The job again

We had a pleasant few minutes at my counselling course this morning exclaiming over my imminent departure from my present supply job (see last post if you aren't keeping up!). Such musings as potatoes up the Head teacher's car exhaust were mulled over and it was nice to find that it wasn't just me who was less than impressed by the events of yesterday.
Various thoughts have crossed my mind:

Why did I bother going back to teaching? After all, it has caused me considerable heartache and disappointment over the years. (I could write a book about mismanagement and lack of people skills to be found in head teachers - on second thoughts, don't go there, Jenny. Not worth the angst!)

Why did our wonderful politicians back in the eighties decide to give schools control of their own budgets and then give them too little money to go for quality and experience rather than always the cheapest option?

Why do supply teachers so often get treated like second class citizens?

What other options are there for me to earn a crust which would pay more and provide more job satisfaction than shelf-stacking at Tesco? No, first female Pope is not an option!

Why do I just KNOW that if I applied for a teaching position, the employers would take one look at my date of birth and immediately file my application in the round metal container? (This age thing is such a pain. I feel as if I'm being dragged, kicking and screaming into my senior years. I'M NOT READY FOR IT!!!)

I need to be able to earn a crust during the next 18 months before I qualify in counselling, so I have to stick with the odd days of supply. If anyone has a wonderful brainwave and can suggest something else, please feel free!

End of the job

Having been in my present long-term supply post for the past four months and being led to believe that it would almost certainly continue until the end of the school year (July) I was less than inpressed at being informed today by the head teacher that he is replacing me with someone else from the beginning of next term - a younger, and almost certainly cheaper model, to whom he is hoping to offer the job of part time Early Years teacher and cover for the staff non-contact time from September.
"I know you are not interested in a full time job," he said.
"Yes I am, if I get the opportunity," I replied.

Having had the praises of this lady sung to me whilst also being assured that my work has been excellent, the conversation finshed with a bright smile and the words,
"So in effect I'm giving you a week's notice. Enjoy your week-end."

Cats eh!

This dropped into my inbox recently. Well it is Friday and the end of an exhausting week, so anything sleeping-related is OK by me!

Windows and feet

"The doctor from the hospital came into the shop this morning with his laptop," said Keith, but now I have a problem."
"Oh?"
"The problem with his computer was that the Windows operating system needed registering, so that was all I had to do. He said he had rung Microsoft and Hewlett Packard but neither of them could help him."
"So what is the problem, then?" I asked when I had finished laughing.
"Well, can someone who is obviously so inept at the basics of using a computer be trusted with the next operation on my foot?"
"As a computer buff, he's a very good surgeon," I said hopefully.

Wheelchair antics

He's getting there!

Out of hours care

The phone rang on Saturday evening and I answered to find myself talking with someone with a strong foreign accent. Suspecting yet another of those calls from an Indian call centre, I was all set to give him a curt brush off when I finally realised that the caller was in fact one of Keith's doctors from the hospital ringing to see how he was. He was to have done the operation but, as he was ill that day, he had been replaced by a locum and now he was checking out progress.

Of course it would be unforgiveably cynical of me to entertain the thought that it could possibly be anything to do with the fact that he is hoping that Keith is going to repair his laptop and retrieve invaluable data for him.................wouldn't it?

Spring forward

It's amazing how disruptive the change between Greenwich Mean Time and Summer Time can be. This morning I arrived for my counselling course, as usual at 8.45 to find the car park empty. Not even the tutor's car was there. So I parked, spent a couple of moments changing the clock in the car and waited..........and waited. Maybe I had got the time wrong, but, no, a quick check on the radio told me that it was indeed a quarter to nine as I thought. Maybe I had got the day wrong. Our course is alternate Saturdays and Sundays. I tried to think back to the previous week - it was a blur now lost in the mists of time. At 8.55, I was about to ring Keith to ask him to check my diary for me when another student's car arrived and then another. We stood in the car park. Surely the tutor wouldn't have forgotten about the hour change? After all she is always so organised.
I rang her home number. She answered.
"We're here," I said, at ............................ House."
Why?"
"Well, it's nine o'clock."
There was an explosion at the other end. "Oh, s....! It's the hour! I'll be there as soon as I can!"
She arrived, breathless and full of apologies half an hour later.
But 5 of the 16 students in the class didn't. Wonder if they are still snoozing peacefully?

Back at work

After the District Nurse's visit yesterday, Keith geared himself up, mentally and physically, we stowed the wheelchair in my car, stowed Keith in the passenger seat (he hates being driven!) and set off. It's only when you are in or pushing a wheelchair that you realise how wheelchair unfriendly a lot of places are. Outside the shop there are 'disabled' parking bays and slopes up to the shop level, but you need the fitness of an Olympic champion to get yourself up them and once there, make sure your wheelchair has impeccable steering, otherwise you are in danger of careering off the side.
Still, he managed it and tested the wheelchair friendliness of the shop itself - fine except for a couple of things which needed moving out of the way. After four hours, he was tired, naturally and was tucked up in bed before nine o'clock.
We're getting there!