The inspection is over.
I am exhausted.
I have so much to do tonight - packed lunches to make, meals to prepare for Friday and Saturday, the bins to put out.
What am I actually doing?
I'm flicking from page to page on the internet - not even reading, just flicking - and in a moment will crawl into bed and hope to wake early enough to do it all tomorrow.

Two lessons observed. No feedback. Think it went OK (though would have liked both lessons to go better - they would have done if the kids hadn't felt restricted by the presence of the inspectors as was evident when the inspectors left) but it's hard to tell. Tears from all staff this morning, including the Head, at the way we've pulled together. Whether we're a successful school or a failing one, we couldn't work harder or with more dedication. I wonder what they'll say. We may never know. (It isn't OFSTED so it isn't published).

Go to bed, Smudgie!

Today is a double pivot point. We have more time behind us with our visitors than ahead of us. They leave early next Tuesday morning. Now don't get me wrong, I am really enjoying having them here most of the time, and this evening they decided to stay home with us and we have had a really lovely evening together. They are really lovely boys, all three of them, and when one of the parents rang me this evening I was able honestly to say how great their son is. But it's an awkward time, tiring (not their fault, but they come in so late and leave so early) and taxing on our communication skills. It's also particularly stressful when their leader's forgotten to give them an activity list, so I'm stood at the stove making a cooked meal for 5.30 and they arrive home an hour earlier than usual and inform me that they have to be in Newport by 6pm instead of the usual 7 o'clock. Cooked meal consigned to the dustbin (it wouldn't keep), boys sent to get fish and chips, which they then were too busy talking to eat in time so that mostly went in the dustbin too. I had a few choice words to say to the EF organisers on that one!!! So here we are, at the pivot point, and I realise that it will be really quiet when they do go. I hope at least one of them keeps in touch.

I cannot say the same for the second pivot point, even though the people in question have been really quite nice so far on a personal level (not sure yet on a professional level). Praise God, the first day of inspections is over. I had one complete lesson observed - didn't go quite as well as I'd hoped as the kids simply froze, but I was fairly pleased with things and don't think it was bad at all. I have three lessons tomorrow and have heard a rumour that they may not still be doing observations by the third... so one I'm confident about and one I'm not.

Smudgelet, meanwhile, is planning to write to the Prime Minister. It's not right, he says, that his mother should have so much paperwork to do that she doesn't spend time with him. Too right, Smudgelet. You write your letter. You needed my attention these last few days - doing genetics in school isn't that easy when you're adopted and feel isolated within the lesson when everyone's discussing things they have in common with their parents - and I was almost too busy. I say almost - I ditched the planning in favour of my son. After all, what's more important. And what are they going to do to the school if we fail the inspection? Close it?

I suppose I could have done it just because I wanted the experience, but you know as well as I do that I have many a night slept on the sofa because of an inability to find my bed under all the junk accumulated upon it. This time it was different.

When my eldest son is here, I habitually lock my bedroom door when I'm not in there, and I decided that this might be a good policy while we have small inquisitive visitors, (especially as Mousie is dying of old age in there - just quietly fading away in his little nest in the corner, bless him, no longer really wanting to eat or drink or scamper, just to rest quietly as he ends his days). No problem. I keep my keys in a safe place, usually my pocket if I'm wearing jeans, but in a particular spot that only I know if I have no pockets to keep them in. Fine, simple plan. Until you slip your keys absent mindedly into your laptop case while trying to persuade three French boys to hurry up and get ready to catch the bus.

It was a manic few days writing countless lesson plans - repeatedly, as people thought of one more thing and one more thing to add to them. My visitors came in at 10pm wanting hot chocolate and biscuits to warm them up before they went to bed (honestly, Ryde beach in this lovely June weather....!), so it was 11pm by the time I was able to head towards my long-awaited bed. I got as far as the door... and... er....

