plainjanejenniferhunt

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

The JJHCP

Now it’s time to tell you about what happened at the first ever JJHCP which any guests had come to!

It was Christmas morning. The table was set. The Christmas salad was ready. Moai and Woofer had their party hats on. The Christmas tree was down, because Moai and Woofer had apparently pulled it over the night before in a team effort, just to spite me, but that didn’t matter because I could easily put it back up again before the party guests arrived. Now I just had to wait for that all-important knock at the door.

After I had put the tree back up and pulled all my embarrassing hand-painted football pictures off the walls, I opened my one Christmas present (from the staff secret Santa). I was pleasantly surprised to find a hamper of goodies - a lettuce, a bumper box of eggs, and some hair gel. Better than last year’s gift - a novelty children’s height poster to hang on the wall and see how many centimetres you grow each month. Needless to say, despite measuring myself every single month, I haven’t grown all year. If anything, I’ve got shorter.

At 12:30 - half an hour late - I heard Mr. Brown’s car pull up in my drive. Fantastic! I threw open my door and shouted “Welcome to the Jane-Jennifer Hunt Christmas Party” as loud as I possibly could.  Mr. Brown and his two sons reluctantly stepped out of the car. I handed them their Christmas presents - I had knitted them each a hat. Unfortunately those hats were the first things I’ve ever attempted to knit, and they look more like flat circles, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Hi, Jane-Jennifer”, began Mr. Brown. “Unfortunately, I’ve got some bad news. Adam got a crossword book for Christmas, and he’s spent the whole car journey screaming because he had to leave it behind, without finishing the crossword he was doing. You see, he gets very upset if he can’t finish a crossword. I’ll have to take him home to finish the crossword before we can come to your house. But John can stay with you.”

And before I had time to protest, Mr. Brown and Adam had got back in the car and driven off, and I was left with a scowling John (that’s Tyson, to me and you). For about five minutes, I stood there making short, high-pitched noises of disbelief, with Tyson staring at me, looking fairly embarrassed.

In the end, I gave in, and invited Tyson into my house. I sat him down at the table, and ran into the kitchen to get the Christmas salad. I dumped a load of it onto his plate, as I’m sure he likes to eat a lot. But when I gave it to him, he wasn’t impressed.

“Salad?” he cried. “Who eats salad for Christmas dinner? I specifically ordered fries.”

The expression on his face was very angry, and nobody likes to make Tyson Gay angry, so I quickly went back into the kitchen to try and find some fries. The closest thing I could find was the eggs I had just been given for Christmas, so I knocked up a fried egg. But when I presented Tyson with it, his temper went from bad to worse.

“Don’t you know what fries are, you silly woman?” he screamed. “I’ll show you what fries are!”

He stormed into my kitchen to find some fries, despite me trying to tell him that I don’t have any. And as he searched the fridge-freezer, he inevitably couldn’t find them. All he could find was some veg and my bumper box of eggs.

“I told you there were no fries!” I said, triumphantly. But I shouldn’t have done that, because what followed was a Tyson tantrum - something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. He picked up the bumper box of eggs, and ran round the house, screaming and throwing eggs at the walls. He threw some at me, too. There was nothing I could do to stop the terrible boy.

Still, in an attempt to rekindle the Christmas spirit, I ran down to the emergency grocery, and bought some fries for Tyson. I quickly cooked them, and he soon calmed down. We sat down to eat. The dining room was now covered in egg stains, as was the rest of the house, but I tried not to let it bother me.

We ate most of the meal in silence, as I couldn’t think of anything to talk about and Tyson was playing on his phone, but just as we were finishing, I remembered one of my favourite topics of conversation. I ran over to my CD stand and brought my only two CDs over to Tyson.

“Which d’you think is better, ATB or Adam Watkiss?”, I asked him. “I’ve been trying to figure it out my whole life, but I can never decide.”

Tyson shrugged, and said he'd never heard of either, but he would choose ATB as Adam is his brother’s name and he doesn’t like his brother. That wasn’t a very helpful answer.

After the meal, it was time for the party game. I had invented it specifically as a mechanism to make Mr. Brown kiss me under the mistletoe, but that was all in vain now. Still, it was the only game I had so I would have to play it with Tyson.

“Hey, Tyson! I’ve got a party game. It’s called Rocking Around Jane-Jennifer Hunt. Want to play?”

“No”, he replied.

“Well, it’s my house and my rules, so you have to. I stand by the Christmas tree, and you have to dance round me as I sing the Christmas song. If the music stops while you’re in front of my face, you have to kiss me under the mistletoe.”

(This game would have worked had Mr. Brown been playing, because I would have stopped singing only when Mr. Brown was in front of me.)

“That sounds the worst game ever, but I’ll play it as long as you don't stop singing when I’m in front of your face”, said Tyson, miserably.

We got into our positions, and I started singing the Christmas song.

“Rocking around Jane-Jennifer Hunt, At the J-J-H-C-P, Mistletoe hung above my head, Will Mr Brown have to kiss me? Rocking around Jane-Jennifer Hunt, Is the best party game in town, Later we’ll have some Christmas salad, How d’you like that, Mr Brown?”

(These lyrics would have worked better had Mr. Brown been present.)

Before I knew it, I had stopped singing, as I had run out of words. Tyson had been dawdling around me in a circle, and, just by chance, was right in front of my face at this point.

“Ok Tyson, rules are rules, and this means you have to kiss me!” I ordered.

“Not in a million years”, replied Tyson.

“Kiss me or you’ll have to write one thousand lines when we’re back at school!” I blurted out, but I shouldn’t have done this, because what followed was Tyson’s second tantrum of the day. He started pulling branches off the Christmas tree and throwing them all over the place, all around the house. Pieces of tree were stuck to the egg stains on the walls. The floor was covered with needles. I couldn’t walk anywhere because it would hurt too much. In desperation, I grabbed Tyson’s phone, which he had left near the chair I had retired to. I phoned someone called ‘Dad’, who I assumed was Mr. Brown.  

When he finally picked up, I shouted “Come and get your son” down the line about 50 times, not giving Mr. Brown a chance to speak. Thankfully he obliged, and in about half an hour, he arrived to pick Tyson up. He also told me that Adam still hadn't finished his crossword. I couldn’t care less at that moment, because I was more concerned with cleaning up the house. A task that I would later discover would take me a month.

Still, I’d reckon this was the best JJHCP I’ve ever had! Fingers crossed for next year.

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

This year’s list of excuses people made for not going to the best party in town

I was going to tell you about the annual Jane-Jennifer Hunt Christmas Party (JJHCP) the day after it happened, but I’ve only just finished clearing up the mess. That’s right, it’s taken me almost a month to get the house into the ship-shape state it was in before I held the party. Let me explain how this Christmas carnage started.

I was optimistic about this year’s JJHCP. Maybe it would be the first year that nobody on the guest list used “I have a crossword to finish” as their excuse for not coming. Indeed, maybe it would be the first year anybody came to the party at all. I prepared an extra-long guest list, just to make sure:

GUEST LIST

Moai

Woofer

Mr. Brown

John “Tyson Gay” Brown

Adam “Nightmare” Brown

Mr and Mrs Airg

The Dentist

Daisy “Too-Strong” May

Jennifer

Honest John

Cousin Peter

The vicar from the local church

Barack and Jez, the rowdy young lads who share the house on my left

Lesley, the young lady in the house on my right, who likes to keep her distance

By putting Moai and Woofer on my guest list, I knew I would get at least two of my guests to come to the party. I sent out the invitations a whole two months before the event, just to make sure nobody would have made any other Christmas plans already. Alas, within the first week after sending them out, I had received several negative responses.

Mr. and Mrs Airg approached me in the staff room with sad expressions on their faces, which I could tell were fake. Mrs Airg even had to pull her mouth into a sad shape with her fingers at one point.

“We’re sorry, Miss Hunt”, began Mr. Airg, “but we’ve already made our Christmas plans this year. We’re having a romantic meal for two.”

“If we came to see you, it wouldn’t be a romantic meal for two any more”, pointed out Mrs Airg. “Because there would be more than two people there! There would be three!” she laughed.

“Come on now, dear”, said Mr. Airg. “You can’t just assume that nobody else will come to Miss Hunt’s party. I overheard Mr. Brown saying that he might have to come this year, as he’s running out of excuses that he can use!”

This was fantastic news. I didn’t care that the Airgs weren’t coming any more. If Mr. Brown came, this would be the end to all my problems.

The dentist called me soon after he received his invitation, saying that he was sorry, but he was spending Christmas day catching up on reading the “tooth articles” in his favourite magazine, Medicine Madness. I caught him out though, because I have read every page of every edition of Medicine Madness and there are no “tooth articles”. He then admitted that he was lying, and confessed that the real reason he couldn’t come was because seeing my face would remind him of my salad disaster, and he would spend the whole party laughing instead of making conversation.

