27th January 2007

On the face of things, this week have been quite uneventful, but simply scratch the surface a little, in the way that you would your first ever lottery scratch-card, and there are some glimmers of interest.


Last week I had a delivery of what I presumed was going to be a rather inexpensive shelving unit, bought in the attempt to organise my desk at work. The picture in the catalogue showed neat white shelves containing brightly ten coloured draws. The actual parcel that arrived contained five DIY coloured cardboard boxes. Obviously, looking again at the catalogue it clearly stated that the package I had bought for a respectable £6.50 was in fact the drawers, which are sold separately from the £30 wooden shelving unit. This is the downside of dyslexia, and at the present time I can’t recall the up side.

Last weekend, being the creative soul that I am, I set out to make myself the shelves out of the box that contained the five card board pieces. It’s not entirely complete yet, (it still needs a few more coats of paint and something done about the jagged edges) but I am quite pleased with the Blue-Peter like result.

Last night was probably the most eventful night of the week; a hen night for a work colleague, one much more senior than me I might add. We went to a kind of comedy club in Milton Keynes, £20 for a three course meal and two, (although one was dire) comedy acts. The night started out as 15, dropped to 9 by 10 o’clock, (not helped by the first act as well as the prospect of work filled days for those above 30) and finally by 12:00 had reached just 5. Unsurprisingly it was the performing arts faculty that lead the, by this time rather leadable, hen to a night of clubbing.

The remainder of the night I shall censor, but I will say that we stumbled to our homes, (or those of other senior teachers) at around four in the morning and all made it into work the next morning, some in a better state than others.

Skipping back a few days, I had a massage on Tuesday night. I’m not usually one for pampering myself, but have managed to get myself into the habit of booking two hours of bliss every two months in an attempt to dislodge the cobwebs and general feelings of “neurgness” that build up in that time.

A hot stone massage is, in many ways, just like Ronseal; a massage involving hot stones. Some of it is a little too ritualistic for me, (a stone placed on various Chakras during the massage and tapped before they are taken off) but all that is irrelevant compared to the fantastic feeling that heat and pressure manage to produce on twisted muscles and tensed shoulders!

As far as school goes, I’m getting on with it. I’ll continue to begrudgingly do what I am told, in many cases not seeing the reason why, until I can finally get out of the place and develop a time machine that will take me back to the days of the cane, (preferably one I can use on teachers as well as pupils).

Well – that’s it. Clearly that scratch card wasn’t hiding three matching symbols this week, perhaps another time.

19th January 2007

I haven’t written for a long time. This is mainly due to insane busyness, as well as a lack of anything interesting happening and the general feeling that I can’t be bothered.

But I am alive and to prove it I’m here!

Some while back you may remember me writing about my duck egg. Well, about two weeks ago it finally hatched, although there is a strong cased debate as to whether or not it is in fact a duck. (see above photo).

I have called him Simon. Simon is in fact a miniature seagull, whose life was doomed from the start. Not only is he an exceptionally ugly duckling, who will eventually grow into an exceptionally irritating sea-bird, but he was also born with some development problems:

Simon has a broken neck (which luckily hinders his ability to squawk), a large cyst on his back, and fused feet. He is also completely blind in his left eye and unfortunately made of a rather tacky to touch sponge substance.

The former of the problems that poor Simon has are most likely due to maltreatment in his egg stage. Being raised in a pint glass is apparently not the ideal situation and frequent shaking is frowned upon in egg hatching circles.

However I am informed that the latter issues are due to manufacturing problems in his “mothers’ womb” and have been reassured that this product malfunction will be fully investigated by “the vets”.

It has also been suggested, should I ever was to buy one of these products for a child, that I hatched the egg first myself to ensure the creature wasn’t quite so deformed and therefore avoid the issues of telling the child in question about the harshness of reality.

Luckily for Simon he has been born into a home that will strive to reconcile his problems of over-attention as an egg. He will now sit on a shelf and only be introduced to company at large family events where a form of light entertainment is required.

*NOTE TO READERS WHO DO NOT KNOW THE TWISTED MIND OF TRELEY*
This is called satire – look it up in a dictionary.

In other news I found out today that I am in fact a duck…

You Are A: Duck!

Found in many lakes and ponds, ducks are a common site the world over. Known for their famous quack, ducks tend to congregate in flocks or go off on their own in pairs. As a duck, you may seem friendly at times but will not hesitate to bite if someone is bothering you. Your ability to swim is part of what makes you a duck.

