorist in order to take revenge on a teacher of the school that she used to go to. Hmm, very suspicious. Just in case you doubt it, look at the picture below!!
(I shall now be referred to as Charlie Chaplin)
Monday, 27 November 2006
How un-cool am I !!!
Right. Where do I start?
I went to see my consultant on Thursday. (Santa's helper again). Contrary to what I was expecting, he was very nice to me, and agreed that I could
1) walk without crutched
2) go back to work (wooohoooo!!!)
3) get rid of my brace.
There's the tricky bit actually. I was fine walking around with the brace supporting my leg, but it's incredibly hard to do it without. The leg actually gives way and does not really have the strength to support itself. Whenever I do my physio exercises (which is not very often, contrary to what I said this morning to Jackie, my physiotherapist), the bit of the muscle that's still there starts shaking like a lump of wobbly jelly, even to do the simplest of things, like putting my leg on the sofa or lifting myself on my tiptoes.
But anyway, at least the bone is healing and I can look forward to going back to school, although I'll probably only go a couple of days a week at first.
The second beautiful news is that we are now the proud owners of a Ford Mondeo 2001, with a CD player and electric everything (I'm even expecting to find an electric hairdryer with integrated hairbrusher hidden in the roof, as soon as I can put my hand on the appropriate remote). The only downside is that the colour is not particularly sexy - a pale green that looks a bit silver, but in more dirty. I would have preferred purple, or dark green
like the previous car we had. If you're wondering why we had to buy a new car, it's because the previous one was completely destroyed in the road accident that's kept me stuck at home with a broken knee for the past 2 and a half months.
So far so good, everything seems to sort itself out as if by magic in the space of a few days. I was actually looking forward to going to see "Jackie the physioterrorist" (my husband found that brilliant nickname!) this morning, because I thought I might get onto one of the fancy machines like the bike, or the funny big jumpy balls that they have. So far, my exercises have consisted of lifting the knee in all sorts of unexciting and painful positions. Seeing as though my consultant had said I could walk without crutches, I thought it would be a good compromise to go to the hospital with just one - so that I wouldn't be told off for taking the risk of walking without them without the proper training, but also avoiding the question of why I would ignore the consultant's instructions. Sometimes, it's difficult to know what people expect!
Anyway, Jackie gives me one or two new exercises to add to my, ahem, routine (does once a week count as a routine? as long as it's regular...). And then she drops the bomb. "I think you can start using a stick from now on". A stick? Breadstick? Stick insect? A usb memory stick? A cocktail stick? What does she mean, a stick? A STICK??? As in, that type of walking stick for 90-year old dribbling, bald, wrinkled great-great-granddad with a funny hat and brown clothes? At first, I cling to the hope that this might be just in the physio room of the hospital, but no, after I've tried walking with it up and down the room, she says "good, it's the right length, I'll go and cut you one". Hmm, I didn't know you were allowed to cut metallic crutches, even if they were in the shape of a cane?
But soon, while I was putting my brace in my bag (thank goodness, she's allowing me to keep it, just in case, but she won't let me put it back on to walk home, my fault - why did I have to boast that I lived so close to the hospital?), I suddenly hear the worrying noise of wood being sawn... Jackie comes back, triumphally holding a wooden, rounded, cane-type walking stick, saying "there you go". I'm speechless. Then the horrifying vision starts appearing in my mind, of yours truly turning up at school and slowly walking through the corridors full of trendy teenagers not even attempting to hide how funny and ridiculous they find the sight of their French teacher walking with a wooden stick. Not a positive start of the week.
I went to see my consultant on Thursday. (Santa's helper again). Contrary to what I was expecting, he was very nice to me, and agreed that I could
1) walk without crutched
2) go back to work (wooohoooo!!!)
3) get rid of my brace.
There's the tricky bit actually. I was fine walking around with the brace supporting my leg, but it's incredibly hard to do it without. The leg actually gives way and does not really have the strength to support itself. Whenever I do my physio exercises (which is not very often, contrary to what I said this morning to Jackie, my physiotherapist), the bit of the muscle that's still there starts shaking like a lump of wobbly jelly, even to do the simplest of things, like putting my leg on the sofa or lifting myself on my tiptoes.
But anyway, at least the bone is healing and I can look forward to going back to school, although I'll probably only go a couple of days a week at first.