Daisy “Too-Strong” May told me that she was hitting the gym on Christmas Day and was therefore unavailable, which I highly doubt was true because I believe gyms are closed on Christmas Day, but I was too scared to argue with her. (Last time I tried that, she knocked me to the ground and wouldn’t let me get up until I apologised 60 times.)

Jennifer, my best student, told me that she was papering the parlour on Christmas Day. That was a blatant porky because on the same day she told me that excuse, I overheard her telling her friends that she had actually papered her parlour a week ago, but I didn't take it up with her because we’re on quite friendly terms, what with our shared name.

Honest John approached me after an exhausting maths lesson and said “I’m sorry to make your day worse, Miss Hunt, but I don’t want to go to your party.” I was too tired to tell him off so I let him walk free.

Cousin Peter is my one family member I keep in touch with. He’s not so much a cousin - more of a twelfth cousin thrice removed, or something like that, but I met him back when I lived in Somerset. He still lives there, and originally told me he would be able to come to the party. But on Christmas eve, he phoned up telling me that he was flooded out. I believed him at first, but then I checked on the internet and discovered that there was no flooding in Somerset. Outraged, I called him back and monologued at him for half an hour about how I found out he was lying, and that it was mean to tell lies, but then he explained that he had flooded the bathroom and was having urgent repairs done on Christmas day, which made me feel very embarrassed.

The vicar had a lazy excuse. She said she was attending a late Halloween party, which was the most unbelievable story I had ever heard, but I don’t even like her so I didn’t really care.

And as for my uselesss neighbours, Lesley didn’t even respond to my message in person but just returned the invitation with the word “no’” written on it, and Barack and Jez said they were meeting Lesley, which didn’t seem likely, because word is on the street that Barack has a restraining order against her.

At this point, you might think that I was pretty sad, but no. I haven’t told you the good news. First, nobody used the crossword excuse, so that makes this year’s list of excuses better than any other year. And second - and this was really fantastic - Tyson approached me at the end of a maths lesson and said “Looks like I’m going to have to come to your party this Christmas. My mum’s going away to see her family, and my dad has tried hard to think of a reason why the rest of us can’t come to your party, but sadly, it looks like this is the year he’s finally given in. See you there, Hunty. And there had better be fries on the table.”

I could have jumped for joy. Well, I did jump for joy, and I landed on Tyson’s feet.

“There’s no need for that, Hunt-Jennifer Jane”, he said, angrily, but I didn’t care. With Tyson, Adam, and Mr. Actual Brown at the party, along with Moai and Woofer, I had 5 whole guests. It was time to prepare the food and party games!

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

It’s September, which means it’s back to school with a new school year and a new start to my life. From now on, I’ll be known as Jane-Jennifer Hunt, the woman who passed her driving theory exam on the 25th attempt! After a whole summer holiday packed with revision and failing attempts 23 and 24, I finally realized that you have to click the mouse when you see a hazard, rather than shout ‘Hazard!’ at the top of your voice. So now I have two years to learn to drive! I’ve found a value-for money company called ‘Drive yourself into a ditch with John’, which I thought was quite a catchy and funny name, and I have my first lesson coming up pretty soon.

Still, what with a week of school done, I thought I’d better let you know how it went. And because it’s a new school year and a new start to my life, I thought I’d deliver the highlights of the first week back at school in the form of a tally chart which I designed in the summer and compiled throughout the week.

Number of new nicknames created for me by the pupils: 3:

Hunt-Jennifer Jane;

Hunty;

The one who ruined the cricket tournament.

Number of times Mr. Brown started a conversation with me: 0.

Number of times I tried to start a conversation with Mr. Brown: 12.

Number of times Mr. Brown replied: 5.

Number of times Tyson Gay tried to throw an egg at me: 60. (He still hasn’t forgiven me for what happened at the cricket tournament.)

Number of times he succeeded: 59. (I managed to duck out of the way once, but then the egg hit the whiteboard behind me, ruining the triangle I had spent half an hour trying to draw, so it was hardly worth it.)

Number of new teachers: 1. Mrs Airg, Mr. Airg’s wife. (She’s the new music teacher, replacing the old one, who had to retire early due to an incident last year involving Tyson and Brucey’s joint composition, ‘Drum Madness’.)

Have they fixed the school sign which insults my maths-teaching ability? No.

Can I reach it to fix it in my new 2-inch heels? No.

Can Tyson still look down onto the top of my head despite my new 2-inch heels? Yes. (He keeps looking down onto my head and telling me I have nits, but I know he’s just playing a naughty prank.)

Number of people who have reminded me of my salad disaster: 50.

Number of people who have reminded me of my football disaster: Every pupil apart from a few of the new ones, and every member of staff.

Number of attempts by pupils to sabotage my salad: 5. (Luckily I’m quite good at noticing that these days, so no spinach in my teeth this week!)

Number of attempts by teachers to sabotage my salad: 1. (I have yet to find out the culprit, but I know it was a teacher as my salad was in the staff room when it happened.)

Have I found out Mr. Brown’s first name? No.

Number of people that noticed my new hair dye, ‘Peroxide Brown’: 1. (Mr. Brown, but only because I asked him if he noticed a change in my hair, and he replied “Yes – now you mention it, it smells quite odd”. So he didn’t actually notice the colour change, but I’m still counting his response!)

Worst new pupil I have to teach: Adam ‘Nightmare’ Brown, Tyson’s younger brother. We have another troublemaker here. Twice he’s tried to put a razor to my mohawk. I’m going to have to keep an eye on him!

Best new pupil I have to teach: Jennifer. I can’t remember her surname, and her personality is duller than my summer holiday, but she shares a name with me, so I’ll let her have this one.

Number of sums I got wrong on the whiteboard: 10. Quite a good week!

Number of times a pupil wrote on the whiteboard in permanent marker and I had to spend most of my lunch break cleaning it off: 4:

‘Jane-Jennifer Hunt loves cricket’ x 1;

‘Jane-Jennifer Hunt 4 Tyson Gay’ x 1:

‘Jane-Jennifer Hunt is stupid’ x 2.

So I’d say it’s been a better start to the school year than most. And, what with my driving lessons coming up soon, I think it’s fair to say my life is looking up.

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

I don’t like cricket, I hate it.

Hi fans, and sorry for the delay in getting part 4 of the cricket catastrophe out to you. The reason for the wait is that I’ve been busy trying to pass my driving theory exam, but for the 22nd time, I failed it. Better luck next time, as they say!

I left you with a question. In my anger about not being chosen for the team, how many footballs did I kick onto the pitch? Well, it was really a trick question. Of course, I tried to kick all three onto the pitch, but two went wildly off course and landed in the middle of some children sitting on other mats around the pitch. The kids caught them, and I was too scared to ask for them back, so it looks like I’ve lost them forever. But one football went onto the pitch. In fact, it was such a good shot that it hit the stumps and knocked the silly bails off. “Out!” I cried - although I barely knew what that meant. I had just heard them calling that in this situation earlier on in the game. Then I heard Mr. Brown’s voice over the microphone.

“Whichever child threw the football onto the pitch has to own up now, or the cricket tournament will be cancelled”, he said, in a serious voice. He also added that the child would have to spend the rest of the day on the naughty chair, next to him. But I wasn’t going to own up. First of all, sitting on the naughty chair would be quite embarrassing, given that I’m actually a teacher, rather than a child. And maybe if I kept quiet, the cricket tournament would be cancelled, and we’d have to play football instead.

“Aren’t you going to own up?” asked Mr. Airg. 

“Are you mad?” I replied. “I want this terrible tournament to be cancelled”. 

“I’m sorry, Jane-Jennier Hunt, but that’s immoral”, he said. “If you don’t say you did it, I’m going to go over to Mr. Brown and grass you up, because there’s no way I’m missing my opportunity as chief bowler.”

I told him that he could go and do that, because I didn’t expect Mr. Brown to believe him. Mr. Brown seemed to think that a child had done the deed, so wouldn’t think I could have done it.

Alas, it seemed that Mr. Brown did believe Mr. Airg, because after Mr. Airg had gone up to tell him, he made another announcement on the microphone.

“Sorry to blame you, kids - it should have occurred to me that such a babyish act could only have been done by Jane-Jennifer Hunt. Play may continue! I’d like to ask Jane-Jennifer to come and sit on the naughty chair, as per the rules of the game.”

Well, I like obeying Mr. Brown, as it might please him, so I went to sit in the naughty chair. The chair was clearly meant for people younger than me. It was less than a foot high, and was decorated with a picture of a teacher telling a pupil off, with the caption ‘I’ve been a naughty numpty!’, which added to my humiliation.

