Mrs Robinson

I cycled home over Blackfriars Bridge late last night. A balmy evening, an empty road, the night air gentle on my bare arms, the river below and London's lights surrounding me like a dream. Moments like that should be preserved in amber.

Earlier in the day, sitting outside the National Theatre, my back against an oversized astroturf sofa, the afternoon sun on my face, nothing in my mind except the thought that if this isn't nice then I don't know what is. Cerulean blue sky. City buzz. Buses.

This Space

So, I handed my notice in the other day. It felt mighty fine, let me tell you. From being in a position where it felt that I was never, ever going to escape from Clerkenwell Towers, I now find myself a mere three and a half weeks from freedom. It makes me feel a bit giddy.

Of course, as always happens when one hands in one's notice, the last vestiges of motivation I had have all drained away and my days are long and carefree. To stave off boredom, I have switched all my mental energy to the task of getting into a bikini when I go to Portugal in mid-August. Happily, the FoodFocus website came along just at the right time and the weight is just falling off. Literally. I have lost eleven pounds in just over two and a half weeks. This is insane. I'd like to say that there is some magic formula to this, but it's been down to me monitoring my calorie intake to an obsessive degree, giving up bread products, curtailing my drinking (but not by much) and exercising like one possessed: swimming three times a week, going to the gym every day (sometimes - sweet Jesus I can't believe I'm typing this - twice a day), cycling and walking whenever possible. Seriously, I don't know where I'm getting the energy from. I fear that if I stop my legs might actually fall off.

All this diet nonsense is totally going on hold this weekend, though, for we are packing up a ridiculous amount of camping gear and taking our (bright green and covered in pictures of fish) tent to Camp Bestival. Score! My best friend is going, and Trilby's best friend is going, and a bunch of other mates, and I forsee laughs aplenty. I have also developed a new obsession: checking the weather forecast. Currently, Friday is looking wet wet wet, but Saturday and Sunday look sunny and lovely. This is the sort of rain:sun ratio that I can deal with. Joyously, the festival has a fancy dress theme on the Sunday: "Animal Magic" - and we all know how I love dressing up. Trilby is going as a badger and I have decided to go as a lepidopterist, so spent the other night making myself a butterfly net. It looks ace, and I think it bodes well for when I am a mother and have to come up with fancy dress costumes at short notice. I have also added a pith helmet to our growing collection of slightly odd hats.

Then after the festival it's back on the diet & fitness kick until my holidays. Which start two days after I finish work FOREVER. Man alive, I can hardly believe it. I wonder if I'll miss the place? (No). I wonder if I'll miss the money? (Probably at first). I wonder if I'll miss the discounted gym membership? (Almost certainly). Jeepers. It's all suddenly very real. I'm going to be a teacher.

This PGCE lark has turned out to be a right head-melt. And I haven't even started the course yet.

After lots and lots and LOTS of to-ing and fro-ing (due to a big administrative cock-up at the University) I am finally, officially and absolutely accepted onto the course. Phew, yes? No. Because I have just received my "Welcome Booklet" which tells me that prior to starting the course in September I need to do a week's observation in a primary school and then write a 1000-word pre-course assignment on the aforementioned observation. Which would be fine, apart from the fact that IT'S THE END OF BLOODY TERM.

Seriously, how the hell am I supposed to observe a class for a week when all the schools are out on holiday?

I could possibly do my observation in the first week of the September term - providing that my PGCE course hasn't started by then - but I wouldn't have time to write my essay because I'm going to the End of the Road Festival for the weekend. Unless I wrote it in my tent. Or when I got back at 2am on Sunday night.

To say that I am stressed out by this situation is something of an understatement. Do any of you Londoners know of any primary schools that are open next week? I'm totally desperate.

On a happier note, a minor obsession with the FoodFocus website has helped me to lose 8lbs in two weeks. Which is nice.

After many months of waiting and anxiety and bouts of despair, there is light at the end of the tunnel. And, for once, it has turned out not to be a train.

I thought it was a train, though. A big, black train of evil disaster steaming straight towards me.

To move away from the locomotive imagery for a second, you may remember that a while back I decided to jack in the acting in favour of becoming a primary school teacher. This turned out to be a lot harder than I thought. Bloody recession. I got rejected by my first choice of institution (though wasn't too bothered, as I didn't like the feel of the place - too snooty, I thought). Then my second choice University filled all their places in super-quick time, meaning my application couldn't be considered. So I moved onto my third choice, London South Bank University, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After a while, I called the admissions department, who told me that it took 6-8 weeks to process an application.

I waited some more.

Nine weeks after my application had gone to LSBU, I called admissions again. They told me I would hear that afternoon. I didn't. I called the next day - "You'll hear by the end of this afternoon". Nope. Rinse and repeat for about a week until the weary admissions officer finally told me that I had an interview.

