Category: Discussions


So, it was Sunday and I was in the cemetery. Not how I spend every Sunday but I ended up talking to a lovely lady. During conversation, she asked where I worked and when I told her she replied with ‘A teacher? Oh I couldn’t do your job. You all work so hard, hats off to you.’

It’s at that point that I realised this was the first time a stranger had reacted like this to my career choice. I usually get some sarcastic quip about holidays (honestly, come on, give me something original) or ‘your lot are always complaining, aren’t you?’. It felt lovely to be complimented. Then, as I was recovering from the shock of the incident, the same thing happened again tonight at the gym. This time it was another lovely lady who ‘couldn’t do [my] job. It must be very tough.’ (And…she was a nurse, so I reciprocated the sentiment!). So, twice in one week I’d had very rare positive comments about my career. I had to write about it.

Truth is, us teachers have a bad rep. Even my own mother thinks my job is easy. On passing my PGCE she said ‘And now you’re a part-timer. Finish at 3pm and for most of the year you’re on holiday.’ Great. Thanks, mum. I’ve got other family members who refuse to believe that I don’t walk into work at 9am and put my feet up at home by 3.15pm. I’ve joined a profession that is rapidly losing its respect. (Disclaimer: Thankfully I do have family members who know exactly what my job entails. I’m one of three teachers in my family.)

But why? We’re working harder than ever to provide an education for the next generation but for some reason what we do is seen as easy. A job anyone can do. Not only are we putting every effort into educating and caring for children (which is why we all went into the job in the first place) but we’re having to deal with deadlines, paperwork, red-tape and ever-changing schemes and systems. So, forgive me if I’m a bit insulted when people insinuate I don’t deserve my holidays.

Whilst I was training, the main point the trainees brought back to the lecture hall was how firm a grip parents have over classroom management. The craziest of actions are carried out all through fear of offending a parent. I’ve heard plenty of complaints of well-experienced teachers being forced to apologise to a parent for moves that were only undertaken with the pupils’ best interests in mind. I’ve heard many a rant about parents swearing and threatening teachers for ridiculous reasons. Thankfully, I haven’t experienced any of that this year and my bunch of parents have been very kind and supportive, but I know I wouldn’t have heard horror stories like these if I’d have entered the profession twenty years ago.

Then you’ve got the children. I thank the teaching Gods every day that I don’t really have to tackle this problem at Primary level as our behaviour strategies are always very effective, but hearing from colleagues in secondary schools is enough to keep me tucked safely in the foundation phase. It can be very hard for teachers to gain respect from their teenage pupils.

The fact is people just don’t regard teachers with the same respect they used to do. So what is it? What is causing people to think a teachers life is an easy one? I don’t have the answer, but as a profession we need support, from everyone, to ensure our work is the best it can be, because nothing is more important than educating the future generation.

And next time you meet a teacher, please don’t mention the holidays.

 

It’s been a testing week at school with several big events culminating in the space of just a few days. Yes, it’s been exhausting and everybody is feeling the stretch, but I’ve started a new week armed with some interesting new knowledge.

For example, last week I learned that I am coping better with pressure. My diary was full and I jumped from job to job, day to day, with ease. In the past, the Monday morning of an action-packed week would have seen me flapping round the staff room scrutinising the briefing. But this week, I tackled each challenge calmly. So, I’m definitely getting there.

I also learned that I can speak Welsh. Surprise!  Hoorah! After an oral assessment which seemed to come completely out of the blue and with minimal preparation time, I managed to babble my way through each part of the test and, smugly, was pretty proud of my results.

Thirdly, I learned that the next few weeks are going to be tough on the heartstrings. I’m a sensitive sod and the reality that I only have 14 school days left with my class is starting to sink in. I know I’m going to struggle in the last week but I’m starting to realise that this is the nature of the job. I’m sure it gets easier. Seeing the excitement on their faces as they spent the afternoon with their new teacher stirred mixed emotions. I was excited for them, whilst faced thoughts of just how much I’ll miss them. But I also began to understand what other teachers have said – it’s a vicious cycle. At the moment you might be ‘the best teacher ever’ to them, but next year their new teacher will steal your crown and you’ve got another bunch to win round *sniff*.

