For blogs with less than 300 Followers

For blogs with less than 300 Followers
Thanks to Hestia's Larder for this delightful award.
(For Blogs with less than 300 Followers)

Tuesday, 6 December 2016

Who the Hell are YOU?

A normal morning at NLHS.



Normal for me means getting in at 7:00.  Most staff and all students are warmly wrapped up in their fetid pits, but TSB has to be in nice and early, to prepare the school for the 8:45 start when the students amble in at their usual glacier pace.

Our kids walk faster than this ...JUST


I have to check which of my weak and malingering colleagues have decided to take the day off, and to arrange cover for their classes.

The excuses I get given by these poor souls vary.

My Mum just passed away (sympathy, but I try to convey the bad timing.. Couldn't they arrange the passing during the holidays?)
Aww, sorry.  Get back to work.


  • My son/daughter/partner/hamster has a runny nose, and I don't feel I should leave them alone. (Why not?  Is your presence going to make them feel better?  Just leave them with a TV cartoon/Barbie Doll/glass of malt/bowl of nuts.  They don't need mollycoddling, for goodness sake)
  • Having to attend Jury Service (Why?  Couldn't they just send in the guilty verdict by email?

  • Going on a training course they have forgotten to mention to me (FFS, they should be sent on a course on Memory Strategies (during a weekend of course) to help the poor bugger in remembering to tell me the day before)
  • I've got to take my dog to the vet (Bloody Hell man, I thought Kiwis were hard.  Couldn't they just rip off the dog's bollocks with their bare teeth like the sheep cockies do?)


However, I digress.

As I walked towards the admin block, at my usual brisk pace, exhibiting a tall, erect military posture, I noticed something odd.

I very rarely notice something nice at NLHS.  I do remember the mother of one of my year 11 boys at a Learning Conference (the newfangled bloody name for parent's night) who was very, very nice.  But not often.

This was very nice.



I must admit that I very often notice something odd at NLHS.

I notice Colin the Groundsman meandering in his usual wobbling manner (tie your f*cking boots man, that's why they invented shoelaces for f*ck's sake) toward wherever it is he'll be hiding from everyone for that day.  It's no use shouting at him, he's got a pair of extra-padded ear muffs with integral radio permanently glued to his ears, so he won't even notice a Richter 8 earthquake, unless it ruffles the paddock.

I notice Richard [of RBB] arriving in his clapped out old motor, mumbling mispronounced Italian phrases to himself whilst whistling some very obscure (and out-of-tune) tune for his Gloria.

I notice one of the band of feral ex-students who haunt the premises, trying to scavenge food, water and the fag and cigar doubts, trying to hide behind the gym.



This time however, what I saw was extremely odd.

Odd, man ...like weird

An old bloke, in his mid eighties I would guess, slowly ambling over the back car park towards the gym.  I should say that it is not unusual to see some of the local denizens of Nuova Lazio using the school as a public thoroughfare (and occasionally as a public toilet) at some times during the day, but rarely so early in the morning.

It was so odd, that even Colin the Groundsman stopped to stare before heading for his hide.

"Ah Well" I said to myself as I turned to head back to my office, "There's nowt so queer as folk"
(Especially the late unlamented Brendon, who was as queer as a 3 pound note and eventually left before he got charged for grooming some of our more sensitive senior students)

Ten minutes later while struggling to re-re-arrange that days relief cover (I've got to wait until the electrician comes.  Never heard that one before. ... NOT) I heard someone trying to open the doors to the admin block.

It was that old bloke again.

I talked to him ... sort of.

I talked, he talked, but no communication was established.
I asked simple questions.

"Who are you?"

"The girls aren't working"
(Thinks, what girls, is he some sort of pimp?)

"Why are you here?"

"I work here making sure the jobs get done"

"I've worked her for almost 15 years. and I don't recognise you" "Why are you here?"

"Right along that road and around the corner"

"What?"