The second beautiful news is that we are now the proud owners of a Ford Mondeo 2001, with a CD player and electric everything (I'm even expecting to find an electric hairdryer with integrated hairbrusher hidden in the roof, as soon as I can put my hand on the appropriate remote). The only downside is that the colour is not particularly sexy - a pale green that looks a bit silver, but in more dirty. I would have preferred purple, or dark green
like the previous car we had. If you're wondering why we had to buy a new car, it's because the previous one was completely destroyed in the road accident that's kept me stuck at home with a broken knee for the past 2 and a half months.So far so good, everything seems to sort itself out as if by magic in the space of a few days. I was actually looking forward to going to see "Jackie the physioterrorist" (my husband found that brilliant nickname!) this morning, because I thought I might get onto one of the fancy machines like the bike, or the funny big jumpy balls that they have. So far, my exercises have consisted of lifting the knee in all sorts of unexciting and painful positions. Seeing as though my consultant had said I could walk without crutches, I thought it would be a good compromise to go to the hospital with just one - so that I wouldn't be told off for taking the risk of walking without them without the proper training, but also avoiding the question of why I would ignore the consultant's instructions. Sometimes, it's difficult to know what people expect!
Anyway, Jackie gives me one or two new exercises to add to my, ahem, routine (does once a week count as a routine? as long as it's regular...). And then she drops the bomb. "I think you can start using a stick from now on". A stick? Breadstick? Stick insect? A usb memory stick? A cocktail stick? What does she mean, a stick? A STICK??? As in, that type of walking stick for 90-year old dribbling, bald, wrinkled great-great-granddad with a funny hat and brown clothes? At first, I cling to the hope that this might be just in the physio room of the hospital, but no, after I've tried walking with it up and down the room, she says "good, it's the right length, I'll go and cut you one". Hmm, I didn't know you were allowed to cut metallic crutches, even if they were in the shape of a cane?
But soon, while I was putting my brace in my bag (thank goodness, she's allowing me to keep it, just in case, but she won't let me put it back on to walk home, my fault - why did I have to boast that I lived so close to the hospital?), I suddenly hear the worrying noise of wood being sawn... Jackie comes back, triumphally holding a wooden, rounded, cane-type walking stick, saying "there you go". I'm speechless. Then the horrifying vision starts appearing in my mind, of yours truly turning up at school and slowly walking through the corridors full of trendy teenagers not even attempting to hide how funny and ridiculous they find the sight of their French teacher walking with a wooden stick. Not a positive start of the week.
Wednesday, 22 November 2006
Miss Neighbour is on the bus!!!
I went to school on the bus yesterday! I normally get a lift with a colleague who also lives in Northallerton, but his partner was at hospital, in the delivery room, having their first baby!
Actually, it was a couple of buses, half an hour each. The driver of the first one was extremely friendly, an ex-teacher from Scotland, so we chatted away, seeing as though I was the only passenger on the 6.57 bus. Then I changed in Stokesley half an hour later, and asked the driver if he stopped at the school. He nodded. Hmm, not so Scottishly amicable then.
It's only when I got in the vicinity of Guisborough that I realised what would happen, when one of my Y11 got on the bus. Before long, some of the kids I teach and used to teach were filling the bus, giggling away and pretending not to look at me, while I was half-smiling, half-thinking I didn't want to be there. One especially silly girl, who spent more time last year behind the door than in my lesson, was completely past herself that I should be on the bus and kept winking and making discrete gestures to her friends. Eventually, I put my bag on my knee and someone sat next to me, as the bus was completely full.
I don't know why it is that pupils never think teachers have their own life. It's as if somehow we were tucked away in a mysterious environment where everyone drives a car, lives by themselves, never go to the cinema or, heaven forbid, shop for underwear or the Sunday roast. I've always wondered whether it was the pupil or myself who felt most embarassed when we meet in a different and forbidden context. I once bought a handful of heart-shaped balloons as a Valentine present and on my way out of the shop, ran into one of my Y9 pupils, whose cheeks became redder than the lot his father had just sold me from the family shop. He would probably have preferred to swallow ten chillies rather than say hello to me in this circumstance, and yet the story of my purchase went round the school faster than my husband can eat a packet of hobnobs. Somehow, telling the story was better than experiencing it.
