Teaching and counselling?

Full time teaching, the second year of my counselling diploma and the 95 hours remaining of my 100 hours counselling placement loom large on the horizon.
It's the last week of the summer holidays - not that you would immediately be aware that it is summer if you were to judge from the weather - but nevertheless, almost six weeks have been, come and gone in the blink of an eye, or so it seems. My problem is, where have they gone and what have I done with them? According to Murphy's Law (I think) work expands to fit the time allotted to it. In other words, the more time you have and the less things you have to do, the more time they take up. So I have spent the last few weeks pootling along, doing some decorating, the usual household chores, reading (personal and course-related), some gardening (not much) and starting my placement, with the attendant note-writing and supervision and some writing, although not as much as I'd like.
It's been very pleasant. I could get used to this life of leisure - not quite 'ladies who lunch' but close. However, finances dictate otherwise. Until I win the lottery I still need to earn the daily crust so, as from Monday, I return to being a whirling dervish of purposeful activity, new, full time teaching job, counselling course, placement, supervision meetings with all the driving around they all entail. Nothing very new really, but I've got used to this life of leisure - I feel a desert island beckoning...
Oh, and I'll have to start getting up earlier again and not staying up so late.
I'm off to buy a lottery ticket.

Counselling supervision and the canal

Today, I made it to my supervisor for my first session. As I am now doing a placement - i.e. practising counselling on unsuspecting members of the public, I am now obliged to be supervised. This involves meeting with a supervisor, usually monthly, to discuss my practice. The clients, of course, are never identified.
So, this time, I managed to find my way to the address and there it was, about two feet away from the edge of the canal.
"This will be fun on a dark winter's evening," I thought as I picked my way past the ducks and swans.
The view from the supervisor's room was lovely.
"Of course it's a bit dark in the winter," she said, but there is a security light. But anyway the canal is only waist deep."

Oh, so that's all-right then...!

Getting ready for school

A new job and a new class beckon next week. As the school is closing next summer, no-one yet knows, until the pupils walk through the door next Tuesday, how many there will be on roll for this final year and how many parents have already voted with their feet. However, although, control freak that I am, I am in the position for the first time ever of not yet knowing how many children of what age group(s) I shall have next week and so have not been able to do any preparation, this little offering from TK may serve to remind me of the Numeracy curriculum.

A farmer is wondering how many sheep he has in his field, so he asks hissheepdog to count them. The dog runs into the field, counts them, and thenruns back to his master."So," says the farmer. "How many sheep were there?""40," replies the dog."How can there be 40?" exclaims the farmer. "I only bought 38!""I know," says the dog. "But I rounded them up."

Off out again

In response to Mick's query about the lack of photos in the last few months, here are a couple taken yesterday. It was the first time we had managed to get out since January, due to my course and Keith's broken ankle in May, so we enjoyed getting out and about around North Wales again. We headed off in the direction of the Lley Peninsula and stopped at Dinas Dinlle for fish and chips - the height of decadence, well abandonment of any attempt at healthy eating anyway!

Beer and men

Here's an interesting piece of research sent to me by Dale. Being the broadminded type that I am, I disregarded the obvious slurs on the character and personality of the female of the species and posted it anyway. I'm good like that. But don't laugh too soon, Dale - remember Spiders United are still out to get you! :)

Beer contains female hormones. Last month, Oxford scientists released the results of a recent analysis that revealed the presence of female hormones in beer.
Men should take a concerned look at their beer consumption. The theory is that beer contains female hormones (hops contain phytoestrogens)and that by drinking enough beer, men turn into women. To test the theory, 100 men drank 8 pints of beer each within a 2 hour period.

It was then observed that 100% of the test subjects:
1) Argued over nothing.
2) Refused to apologise when obviously wrong.
3) Gained weight.
4) Talked excessively without making sense.
5) Became overly emotional.
6) Couldn't drive.
7) Failed to think rationally.
8) Had to sit down while urinating. No further testing was considered necessary.

Bristolian spiders

I was confronted in the bathroom last night by the biggest, nastiest, fattest spider I have seen in a long time - obviously one of the many 'obese' characters in the country that the government is so worried about.
Nothing for it but to call on Dad to ride to the rescue, which he did, with an air of resignation indicative of having had to do this many times before. If the thought went through his head that at my age I should be able to deal with my own spiders, he gave no sign of it.
Some foot stamping and scuffling ensued.
"I think I got it. It should be all-right now."
Not enough! For a peaceful night's sleep I need firm assurances that the creature has been stamped on, flattened to kingdom come and that there will never be remotest chance that it will resurface to raise my blood pressure again. A demonstration of the mangled body, albeit viewed through half closed eyes and the wrong end of binoculars, would be even more reassuring...

Motorway madness

Having got up at 5.20 this morning in order to be on the road bright and early for my trip to Bristol, I was less than impressed to discover in due course, that the M5 was closed between junctions 7 and 8.

By the time I reached junction 6 it was clear that to actually reach junction 7 in order to come off the motorway would take a considerable time - in fact, I could probably have walked it quicker. That being the case, I followed the example of many other drivers and exited at junction 6. I don't know whether I actually benefitted from doing that, but doing the detour and getting back onto the M5 at Junction 9 seemed to take forever. I gradually felt the will to live ebbing away...

Nevertheless, all good (and horrendous) things come to an end ...eventually and I did actually manage to finish my journey before becoming eligible for my pension, but a three and a quarter hour journey had taken me no less than six hours.

But later, in Dad's garden, in the pouring rain, I found this lovely rose, which I pass on for you to share.