annanotbob's Diaryland Diary
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'Look, I'm carrying, on my back two pairs of wellies...
That's my new dog. Well that's what happened the first god knows how many times I tried to take a picture of him. He's quite a nifty little mover.
I'm not really gonna call him Helen. We're taking suggestions - so far Pepe and Jimmy are looking good and he answers to both of them or indeed anything that has that two syllable typr of sound.
What have I done though? Can I manage this? Bob shot out the back as I brought him in the front and stayed away all day. I went out just now and called her - I could hear her yowling in the distance and it took me about fifteen minutes to persuade her to come back into the garden. She sat in my arms, all tense and hostile, then shot back over the fence.
And I am absolutely fucking knackered. I've been to the park three times and I'll have to take him round the block once more before bed. It's not that though, it's the perkiness. Still, he's very sweet and good-natured and part of my grumpiness is not about him anyway.
The kids are packing for Glastonbury. They're catching the 6.27 train tomorrow morning. This is the first time they've had to carry all their gear. Tension is mounting. Alternating with laughter, but it's all doing my head in. I've got a pass, a free pass, and I know I can't go. I'm just too agitated too easily - anything at all sends me into lalaland, just getting the car packed would finish me off, but not going is awful.
I hate who I am at the moment. It's no good thinking I can write 'Today I am proud because I did one itsy bitsy stupid bastard thing,' because it's just too fucking shite. Someone started on about what we were doing ten years ago. Ten years ago I was halfway through teaching a two year GCSE course with a group that ended up getting 18 A*s. The English dept as a whole has never got double figures of A*s, before or since. I was good, once. Now I'm just rubbish and I hate it, I really hate it.
|11:08 p.m. - 23/06/2008
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