Actually, it was a couple of buses, half an hour each. The driver of the first one was extremely friendly, an ex-teacher from Scotland, so we chatted away, seeing as though I was the only passenger on the 6.57 bus. Then I changed in Stokesley half an hour later, and asked the driver if he stopped at the school. He nodded. Hmm, not so Scottishly amicable then.
It's only when I got in the vicinity of Guisborough that I realised what would happen, when one of my Y11 got on the bus. Before long, some of the kids I teach and used to teach were filling the bus, giggling away and pretending not to look at me, while I was half-smiling, half-thinking I didn't want to be there. One especially silly girl, who spent more time last year behind the door than in my lesson, was completely past herself that I should be on the bus and kept winking and making discrete gestures to her friends. Eventually, I put my bag on my knee and someone sat next to me, as the bus was completely full.
I don't know why it is that pupils never think teachers have their own life. It's as if somehow we were tucked away in a mysterious environment where everyone drives a car, lives by themselves, never go to the cinema or, heaven forbid, shop for underwear or the Sunday roast. I've always wondered whether it was the pupil or myself who felt most embarassed when we meet in a different and forbidden context. I once bought a handful of heart-shaped balloons as a Valentine present and on my way out of the shop, ran into one of my Y9 pupils, whose cheeks became redder than the lot his father had just sold me from the family shop. He would probably have preferred to swallow ten chillies rather than say hello to me in this circumstance, and yet the story of my purchase went round the school faster than my husband can eat a packet of hobnobs. Somehow, telling the story was better than experiencing it.
As I was glancing out of the window, trying to ignore the whispers on the seat behind me, I saw one of the girls from my tutor group on her way to school. She gave me a glance of recognition and was probably immensely relieved that I didn't waive at her but just smiled. And yet I know that even before the bus reached the school, the rumor would have spread like wild fire: "Miss Neighbour was on the Arriva bus this morning!!"
Thursday, 16 November 2006
To be an Emo or a Chav? That is the question
I went to school yesterday. Although I'm not supposed to teach, I'm allowed to do the French speaking mock exams next week and I wanted to see my class once before that. The lesson went well, although the kids were quite chatty and a mixture of "we don't care but it's nice to see you, miss". Not sure that's how I wanted it to go. Of course, lessons are a lot easier when instead of having to jam up a lot of last minute tips, pupils can do games where they might win a sweet. Although technically we're not supposed to give sweets, Jamie Oliver and healthy eating and all that.
The day started with an emergency staff meeting. Apparently, two gangs had a bit of a fight the day before at lunchtime on the staff car-park, and they ended up with a broken nose and a broken windscreen. Although I don't know if the two were in that order or even related. The gangs in question are called the Emos and the Chavs. Emos, I am told, wear their hair long and are middle-class, sensitive types. Chavs, aka the Townies, wear Argos jewellery and Nike tracksuits, and not particularly the eloquent and poetic type. For more info, I would recommend http://www.urbandictionary.com, which explains it all a lot better. Although I'm not sure I understand it all.
Anyway. Rumor went round the school that the Chavs were planning to bring in a knife on that day. Which sounds really dramatic, but the Headteacher went on to explain that "the knife was intended not to attack someone, but to cut an Emo's hair". For the example.
I know. I burst out laughing at that point but no one else in the staff room seemed to find it funny or absurd. So I quickly regained composure. Apparently, cutting someone's hair with a knife qualifies as assault, so the police were brought in all day, just so kids would see the fluorescent jumpers and get a bit scared. I'm not sure it worked. All I heard all day in the corridors was the existential question, "Are you an Emo or a Chav?"
There. It's all about priorities. Maybe I should have asked that question in French to my class in the afternoon, it might have sparked a little interest...
The day started with an emergency staff meeting. Apparently, two gangs had a bit of a fight the day before at lunchtime on the staff car-park, and they ended up with a broken nose and a broken windscreen. Although I don't know if the two were in that order or even related. The gangs in question are called the Emos and the Chavs. Emos, I am told, wear their hair long and are middle-class, sensitive types. Chavs, aka the Townies, wear Argos jewellery and Nike tracksuits, and not particularly the eloquent and poetic type. For more info, I would recommend http://www.urbandictionary.com, which explains it all a lot better. Although I'm not sure I understand it all.