Lesson four – you can get through anything with good work mates who know how to laugh.

And finally, over the weekend, I learned to take more notice of one of my favourite quotes:

‘People will forget what you said, and forget what you’ve done, but they will never forget how you made them feel.’ Maya Angelou

I’m not trying to be enigmatic and mysterious! Nothing dreadful has happened, but after a few unrelated conversations I realised just how true this is. It’s bloody hard to forget cruelty and we must always remember kindness.

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Well, after the news over the weekend that Executive Produce Sean O’Connor has left EastEnders with immediate effect, I’m sure it’s no surprise that this blog post was going to be focused on Albert Square. Twitter was rejoincing on Friday night as the news broke that O’Connor has delivered his last duff duff. Unpopular is an understatement. As tweets celebrating his departure came thick and fast, feelings of frustration and relief were apparent.

It’s frustrating that O’Connor has been allowed to mess up the show for so long and the damage couldn’t have been prevented sooner (assuming he’s been sacked, if you believe the tabloids). Before he wielded the axe at so many fan favourites and before he ordered the storyliners to create tales focusing solely on the bin schedule. It’s bloody annoying that, in the last few months, nothing has happened.  Each night I settle down to an episode, knowing that by the end I won’t have anything to report. Gone are the excited whatsapp conversations to friends that populated DTC’s era. Now it’s just ‘Don’t bother watching if you’re busy. Stacey put the bins out. Sharon’s hair was nice.’

I’ve been patiently sticking with the show, convincing myself that O’connor’s vision will soon kick into gear and the slow episodes would just be side-effects of the producer change over. But after reading Friday’s press release I realised he’s been in post for a whole bloody year! Although his stories have been nothing short of awful I was looking forward to the ‘big summer story’ and hoped that the tosh we were seeing on screen was just a slow build up to something great. It’s frustrating that we probably won’t see that big reveal now that O’connor has gone. I’ve been willing to give his new characters a change – such as the Taylor family and Ted and Joyce Murray – as they haven’t really been given much to work with. Each of O’connor’s new characters seemed to pop up in an introductory couple of episodes and then disappear into the background. If the new producer gives them some decent material then they should be given a chance.

But, obviously, it’s a relief that this reign of drivel is, hopefully, over. What the show now needs is a producer of DTC’s ilk, who respects the show, understands the history and knows what the viewers want. Here’s what I think the show needs:

  • Give us answers! – Max lingering moodily in the background, ‘The Chairman’ dropping enigmatic promises, Ted Murray holding a gun then stuffing it in a cupboard for six weeks….we don’t need any more teasers! It’s no longer exciting, it’s just frustrating and annoying. Just tell us what’s going on!
  • Keep Whitney away from Mick – We all know Mick and Linda are a solid couple and would never stray from each other. So Mick mooning over daughter-in-law Whitney just doesn’t wash. A Mickney affair would just be awful so the new EP’s best plan is to get her out of the Vic. Why not move her in with Lauren?
  • Bring back Babe – One of DTC’s best inventions played by the fabulous Annette Badland. Walford needs a good Villain. Bring her back!
  • Fix Kim and Denise – One of the most frustrating things O’Connor did was have Kim and D’s mum hurriedly tell them they’re not actually sisters before disappearing into a cab. The ‘sisters’ spent an episode moping about this revelation and then it was never mentioned again. WTF. A decision like this could be forgiven if it was for the sake of storytelling but, literally, nothing happened afterwards! On the subject of the Fox-Hubbards, the EP needs to use Patrick more. Bringing back Claudette might put a smile on his face and could also lure Vincent out of the house and into some storylines!
  • Bring back Pam and Les – I loved these two and, even if they can’t come back permanently, it would be great to have them recurring.
  • Integrate the new characters – Again, the Murrays and the Taylors have arrived on the square and locked themselves away. If there’s any chance of them being successful, they need to start building relationships on the Square.
  • Kathy – She’s had a quiet few months and, as a character with such a rich history, she needs a decent storyline. Give Ian a bit of break though. I’m fed up of him salivating over doughnuts.
  • Fix Steven Beale – He’s sticking round for another year and he’s an interesting character. He deserves more than looking after Lauren’s child and never leaving the Beale sofa. My advice – Have him leave Lauren and start to make friends on the Square.
  • Sharon and Michelle – A strong friendship with a lot of history. These two have been hilarious in some episodes and it would be good to see more of that. Throw Linda into the mix too and we could have a new ‘book club’ situation.
  • And finally – Bring back Ronnie and Roxy – I don’t care that they’re dead. I don’t care how ridiculous the storyline is. I’m willing to suspend all realism and accept a storyline that sees them being restored to life on Halloween during a séance with Dot and Jack. I’ll forgive it all, just bring back R&R!

