459. What day of the week is it?

 It is difficult to keep track of time at work. On Tuesday you are so snowed under that you think it's Friday. I'm definitely drawing. 

Anyway remember the cry baby girl I sent packing two weeks ago? Well she did not like it (it wasn't meant to be liked) and went crying to her mum who, in turn, did not like it and went crying back to me. I ignored her - as you do (at least as I do). Then she tries again and again and again and each time I have no time for this and so next thing I hear is from then head.

I had forgotten there was a head in this school. Because most of the time it feels like being on a plane with no pilot. Like we're crashing all the time. Someday certainly we're going to going to hit the ground. Then you'll know because I'll stop blogging. For good.

So now I have to have a tête-à-tête with this man (the cowboy we call him). In this office that I know so well and where I raise my voice because I know the padding on the doors is fake and so the things I want to secretary to hear (and therefore to be all over the school).

Let's recap:

- letter from the head requesting a meeting with me because I have ignored his message (lol)

- message from the secretary to give her mock exam grades

- message from the head to tell us that an inspector is coming  

I wanted to reply to this one but since I am in the dog's house right now. Pity. Something like: 'Shall I be mother? I mean, shall I bring tea? Shall bake a cake? Cheesecake? Millionaire shortbread anyone? But no-one has a sense of humour in that bunch. Nor a sense of organisation. It's like they say back in Scotland they could not organise a p***-up in a brewery. I love this saying.