I went to the interview last week. It was like 'The X-Factor', in that we started the day with loads of people and around lunchtime half of them were told to go home. Urgh. I made it through to the second round (trying not to think of Susan Boyle, and instead attempting to channel Diversity vibes) and had reason to feel hopeful.

Then today I looked at the GTTR (Graduate Teacher Training Register) website to track my application. And was horrified to see that the status had been changed to "WITHDRAWN".

What?

So I call up the nice lady at the GTTR, who tells me that my application has been withdrawn from LSBU because I "didn't turn up to the interview."

WHAT??

I DID turn up at the interview, I protest. It was a really, really long day. They made me do a writing test and a pretend lesson and a big long group discussion about diversity (not the X-Factor winners). It was knackering and nerve-wracking and I had to go to the loo for number twos about five times and I WAS DEFINITELY THERE.

The nice lady at the GTTR suggests that I call the admissions officer at LSBU. I do. He's not answering his phone. I leave two somewhat teary messages on his answerphone, then email him. Twice. I wander round the reception at Clerkenwell Towers, hyperventilating. I consider going home so I can have a really good cry.

Then my mobile rings. It is the chap from the admissions office. He is apologetic - yes, my application has been withdrawn (hyperventilate, hyperventilate) BUT they had accidentally duplicated my application so they were just cancelling off one of them (breathing more normally now). So sorry about that.

Oh, and they have decided to offer me a place on the PGCE Primary course starting in September. A letter is on its way.

Well, that's alright then.

Yay

1) What author do you own the most books by?
I own every book that Peter Hoeg has written. Wouldn't recommend 'The History of Danish Dreams', but 'Borderliners' is just ace. Hoeg's writing is just so glacial.

2) What book do you own the most copies of?
Trilby and I have duplicate copies of many books. But neither of us are willing to give the duplicates away, just in case.

3) Did it bother you that both those questions ended with prepositions?
Not at all. I'm a little tipsy.

4) What fictional character are you secretly in love with?
Mersault, from 'L'Etranger'. Moody, mean and French. What's not to love? Apart from the fact that he's a murderer, of course.

5) What book have you read the most times in your life?
Either 'The Shipping News' by E. Annie Proulx or 'Lord of the Rings'. I rarely re-read books. Or maybe it's 'Lucky Jim'. Hell, I really fancy re-reading 'Lucky Jim' now. Must dig it out.

6) What was your favorite book when you were ten years old?
The Famous Five, perhaps? Something with jolly middle-class children drinking ginger beer and thwarting smugglers. Either that or Asterix.

7) What is the worst book you've read in the past year?'
'Shadow of the Wind', maybe? Fluffy nonsense dressed up as serious literature. Like candyfloss for the brain.

8) What is the best book you've read in the past year?
I really enjoyed Michael Chabon's 'The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay'. It made me want to read more comics.

9) If you could force everyone you tagged to read one book, what would it be?
'At Swim, Two Boys', probably. It's so humane and it made me cry big snotty sobbing tears.

10) Who deserves to win the next Nobel Prize for Literature?
Oh, I don't know. Someone what writes good.

11) What book would you most like to see made into a movie?
None, thanks. They invariably get fucked up in the process.

12) What book would you least like to see made into a movie?
Any of my favourites. If Michael Bay got anywhere near 'At Swim, Two Boys' I'd be straight on the plane to Hollywood with my automatic rifle.

13) Describe your weirdest dream involving a writer, book, or literary character.
Never had one. Does this make me a bad person?

14) What is the most lowbrow book you've read as an adult?
'The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency'. My mum gave it to me. DOES SHE KNOW ME AT ALL?

15) What is the most difficult book you've ever read?
'Finnegan's Wake', by a nautical mile. Didn't finish it. Will one day.

16) What is the most obscure Shakespeare play you've seen?
'Timon of Athens'. Please don't ask me what it's about.

17) Do you prefer the French or the Russians?
Zola would make me say the French, if it wasn't for Bulgakov stealing the crown for the Russians.

18) Roth or Updike?
Roth.

19) David Sedaris or Dave Eggers?
Dave Eggers, because I have no idea who that other chap is. Does this make me an even worse person?

20) Shakespeare, Milton, or Chaucer?
Shakespeare. Even though Chaucer's description of a quickie shag in a tree in 'The Merchant's Tale' is pure genius.

21) Austen or Eliot?
Jane Austen, if only for her obsession with people getting their feet wet.

22) What is the biggest or most embarrassing gap in your reading?
Dickens. But it doesn't bother me that much, because I can't bear his writing.

