…and rethinks.  Those cupboards are extremely sturdy.  They were built in about 1960, to last.  Neither a crowbar nor a pickaxe made much impression, though I do have girly muscles.  It may be impossible, but I am thinking of a different way round part of the problem.

I went over to the open morning, and happened to arrive, fortuitously (that’s almost tautology, apologies) when the present Deputy Headteacher who will be Acting Head next year, a present Assistant Headteacher who will be Acting Deputy Head next year and the newly-appointed Headteacher from September were all there talking to each other.  Angelo, the Head-to-be, is a really nice man, I like him very much.  And I managed to fit in a constructive conversation that will make Monday morning go a bit easier – there was a risk that I was being misunderstood, but I’ve reassured, I hope.  I’m not difficult and I am straightforward, it’s often better to simply ask if someone’s not sure what I mean.  My mother used to read meanings into things and say, much later, ‘but you really meant…’ when that really wasn’t the case at all, I’d not thought of the sinister meaning she put upon it.

For example, years ago there were neighbours of ours where the wife’s mother lived with them.  Russell told me that the husband said they were never alone, she happily trotted in and they never had any conversation to themselves.  I told my mother this, just as a matter of conversation and meant nothing more by it.  Years – literally, about ten years – later she assured me that I’d meant she wasn’t to drop in uninvited.  I was astonished, it not having occurred to me at all.  She could have laughed (however little humour there was in it) and said ‘I’d better not do that, had I?’ at the time and I’d immediately have apologised for giving that impression – but she did tend to twist things like that and I never saw it coming.  I don’t mean to be tactless.