Thank heaven for yellow pages.
I decided to look up a new shed man to get another quote. Book opened on the conservatory page and wonders to behold, there was a small local business dealing with sheds - or garden offices as they like to call them. So I phoned him up and he came round at the weekend.
Oh joy! He said the conservatory was rather nice and why move it in the first place? Why not put the shed around it? Kat had suggested this initially, but we felt that it would just be too tricky. But The Shed Man was not phased at all.
His quote was £4000 - a lot less than before! Kat is going to do the insulation (with help) and all looks very rosey!
The architect came round on Tuesday (today) and took all the measurements.
Things are beginning to move....
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
The First Ball of the Season
So this was the Beloved's dinner and dance. Actually, this means strange food from 4 different Countries and a disco with karaoke. What ever happened to the Dinner and Dance?
We had a few snacks (disguised as a buffet) and to be fair, the wine was fast and furious to start with. The disco was good, but at no stage did the guests realise they were obliged to dance. Kat and I did our best to represent the happy people, but we just looked sad.
Kat then decided to slash his wrists. I don't blame him. In fact he attempted to remove his sgian dubh (look it up) from his sock and managed to slash his finger. Stuck Pig comes to mind.
The entertainment was non-existent and the "motivating talk" was anything but. Why don't these people realise that the guys at the party wanted to chat, dance and screw (probably, but not necessarily, in that order). Long boring lectures about global responsibilities are not going to go down well - nor is (Oh Joy) Darren from The Call Centre's nomination for a local Award (Go, Darren! Yo!)
The main team remained in the Smoke Machine (sorry, bar) and I couldn't join in (allergy to smoke- end up looking like Fu Man Chu after 10 minutes). So we remained on the deserted dance floor.
In desperation we got up and sang "No One Knows" by QOTSA and we felt totally fulfilled - well, I would have been if my mike were working. Half way through the DJ realised and switched it on. My life was made complete when a happy couple came up to us and said, "You were great! Even though you obviously didn't know the song"... which would not have been SO bad if it weren't one of my FAVOURITE BLOODY SONGS EVER AND I KNOW EVERY FUCKING WORD.
Shit.
It got worse.
The bar closed. At 12 am....yes, the UK has 24 hour drinking now. But not in the mini time zone that is the Royal Bath hotel. We decided we had to leave and as we passed another busy bar in same hotel we thought Happy Days. We ordered 2 glasses of wine. We were given 2 glasses of wine. We were asked for our room number. We explained that we were from the WDS do in the suite next door and the bartender wouldn't let us have the drinks. We offered to pay, but it was jobsworth. I had a sudden frenzied thought that I could down both red wines and see what he would do...but I didn't. And the wanker took our drinks and threw them away.
Could it get any worse?
Oh but it could.
As were leaving the Royal Bath in Bournemouth (I am naming names because these gits are total wankers) I was stopped and asked to return the few rosebuds that I had picked up from the table. What exactly was the doorman going to do with these flowers? He was going to throw them away obviously. But I was not allowed to take them home and put them in a vase and enjoy them for a few days. How BLOODY PATHETIC is that?
Sorry. I just had to vent my anger. He made me feel like a petty thief. And because it was my beloved's WDS works do I could not say anything that would jeopardise his future. So I kept my peace and felt a fool.
Thank you very much The Royal Bath Hotel, Bournemouth.
We had a few snacks (disguised as a buffet) and to be fair, the wine was fast and furious to start with. The disco was good, but at no stage did the guests realise they were obliged to dance. Kat and I did our best to represent the happy people, but we just looked sad.
Kat then decided to slash his wrists. I don't blame him. In fact he attempted to remove his sgian dubh (look it up) from his sock and managed to slash his finger. Stuck Pig comes to mind.
The entertainment was non-existent and the "motivating talk" was anything but. Why don't these people realise that the guys at the party wanted to chat, dance and screw (probably, but not necessarily, in that order). Long boring lectures about global responsibilities are not going to go down well - nor is (Oh Joy) Darren from The Call Centre's nomination for a local Award (Go, Darren! Yo!)
The main team remained in the Smoke Machine (sorry, bar) and I couldn't join in (allergy to smoke- end up looking like Fu Man Chu after 10 minutes). So we remained on the deserted dance floor.
In desperation we got up and sang "No One Knows" by QOTSA and we felt totally fulfilled - well, I would have been if my mike were working. Half way through the DJ realised and switched it on. My life was made complete when a happy couple came up to us and said, "You were great! Even though you obviously didn't know the song"... which would not have been SO bad if it weren't one of my FAVOURITE BLOODY SONGS EVER AND I KNOW EVERY FUCKING WORD.
Shit.
It got worse.
The bar closed. At 12 am....yes, the UK has 24 hour drinking now. But not in the mini time zone that is the Royal Bath hotel. We decided we had to leave and as we passed another busy bar in same hotel we thought Happy Days. We ordered 2 glasses of wine. We were given 2 glasses of wine. We were asked for our room number. We explained that we were from the WDS do in the suite next door and the bartender wouldn't let us have the drinks. We offered to pay, but it was jobsworth. I had a sudden frenzied thought that I could down both red wines and see what he would do...but I didn't. And the wanker took our drinks and threw them away.