Anyway. Rumor went round the school that the Chavs were planning to bring in a knife on that day. Which sounds really dramatic, but the Headteacher went on to explain that "the knife was intended not to attack someone, but to cut an Emo's hair". For the example.
I know. I burst out laughing at that point but no one else in the staff room seemed to find it funny or absurd. So I quickly regained composure. Apparently, cutting someone's hair with a knife qualifies as assault, so the police were brought in all day, just so kids would see the fluorescent jumpers and get a bit scared. I'm not sure it worked. All I heard all day in the corridors was the existential question, "Are you an Emo or a Chav?"
There. It's all about priorities. Maybe I should have asked that question in French to my class in the afternoon, it might have sparked a little interest...
Monday, 13 November 2006
I'm on!!
I've started a new blog! Can't remember the address of the old one plus it was silly.
I'm stuck at home at the moment after breaking my knee in a car accident. The accident happened on my way to work on 14 September, but fortunately (thanks God!), I've only had a broken knee. And I don't remember any detail of what happened, so I'm not being kept awake by nightmares. The police haven't told me much, apart from confirming that I wasn't responsible - they're still not sure why the other driver lost control of his vehicule and hit mine in a frontal collision. It's all a bit crazy - like, you never think it'll happen, but at the back of your mind you're ready for the worse and make sure you've said "I love you" before leaving in the morning, just in case...
Anyway. What's more difficult to cope with is having to wait, and wait, and wait, until things go back to normal. I spent a week in hospital, getting loads of cards and bunches of flowers, and although that week was a bit shocking and difficult, it was also fairly nice to be cared for and know that people were thinking of you. Since being back home though, I've had different phases:
- week 2 after accident: way too tired to even sit up for more than 30min so spent most of days lying down on sofa-bed in front of TV
- week 3: ordered 5 period films on amazon and watched them all in 3 days!! Titles include Pride and Prejudice, Emma and other Jane Austen films. Husband Matt did not complain that I was watching them without him, not sure why...
- week 4: watching all TV programmes in a row: 9.00 The Wright Stuff - 10.30 This Morning - 12.30 Loose Women - 1.30 Neighbours - 2.00 Doctors - 2.30 Diagnosis Murder (yes, and I actually like it!) - 3.00 SudoQ - 3.30 Countdown - 4.15 Deal or No Deal - 5.00 Ready Steady Cook - 5.30 The Weakest Link - 6.00 Home and Away - 6.30 Hollyoaks etc... (Matt says: don't you get bored of watching TV all day? Precisely)
- week 5: baking my own bread (the Tesco bakers even gave me some fresh yeast for free, hurray!!)
- week 6: I've upgraded to biscuits now, Matt is no longer complaining of my inactivity!
- end of week 6: I have an appointment with my consultant, and I'm hopeful (read desperate) that he'll allow me back to work. I've found out, among other things, that two boys from my tutor group (Y8, 12-13 yrs old) have been playing football in MY classroom at breaktime and thus broken a window. Slightly compensated by the fact that the whole class has written me a nice "Get well soon" card. I'm sentimental, can't help it.
So, consultant. After the hurdle of the wait at the x-rays (I SWEAR that at least 15 people arrived after me and went in before me, and they all have crutches so there's no favourable treatment), consultant (not the real one who operated, a Santas-helper) waives me in, basically says "knee's still broken" and books me an appointment in 3 weeks, as if in his mind it was in 3 hours! And he doesn't want me to go back to work, or walk without crutches when I ask.
- week 7: went back into school to say hello, kids seem pleased to see me, at least they recognise me, which is all I ask
- week 8: I've discovered Ebay!!! The world's greatest place for girls. Since I've started my Christmas shopping, I feel entitled to go on it most of the time. Frankly, it beats Countdown. So far I've bought:
- a Chelsea shirt for my 14-year old cousin
- a usb missile launcher for my sister (she's into computers, in fact, I hope she's not reading this!!)
- a gorgeous corset for myself
- a necklace for myself (bought after I was outbid on another one, bit of a last minute thing)
- a clarins set for my mum
- a Virgin Vie body lotion for myself (discontinued, bargain price!)
- a picnic basket for my sister-in-law
- a necklace for myself (second offer on the one I was outbid for, so I couldn't let it go)
At that point, Matt said that not only did he get an email every time I used his paypal account (ooops, he must have about 15!!) but that I seemed to buy more pressies for myself than for family members. Which is completely not true - I'm only buying things that I would normally buy in shops, plus they're cheaper, even with p&p, plus it's called retail therapy and might help me on my way back to recovery by producing happy hormones in me. Anyway. Week 9 we'll have our housewarming party, so I might give ebay a rest and get into party preparing. See, I knew this gorgeous corset would come in handy!!
I'm stuck at home at the moment after breaking my knee in a car accident. The accident happened on my way to work on 14 September, but fortunately (thanks God!), I've only had a broken knee. And I don't remember any detail of what happened, so I'm not being kept awake by nightmares. The police haven't told me much, apart from confirming that I wasn't responsible - they're still not sure why the other driver lost control of his vehicule and hit mine in a frontal collision. It's all a bit crazy - like, you never think it'll happen, but at the back of your mind you're ready for the worse and make sure you've said "I love you" before leaving in the morning, just in case...
Anyway. What's more difficult to cope with is having to wait, and wait, and wait, until things go back to normal. I spent a week in hospital, getting loads of cards and bunches of flowers, and although that week was a bit shocking and difficult, it was also fairly nice to be cared for and know that people were thinking of you. Since being back home though, I've had different phases:
- week 2 after accident: way too tired to even sit up for more than 30min so spent most of days lying down on sofa-bed in front of TV
- week 3: ordered 5 period films on amazon and watched them all in 3 days!! Titles include Pride and Prejudice, Emma and other Jane Austen films. Husband Matt did not complain that I was watching them without him, not sure why...
- week 4: watching all TV programmes in a row: 9.00 The Wright Stuff - 10.30 This Morning - 12.30 Loose Women - 1.30 Neighbours - 2.00 Doctors - 2.30 Diagnosis Murder (yes, and I actually like it!) - 3.00 SudoQ - 3.30 Countdown - 4.15 Deal or No Deal - 5.00 Ready Steady Cook - 5.30 The Weakest Link - 6.00 Home and Away - 6.30 Hollyoaks etc... (Matt says: don't you get bored of watching TV all day? Precisely)
- week 5: baking my own bread (the Tesco bakers even gave me some fresh yeast for free, hurray!!)
- week 6: I've upgraded to biscuits now, Matt is no longer complaining of my inactivity!
- end of week 6: I have an appointment with my consultant, and I'm hopeful (read desperate) that he'll allow me back to work. I've found out, among other things, that two boys from my tutor group (Y8, 12-13 yrs old) have been playing football in MY classroom at breaktime and thus broken a window. Slightly compensated by the fact that the whole class has written me a nice "Get well soon" card. I'm sentimental, can't help it.
So, consultant. After the hurdle of the wait at the x-rays (I SWEAR that at least 15 people arrived after me and went in before me, and they all have crutches so there's no favourable treatment), consultant (not the real one who operated, a Santas-helper) waives me in, basically says "knee's still broken" and books me an appointment in 3 weeks, as if in his mind it was in 3 hours! And he doesn't want me to go back to work, or walk without crutches when I ask.
- week 7: went back into school to say hello, kids seem pleased to see me, at least they recognise me, which is all I ask
- week 8: I've discovered Ebay!!! The world's greatest place for girls. Since I've started my Christmas shopping, I feel entitled to go on it most of the time. Frankly, it beats Countdown. So far I've bought:
- a Chelsea shirt for my 14-year old cousin
- a usb missile launcher for my sister (she's into computers, in fact, I hope she's not reading this!!)
- a gorgeous corset for myself
- a necklace for myself (bought after I was outbid on another one, bit of a last minute thing)
- a clarins set for my mum
- a Virgin Vie body lotion for myself (discontinued, bargain price!)
- a picnic basket for my sister-in-law
- a necklace for myself (second offer on the one I was outbid for, so I couldn't let it go)
At that point, Matt said that not only did he get an email every time I used his paypal account (ooops, he must have about 15!!) but that I seemed to buy more pressies for myself than for family members. Which is completely not true - I'm only buying things that I would normally buy in shops, plus they're cheaper, even with p&p, plus it's called retail therapy and might help me on my way back to recovery by producing happy hormones in me. Anyway. Week 9 we'll have our housewarming party, so I might give ebay a rest and get into party preparing. See, I knew this gorgeous corset would come in handy!!
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