Mr Brown came up to me and said “I’m sorry, Miss Hunt, but the rules of the game say that anyone who throws an object onto the pitch has to sit in the naughty chair”, as he waved a book of rules in my face. “They also say that I’m to give you a telling off for what you’ve done, to make you realise what you did wrong.”

“But I’m a teacher!” I protested. “Teachers can’t tell teachers off!”

“Rules are rules, Miss Hunt”, he replied. So I then had to listen to a dressing-down from Mr. Brown.

“Throwing footballs onto the pitch is wrong. I hope you realise the seriousness of what you’ve done. Somebody could have got hurt. Luckily, this time, nobody got hurt, but the game was disrupted. This wasn’t even the first time today that you’ve disrupted the game. I want you to sit here until the end of this match, and reflect on your actions. If I see you move from the naughty chair, you’ll get a green slip.”

A green slip! I don’t think a teacher has ever given another teacher a green slip before. But I didn’t want to protest, as I like Mr. Brown, and it would only make him more angry. I decided that the only thing I could do was sulk. So, I sat out the rest of the Mountains vs Windmill cricket match, not moving a muscle, pulling the moodiest face possible. 

After the first game was over, Mr. Airg approached me. He said, “I’m sorry you ended up in this mess, Jane-Jennifer. It was my fault, so I’d like to make it up to you by letting you bowl against John ‘Tyson Gay’ Brown, the first batter for Mountains house, in the Mountains vs Water match that’s coming up next”.

I replied “That’s a kind offer, Mr. Airg, but I can’t accept, because I’m scared that Tyson might hit the ball right back at me and knock me out. He’s known to have a very good aim, and also a grudge against me after that time we had to go on a date together and I embarrassed him.”

“Well, it’s funny you should say that”, said Mr. Airg, “but I’ll admit that that’s the reason I don’t want to bowl against him either. The other day I called him ‘Churandy’ by mistake, as I had the wrong world-class sprinter in mind, and he threw so much food at me in his anger that I had to put him in detention. I was covered in eggs, flour and Tyson’s home-made jelly, but he still hasn’t forgiven me, so I’m scared he might hit the ball right back in my face if I bowl at him today. But I thought if you bowled the ball, you’d probably hit it in completely the wrong direction, and Tyson won’t be able to hit it back in the first place.”

I still wasn’t sure. But, trying to hide my laughter at Mr. Airg’s mishap, which seemed something more likely to happen to me, I said “I’m sorry, Mr. Airg, but I just can’t accept your offer. However, I understand your worry. Maybe we could come up with a team strategy to get Tyson out on the first ball.”

Mr. Airg stood there with a very thoughtful expression on his face for about 10 minutes, and then exclaimed “I’ve thought of the perfect plan! I’m going to appoint you as the wicket keeper. When I bowl the first ball, you have to jump underneath Tyson – he won’t see you as you’re so much shorter than him – and throw something into his face so he doesn’t see the ball very well and does a bad hit, missing my face. Then you have to throw a banana skin underneath him so that if he tries to run, he falls over and we have time to get the ball back to the stumps, so that he doesn’t have to bat again.”

“What? I’m confused!” I said, hopelessly. “What’s a cricket keeper? I don’t have a banana skin!”

“Never mind that!” said Mr. Airg. “There’s no time to explain it again – the match is about to start.”

I didn’t know what to do. But, as Mr. Brown’s voice filled the arena, saying that it was time for the Mountains vs Water match to start, I had no choice but to walk onto the pitch. I remembered Mr. Airg saying that I needed to distract Tyson, so I guessed that the best place to stand was to his side. Standing there, I reached into my backpack, to see what I could use to distract him. I pulled out a party popper – perfect to pop into Tyson’s face when Mr. Airg bowled the first ball! Then I wondered what I could use instead of a banana skin. Sadly, my tomatoes that I was going to have for lunch would have to be sacrificed.

I stood there, tomatoes and party popper at the ready, next to Tyson. As Mr. Airg predicted, Tyson didn’t notice me, due to the height difference. As soon as Mr. Brown shouted “Play!” over the microphone, Mr. Airg threw the ball at Tyson, and I pulled the string of my party popper. Alas, it was one of those annoying ones where the string comes off but the party popper doesn’t pop. “Oh, blast!” I screamed. I panicked, and threw the party popper at Tyson Gay. Then I got even more muddled and threw the tomatoes in his face as well. A couple of them exploded and covered him in juice. Shocked, he shouted “What do you think you’re doing, you crazy woman?” and he jumped out of the way of the ball. Unfortunately, the ball hit me instead, and I fell over, crushing the stupid stumps. What a performance! The crowd burst out laughing. “Out!” cried Mr. Airg, and he did a victory dance.

I lay there, not knowing what to do. I was too embarrassed to get up off the floor, as people would see who I was. After about a minute, I saw Mr. Brown standing over me, waving his book of rules. “Throwing objects at other players, and crushing the stumps, are serious offences”, he said, sternly. “I have no choice but to send you home, as per the rules in this book.”

“Good!” I shouted, at the top of my voice. I had had enough of this terrible day. It was going from bad to worse. I packed up all my items, and marched out of the school grounds. I stomped all the way home, singing my own version of the football chant:

“Football for never! Football’s a shame! Football for never! Football’s a pain! Football for never! Football is lame! I don’t like cricket, I hate it.”

I sung it in a very dull voice, playing the funeral march on my toy trumpet after every line. Too bad the toy trumpet only plays one note, so I couldn’t really get the tune right. I got the rhythm of it mainly right though. I got home and sulked all evening. I got a call from Mr. Brown at some point, saying that Water house had lost the tournament with a score that was so bad that I won’t repeat it. In honour of the terrible score, I ran up and down the garden ten times. You’ll have to guess what the score actually was, though. A terrible end to the worst day of my life.

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

Football for never

So, I left off at the point where I had just entered the school grounds. It was only then that I realised I was half an hour late! I’m usually about an hour early, but today I must have been held up by all my encounters on the way. Not to mention all the times I kicked the football (the one that I had to dribble along the pavement because I didn’t have room to carry it) into someone’s garden by accident. And all the times I had accidentally dropped one of the items I was carrying and had to try and pick it up without dropping anything else, which didn’t really work, so I often ended up dropping everything on the floor and having to pick everything up, which wasted a lot of time and effort. Still, it didn’t matter because the first football game was Mountains vs Windmill, and seeing as I’m in Water, I wouldn’t be playing anyway. I hurried to the playing field. When I got there, I couldn’t believe what I saw.

The field wasn’t full of people in shorts running around kicking a football. It was full of people wearing white jumpers and trousers, most of them standing around and not moving, one holding a stupid-looking bat whilst lumbering up and down between two sets of silly stumps, and one chasing after a hard-looking red ball which was much smaller than a football. The crowd were singing a song. Not ‘Football forever’, but something about not liking cricket, but loving it. I slowly began to realise that this wasn’t the day of the school football tournament. Oh no. It was the day of the school cricket tournament. How could I have made such a terrible mistake?

I stood there with my mouth wide open, not moving, for about ten minutes. I then went to approach Mr. Brown, who was sitting at a table with a microphone, giving commentary on the game. Outraged, I shouted at him “I thought it was the school football tournament today!” He turned to look at me, and started screaming with laughter. “Ha-ha-ha-hee-ha, you’ve really messed up here!” he babbled, as he looked at my kit, painted face and football-themed collection of items. Then he took his microphone and said into it “Hey, everyone, look at Jane-Jennifer Hunt! She thought it was football day!” 

At that moment, everyone including the players and the spectators sitting around the pitch turned and looked at me, and started laughing like mad things. I had never heard such mad laughter. I tried to ignore it and said to Mr. Brown “How did everyone else know it was cricket day?” and he replied “You were meant to receive a phone call this morning telling you about the change of plan.” That was when I remembered about the phone call from the secretary this morning, that I hadn’t listened to in my excitement. I hid my face in my hands for about 5 minutes, as I realised that this was all my mistake, and not even a practical joke, for once. Then I realised that my facepaint was rubbish, and had made my hands turn blue. 

I had to take urgent action. I grabbed the microphone off Mr. Brown and shouted into it: “Change of plan! It’s actually football day today!”

The players stopped moving and looked at me and Mr. Brown in confusion. (Well, I say they stopped moving, but it’s cricket, so they probably weren’t moving in the first place.) Mr. Brown snatched the microphone back and said “Just ignore her”, in a tired voice, and play continued. I wasn’t giving up. I reached into my rucksack and pulled out my party blowout. In protest, I took the microphone back, and blew the blowout as hard as I could, really close to the microphone. A deafening sound filled the sports field, causing all players and audience to cover their ears. “Either we change to football or I keep blowing this party blowout into the microphone!” I shouted boldly, for everyone to hear. I heard them all mumbling to each other as if they were very annoyed. 