Hourly tweets reminding us it’s baking. Near-naked Instagram pics coming in thick and fast. Snpachats of thermometers just in case we forget it’s warm. It all kicks off when the sun comes out.

I’m already sick of the summer moaners. A bit of sun and we get relentless groaning. ‘It’s too hot’. ‘It’s better to stay in doors’. ‘Oh, I can’t cope’. My advice – just enjoy it!

We live in the UK. 90% of our weather is rain. The sun will probably only be out for a couple of days and then it’ll be autumn. There’ll be cloud cover by the time you’ve dug out your espadrilles. We can’t change the weather – just enjoy it and chill out (pun!).

In school, the fans have been broken out of the outdoor store, my TA is draping fabric over the windows at a rapid rate so the side of the school resembles a circus tent, and we’re operating in darkness to stop any heat from the lightbulbs pushing us over the edge. But we’re not complaining. Because it’s summer.

The children are hot and sweaty and agitated, and at times it’s difficult to get any work done. Today, we knew we were up against it. Whether it was sticky, sweaty fingers or suncream running into their eyes, the children were fussing before 10 o’clock. So, we adapted. In the afternoon we armed ourselves with clipboards and headed to the field for some outdoor learning.

It was a lovely change to spend the afternoon working under the shade of trees.  The children were a lot more comfortable and enjoyed poking around the gardens of the school (luckily our science topic was plants!). When I got the job (a year ago!) I remember pledging to take the children outside as often as possible, so as soon as the sun shone this morning I knew we needed to get out into the fresh air. So make the most of it, and stop moaning, it’ll be over before we know it!

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There are two inspirations for this week’s post. The first is a festive memory, so let me take you back to Christmas Day 2016. Picture the scene:

Christmas dinner has been eaten. We’re all crashed out in the living room, Grandad flicking through the channels with the remote control. He stops at a cartoon meerkat and warthog. It’s Disney’s The Lion King. We’re all enjoying watching Timon and Pumba through the fuzzy full-of-food-ness when my Nanna pipes up. ‘What on earth have we got this on for? Load of rubbish…’. Me and my brother are obviously horrified. It’s The Lion King! Although our efforts are in vain, we try to convert her. We explain that it’s a classic that we watched as children and she sighs ‘Well, you’re not children now. I prefer things for adults. So should you.’ (My Grandad took a lot less convincing and he was soon gripped by Simba’s saga.)

Alright, she might have a miniscule point but my argument is – children’s films can be enjoyed by anyone. Some of the classics might seem fluffy and sickly on the outside but they are actually works of art. Someone’s livelihood has gone into creating this piece of film. The superficial piece of fluff my Nanna saw is actually the end product of many people’s hard work, so to class it as unworthy of adult attention isn’t very fair.

Many children’s films carry very grown up themes and dark moments, especially those that have taken inspiration from traditional tales. Look at Hercules, for example, Meg sacrifices her soul to the underworld. In Robin Hood, the villagers are being taxed into poverty. In Pinocchio the orphan boys are promised paradise and turneImage result for pinocchio gif donkeyd into donkeys! Some of these tales can be pretty grim (Pun fully intended. I make no apologies). And anybody who doesn’t cry during the first ten minutes of Up is simply inhuman. In The Princess and the Frog, the Ray the firefly dies! That’s right, Disney heartlessly kill off a character and audience members have to just get over it, whatever age they are. I was twenty when I was forced to watch the characters of Toy Story 3 accept their death in the incinerator and the tears still dripped from under my 3D glasses. Of course, before that, we had The Lion King, where Simba is led to believe he has killed his own father and lives with that guilt for years before learning the truth. Dark stuff for children to handle but they do so all the same. It might give us a few nightmares when we’re younger but it armours us for real life. The world isn’t sweets and bubblegum.