OK, so where are my keys? In my pocket? No, I haven't got any pockets. In the special place? No, the special place is empty. In the lounge? No. In the bathroom? No. In the kitchen? No. In my laptop bag which is sitting tucked under my desk in the empty classroom? Ping! Correct answer. So, the sofa it is. Good job Mousie doesn't need feeding. Now, where will I find some spare bedding. I have loads of spare bedding. Ah, I have loads of spare bedding for when I have visitors. Trouble is, I have visitors, and I don't think they'll really appreciate it if I go and nick the bedding of their beds. And as for pyjamas? Well, they're in the bedroom, of course, together with my clean clothes for next day....

Good job I still had a day to go before the inspectors were in!

I have also spent much of the weekend being driven slowly up the wall by three adorable but increasingly hyper French boys who sleep little, make large quantities of noise (and farting sounds courtesy of some silly putty they purchased at the joke shop!), are eating far too many sweets and far too little food, and are generally relaxing far too much! Good job they're so lovely or I think I might lock the door and let them suffocate themselves with the aerosol deodorant they are so fond of spraying right, left and centre. AGGGGGGGGGHHHH! They don't get in until 10pm and they're so lively, and all wanting hot chocolate and time to play when all I want to do is crawl off to bed ready for the early start next day.

AAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

And my lovely last little gerbil is slowly dying. :( (Mousie the Gerbil, not Pavlova the hamsters)

Counting the days to the summer holidays? Me? Surely not.

In particular, after: two changes of head teacher in quick succession; radical changes in the ways of working within the school with each change of head; a new national Key Stage 3 curriculum (very good one, but still) being launched which requires a complete rewrite of our syllabus by September; six members of staff being made redundant in three weeks' time; major reorganisation of the entire education system on the Isle of Wight being announced including the closing of our school (and now, bless 'em, the declaration that they're not sure whether they're going to go ahead with these changes or not); virtually every teacher in the school taking on more and new responsibilities to replace those who are leaving; virtually every teacher in the school having to move the entire contents of their classroom into a different room last week so that the school is completely reorganised again; this week being the week when the new pupils for next year visit and the older ones go to visit the High School and there's trips out and sports' days and the like, and only three weeks to go until the blessed holidays.... they pick NEXT BLOODY WEEK TO DROP A TWO-DAY INSPECTION ON US WITH THREE PAGES OF LESSON PLANS TO BE WRITTEN FOR EVERY SINGLE LESSON WE TEACH!!!!!!!!

It's as if they're determined to stretch us to see how much stress it takes before we break. "What? You coped with that? Well, see how you like this then!" Don't you idiots realise that if all the good and consciencious teachers crack under all this rubbish, it's the kids and your blessed league tables that will suffer?

The new word I'm working on begins with N and ends with O. Any idea what it might be? Somehow every time I open my mouth to say it, the sounds emerge sounding remarkably like the phonemes (technical word there, are you impressed?) - y - e - and - s- .

This is the reason I am currently running around like a mad thing, trying to reassemble my home into some state of habitability after the latest round in our home improvement cycle (How is it that home improvement seems to necessitate home demolition first?) so that I can play host to not deux (as first arranged) but trois (as it turned into last night) ten and twelve year olds from France on an English Language course for a fortnight. And this at a week's notice! I blame the Smudgelet for being so keen to do it. The most interesting bits will be - the fact that I'm booked to go to the theatre on Friday night and simply can't find anyone willing to babysit three young French boys (strange that! - so, what are YOU planning for Friday night?) and the fact that Tiddles comes home for the last three days of it and I am obliged to move the Smudgelet back out of his room and into... well.... er.... I'm sure I'll find somewhere for him to sleep. After all, I've got nearly two weeks to think about it.

Add to this, the fact that I had a phone call a week ago from my head teacher. "Smudgie, I am sorry to ring you at home but we have a small emergency at work. Would you mind awfully moving classrooms tomorrow afternoon - lock, stock and barrel - into the tiny room which nobody else will agree to work in? I'd be very grateful. In fact, I promise eventually to have electricity and a SmartBoard installed in there". It's been an interesting week! The room is now only big enough for a maximum of 16 pupils so it looks like I'll be teaching small groups next year, doesn't it? The real interesting bit was when the head, needing some practise at observing before our proper mini inspection next week (an inspection in the middle of the last three weeks of school, together with room changes, I ask you!) asked if he and a colleague could come and observe me teaching my eighteen Year Eights in there. Needless to say, I was quite pleased to greet him with the words "I'm sorry, but there's nowhere for you to sit. That little space by the door would be the safest place for you to stand" :D So thus is my career at this school - from caravan to corridor to cupboard.