Mr. Brown groaned, pulled my party blowout out of my hand and broke it into two pieces right there, in front of my face. “Hey! You meanie! You can’t just go breaking other peoples’ things like that!” I cried. “Listen, Jane-Jennifer Hunt”, he replied. “There’s no way we’re changing our plans now. Do us all a favour and stop ruining the fun. Now go and sit with the rest of Water House on the blue mat.” 

I sighed. But, I did like pleasing Mr. Brown, so I did as I was told, and went to sit on the blue mat. I found a spot next to Mr. Airg, the food technology teacher. He was grinning about something. I said to him “I can’t believe this. I was so ready to have a game of football today. And now it’s cricket day! What a farce! Still, I think my cricket skills will probably lead Water House to victory - I haven’t played cricket before, but it looks a rather easy game!” 

“Ha! You won’t be on the team!” he snorted. “They already picked the teams before you arrived. And your name wasn’t even suggested. But I’m on the team! I’ve been put down as chief bowler.” I guess that’s why he was looking so proud.

I was outraged. First I learn it’s cricket rather than football, and then I learn I can’t even be on the team. But that’s not the end of the story. I’ll leave you with a guessing game. What did I do next? 

1. Kick one of my footballs onto the pitch in rage 2. Kick two of my footballs onto the pitch in rage 3. Kick all three of my footballs onto the pitch in rage

Post your answers in the comments!

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

Walking to the football tournament

Last thing I told you was how I was leaving the house, dressed up in all sorts of colourful gear, with as many football-themed items on my person as I could possibly carry. I walked down my garden path, out of my garden gate, then started swaggering down the street. I turned my boom box on, blasting out ‘Football forever! Football’s a game!’ on repeat, as I walked along. Every time the words ‘Football forever’ came up, I gave two toots on my Swanee whistle and two blows of my party whistle, and every time the words ‘Football’s a game’ came up, I gave a big blast of the woofer horn. 

An old woman pulling a reluctant dog heard my music and waved her stick, shouting “Turn that awful racket off, I’ve never heard a worse song! Couldn’t you play a nice one like Shaggy’s ‘Oh Carolina’?” I stared at her for a while, because I thought I recognised her from somewhere. She stared back. It turned into a staring contest. I blinked first, and I took that to mean I had lost, so I angrily turned off my boom box. “I can’t believe you don’t like football!” I screamed at her, and walked off. But I wasn’t going to let that ruin my day. Instead, I just started singing the song - still with the whistles and woofer horn after the appropriate lines. I can’t have sounded too understandable, what with the whistles hanging out of my mouth while I tried to sing, but I didn’t really mind.

I then passed some youths on the corner. I walked past with my head down, as I usually do, but I didn’t stop singing my song. Then they joined in, and sang these words:

“Salad forever! Salad’s a leaf! Salad forever! Gets stuck in your teeth!”

I was secretly quite impressed at their lyrical skill, but I replied “I think that joke’s getting a bit old now, don’t you?” But they ignored me and sang it again. I walked away from them, but I heard them shouting insults as I went, like “Nice kit!” and “Stupid water bottle hanging round your neck!” and the usual “Terrible glasses”.

I tried not to let these insults put me off. I put on a very confident walk, and continued singing the song as loud as I could, while blowing my whistles and woofer horn. As my confidence grew, my walk changed into a shuffle, then a skip, then a hop, skip and jump - and then I tried a moonwalk, but I just couldn’t pull it off. Still, I was having so much fun that I started to shout the words more than sing them. Then an old man in a hat walked by.

“Football forever!” I shouted in his face. He looked shocked and took a step back. Then he stared at me, with a scared expression. After about 30 seconds, I said “Uh? Why didn’t you reply ‘Football’s a game?’ Everyone knows that you’re meant to reply ‘Football’s a game’ when someone says ‘Football forever’ to you. Now let’s try again. Football forever!”

“Football’s a game?” he replied, still looking quite scared. “Good”, I replied, and continued strutting down the street. Thinking about it, I probably shouldn’t have scared the old man like that. But at the time, my high spirits meant that I couldn’t really stop myself.

I continued walking to school, and didn’t encounter anyone for the next ten minutes or so. I must have said the phrase ‘Football forever! Football’s a game!’ several hundred times, and my whistles and woofer horn were probably getting a bit worn out. But then, I heard a voice call from behind. “Oi, rainbow lady! Don’t you know any more of the words to that football chant? I’ve been following you this whole time, and you haven’t said anything more than those two lines, over and over again!”

I blushed. It was true - no matter how hard I try to learn the rest of the words to the chant, I can never remember anything more than the first two lines, which I don’t suppose I need to repeat. But I couldn’t possibly admit that to the person behind me. I wanted to come across as a serious football fan. I had to act fast. I turned around, and saw that she was a nun. “Sorry, sister” I said. “Of course I know the rest of the chant! It’s my favourite chant. I just tend to sing only my favourite two lines.”

“Prove it”, she retorted.

What was I to do? My only option was to improvise. I hopelessly started singing and dancing, as I made up my own lyrics to the song:

“Football forever! Football’s a game! Football forever! Football’s a game! Oh, football forever! Football’s a game! [Then I gave a few toots of my whistles and woofer horn, to give myself time to think up some more lyrics.] I love going to watch football on a Saturday, with all my friends I know I’m in for a good time, the fun never ends I couldn’t ask for more! We shout and cheer, all my cares go away Football’s a game I love to play It’s the best sport! It makes me feel alright What a bloomin’ delight Nothing is quite the same As football, which is a game! [Then I played my instruments a bit more, to catch my breath after all that hard improvising. I also slapped my legs for some drum effects.] Football forever! Football’s a game! Football forever! Football’s a game! [I repeated this phrase about twenty more times, just to make the song longer - and hopefully more impressive.]”

The nun looked at me for a few minutes with an unimpressed expression, and then finally said “No, you are wrong. I know that football chant, and that’s not how it goes. You’re a cheater! Foul play!”

I had no option but to run away in embarrassment. I ran all the way to school, which was only about 60 metres away anyway. Despite all my awkward encounters on my school run, I was still in very high spirits, because I was so excited for the tournament. Not even the sight of the school sign could upset me today. (The school sign says ‘Huntingdon School of Excellence’, but a few days after I started my teaching job at the school, a naughty pupil used a marker pen to add in the words ‘in everything except maths’ underneath. I keep requesting for the nasty words to be removed, but they never are. It’s been 10 years! It’s as if the rest of the teachers like having them there. I would remove them myself but I’m not tall enough.)

Anyway, usually that sign puts me in a bad mood as I enter through the school gate, but today, I didn’t mind. Nothing was going to stop me from enjoying the football tournament. More next time!

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

Football forever! Football’s a game!

‘Football forever! Football’s a game!’ That’s my favourite football chant right there. I love football. So you can imagine my excitement when I woke up on the day of the school’s football tournament. It’s a day when the whole school, teachers included, have an all-day football tournament. A bit like sports day, but better, because it’s football. 

Having woken up, I raced to my wardrobe to find my football kit. (I play for a club called the Bernstein Football Club. Well, I say I play for them, but I’ve never been good enough to be selected for the team. I usually end up as a spectator, but sometimes I can’t stop myself and run onto the pitch anyway. I get in everyone’s way, but at least it’s fun for me!) The kit consists of an oversized shirt with pink and brown stripes, with the words ‘Football forever’ on the front  and ‘Football’s a game’ on the back - I personalised it myself with a marker pen and white paint. It was to cover up the word ‘Beginner’ on both sides - it’s a bit humiliating when you’re the only person in the club who’s a Beginner. Especially when you’re the member of the club who’s been there the longest. The shorts are green and yellow. I also own a red and orange football helmet, pink knee pads, green arm pads, yellow shoes with studs, long brown and yellow socks, red and green fingerless gloves and some yellow and grey shoulder pads, so I went all-out and put them all on. I was so excited for the football tournament!

I also got out my face paints and painted my face blue - the colour of my house at school - yes, teachers get to be in houses too! There’s three houses: Windmill, Mountains and Water. I’m in Water.  Each house selects a team of 11 people for the big tournament. Although I’ve never been on a team before, I was optimistic about my chances of being selected, because I’m slightly bigger than quite a lot of the kids this year, and there aren’t many pupils in the school. 

So, having put on all my gear and face paint, I looked at myself in the mirror and beamed. No salad in my teeth today! I was so ready for the tournament. I jogged on the spot for about ten seconds, just to prove to myself how good I looked. Then I had to sit down for a rest. But then, I jumped up again and ran downstairs in excitement, to get ready for the big day. I turned on my boom box and blasted out songs about football such as ‘Football forever! Football’s a game!’ and ‘Football crazy’, to motivate myself for the day ahead. I got into the spirit by feeding Moai and Woofer football-shaped food from football-themed bowls. Moai doesn’t really like the football-shaped food, but it was such a special day that she’d just have to live with it. Woofer loves it because he likes pretty much all food.