Could it get any worse?
Oh but it could.
As were leaving the Royal Bath in Bournemouth (I am naming names because these gits are total wankers) I was stopped and asked to return the few rosebuds that I had picked up from the table. What exactly was the doorman going to do with these flowers? He was going to throw them away obviously. But I was not allowed to take them home and put them in a vase and enjoy them for a few days. How BLOODY PATHETIC is that?
Sorry. I just had to vent my anger. He made me feel like a petty thief. And because it was my beloved's WDS works do I could not say anything that would jeopardise his future. So I kept my peace and felt a fool.
Thank you very much The Royal Bath Hotel, Bournemouth.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
The Shed Saga
Have now got estimate for shed. Oh dear.
They want £10,000
That does include double glazing (just under £1000) and insulation (£2000).
Not sure if it is good value though. We will have to get another quote before we go with this one.
They want £10,000
That does include double glazing (just under £1000) and insulation (£2000).
Not sure if it is good value though. We will have to get another quote before we go with this one.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Monday Monday so good to me - or an indictment on the Government's policies for Adult Education from a very disillusioned teacher
Spent day feeling totally knackered and then wide awake when I went to bed. WHY??
Got a few things done.
Morning spent teaching as usual. Managed to speak to class about next September (my students no longer have a class to go to, but I am going to continue to teach them privately).
Explained that Government entirely responsible for pushing out the Pensioners from Adult Education. They are only interested in them if they are illiterate in some way (computer illiterate included) and consequently can take an exam and bump up the successful Education figures. It's pathetic.
When I started teaching, my classes were filled with happy people keen to improve their skills at watercolour and painting. But over the years the paperwork increased (for both me and them) - more evaluations than would fill a rain forest - and then came the burden of PROOF.! I had to prove that I had taught them something, so I had to fill in minute by minute lesson plans and initial assessments and schemes of work and course informations sheets and lesson evaluations/assessments and give them individual "certificates" so on. And because I had to complete all this garbage, the administration team at the college became immense - I think there are nearly 3 times the admin staff than there are actual teachers. And still the Admin Army continues to grow - with administration for the Administrator's Adminstrators (I'm not joking). And don't get me started on Risk Assessments and Health and Bloody Safety and Compulsory Day Courses and Equal Opportunities. And yet it gets worse. The students are no longer students, but have become "learners". They can no longer learn, they have to be seen to have learned. So they all have to produce set course work with final portfolios or take exams. All the Improvers were completely screwed because they can't jump in and take a stage 3 - they have to go back to stage 1.
So I rode the system and encouraged some of my ladies and gentlemen to take GCSE art and very well they did too. I am currently taking a few of them through A level. I now teach the others privately and will have even more in September.
But the sad truth is that my teaching days with the college (sorry, "Adult Learning") are numbered. My lessons are now very few and the hours of paperwork involved for each of them is simply not worth the wage. My private lessons are paper free and enjoyable relaxed sessions where I teach and the students learn. It's the way forward. I understand that several other tutors in Adult Ed are also starting up. I wonder how long it will be before all the disillusioned teachers and pupils get together and start their own college - with no crappy paperwork - just good teaching.
And Good Teaching, let's face it, doesn't have to be monitored - IT SPEAKS FOR ITSELF. Happy students stay with the teacher and enjoy their lessons - if they don't like it, they speak with their feet. Most of my students have been with me for years - not a loyalty born of familiarity, but one of achievement.
So who is to blame for all this silliness? The key word, I am told, is funding. But funding is just another way of saying it's the Government's fault and we voted them in, so we are to blame - aren't we? Actually, I can smile knowlingly at this point because I didn't vote the bar stewards in. Tee hee.
Am currently about to start directing Die Fledermaus for Operatic Society. Having read through script it was abundantly clear to me that this was a first rate farce and could easily be set in the Brian Rix school of Comedy. But the Company I'm directing would not cope with the 60s costumes I wanted and the grey rinse brigade (sorry - the audience) would be disappointed if the girls didn't wear the pretty sparkley frocks. Pooh.
So I am laboriously typing up the libretto, so that I can do my stage direction book and the cast can have an online copy (so much easier) of my rewrites and directions.
So day spent teaching and typing and doing the week's shopping and sorting out GCSE drama for next Sept and cooking dinner (latter, with help from beloved). I really need to get a life, this one is far too complicated.
Got a few things done.
Morning spent teaching as usual. Managed to speak to class about next September (my students no longer have a class to go to, but I am going to continue to teach them privately).
Explained that Government entirely responsible for pushing out the Pensioners from Adult Education. They are only interested in them if they are illiterate in some way (computer illiterate included) and consequently can take an exam and bump up the successful Education figures. It's pathetic.