"That's where they go you know, it takes ages to get them back again"

"Get who?"

"That's my job, I've always worked here"

"What do you do?"

"That ground's not flat you  know, you've to work at it"

It dawned on me that this bloke was completely away with the fairies.
Eventually (another 5 minutes of non-communicative talk) I persuaded him to f*ck off.

One of my colleagues (who were beginning to arrive by now [the lazy buggers] phoned the cops and told them to keep an eye out for the poor old bugger.



It wasn't until much later that I suddenly realised I had made a grave error.

He would have been ideal as a relief teacher.
He wouldn't have taken any notice of the crap said to him by our kids.
He would have been talking gibberish, but the kids would just have thought that they didn't understand, a usual state of being for many of them, so no harm done there.
AND the poor old soul wouldn't have realised that he was supposed to be getting paid, and I could have pocketed the lot, about $250 each day.  I could have made a nice wee nest egg for my semi-immanent retirement.

Bugger.





Thursday, 1 December 2016

Things that go Thump in the Night

Did the Earth Move for You?


Last week, at 12:04 on Monday morning, we had a wee Earthquake.
For any Kiwi or even Japanese readers of m'blog, an explanation of what being in a major earthquake feels like would be superfluous, but for most others, let me say

IT WAS BLOODY SCARY.

When the first trembling started, it was enough to wake me up, but it wasn't too bad.  The worst was when my Beloved hit me.

She thought that I was "mucking about" or just turning over in bed by bouncing on the mattress, so she does what she normally does when she gets upset with me (a more than rare occurrence) she hits me. 

I've still got the bruise.

However, back to the earthquake.

The movements began to escalate, accompanied by a baso-profundo rumble.  The house started to sway, we could hear the joints creaking and moaning, and IT DIDN'TSTOP.  It went on for bloody ages.

My Beloved began to fart (a sure sign of semi-terminal stress), the dog began to howl, alarms were going off all around, and I said "Goodness" "Isn't this exciting"

My Beloved hit me again.

It stopped (The hitting as well as the quake)

I went back to sleep, and slept right through the next, slightly smaller one at about 2:30am.

DeepSleep


Next morning at school, a bit earlier than usual, around 6:30am, just to check the bloody place was still there.

Nuova Lazio High School is built in the slum Garden Suburb of Nuova Lazio (funny that, must be a coincidence) which happens to be built on a drained swamp in the middle of an ancient caldera, so when the shaky Gods of Aoteroa start feeling their oats, nobody's quite sure whether the whole place will disappear into a stinking 200m deep quagmire,



or be blown to Kingdom F*cking Come.



It does lead to some trepidation amongst the citizenry.


This time however, all seemed OK, no obvious damage, so the Boss-Man (not me, I hasten to add, I'm just an assistant Boss) said the school would be open for business (Teaching and Learning ....HAHAHHAHAHAHA) that day.




We are having our big end-of-year exams, run by the NZQA (my job to organise and administer) and set in our Auditorium.  When I had a look in there, it looked OK, apart from a couple of big, free-standing wooden back-of-stage thingies, which had fallen down and crushed a couple of desks. (Luckily, the quake was in the middle of the night.  If it had happened during an exam, we would probably have lost a couple of students)

We might have had a squashed student


So the exams went on.

We got blasted by parents who thought we should have closed the school.
We got praised by parents who were gratified at our efforts to allow the students to complete their exams.

Some days, you just can't win.

I had to shut the Auditorium that afternoon, as there were some tiles hanging loose in the ceiling.
We all saw them, but thought they were polystyrene, and no threat. 

However.

One fell down at lunchtime, and it proved to be made of a fibre-reinforced plaster, backed by plywood, and each tile weighed about 30kg.

So we shut the bloody death trap before someone got killed, and moved the exams into some other rooms, displacing Richard {of RBB], but that doesn't matter, it's only Music.