It’s a fact that as adults we get bogged down by all the life-stuff like careers and relationships and paying bills, we forget to let our imaginations stretch. Sometimes, opening your mind to a fantasy film is the perfect form of escapism. Sometimes after a day of work, when I’m flicking through my on-demand movies, I don’t want a gritty thriller that’s going to make me think. I want something that’s going to be visually appealing, some catchy tunes and perhaps a bit of magic on the side. That’s when I’ll unashamedly head for the family movies section.

Anyway, now that I’ve shared my Nanna’s disgraceful lack of movie taste, the second inspiration for this post comes from my favourite Disney film *drumroll* Beauty & the Beast. As I child I was desperate to be Lumiere. I love everything about the cartoon from the characters to the music so I was so excited to see the live action version this week (my review – perfect. My favourite character was the wardrobe. I’m only disappointed the wardrobes in my bedroom aren’t as fabulous.) Watching the new version transported me back to my childhood but I could also appreciate it from another point of view. I noticed the new variations on the score, beautiful visuals, easter eggs and subplots – stuff I might not have spotted as a child. Incidentally, this new version included Disney’s first ever ‘gay moment’ and first ever interracial kiss. So, in the world of film, it’s groundbreaking. Not bad for just a kids’ movie.

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Alright some of the old Disney stuff can hardly be seen as feminist (Cinderella and Ariel both changing in order to get a man? oi vey!) but a lot of these films can give good lessons to both children and adults. If you look at some of the more recent films, realistic relationships and moral dilemmas are being explored more and more. Big Hero 6 has the main character dealing with death twice. Up explores moving on after the death of a loved on. Frozen has Anna and Elsa realise they don’t need to marry princes, and instead the focus is on their sibling-love for each other. Things still aren’t perfect but the movie world is making small steps towards sending healthier messages to our children.

So I suppose I’m saying don’t judge a book by its cover….OR a film by its poster. Films for children were made by adults and it’s important we acknowledge the end product because some of them are works of art. Don’t be put off by their label. Release your inner-child, let your imagine run wild and be free!

Oh, and never diss The Lion King in front of me.

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Right, it’s official. I can’t stop buying theatre tickets. I’m seeing six productions before June and already looking for summer productions. I’ve been keeping up to date with West End productions lately and I noticed The Harold Pinter Theatre has become the first to request that audience members do not eat or drink during its performance of Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf?. Apparently Imelda Staunton, who plays Martha in the production, is very much against people eating in theatres and has cited it as distracting and rude behaviour.

I must admit, I’m with Imelda. When you think about it, it’s an odd notion. ‘You just stand there and speak and I’m going to watch you whilst I eat popcorn.’ As someone who has dabbled with treading the boards, I can imagine just how infuriating it must be to be mid-monologue, only to have the tension broken by someone opening a bag of Doritos. Imelda apparently said she can’t understand why people can’t go a few hours without eating. Again I agree. It seems to be the norm to see people piling into theatres carrying bags of sweets and crisps and whatever-else, but really they have paid for a ticket to watch the play. Not shovel Rolos in their mouths. In most cases people would have perhaps gone for dinner beforehand too so….why all the food? I can understand an interval ice cream and I’m certainly pro-water. The last thing the actors need is to put up with one of my unfortunately timed coughing fits so I always make sure I have a bottle of water with me.

Imelda’s comments reminded me of something I’ve often thought when visiting the theatre. Whatever happened to Theatre Etiquette? I’ve been going to the theatre since I was a child and I was always aware there were some rules. No talking being rule number one. But in some productions I’ve been to lately, people just don’t seem to care! They’ll gladly and loudly chat to their friend, sometimes about the price of the programme, sometimes about the view (or ‘I can’t hear what she’s saying! Can you?’) and is there anything more annoying than someone providing their friend with a running commentary? (‘That’s the brother she thought had died….)

Another important rule – Make sure your phone is switched off. I went to see Stig of the Dump at the Open Air Theatre in Chester last summer. One man in the audience was talking so loudly to the people around him that we thought he was part of the production! Then, just as the story was really kicking in, this man’s phone rang….and he answered it! Not only that, but he continued the conversation for a good two minutes before an usher politely asked him to stop…and he shushed her! I’m sure you can imagine the huffs, puffs and glares coming from our corner. Ooh it makes me furious just thinking about it!