When I started teaching, my classes were filled with happy people keen to improve their skills at watercolour and painting. But over the years the paperwork increased (for both me and them) - more evaluations than would fill a rain forest - and then came the burden of PROOF.! I had to prove that I had taught them something, so I had to fill in minute by minute lesson plans and initial assessments and schemes of work and course informations sheets and lesson evaluations/assessments and give them individual "certificates" so on. And because I had to complete all this garbage, the administration team at the college became immense - I think there are nearly 3 times the admin staff than there are actual teachers. And still the Admin Army continues to grow - with administration for the Administrator's Adminstrators (I'm not joking). And don't get me started on Risk Assessments and Health and Bloody Safety and Compulsory Day Courses and Equal Opportunities. And yet it gets worse. The students are no longer students, but have become "learners". They can no longer learn, they have to be seen to have learned. So they all have to produce set course work with final portfolios or take exams. All the Improvers were completely screwed because they can't jump in and take a stage 3 - they have to go back to stage 1.
So I rode the system and encouraged some of my ladies and gentlemen to take GCSE art and very well they did too. I am currently taking a few of them through A level. I now teach the others privately and will have even more in September.
But the sad truth is that my teaching days with the college (sorry, "Adult Learning") are numbered. My lessons are now very few and the hours of paperwork involved for each of them is simply not worth the wage. My private lessons are paper free and enjoyable relaxed sessions where I teach and the students learn. It's the way forward. I understand that several other tutors in Adult Ed are also starting up. I wonder how long it will be before all the disillusioned teachers and pupils get together and start their own college - with no crappy paperwork - just good teaching.
And Good Teaching, let's face it, doesn't have to be monitored - IT SPEAKS FOR ITSELF. Happy students stay with the teacher and enjoy their lessons - if they don't like it, they speak with their feet. Most of my students have been with me for years - not a loyalty born of familiarity, but one of achievement.
So who is to blame for all this silliness? The key word, I am told, is funding. But funding is just another way of saying it's the Government's fault and we voted them in, so we are to blame - aren't we? Actually, I can smile knowlingly at this point because I didn't vote the bar stewards in. Tee hee.
Am currently about to start directing Die Fledermaus for Operatic Society. Having read through script it was abundantly clear to me that this was a first rate farce and could easily be set in the Brian Rix school of Comedy. But the Company I'm directing would not cope with the 60s costumes I wanted and the grey rinse brigade (sorry - the audience) would be disappointed if the girls didn't wear the pretty sparkley frocks. Pooh.
So I am laboriously typing up the libretto, so that I can do my stage direction book and the cast can have an online copy (so much easier) of my rewrites and directions.
So day spent teaching and typing and doing the week's shopping and sorting out GCSE drama for next Sept and cooking dinner (latter, with help from beloved). I really need to get a life, this one is far too complicated.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
The Blogging Reason
Ok The reason for starting a blog is this. Delicious partner and I have decided to turn loft space into a retreat. This would mean a cross between a cinema and artists workshop. The 500+ costumes that currently inhabit that space will be rehoused in a chalet type thingy at the bottom of the garden. The present occupier of that space, a small conservatory, will either be moved to extend our present study or be sold.
So tons to do.
The current state of play is this..
The architect is due over in a week to measure loft space.
The shed man is sending us a quote for the shed this coming week.
We have to make a decision on the conservatory depending on that quote (shift the old one to the back of the house or buy a new one)
So here's to a stress free loft space - which I can forsee is going to be total hell getting there.
So tons to do.
The current state of play is this..
The architect is due over in a week to measure loft space.
The shed man is sending us a quote for the shed this coming week.
We have to make a decision on the conservatory depending on that quote (shift the old one to the back of the house or buy a new one)
So here's to a stress free loft space - which I can forsee is going to be total hell getting there.
My beloved's hair cut
It's a really weird thing. You've known this man for years and suddenly he's not the same. I should explain here that he had A LOT of hair cut off. We are talking feet not inches here. But I find it fascinating that I now perceive him so differently. What has, after all, changed? So he cut off a lot of hair and shaved his beard - he's not exactly had plastic surgery. And yet, he's not the same. He really isn't. He definitely looks a lot younger (not so good for me, being the older partner) and he really does look very, dare I say it, trendy.
He would not look out of place in a fashionable and modern bar and maybe that is the problem, because he certainly would have done before. BHC (Before Hair Cut) he was, how can I put this...very individual. VERY individual. As one of his dear friends commented, a cross between Christ and Ozzie Osbourne. He doesn't look like that now. Now he resembles a character in Lost. Sawyer to be precise. I mean, I can hardly complain about that, can I? Yes, I must be mad. He's not so attractive as he was - the overall dark and well defined features are softened with the lighter beard and hair and this is a man who does dark VERY WELL. So perhaps that's it. I preferred him dark. Good. Sorted. Just got to wait a few more days for the beard to grow and perhaps I'll recognise again the gorgeous son of Satan I fell in love with.
The First Post
Am lying in bed with beloved (not looking like himself following disastrous hair cut) and enjoying the luxury of being able to use a computer and sleep at the same time. He has opted out and plugged himself back into ipod (new, megabucks Christmas pressie from me).
Have managed to achieve one item on today's agenda already, so Sunday is looking good so far......
Have managed to achieve one item on today's agenda already, so Sunday is looking good so far......
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