Next, I reached into my cupboard and pulled out my collection of football-related items. These included my three footballs, with ‘The Bernstein Football Club’ written all over them, a Swanee whistle, a party whistle that I use to control the kids at break time, a party blowout, a woofer horn, a toy trumpet, a party popper, and my mascot that I use for school contests: a bottle of water (because I’m in Water house) on a string, to tie around my neck. I decided to have a quick kick-about to practise, so I booted one of my footballs. It went way off course, and smashed a picture on my wall. I didn’t really care though, because it was one that I had drawn, and I’m not a very good artist. (As it happened, it was the one called ‘Football Forever’ - depicting a football wearing a crown, with a tennis ball, cricket ball, basket ball, golf ball, rugby ball and ping-pong ball all wearing slaves’ clothes beneath it.)

Just then, the phone rang. I answered it, and it was the school secretary. She said “There’s an important message about today’s football tournament-” but I cut her off in my excitement, and replied “Yes, I know it’s happening today, how could I forget? I’ll be there! Football forever, as they say! Water’s going to take the crown for sure!” and slammed the phone down.

I then went to pack my lunch - football-shaped salad (well, cherry tomatoes -they were the closest thing I could find), with plenty of water. I put it in my rucksack, along with my toy trumpet, party popper and party blowout. There was no room for my three footballs so I put one under each arm and had to kick the other one along the road as I walked to school. I hung my water bottle round my neck, and put my Swanee whistle and party whistle in my mouth, with my woofer horn in one hand and boom box in the other. I was ready to leave for the big event.

I’ll leave it there for now, but you’ve got to picture me leaving my house, dressed up in all that colourful kit I mentioned earlier, kicking a football along, with two whistles in my mouth, hands and arms full, rucksack on, and boom box blaring.

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

The last of my salad days

So far, I’d told you about how I was chased across the playground by paparazzi, and I had to climb to the top of the climbing frame to avoid them. What with my pyjamas, and the efforts I had gone to to change my appearance, and my red face because I was out of breath, I probably looked a bit of an idiot. But that didn’t stop the paparazzi gathering at the bottom of the climbing frame and taking pictures of me. 

 “I can see the headline now”, shouted one. “Pathetic maths teacher suffers salad disaster then has to climb to the top of a climbing frame to escape media attention”.

 “I can do better than that!” cried another. “Silly salad schoolteacher suffers super superglue salad shenanigan so shelters somewhere seriously stupid!” 

And then another one shouted back, “Your headlines have always been terrible, Damian”, and I chipped in “I quite agree” but I don’t think anyone took any notice, because their shouting had got rather loud. They continued arguing about what the headline should be. 

“Schoolteacher pranked by pupil who put superglue on her salad so that she got spinach stuck in her teeth, the dentist had to remove it, and now she’s stuck up a climbing frame, looking quite a sight! Snappy or what?” said one. 

 “Or what”, replied another, who then proudly suggested “Teacher undergoes salad shame, then she ran up a climbing frame - it’s good because it rhymes”.

 Then Damian had another go. “Tiny terror tricked terrible trigonometry teacher terrifically, too much to take! Oh blast, ‘much’ doesn’t begin with T, I’ll have to think again.”

 I stared in disbelief. What newspaper could these fools write for? I looked at their uniforms, and on them read ‘The News Chopper’. That explained it. Only the worst newspaper I’ve ever read. I’ve twice been asked for interviews there, and both times they were on totally irrelevant topics, and they also covered me in food after I couldn’t answer their questions. (I’ll have to tell you about those experiences some day.)  And then it dawned on me. Brucey’s dad, Lord Rucey, is the head of that newspaper! No wonder the paparazzi were so interested in the story. Lord Rucey must have told his team to report on this story, to make his son’s prank famous! 

What was I to do? I was just trying to decide whether to throw my glasses at the paparazzi in desperation, or give in and invite a paparazzo onto the climbing frame for an interview with me, when something exciting happened. A large helicopter pulled up into the school car park, with the words ‘THE NEWS CHOPPER’ plastered all over it. They only bring out the helicopter on special occasions. Driving the helicopter was Lord Rucey himself, with his proud son Brucey sitting next to him with a badge on his chest, saying ‘I made the front page!’ “You guys, come over here to interview the main man, Brucey Rucey!” cried Lord Rucey, and with that, the paparazzi ran over to interview Brucey, leaving me alone. 

What a relief! But as I tried to get down from the climbing frame, I found that my legs were too short to reach the bar below me. I slowly began to realise that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get down. I called for help, but everybody ignored me. I had waited up there for about half an hour, before I saw Mr. Brown strolling by. “Help!” I screamed at him. Reluctantly, he came over to me and apologized, but said that all staff and pupils had been instructed not to help me at all today, as a punishment for trying to skive. So he then turned around and walked back to the staff room, without helping me. There was nothing I could do! If nobody was ever going to help me today, I would be stuck up the climbing frame until tomorrow. 

This is indeed what happened. I spent the whole school day stuck up a climbing frame. The most humiliating part was what happened at breaktimes. The children climbed up onto the top of the climbing frame, to take ‘selfies’ of themselves, sitting right next to me – and then climbed back down with ease. At one point, I tried to eat my lunch, which was salad, and this attracted attention from a few remaining paparazzi. They took more pictures of me, and one suggested the caption “Jane-Jennifer Hunt eats salad in her natural habitat; let’s hope someone has booby-trapped it again!” And as for that maths lesson which was meant to happen today – well, I tried to deliver it from the climbing frame, but the children didn’t want to listen. They seemed more interested in dancing round the climbing frame, singing rhymes like “Our silly teacher should hang her head in shame, she’s stuck up a climbing frame!” I had already heard a similar rhyme today, so was rather fed up and threw my lunchbox at them. But, they just threw it back, so I couldn’t win. I even tried to give them topical maths questions such as “If I have ten salad leaves, and Brucey eats one, how many would I have left?” But I just got sarcastic answers back, such as “Brucey hates salad, so he would never eat yours.” 

I sure was glad when that lesson was over! What I didn’t enjoy so much was spending a night on the climbing frame. School was rather a lonely place after everybody had gone home. At about 6pm, a strange group of people came rambling down the road that leads to the school. I was lonely, so I called them over for a chat. They introduced themselves as the Roman Ramblers, a badminton team that travels all over the country, looking for other badminton teams to beat. They handed a racquet up to me and invited me to a game. They then started hitting shuttlecocks at me from all angles. I waved my racquet around hopelessly, but they were simply too fast for me to hit. Most hit my face or body, and others flew straight past. I ended up just using my racquet to shelter my face. The team seemed quite disappointed at my ability to hit shuttlecocks back to them (although I was rather pleased with myself – I did manage to hit one or two, despite never having played the game before), so they soon got bored and started playing another game by themselves. The aim of the game was to cross the goal line, with the shuttlecock on the racquet, as if it were a pancake in a frying pan. They soon cleared off after that. What a strange experience! Just as I was wondering whether I had dreamt it all, I felt myself slipping off to sleep. 

I woke the next morning, to the sound of Mr. Brown putting up a ladder up against the climbing frame. I thanked him for his troubles, and climbed down. I had time to go and buy some food before the school day started, so I ran across to the local newsagent. I glanced at the newspaper stand as I bought a veg sandwich. That was when I saw the front page of The News Chopper. There was a large picture of me eating my salad on top of the climbing frame. The headline read: ‘Terrified terrible teacher forced to eat her leafy lunch atop a kiddie climbing frame, for fear of being pranked again by professional pupil prankster Brucey Rucey! A must read!” I grimaced. Not only was that worse than the News Chopper’s usual standard of headline, it was a complete lie. I didn’t buy the paper, because I was so fed up with the whole affair. It didn’t help that the shopkeeper recognised me from the picture and wanted my photograph, and my autograph. He said he’s always wanted to be famous, and getting an autograph from someone who made the front page of a newspaper was the closest thing to fame he had ever had. But, he gave me some salad on the house, to say thanks. It was a lettuce, which isn’t really anywhere near as nice as spinach, but I took it anyway, and ate the whole thing before I returned to school, to minimize the risk of another salad-related prank. I then got back to school, found some clothes in the lost property that were better than my pyjamas and changed into them, and went to the bathroom to fix my hair and face. 

When it was time for the maths lesson, I decided to go in with a smile upon my face. With any luck, the kids would have forgotten about the whole miserable affair, and my life would get back to normal. I walked boldly through the classroom door. All the members of the class were reading copies of this morning’s News Chopper, but I didn’t let that put me off.