You were almost a: Puppy or a Duckling
You are least like a: Turtle or a GroundhogCute Animals Quiz

(Actually – it first told me that I was a pony, but ALMOST a duck, so I changed some of the answers to my questions! Of course, now that I am almost a duckling, I am tempted to go back and try again!)

Finally – a short gripe about my business for the last two weeks.

At the age of Twenty-three
Promotion there for me
Middle-management they say
Will be where I will stay

I’m in charge of other people
Over twice my age
But now ordered around the houses
Like a butler or a page

I’m wanted in a thousand places
Because there are more jobs for me to do
I‘m haunted on the weekend
By work, and home life too

The day’s where out the window
Work-life balance flies
The nights that I’m not home till late
Because of commitment ties

I’m bitter about the time I spend
Trying to get things right
Yet never reaching perfection
Although it’s “close”, but out of sight.

I’m irritated by the little things
That I haven’t found time to do
Like watch a bit of telly
Relax, and write to you.

Oh sure, I still “play” on the computer
After two or three extra hours of work
And where does it get me?
I see no rewards or perks

A 9-5 office job?
Not the life for me
Just a little more “Tre” time
That’s my current fantasy.

And here I am, still loving my job
Somewhere in my heart
It’s just at the moment I can’t seem to find it
And I’m not sure quite where to start.

5th January 2007

If the English language made any sense, a catastrophe would be an apostrophe with fur. – Doug Larson.

My feelings for the English language are mixed; I love reading a good book, I adore silly palindromes, and I get very emotional reactions to some lyrics and poetry. I am emphatic about the use of consonants and correct grammar in speaking, yet nonchalant when it comes to spelling. Yes – spelling mistakes made increasingly on public documents irritate me, but really, does it make that much difference if I decide to spell becose that way? You still know what I have just written – and here’s why…

Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.


The relevance in all this is that I taught my first ever English lesson today – which for a dyslexic teacher is quite a success I feel! I was petrified, although I am not sure what of as most of the class know that I am dyslexic and half share my problems with memory and words.

We were doing adjectives, (describing words for those of you who have burned the braincells you used in English lessons). We used animal poems, created by my fair hand of course, I removed all of the adjectives I had put in and instructed them to find their own… here’s an example of what they came up with…

Here is a drunk duck.
By a smelly lake he sits.
He nibbles mouldy bread,
And other yucky bits.

Contrary to my fears, the lesson went really well. A highlight to an otherwise “report card” filled day.

A member of my tutor group was found sitting on the front wall of a stranger’s house during the school day yesterday. The owner rang the school to report this strange incident, which resulted in our onsite policeman zooming out of school to accost the young man. As Mr Policeman screeched to a halt outside the house and stopped traffic with a swift wave of his arm and a tip of his policeman’s cap, the youth in question turned a shade of red and swiftly turned off his gift from Santa. It conspired that he was trying to use the strangers commodity of a wireless connection to access the internet, not, I hasten to add, to complete his over-due coursework.

The picture today is of Truffle, the oldest moggie. She was the runt of the litter and obtained from a rather dubious house in “Taylorstown” South Wales. When we took her to the vet he informed us that she was not only riddled with fleas and worms, she was also, at the oldest, only four weeks old. At the time we were told that her life expectancy was rather short, advised to keep a close eye on her and administer regular doses of TLC.

As a kitten she was quite playful, but wary of new people, loud noises and spent much of her time cowered in a corner or under the bed. By a year old she hated me, still loved Tristan, but lothed me! I was more than often covered in the scars of biting teeth and scratching claws.

After a program advised by a veterinary science student in Aberystwyth, involving inordinate amounts of “Felix Likins” and the advent of her much loved (at the time) step brother Charlie, she became much more sociable, loveable, and in recent years even cuddly.

She is still a little cat, but a remarkably female one. Not only does she have a very feminine look about her, she has turned into a complete slapper around male visitors to the house, in particular my Dad, who is now a self-confessed Truffle fan!

Not only does the English Language borrow words from other languages, it sometimes chases them down dark alleys, hits them over the head, and goes through their pockets. – Eddy Peters

4th January 2006 ... err 7

After spending the whole of yesterday in my pyjamas, today felt a whole lot less comfortable, quite a bit more stressful and ultimately much colder.


Our morning briefing started with the warning, not of snow (which is what we all secretly wished for), but the impending arrival of OFSTED; the bug eyed demons of the teaching world.