Thirdly, and I’m aware this might be a personal preference, but I always thought of the theatre as a place you visit in your best clothes. I’m not talking tux and ball gown, but certainly smart/casual. I went to see Joseph last year and I was shocked at how many people had rocked up in tracksuits. TRACKSUITS! It’s also worth mentioning that at this performance of Joseph a bunch of people in front of me were singing along! Cue sighs, tuts and eyerolls from G. I prefer to save my singing for outside the theatre and let the performers do their job. I also prefer to shut up and allow the people around me to enjoy listening to the trained singers. Surely, it’s a mark of respect. These people are performing for us, putting themselves all out there and sometimes going through horrendous emotions. The least we can do is not dress like we’re going to a gym class.

I say bring back theatre etiquette. Oh, and next time you’re at the theatre, particularly if you’re sitting behind me, don’t eat, don’t talk, don’t sing and for God’s sake make an effort!

It’s Saturday. The high point of the week. The bottom of the countdown. I’ve been out to visit my family, as I do most Saturdays, and I’ve come back to the flat to carry out the traditional Saturday clean. I start in the kitchen and work my way through until every room is spotless. I feel like I can’t enjoy my weekend unless I’ve carried out this weekly routine. I check my phone at regular intervals. Snapchat, Instagram, WhatsApp, Twitter. (No Facebook. I’ve mentioned before how I hate Facebook. In my opinion, it transforms friendships into cyber-friendships, and before long you’ve forgotten what this person looks like because you only ever communicate via memes of cats.)

On this particular Saturday, I’m feeling very perky. I’ve got my iPod plugged in and I’m belting out some classics as I scrub, because I am in a very good mood. Last night, I did something new. Something totally out of character that has recharged my batteries. Last night, I went out. Alone. OK, I didn’t go to a club or a bar, but I called in at my local theatre. I became a member late last year and have dropped in two or three times, so I vaguely know a handful of people.  On Friday they were having a bit of a get together so I got dressed up and strutted on over. It was awesome. Nothing major to report, but I was out, interacting with other people, face to face. Talking to people. And it felt good!

Don’t feel sorry for me. Put those tiny violins away, my friends. I’m pretty sure I’m just experiencing something a lot of people my age go through. The majority of my friends have moved away, got married, had kids, settled down etc. and I just…well…haven’t. No one is to blame. It’s just one of those things.

Anyway, I came back from the theatre on Friday with a great big smile across my face because I’d broken the routine. The monotony. I’d gone out!

Don’t think I sit alone in the flat every weekend. It’s not like that. I’ll occasionally go out with my wonderful work friends or visit the theatre with some old school mates, but most of my weekends follow the same template. There’s no spontaneity anymore. I never get a random text inviting me round and neither does my doorbell ring unexpectedly. That’s what I miss.

As a child, I remember how exciting it was to see the familiar car of a friend or relative who just thought they’d drop in for a cup of tea. That never happens anymore! I’m not just talking about in my own life but it seems to be a dying act. If anyone is going to visit you, you know about it, sometimes days, in advance. Is technology to blame? Has text messaging led to the death of spontaneous visits? Now I understand this isn’t for everyone. I would love it if someone thought to call in on me by surprise but I know my Dad hates having visitors, never mind unexpected ones! But it’s another arrow in my war against social media. Does it stop spontaneous visits? Even my grandparents tell me to call them before I visit to check they’re home (which I quietly refuse to do. If they’re not in when I rock up, I’m not bothered because I decided to visit them.)

It all boils down to my continuing argument – Does social media actually make us less social? Have we lost the art of being social?  Has the convenience of technology made socialising…well….inconvenient? And are we too caught up in creating false lives online that we forget to live real ones? When I was growing up I always imagined my life being a bit like ‘Friends’. People would drop in whenever, help themselves to my fridge contents and there’d always be someone around to have a coffee with. Now, I know that’s not really a realistic expectation, (and on reflection I’m not really sure I want you poking around in my fridge, thank you very much!) but it just shows how times have changed. Would Ross and Rachel be together if they met in 2017? This cynical sod says no, because they’d be too busy counting their Instagram likes to notice each other!