 “Hello, class! Who’s ready for some triangular studies?” I exclaimed, with a big cheesy grin. The class stared at me for about a minute without saying anything. Then, one by one, they started howling with laughter, and just wouldn’t stop. I didn’t know what to do. I had to ask Honest John, the honest member of my class, why everybody was laughing at me. He said that I should go to the bathroom and check my teeth. So I went to the bathroom, and made a cheesy grin at myself, just as I had done on the morning of my visit to the dentist. To my dismay, I saw a large lettuce leaf hanging out from between my teeth. I tried to remove it, but I simply couldn’t. Then I realized what had happened. The shopkeeper had ambushed my lettuce with superglue, in an attempt to become famous! 

I had no option but to run away, to the dentist, as fast as I could, with my hands covering the leaf. The dentist was able to remove the lettuce leaf with ease, just as he had done with the spinach. He couldn’t resist taking some pictures of it beforehand, though. He even set them as his computer wallpaper, and his phone wallpaper. I had to pay a cash lump sum for him not to pass them onto the press. After this dentist visit, I ran straight home. I met a few people who offered me free salad on the way, but I couldn’t take it, in case of another superglue prank – or worse. 

Luckily, I think that’s the last of this awful tale. If there’s a moral of the story, it’s to always check your salad before you eat it. Still, I don’t think there’s many people who can say that they’ve spent a whole night stuck up a climbing frame!

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

The nightmare that followed

I left off at the point where I was surrounded by paparazzi, one of whom had just insulted my pyjamas because they were the same colour as salad. As  I stood there with cameras pointing at me, I wondered what I should do. I quickly decided that it would be a good idea to make myself a bit less recognisable, so I felt for my mohawk and flattened it down so that my hair fell down in loose curtains on either side of my face. I quickly removed my glasses, but then discovered I couldn’t see anything, so I had to put them back on. I reached for my mascara and hurriedly started using it to draw spots on my cheeks and forehead (I already have them on my nose). And then, just to make sure nobody knew who I was, I shouted ‘I’m not Jane-Jennifer Hunt!’

There was a small amount of giggling from the paparazzi, but nobody took any notice other than that. I only had one option: run away. I ran away, towards the staff room, but the paparazzi just followed me. In fact, they caught up with me pretty quickly because I’m so slow. I had run about 60 metres, and hadn’t got to the staff room yet, but I had to stop to catch my breath. I retired to an old, rotten bench, which collapsed as soon as I sat on it. “Drat!” I shouted. This again made the paparazzi laugh. Just my luck! I looked around the playground for somewhere to hide. I spied the climbing frame, and staggered over to it. A couple of kids were playing on it, but I shouted ‘I order you to get down from there!’ Obviously, they took no notice. I climbed to the very top, anyway. Luckily the kids got off it at that point. They said it was because sharing a climbing frame with me was cramping their style. 

That’s all you’ll hear for now, folks - but just picture me there, stuck at the top of a climbing frame, surrounded by paparazzi. More later!

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

Thanks for answering the poll

I’d like to thank everyone for answering the poll I put up the other day. Not! It’s as if nobody can be bothered to listen to a word I say. Thanks for nothing, everyone. Due to the public’s laziness, I was forced to make the decision of whether to skive Monday’s maths lesson or not by myself. I’m terrible at making decisions, as I found out.

On Monday morning, I thought I’d probably better go into school, so I got dressed. Then I chickened out, and got back into my pyjamas. Then I thought about Mr. Brown’s face, which inspired me to get dressed again. But then I pictured the class laughing at my salad disaster, and it felt so embarrassing that I just couldn’t take it, so I put my PJs back on and ran to hide in bed. I picked up my telephone, to call the school to let them know I was sick. Here’s what happened:

Secretary: Hello there, you’re through to the school in Huntingdon where one of the teachers got some spinach stuck in her mouth as a prank by one of the students. If you’re from a local newspaper, you’ll have to come to the school and form an orderly queue with all the other members of the paparazzi - they’re currently waiting for the teacher in question to arrive at school to be interviewed!

Me: Oh dear. I’m Jane-Jennifer Hunt.

Secretary: Who’s that?

Me: The very teacher who suffered the salad disaster! How come you don’t know my name?

Secretary: Oh, sorry! I had forgotten your real name. We’ve all been referring to you as ‘The Salad Lady’ since we found out about what happened.

Me: Well, I’m sick today, so I shan’t be coming into school.

Secretary: Don’t lie, Miss Hunt. We all saw your terrible poll over the weekend, and nobody answered it because it was so terrible. But we knew that you’d be lying if you tried to skive today, so you’d better get yourself into school quickly, before the news reporters start throwing eggs!

My plan hadn’t worked. I had to go into school after all. I was in such a muddle that I forgot to get dressed, so I stumbled into the playground, in front of a load of cameras flashing, with my terrible pyjamas on. They weren’t even good pyjamas. They were an ugly green colour, and a bit too small. 

“Hey look, her clothes are the same colour as her salad!” shrieked one paparazzo.  This was a sign of things to come.

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

POLL

I’m wondering if I should skive Monday’s maths lesson and pretend to be sick, because Tyson and Brucey will probably have told the whole class about the prank, and they’ll all make a complete mockery of me. Maybe my fans should decide for me.

In favour of going to class: - I’ll at least see Mr. Brown - It won’t really be much worse than most days

In favour of skiving: - If I go, I’ll be called ‘Salad-face’ for the rest of my life - If I go on Tuesday’s lesson instead of Monday’s, they might have forgotten about the whole affair by then

What should I do?

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

Dentists, the fiends!

Once a year, I have a check-up at the local dentist, which involves a small bus journey into the centre of town. Usually it goes quite smoothly. Well, quite smoothly compared with my life as a whole. But today’s visit was more embarrassing than my first date!

For the past week, I had been looking after my teeth really well, because I just love getting praise from the dentist. I had eaten no sweets, and brushed my teeth for at least an hour every night. The morning before the appointment, I stared at my face in the mirror and made a big cheesy grin. There was a piece of food stuck between my teeth - probably spinach. I tried to remove it, but I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. It was a bit of a shame, because it was right between my two front teeth, and so large that it hung out of my mouth even when it was closed, but I didn’t think it would matter.

On my way to the bus stop, some youths commented on my mouth mishap. They shouted ‘Hey, veg-face!’ but I didn’t let it put me off. I knew the rest of my mouth was in very good condition, and I couldn’t wait to show the dentist. 

Having slipped in two piles of dog mess on my way to the bus stop, I finally arrived. Hopefully I didn’t smell too bad. The bus soon turned up. When I boarded, the driver couldn’t help chuckling at me. I asked him why he was laughing, and he promised that it wasn’t anything to do with me, but I can’t say I believed him. Then he said ‘Bit smellier than usual, aren’t you?’ and I replied ‘Yes - I happened to slip in not one, but two piles of dog mess on my way to the bus stop. Would you believe it?’ He said ‘Well, you always were a bit clumsy - so yes, I can believe that! Anyway, I hope you’re not going to the dentist today - your teeth don’t look like they’ve been brushed in ages, and that large leaf hanging out of your mouth wouldn’t do you any favours!’

Sometimes I can take this driver’s cruel words, but today they made me so sad that I started crying. To make matters worse, the driver started driving really fast, before I had sat down, so I fell over while I was walking down the gangway. All the passengers laughed. One passenger stood up for me and said ‘It’s not her fault she fell over - she’s just really clumsy!’ But another one replied ‘I wasn’t even laughing at her fall; I was laughing at her mouth! Look at that piece of veg hanging out of it!’ 

I tried not to let their harsh words ruin my day. I arrived at the dentist with a big smile on my face. But that soon turned to a frown when I met the receptionist. She asked me for my name, and I replied ‘Jane-Jennifer Hunt, Miss.’ She whispered to her co-worker: ‘What a fitting name! She is a bit of a plain Jane. And I wonder if she knows about that leaf hanging out of her mouth.’ I pretended not to hear, and went to sit in the waiting room.

Just then, a familiar face came bounding out of the dentist’s room. It was John ‘Tyson Gay’ Brown. He had a large grin on his face, and was wearing a badge with Peppa Pig on it, which read “20 lovely teeth”. I went to greet him. On my first attempt, he pretended he didn’t know me, but I tried again. ‘Congratulations, Tyson!’ I said, with a false smile on my face. ‘It’s always so good to know that one’s teeth are healthy!’. (I was secretly very jealous.) ‘Thanks...’ he mumbled, and then walked away. Then he got out his mobile phone and started a phone call to a classmate: ‘Hey, Brucey, you’ll never guess what. I’ve just met our rubbish maths teacher - you know the one with the awful mohawk and disgusting glasses - at the dentist! Embarrassing or what? She’s really in for it though - she’s got a leaf stuck to her teeth. I bet the dentist will roast her! What, you say you know how it got there? You put superglue on her salad yesterday? Wow, nice one, Brucey! Gotta fly now - I’ve got running practice. I’m going to try for my 70 metre badge. See you next maths lesson - it’s going to be a corker!’ 

