RPL36.

Eggs and Francis Bacon.

Hello Thursday, hello Friday.

Like every Thursday, it was totally grimey - in the Wiley kind of way. 

In the MTV Pimp my Van van we pushed 140 bpm all day, with the students at Harpley P.R.U working together to record a song one of the students had written called "Dream Girl",  and at George Greens our boys started work on spitting over a beat they had made and recording vocals for a song in memory of a friend.

I love them. If I could tell you their stories, you would too. 

Thursday evening?

 It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. My darkest hour; with only 73 calories consumed and £3.10 to my name it was not looking good. Just in time, Lydia bought eggs and bacon, whisked up some pancakes and we had breakfast for dinner American style -  my favourite thing in the world. 

Whenever you do some cooking, a little bit always goes down the gap between the oven and the work surface. This time it was the eggs.

Another nice thing that happened on Thursday was that I got to sit next to the window on the bus, and I could put my feet on the little warm bit on the side near the bottom.

Friday is today. I had a nice lie in, and dreamt of champions. I got up, ran out of shampoo and the door thinking I was going to be late and ended up being 20 minutes early. So, I stood around near the gates of Sir John Cass  looking shifty for a bit, stirring the olds to come out of their houses and pretend to look at the plants in their front gardens.

We run a gospel choir here every Friday, as well as teaching RE and PSHE lessons in the sixth form. 

After a successful choir practice,  we made our way from Sir John Cass to Departure (our favourite cafe and second hand book shop)  and the wind was all up in our faces. We walked and talked, and it became apparent to me that a quality I admire in a person is the ability to correctly name a particular hue of any given colour. 

We had a meeting and I found some nice old books and ginger beer. After a cup of tea, some soup and a scone it was time to leave. When I reached Liverpool Street Station, I found myself once again going the opposite direction to everyone else. They were all looking at the departure boards and pulling the same face, I liked it. 

Tomorrow is Saturday, and I'm starting the day by taking lots of five year olds to see Bolt.