23) What is your favoruite novel?
'Lucky Jim' right now, I reckon. I really must dig that book out again.

24) Play?
'Arcadia' by Tom Stoppard. It's on at the Duke of York's theatre in the West End, incidentally, and has excellent reviews. Go see - it's clever.

25) Poem?
'The Whitsun Weddings' by that miserable fucker Philip Larkin. Or anything by Dylan Thomas. Or 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' by T.S. Eliot.

26) Essay?
Um... pass.

27) Short story?
Annie Proulx gives good short story. And she makes me want to go hang out in small-town America.

28) Work of nonfiction?
Spike Milligan's war diaries. Hilarious.

29) Who is your favourite writer?
Couldn't say. There's a bunch of 'em, and they rotate according to my mood.

30) Who is the most overrated writer alive today?
Anyone who advertises their books on billboards on the London Underground. 

I just looked at my diary, and holy heaven I'm going to be busy at the end of the summer. As it stands, my schedule reads as follows:

16th - 27th August: Holiday in Portugal with chums.

28th - 31st August: 10 Year Reunion in Yorkshire for my year from drama school (I am also organizing this - erk!).

5th - 6th September: My sister's hen weekend (I am organizing this as well - double erk!).

11th - 13th September: End of the Road Festival in Dorset.

18th - 20th September: My sister's wedding down near Bath.

21st September: Expire through over-stimulation.

Somehow I am going to have to maintain my figure through the holidays and reunions and festivals in order to look good for my sister's wedding photos. How is this going to be possible? HOW?

1. Setting poison traps in an office that's cut with rodents will have repercussions. A mouse has died under the floorboards somewhere in the vicinity of my desk. All the Febreze in the world can't cover up the smell.

2. There is such a thing as Too Much Exercise. I feel like someone with excellent aim and a sturdy boot has kicked me, over and over again, concentrating on the soft, vulnerable area between my knee and my hip.

3. Writing is impossible when one's brain is scrambled by PMS. I have written two words today: "Leonard Leach".

4. The Liberty chair is the most wonderful thing ever created by man. We have one on trial for seven days. At the end of the week they will have to prise it out from under my cold, dead (yet perfectly supported) behind.

5. There is no number five. I'm too damn tired. Fortunately this chair reclines all the way back. Please wake me when the stench of dead mouse has gone away.

I'm going to take Fanny's advice, and just try to write the damn thing.

If you're interested in my progress (or lack thereof), look here (you'll have to add it to your neighbourhood in order to read it).

While I was at home over Christmas, I found myself at a bit of a loose end one day so I decided to have a browse through my mum's old cookery books. And what treasures lay therein! In one particularly old book, full of clippings from 1970s magazines, I found a glorious recipe that may in fact epitomize everything that was wrong with cooking in the Decade That Taste Forgot. Ladies, gentlemen, I give you... Ham Rolls (Italian Style):

Ham rolls (Italian style)

Let's have a closer look at the picture, shall we?

Ham rolls (Italian style) - extreme closeup

Yum-o!

Now, I know what you're saying to yourself right now. You're saying, "My God! All these years, my ham rolls have just been English Style! How parochial of me! How do I make this delightful dish? TELL ME NOW!"

Well fear not, for I shall lovingly transcribe the recipe for you. Here, in this blog post! The ingredients are as follows:

1 1/2 pints of packet minestrone soup (the powdered taste of Italy!)
1 level teaspoon salt (in case the rest of the ingredients don't contain enough sodium chloride)
8oz quick cook macaroni (because the Italians are always in a hurry. They have no time to wait for pasta to cook! Presto! Presto! Andiamo!)
6 processed cheese slices (do not even think about using any other type of cheese. Parmesan? I spit on your parmesan!)
4 slices cooked ham (and none of your prosciutto cotto, per favore, or you'll be sleeping with the fishes. Capisce?)

So you've gathered together all these fine ingredients. What now? Well hold your horses there, fella, I was just coming to that.

1. Add 1 3/4 pints of water to the soup and salt. Bring to boil. Add macaroni. Cover and simmer for 20 mins, stirring occasionally.

2. Place a cheese slice on each slice of ham and roll up.

3. Cut the remaining cheese slices into four triangles.

(Of course, you could be a bit more creative here - how about cutting the cheese into the shape of Italy? Or trimming them into a profile of Il Duce?)

4. Pour macaroni into shallow dish, arrange ham on top and put cheese triangles (or whatever) on the top of the ham. Grill until the cheese is golden brown.

I guarantee, if you eat this you will immediately be able to speak fluent Italian. You will also find that you are suddenly a more passionate lover, who is unable to talk without gesticulating and is filled with the urge to elect corrupt media tycoons with dyed hair.