That Brucey! I was livid. Just then, before I had time to throw a temper tantrum, the dentist’s assistant came out and attempted to call my name. ‘Jane Hunt, please’ she said, but I ignored her, as that’s not my name. True, I was the only person in the waiting room, but I won’t have people getting my name wrong like that. She tried again. ‘Jennifer Hunt?’ I still ignored her. Then she said ‘There must be some mistake. It says “Jane-Jennifer Hunt” on my sheet of paper here, but I didn’t think it was possible to go by such a terrible name! Don’t tell me you actually call yourself that?’ I blushed. ‘Well, yes, I do,’ I replied, quietly. I didn’t know my name was that shameful. She then let out a loud blast of laughter, and apologised, but as usual, it didn’t sound like she meant it.

I walked proudly into the dentist’s room and sat myself down in the dentist’s chair. ‘Oi, that’s my chair!’ cried the dentist. ‘You don’t sit there, you sit in the patient’s chair.’ I reluctantly got up and sat in the right chair. ‘Sorry sir,’ I said. ‘I just wanted a taste of what it feels like to be a dentist. Please don’t give my teeth worse marks because of it.’ The dentist laughed and said ‘What are you, a maths teacher? You don’t get marks for how good your teeth are!’ I blushed for the second time today, and quickly said ‘I knew that’, but I was lying, and I think the dentist might have seen through me, as he replied ‘Liar’.

The first half of my appointment was taken up by the dentist laughing at my salad disaster (I told him the story of how it got there), as well as taking pictures of the leaf to show all his pals. He even printed one off there and then and stuck it on his wall, with the caption ‘Best. Prank. Ever.’ I tried to be mature about it, by sitting there and not saying a word.

The dentist was able to remove the spinach with his bare hand, and he said that I must have been very weak not to be able to remove it myself. I thought I was pretty strong, but obviously not. Still, now it was time for the best part - the tooth inspection. ‘I’m looking at some great teeth there’ said the dentist, as I sat there with my mouth wide open. ‘Thanks!’ I shouted, in a stupidly happy voice. This was the first piece of good news I had heard all day. To my dismay, when I looked up at the dentist, I saw that he was peering at his face in the mirror, and speaking about his own teeth rather than mine. ‘Oh, not yours, Jane-Jennifer! I’ll inspect your teeth in just a minute.’

When he started inspecting my teeth, this is precisely what he said: ‘Ok, LETTUCE look inside your mouth. Oh dear, looks like your teeth have deteriorated since your SALAD days. I’m certainly not GREEN with envy at the contents of your mouth!’

I could go on, but it’s too depressing. He told me I needed to have a filling, and asked if I’d prefer salad cream, mayonnaise, or superglue. I tried to join in on the joke, and said ‘mayonnaise’, but then he went and got some mayonnaise out of his fridge and filled my mouth with it. Thank heavens I didn’t say superglue! 

Anyway, my mouth was too full to be able to speak for the rest of the day, so I walked all the way home on my own. I did stop off at the market, where I got given some “Stupid Oranges ©” from a trader, who gave them to me for free, after smelling me for a bit. I wonder what that was all about.

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

When a surprise date turns into a nightmare

There’s a teacher at the school where I work who I’ve had my eye on for some time, and I think he likes me too. For example, on Monday, I went up to him and I said ‘Oh Mr. Brown, I do like the glasses you’re wearing’, whilst I peered really closely at his attractive face. He took one step back and shouted ‘Bit close, don’t you think? I could feel your stinky breath on my cheeks!’ Then I stood there, not moving, with a really unhappy face, for about five minutes. It was at this point that he came up to me and said ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. Thanks for your compliment about my glasses. I’ll agree that they look better than yours!’ Then he let out a large sigh, and said ‘Maybe I’ll make it up to you one day, to apologise for shouting.’ I think he likes me! I was expecting him to invite me out for a date there and then, which he didn’t, but on Friday, something exciting happened.

I walked into my classroom, and, after checking that there weren’t any whoopee cushions on my chair, I noticed a letter on my desk, addressed to ‘Jennifer-Jane Huntley’. People make that mistake all the time, so I knew it was for me. I hurriedly opened it, and found a pink card. On the cover was written the poem: ‘There’s a woman who’s really great, I’d like to take her on a date.’ I was really touched by these words.

Then I opened the card. This is what it said:

Hello to my favourite teacher.

Even though your mohawk is a bit pathetic, your glasses are horrific, your name is the worst, you’re obsessed with your terrible pets, I’ve never seen anyone apply make-up as badly as you, I know six-year-olds who make better conversation, your music taste is pretty poor (I heard you’re into ATB), you don’t know anything about current affairs, or even sport, and you don’t do anything interesting in your spare time, I bet your cooking is awful, I have a hunch that your home clothes look like they were made in the 1480s, I’ve heard you’re terrible with trains, and you’re not even good at maths - which is the one thing you’re meant to be good at - I’d like to take you on a date. Meet me at the Rutherford Arms at Milton Keynes at 7pm tonight.

From your mystery admirer.

I just knew it was from Mr. Brown! He wanted his identity to be a secret, but I had seen right through him. Or so I thought.

I rolled up to the Rutherford Arms at 7pm, after a horrific train journey (I ended up at a place called Spalding, rather than Milton Keynes, at which point I blew all my money on a taxi to Milton Keynes, because I was running late and I would never have made it on a train.) That was when I heard a voice calling my name from across the restaurant. ‘Mr Brown!’ I called out in an excited voice. But when I looked across to where he was sitting, I discovered it wasn’t Mr. Brown. It was Tyson Gay, the class clown. 

Well, his name isn’t really Tyson Gay. It’s John Brown, and he’s Mr. Brown’s son. His classmates give him that nickname because he’s good at athletics - he likes to show off the fact that he once ran 60 metres, just like Tyson Gay the athlete. When I went to sit down at the table in disgust, he had this to say to me: 

‘Hi Jane-Jennifer, I know you don’t want to be here, and trust me, I don’t want to be here either. But my father ordered me to come instead of him. He said he had some essential business to take care of - but between you and me, I think he couldn’t really face the thought of going out with you. Because I can tell you that he moans about you enough at home. He says he wishes you’d leave him alone in the staff room, and is actually thinking of switching to work at a different school, just to avoid you! Anyhow, I was the one who made that card and put it on your desk - my dad left that job to me too, because he couldn’t be bothered. I hope you liked my kind words! Still, I’m determined to enjoy this meal - my dad even gave me some money to pay for some of it - so let’s enjoy it while we can!’

I asked him how much money he had, and he felt around in his pocket, and said that he counted 60 pound coins. I told him that I had blown all my money on a taxi, so that £60 would have to cover the whole meal. He protested by screaming for a while, but then realised it was his dad’s money anyway so it didn’t matter so much.

At this point, a waiter came to the table. ‘Mother and son bonding session, is it?’ he chuckled. ‘Who’s the dad? He must have some tall genes!’ Then he turned round for about three minutes, while he had a laughing fit. I started kneeling on my chair, just to make myself look a bit taller at the table. If there’s one thing to be said for Tyson, it’s that he’s much taller than me, despite his young age!

After the waiter had finished laughing at the height difference between us, he turned round, red-faced and apologised, but it didn’t sound like he meant it. Then we ordered our food. Tyson took the leek soup as a starter, with a cabbage compote on the side, and the pineapple stew with chips for the main, and finished with a Milton Mess. I ate the spinach souffle for a starter, with spinach yoghurt on the side, and spinach pie in batter for the main, finishing with a funny-shaped biscuit for dessert. It was the shape of a cat’s face, and it came with icing pens and little sweets to decorate it. I had lots of fun decorating my cat’s face, but Tyson wasn’t so amused. He looked away for most of it, as if he was really embarrassed. He then told all the people on the next table that we weren’t together, but then got so angry with me that he went to the toilets and didn’t come back for 20 minutes. By this point, I was finished with my biscuit, and the waiter had delivered the bill. £60 exactly! That was close. 

Tyson came back from the toilet and said ‘Thank god that’s over. You have a worse taste in food than I imagined - and I imagined it would be pretty bad. And that cat’s face biscuit? What are you, eight years old?’ 

I blushed. To be honest, this was my first ever date - it could have gone a lot worse. Tyson saw the bill on the table, and started putting his 60 pound coins out onto the dish provided. To my horror, I saw that they weren’t pound coins. They were pennies. I whispered to Tyson: ‘Tyson! What are you thinking? Those aren’t pounds! Didn’t I teach you anything in our money maths lessons?’ He replied: ‘Uh-oh! My bad! I think the only thing we can do now is run away, seeing as neither of us have any money!’