Anyway, here I am. Saturday. Hoovering the hallway, sink full of bleach water. Living room smelling like polish and incense. And then a sad realisation washes over me. Every Saturday I emulate my parents. When I was young, Saturday was the cleaning day. The house would be cleaned from top to bottom just in case anyone was to pop over. Twenty years later, I’m doing that in my own place.  Only, times have changed, and the doorbell doesn’t ring.

Bloody technology!

Expecting a review of a musical? Not this week. A tongue-in-cheek critique of this week’s EastEnders? Nope. How about a couple of heart-warming stories from the classroom?  Afraid not.

This week, I’m going in deep. I could pretend I’m not having another mini life-questioning crisis, but I am and it’s all I can think about so settle down, buckle up and get ready to hear me whinge.

So, I’m 27. I have been for a couple of weeks now. And so far it’s vile. January always seems to kick-start a cyclone of thoughts and feelings that pivot around the same thought….

‘WHAT. AM. I. DOING?’

I’ll share something with you and I hope it doesn’t sound too self-absorbed or cheesy because, I’m hoping, I’m not the only one to have this thought. But when I was growing up I always thought I was going to be happy. I was going to be satisfied with life. That’s just how it works, right? You grow up and you’re immediately satisfied with what you have. Wrong! No one warned me that I would constantly be evaluating my life, questioning its direction and finding myself envious of people I don’t even know!

I’ve written before about the disaster that was my 25th birthday. On said birthday, I found myself driving along the A55, hair plastered to my forehead with rain, wearing clothes which were older than my Godchildren, stressed out of my mind at the workload at the end of the road in front and behind me. Both directions. Book-ended by paperwork. And I just thought….’Why am I doing this? Why am I forcing myself through the day, looking like a stale old piece of toast, living in my grandparent’s spare room and putting any money I acquired (at the time, it wasn’t earned) into my car or my mouth?’ It took a few weeks but I found my answer and, thankfully, after a few changes (which involved a massive shift in the wardrobe department) I found that what I was feeling was a means to an end. Happiness soon found me again.

That was two years ago and the most turbulent crisis I’ve had. It was hard, but I weathered it.

This year, my birthday was a very quiet event. I celebrated with a day trip to London to see The Book of Mormon and the usual restaurant visits with the parents. It was normal. Until a few days later. I was back at work, thinking about London and the show and the people. And….then it hit me.

I always said I’d leave my town as soon as I could. But, I’m 27 and I’m still here. I’ve come up with lots of excuses to stay and distractions from the yearning to leave but, I’ve realised I’ve stayed for all the wrong reasons and it’s becoming toxic to my wellbeing. I don’t neccessarily want to move to the other side of the World but a change of scenery and a chance to build my own life would be very welcome. I think I’ve stayed here for other people, rather than myself. I think the time is fast approaching when I need to go and find my own life.

I’m finding it difficult not to compare my life to others. I know that I’ve achieved a lot and I’m proud of that, but there’s a horrible niggling part of me that just isn’t quite satisfied. I’ve advised friends before never to compare yourself to others but here I am doing the same! Is it normal for me to be re-evaluating, questioning and criticising my life so early on? Am I right to be feeling so envious of people I haven’t even met? Will I get any kind of satisfaction that decisions I’ve made have been the right ones? Who knows?  I’m not looking for answers here, simply venting frustrating. To those feeling similarly lost, you’re not on your own!

The only thing I have to hold on to is one of my favourite quotes (which I have, again, used on friends before, much to their annoyance).

Everything works out in the end. And if it doesn’t work out, it’s not the end.

Sunday.

Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork.

My life, this weekend, has become entirely constructed by paper. My living room is awash with files and documents and post it notes and I seem to be drowning in the middle of it. I’m unshowered, pyjama-clad and all I’ve consumed is a piece of toast and a glass of orange juice. But I have been over powered by an almost supernatural entity. His name is Determined-G.

