Aspects of work today were so unremittingly grim (I went home, couldn’t get it out of my head, phoned a friend, told her, said I Was Fine, Really, put the phone down, realised I wasn’t all right at all, failed entirely to focus on the paperwork pile of doom which needs to be finished tonight, actually contemplated knitting up a quick prototype signal flag to wave in the playground, still can’t get one particular image out of my head…) that I’m determinedly blogging the positive as a distraction.
I’ve been guerrilla gardening again, with my crack squad of three year old activists. To protect the innocent, I obviously cannot reveal any identities (we are thinking of wearing balaclavas and camouflage for our next outing, as my accomplices have to be in bed before dark.)
Before we began there was this sight of dismal neglect setting the tone outside the main entrance. Welcome to Chinley school…
But with some stealthy hard graft from my cell…
…we had accomplished great things by snack time.
Jings, who could have done this, right outside my window? Tomatoes, beans and carrots, all appeared by magic. (If you don’t ask permission, nobody can tell you no…)
What’s the best way to clean off carrot thinnings so you can eat them for snack? With the hosepipe, of course. Is it sensible to turn your back on three year olds with a hosepipe? Absolutely not. It’s a rare day I go home from work clean and dry.
Unscripted learning opportunity du jour: the passerby who came to show us the baby chaffinch he’d rescued.
Next week, at anarchist preschool, b is for (seed) bombs
Still can’t stop thinking about this morning. Must. Concentrate. On. Paperwork. Or it’s going to be a(nother) long night…