So the pair of us ran off, through the door. We began running down the street, but I soon began to realise that Tyson was a much faster runner than me, and he was soon out of sight. After about 60 metres, I began to run out of puff, and had to rest on a bench. About a minute had passed, when I saw the head chef running towards me, chicken bone in hand, swearing at me that I had only paid 60 pence rather than 60 pounds. ‘Sorry sir - I don’t have any cash for you,’ I said, calmly. He began to grow angry.

Just then, Daisy ‘Too-Strong’ May, my toughest student, walked down the street. I asked her if she had 60 pounds which I could borrow. She said ‘Sure thing!’, and gave me 60 pounds - of the punch sort. I’m not too sure what happened after this, but I woke up in Huntingdon Hospital, where I spent the weekend, and went into school on Monday morning with a broken leg. 

Mr. Brown saw me with my leg in its poor condition, and said ‘Wild night, was it?’. I stared at him for about a minute, with my eyes half-closed, to look evil. Too bad my glasses are such that he couldn’t tell that my eyes were half-closed, so he thought I was just staring at him normally. What a life I lead!

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

The actual interview

As promised, it’s time to tell you about that interview. As I remember, I had got up to the point where I walked into the room, and was chatting to a nun. After talking with her about the subtle differences between Stevenage and Grimsby for about an hour, it was time to start the interview. I’ll provide you with the dialogue:

Sister: Well, I think it’s about time we got on with the interview! As you know, I work for the magazine ‘Maths made dull’, where we chat to the dullest maths teachers from all around the country, and ask them if they have any tips about how to make their maths lessons even duller for the poor kids.

Jane-Jennifer: That wasn’t what it said in the letter you sent me! You said this interview was for the country’s most stimulating maths teachers, to ask them for their tips on how to deliver an interesting maths lesson!

Sister: You should have seen through that, because I’m pretty sure you must be aware of how much your pupils hate you. You couldn’t possibly believe that you’re a stimulating maths teacher, could you?

Jane-Jennifer: Well, I suppose you have a point. For example, in my last lesson, I was trying to explain how to find the area of a square. I asked my top student Marshall ‘what’s the area of a square with a side of 30m?’ and he replied ‘maths is dull, and Jane-Jennifer Hunt is the worst teacher I’ve ever met!’ This is when the class started to go wild. The class clown, Tyson Gay, then shouted out ‘I once ran 60 metres!’ and then the class bully, Brucey, started attacking the class weakling, by pulling her hair out. Too bad the class weakling is none other than me. I cried out ‘Brucey, stop pulling my hair out!’ but he took no notice, and the class’s strongest member, Daisy ‘Too-Strong’ May, had to intervene to save my life. She went in for the punch, but accidentally-on-purpose missed Brucey and hit me instead, and I lost consciousness and fell to the ground. The class obviously ran out of the classroom while I was unconscious, because they had all disappeared when I had finally regained consciousness. 

Sister: Brilliant story! What a scoop! That’s all I really need to know about your maths lessons. Now I’ll ask you some other important questions. 

Jane-Jennifer: Sure thing, Sister! I have lots of other interesting stories to tell.

Sister: By far the most interesting thing about you is your name. You’re the first person I’ve ever met with a double-barrelled first name. Could you possibly tell me the story of how it came about?

Jane-Jennifer: A-ha-ha-he-he-ha! That’s what everyone notices about me. There’s quite a standard story behind it. My mum wanted to call me Alice, and my dad wanted to call me John. But they just couldn’t decide, so they set up a stall in the busy streets of London, with a banner saying ‘Name our baby’. The public flooded in, suggesting names for me. After thousands of people had cast their votes, my parents counted up the numbers of votes for each name. The only two names that hadn’t been suggested by anyone were the two ugliest names out there: Jane and Jennifer. So my parents decided to play a cruel joke on me and call me both of those names. This harsh beginning was a bit of an omen - my life only went downhill from there!

Sister: What a scoop! I deserve a rise for finding out all this sneaky info. My final question is about those glasses of yours. They have to be a dare, right? Who’s sponsoring you to wear those? Was the glasses shop all out of any other pairs? They’re probably the ugliest item I’ve ever seen, no word of a lie!

Jane-Jennifer: Yes, yes, I often hear or see people being sick at the sight of my glasses. I often take various measures to hide them, for example giving myself another unattractive feature so that people don’t notice my glasses as much. Sometimes I try to cover the glasses up with my hands as well, but then people just say ‘Look at those ugly hands covering that woman’s glasses! I feel ill because they’re such horrible hands.’ So I gave up that technique too. The story behind the glasses is quite normal, though. I asked Fleur, a sneaky and babyish member of my class, to collect some glasses from the optician for me, as I was too busy. She came back to me and gave me this ugly pair. I said ‘Fleur! You naughty girl! You chose the wrong pair!’ But she said the optician had given her this pair specifically for me, and that the optician knew it wasn’t the pair I had requested, but thought that this pair matched my other facial features much better. So this suggests the optician thinks I have the ugliest face in the world. I took the pair back to the optician in disgust, but she simply said ‘Sorry miss, but this is the only pair that could possibly match your face.’ So I’m stuck with them.

Sister: Thanks for your time, Miss Hunt. You’re an inspiration to nobody!

Jane-Jennifer: Thanks, Sis.

I was so fed up that I walked all the way back to Huntingdon, where I live on my own. Well, I do share the house with my fat dog Woofer and my thin cat Moai. So, that concludes my story about today’s interview.

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

That interview

Well, it’s been a while, folks, but here I am again to let you know all is well with JJH. Want to know about that interview? No? Well, I’ll tell you anyway.

It started with a 5 hour train journey to get to the office - it should have only taken 20 minutes but I’m not good with trains. The first thing that went wrong was the station mistress misheard me. I said ‘I’d like a return to Stevenage, please’ but she heard it as ‘one way ticket to hell, please’ and proceeded to make my journey hell for me as she thought I’d asked. First she gave me my ticket - it wasn’t to Stevenage as I had requested but instead it was to a little known town called Helle in Scotland. As I said I’m bad with trains so I had to ask which platform my train would arrive on, and this meant I was directed to the platform on which stood the Scotland train, as per my ticket. I had been travelling for a couple of hours when I realised I wasn’t going in the direction of Stevenage. I got out the train at Grimsby in despair and stared at the grey scenery. The rain was dreadful. The skies were terrible. What was I to do? 

On the platform next to me stood a nun. As the pouring rain soaked my head, ruining my carefully-fixed mohawk and dissolving the cheap mascara I use to give myself spots on my nose to take people’s attention away from my ugly glasses, I walked up to her. After staring at her for a good minute to make sure she wasn’t a waxwork, I mumbled ‘Sister, I need help. Get me to Stevenage within 3 hours.’ She obliged, and lo, I arrived at Stevenage with time to spare. I said thanks to the nun and ran into the office in which my interview was due to take place.

 Into the room I walked and there stood a nun. ���Sister, how do you do?’ I said, and she said she was fine, and that the other nun I met today was her sister, and she often stands at Grimsby station waiting to take clueless people to Stevenage as apparently it’s a common train mistake that a lot of folk make! Did you ever!

I’ll have to tell you about the interview itself next time, folks. 

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

Update

Gee, am I excited! I've been called in to do an interview for a popular magazine, all about maths! These usually go disastrously, but I have high hopes for this one.

[plainjanejenniferhunt]

Buskers, the fiends

Time you people learnt a bit more about my unfortunate life. Where does a poor maths teacher start?  Let me make one thing clear: I mean no harm to anyone! Yet people always make fun of me, the fiends. These people could be anything from buskers to magazine writers to journalists to the public to buskers to bus drivers to magazine writers to other teachers to buskers. It's as if I've done something terrible to them, and they're paying me back with insults. Why, just the other day I was walking to work and fell over - a few metres away from a strapping young busker. After picking myself up and brushing myself down, I retired to a bench next to where the busker was busking. I noticed that, as people walked by, he threw out compliments to them. For example, during a rendition of Shaggy's 'Oh Carolina', he managed to incorporate these few flattering words about an old woman pulling along a reluctant dog:

"Oh Carolina Doo doo doo This old woman was once young She looked like she had lots of fun I bet she once had a lovely face Pulling her reluctant dog all over the place Mind you - her face is still nice now Bow wow bow wow bow wow wow"

If only one day someone would pay me a compliment like that! But oh no.  The busking gent then changed to a different tune, UB40's massive 'Red Red Wine'. He sang precisely this:

'White white wine Ooh hoo ho ho hoo Look at that woman sitting there She has a messy head of hair She just fell over into a puddle She looks like she's in a right muddle Hurry up darling, you'll be late for work Red red wine..."

What a disaster!