Having said that, I've had a promotion :D . It was another case of opening my mouth and the wrong words coming out. Big time.

When I get a bit of time I'll blog about our weekend and the trials and tribulations of being the mother of a teenager, God bless him. But I suppose I'd better go and make four packed lunches for tomorrow. Yes four. When the Smudgelet heard that the French boys were having a packed lunch every day, he asked whether he could have one too so that he can sit with his friends at lunchtime (they have sandwiches, you see) and like someone with the letters M.U.G tattooed on their forehead, I opened my mouth to say NO and the wrong sounds came a-tumbling out.

What do you mean, doesn't the inspector come to us? That'd be a bit unnecessary don't you think?

Hold on, you didn't think we were getting a dog, did you? I told you, I don't like dogs as pets. And being out at work, it wouldn't be fair to have a dog either. Besides, how would I explain that to Charlie.

No, Pavlova is a roborovski hamster. Or rather, Pavlova are roborovski hamsters. It is the most adorable little family of five, a mother and four daughters (thus swinging the balance of the sexes in this household back in my favour) and Smudgelet has decided that it is fair to name them all the same. After all, they're fairly indistinguishable from each other and it'd be very rude to refer to them by the wrong name. This was, if anyone asks "Which one is your favourite?", we can quite honestly answer "Pavlova" without hurting the feelings of any of them.

They are actually "watching pets" rather than "handling pets", as they're small and fast and very squirmy, but tame as tame can be and so inquisitive. And they're full of fun - running and playing and squabbling and climbing and exploring and very keen to come and see what you're up to every time you walk past. If you think Smudgelet isn't the only one to be totally enchanted by them, you'd be right. They're about 4cm long and have white eyebrows over their beady, sparkly eyes. And they're gorgeous!

My new acquaintance, who confirmed my reasons for preferring cats to dogs, was Naz. Smudgelet has been in hysterics at my impression of this bow-legged treasure with a sleek coat and no manners whatsoever. This is a real "man" dog. No silly fussing and skipping for Naz, he was out for two things and two things only - to roll in anything disgusting he could find and to eat poo. Bless him. I can't say I fell in love with this one, though I'm sure he has his endearing qualities. But there's no mistaking, this is a dog with a mission and he's not the dog for me.

Today we went for a mega-walk, staying long enough to take three dogs on the circuit. The first was our friend Muffin. It really is so sweet how utterly attached this little dog is to the Smudgelet.

Then we got to meet our second Westie. His name's Oscar and he's quite a contrast to Muffin. An elderly gent, he went round at a more sedate pace, stopping to water every daisy, and managed only a single circuit (though taking probably twice as long to complete it). His ears are really poorly and manky inside and he's deaf as a post. Stubborn little fellow, though. I did rather like him, even though he hadn't got Muffin's spring.

In contrast, our third dog of the day was Blue. Smudgelet loved walking this one because this dog wanted to play. In fact, wanted to play almost too much! Strong and stubborn but totally friendly and adorable, this dog gave my shoulder muscles a good workout. Strangely he is unable to eat solid food at all, and needs help to swallow liquids, so it meant we had to make sure he didn't eat anything and we couldn't give him a biscuit, however tempting it was.

So you think I have been protesting too much about my determination not to have a dog? Well, watch this space for news of a new addition to the family...... *blush*

I love the Isle of Wight Festival! :o)

He still thinks I'm just saying it to make him feel good, though. He won't believe he has a good awareness of what makes a good photo. But this set on Flickr are the ones he took in Scotland - yes, they were taken with a digital camera so he could have taken hundreds and picked the best, but these were all the photos he took, some fairly run-of-the-mill though with something in each to redeem it, some rather nicely composed (I think, but then I'm biased). Clicking on a photo will take you to the rest.

My favourites: