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.

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.

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!!"

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...

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!!