As you may have guessed, Determined-G is a force to be reckoned with. A whirlwind of frantic energy. Today he has been unexpectedly unleased. I woke up at 9.30 and he was there, staring at me from the side of the bed, hopping from foot to foot, eager to get going. He dragged me out of bed and shoved me into the living room, headfirst into my pile of school work. Seven hours later and he’s grown from an acorn of energy to a juggernaut. Absolutely unstoppable. ‘Just two more standards,’ he says, gesturing at my professional development file. ‘And then you can have a break.’

But, of course, he’s said this for the last fifteen standards.

Eventually, as the last sun beams of the weekend stream through the window, I reach a point in the paperwork where Determined-G is satisfied. ‘You’ve done well,’ he says, patting my aching shoulders. ‘Same again next weekend.’ And with that, he relaxes in the corner. Never actually leaving, just waiting, lounging on the sofa, waiting to be provoked. He’s been around for as long as I can remember, but he really got a chance to flex his muscles about four years ago. Most of the time, he’s an ally and a friend, but occasionally he can be a bit of a menace.

For example, Determined-G has helped me with my career, my living arrangements, my personal life choices…everything! But, on some occasions, he can be responsible for awakening Frantic-G. Like this morning, when I dashed into work early determined to start the week ahead of the game. Obviously, Monday madness struck, the game defeated me and Frantic-G emerged. By 8.45 I was having a mad rant about the photocopier a la Basil Fawlty.

My point is, you might have a Determined-G (they might be a Determined-K or a Determined-Z or a Determined-M) who helps you do amazing things but there’s no shame in taking your time. Sometimes in life there is just too much to do and putting pressure on yourself isn’t always the best way. So take a deep breath, chill the hell out and put Determined-G on low power. You’ll still get where you need to be, but it just might take a bit longer. And that’s fine.

‘Oh, Christ. I’ve got to write a blog post about this horrendous year!’

I sat down at the laptop. Brexit. Trump. Celebrity deaths. The end of the Bake Off as we know it. Where on earth do I start?

Well…actually….I’d like to focus on the positives. Not just because doing otherwise would mean typing up a mammoth post that my wrists just can’t handle, but because somewhere in the embers of 2016, amongst all the ash, are a couple of gems.

I have to keep reminding myself that, for me, it’s been an awesome year. Yes, I may have been clutching for the mojitos and chocolate and spending too much time buried in a duvet by the time Christmas hit, but we can’t let the horrors of 2016 impinge on the good stuff.

First of all, there’s my job. Alright, I’m aware this is becoming a bit of a catchphrase of mine but, I do really love my job, and 2016 was the year I was entrusted with my own class. Every morning I wake up and get to spend time with hilarious, caring and happy people. What a gift!

2016 has also fuelled my favourite hobby – theatre. I’d gone through a very dry patch where theatre was concerned, until March when I discovered some real gems at Theatre Clwyd….and the obsession with theatre tickets began. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Little Shop of Horrors, Joseph, Be My Baby, Cyrano de Bergerac, RENT….just some of the awesome shows I’ve been lucky to see this year. Then, of course, there was the big one – London. I’m still recovering from the brilliance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Southwark Playhouse and I don’t think I’ll ever get over that conversation with Freddie Fox. (I say ‘conversation’. I did a lot of nodding.) I also (accidentally) went to my first Pride festival whilst in London. A celebration of diversity, unity and love. The perfect antidote to 2016.

In September I also took the leap and joined another local theatre group, something which I’ve been meaning to do for a long time. After a few nights of volunteering I was really taken aback by the warmth and friendliness of the place. I’m definitely hoping 2017 brings more of that.

We’ve also got to remember the laughs. In 2016, I nearly got my hand glued to a tortoise, watched my friend face-plant the gym floor, giggled through a very serious game of bingo with my colleagues and sang the national anthem in a rural welsh pub whilst my friend tried to flick maltesars into my mouth. Mix in being chatted up by a Cliff Richard look-a-like, some awful Karaoke and the quest for the perfect Celine Dion impression and you’ve got plenty to smile about! I know, 2016 was pretty awful in a lot of ways, but none of it can be changed now. When I look back, I’m going to try and remember that year for its laughs, its nights out, its nights in, the friends, the fun and that important turning point in my career. *raises a glass of wine* and now to 2017, a new year, let’s hope it’s a happy one…..

…….*watches EastEnders*…..

Oh for Christ’s sake.