OFSTED apparently stands for “Office for Standards in Education”, (although this isn’t actually mentioned on their website). In my mind this would be OSE or OfSiE, but for some reason they chose OFSTED – I think it’s all down to onomatopoeia. There would be no reason to duplicate paperwork, label class displays and run up a huge reprographics bill for a band of guys calling them selves “Ofsie”. And “OSE’s here!” could too easily be mistaken for a question. OFSTED as a heading on a times-new typed form though, now that is enough to send a shiver down anyone’s spine!

On the plus side, they have not actually said they are coming yet, so mass pedagogical hysteria is still a while away yet.

In other news, my egg has started hatching. Before you all start thinking that my duck obsession has gone a step to far it is not actually “my” egg, but one I was given for Christmas. It’s currently sitting on my desk in a widgetted Guinness pint glass, occasionally it looks like it is moving, but I think it is just the bubbles…

--- Stollen from http://clipurl.com/?GJT190 ---

Growing Hatching Duck Egg Toy

These are the latest craze

Duck Egg Growing Hatching Pet

Watch as your egg hatches and your pet grows

You get one egg

Place the egg in a container and fill with water

The egg shell will break after 12-24 hours

Slowly then the pet will hatch out of the egg

After the egg shell has broken completely add fresh water and the pet will grow after 48 hours

You can then move the pet to a new container to continue growing

… See I’ve not lost it yet.

The picture for today is of Charlie, the younger of our two cats. He was in a scrap over New Year, most likely with his older “sister”. He’s ended up with a scratch above his right eye, a bolding patch on his nut and a large scar on his back left leg. Although his capability to get up and downstairs has been slightly hindered (he has started waiting for us to carry him), he hasn’t yet lost the ability to scarper when Truffle comes in sight.


Finally – Yes I AM going to continue this god damn blog on for at least a year, probably more sporadically than habitually, but I am determined that I will do it… hey, it’s even got to the point that I am giving out the web address for it!

1st January 2007

New Years Eve: I have had a few of them now, every decent one that I can remember has involved a pub, the beach, or both, but this year, neither of those featured.

I was in Wales for “PigCash”. Not my birth place, home town nor current dwelling place, but where I went to Uni and stumbled upon the best friend a girl could ever want to have, namely, Samantha Scott-Angell.

The picture above is of her, stood next to the rusty blue gates of where we met just over four years ago; Maes Yr Eglwys (field of the church). It was our Uni Halls, the setting for many random exploits including the scanning of body parts, sheep wrestling and the infamous lesbian fist fight (and consequential escape act).

It is now a pile of rubble.

I am 23, and had managed to get this far in life without any building that played a significant part of my life being demolished, even most of my own secondary school stays as it was when I left. I should have known that the first place to go would be where I had, without exception, the best bloody year of my life.

My room was K13… unlucky for some, although apparently 13 is my families lucky number, (my parents have always lived in a house numbered 13, or where the numbers add up to 13). I shared my kitchen, bathroom and much staggered in corridor with Sian, (Mummy Sian, who always told me off) Caroline, (Auntie Caroline, who encouraged my mischievous side) and Cheryl, (Big Sister Cheryl, who always listened to my latest calamity at three in the morning). There were only 60 of us in the whole place, although I shan’t name them all I’ll possibly get in trouble if I don’t name a few more…

Shane (who is practically married to Sian)
Scoucer (Steve… who now works in MK too)
Lesley (who will believe anything)
Rod (who probably still has a rose between his bum cheeks)
Sean (Who I was in a band with – Four Cornered Triangle)
Natalie (of course), Martin, Bridie, Rhys, Lloyd, JT, Simon, Andy, Jim, Sonia, Leanne, Louise… and not forgetting Lord Henry… :)

Anyway… we reminisced for a while about the wild nights of a crazy place that is now literally in a former time before placing our feet firmly back at the end of 2006…

So Trefforest, South Wales, was the venue for our New Years / goodbye Maes party. With little money and a large supply of red wine we giggled the dawn of 2007 into existence. We both have a bizarre love for ridiculous word games, an unfaltering love of red wine and bucket loads of love for our nonchalant partners, so I’ll leave you to imagine how our evening with “Articulate”, “things you find on holiday” and a drunken version of “Charades” panned out!



I’m now back in MK; the concrete and round-about capital of the world. It is a place that I loathe, in every sense of the word, yet am destined to stay in for at least another year and a half.



If 2007 brings me anything I hope that it is simply more of what I’ve already had; some fantastic memories, some unsurpassed friends and perhaps most importantly, many more red wine nights.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF

THE MAES CLAN

2001-2002