Saturday, 26 November 2016

Restarting the Machine



It's been some time since I visited these cyberspace annals.
Since I got appointed as an Acting Deputy Principal, then a Deputy Principal, then an Acting Assistant Principal, and then finally as an Assistant Principal (it's a long, complex and mildly depressing story, so please don't ask) I have found myself being inhibited from posting my normal style of blog.

I'm a Boss



Anything I used to say as a 'normal' teacher could be interpreted in a different way  as a posting from a member of the 'Senior Management Team'

That was what I was told anyway, by a member of said SMT.

I, however have come to a conclusion.

Fück it.

I'll write what I bloody want.



I've only got another year or two to go, then the heady ambrosial plains of retirement beckon, and anything I do/write will have little effect on my colleagues or Stalag Luft III in Nuova Lazio where I work.



(BTW, DO NOT do an Image search for "Prison School" unless you have feelings of a paedophilic and sadistic bent.)


During the intervening time since I paused in posting, I have been very busy on an infamous UK-based forum called ARRSE.
This is mostly populated by serving and retired British Army personnel, so you may find that my posts have gone a touch cruder, exposed as I have been to the licentious, debased but very amusing soldiery.

I'll really get it going tomorrow, when I can think up a suitably engrossing and disgusting topic.

Sunday, 11 May 2014

The Delights of being a MAN (part 2)

In an ongoing project to celebrate the differences between blokes and our lovely ladies, I may occasionally meander into areas of some disagreement.

I am quite willing to agree that you may disagree with some of my comments, but I know who's right.

Thursday, 1 May 2014

The Delights of Being a MAN (part 1)

On a previous post, I commented (at probably too great a length) on some of the differences between ourselves and our lovely ladies.

Sunday, 20 April 2014

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Toilet Humour Seriousness

I try to keep a humorous vein running through most of my posts.



There is a reason for this.

Life throws so many damned nasty and unpleasant experiences at us, that I see it as my duty to help alleviate the gloom, and help myself and others to view the lighter side of life.

It also helps that I'm a deeply cynical, old Scottish Sod (M' Beloved's words, not mine)

But sometimes, a gleam of truth shines through.

This is an example.

Sunday, 30 March 2014

Intermission

Just to keep everyone happy, and aware the TSB is still posting while I am working on my next masterpiece, just a few amusing images.


Friday, 28 March 2014

Tuesday, 25 March 2014

TSB Bombs (Part the 2nd)

I left the last post just as the school secretary approached at a great rate of knots, telling me that the Police wanted a word.


Tuesday, 18 March 2014

TSB Bombs

At Last.

After 16 years of teaching, my finer qualities have been recognised.

16 years of suffering teenage body odours.



16 years of maintaining a cool, friendly and professional mien.

16 years of correcting students' essays with such basic errors of grammar, syntax and punctuation as to cause an acute and sobbing heartbreak in the depths of my soul.(which I don't have anyway, so it doesn't really matter, but it's a bit existentialist, so I'll keep it in)

Plus of course 3 bloody years putting up with Ringo. (See earlier posts for this tragic tale of Mancunian angst.  And a right bastard)



I had made it.

I had reached the penultimate heights of teaching.

I was now an The Assistant Principal.

Monday, 26 August 2013

Richter Surfing

It was another normal day in NLHS.


The usual steady file of miscreants, no-hopers and just plain evil b*stards was drifting through my office.  I got rid of these teachers by showing either complete indifference or pretending to be deaf. (Getting old has some advantages)

Thursday, 15 August 2013

Monday, 12 August 2013

Doctor F*cking Libby


Silly lady

I'm stepping aside from the saga of the suspicious Scotsman for at least one post, and concentrating on a certain Doctor Libby, who I found on the pages of NZ Life and Leisure.

Saturday, 10 August 2013

The Strange Scotsman (Part the Third)



I was sitting quietly in my office (not my little office, but my big office.  I keep the little office under my control just in case I f*ckup magnificently and get demoted.  Again.)
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...
Site Meter