It may come as a shock to some of you to discover that I am a T.I.T.
Miss Loveton, stop that sniggering!
Sadly for any men reading my blog, I am not going to write a post on breasts (that may come later…) I am, for want of a better acronym, a ‘teacher in training’.
I mentioned a few weeks ago that my life had just got a whole lot busier and it is my ‘teacher in training’ status that accounts for most of that (neither Chloe the baby nor Barney the puppy are mine, so I don’t have to care for them 24 hours a day). Ever since I received word that I had been selected by my company to become part of their teacher/trainer team, life has whizzed past faster than I might have liked.
From taking delivery of a printer that is almost as big as my flat, to first aid kits and course literature, I am now only able to freely move in approximately one third of the area of my living space. I will soon also have three resuscitation dolls and am currently thinking of names to call them. Any suggestions on a postcard please…
My new role started on April 1st (perhaps not the best day to start if you’re into all of that April Fool’s malarkey) and my first few days were spent relatively close to home. The real fun started on Easter Monday when I had a long drive up north to a place called Peterborough. I arrived in the early evening and checked in expecting to find a tiny little box room, imagine my surprise when I discovered I’d been put in an executive suite!
Gazing around my luxurious quarters, I discovered a beautiful en-suite bathroom, a king-size bed and the mother of all luxuries….a chaise longue!
Placing my travel case on the floor, I had visions of laying on said chaise longue and being hand-fed grapes by an Adonis in nothing but a loin cloth. It was only after I checked out that I realised that you had to pay extra for that little ‘luxury’.
The room I stayed in had more light switches than I knew what to do with and may have accounted for my inability to drop off to sleep initially. It was only after I flicked a dozen or more switches that I managed to turn off the purple glowing light around my headboard. While this would have been great for an impromptu rave in my room or perhaps something a little more amorous, it wasn’t exactly conducive to a good night’s sleep.
The breakfast the next morning was pretty decent too, apart from the male server who kept calling me ‘sweetie’. On the fifth occasion he called me it I almost dumped the rest of my bowl of porridge over his head, which would have ruined his neatly coiffed hair which had been styled to within an inch of its life. NO ONE calls me ‘sweetie’ before I’ve had at least half a gallon of coffee in the morning.
That afternoon I had to drive to Nottingham where I would be staying for the next three nights. Judging by my Sat Nav, it seemed a fairly easy journey that would take no more than an hour. Cue major traffic jams on the motorways, a Sat Nav that clearly didn’t have a clue where it was going and Nikki Minaj performing at the city’s arena. A 60 minute journey took me nearly two and a half hours and by the time I got to the hotel I was badly in need of a stiff drink.
I’ve been fortunate enough to be working alongside an experienced trainer this week who has somewhat taken me under his wing. We spent two very enjoyable and slightly raucous evenings in the hotel’s bar and restaurant giggling like a pair of schoolchildren. My colleague is from the North, while I am a southerner which meant that we had a few mis-communications throughout the week and some very humorous stories to tell. Perhaps the hotel staff will best remember us for our ‘said the nun to the vicar’ response to every statement anyone made. I convinced my colleague that adding the statement to the end of any sentence is guaranteed to make it sound ruder than it actually is. For example:
“Can you butter my toast….said the nun to the vicar.”
“I’ll park my car in your driveway…said the nun to the vicar.”
“Does that come with cream…said the nun to the vicar.”
I’m sure you get the drift.
I had traveled to Nottingham with the intention of watching a master at work (i.e. my colleague) but he ended up throwing me to the wolves and asking me to deliver part of a course that I hadn’t even seen. The next day he made me present 85% of a course that I’d only ever seen delivered once. Talk about throwing me in at the deep end!
You’ll be delighted to know that both training sessions went pretty well and I didn’t die on my ass when confronted with a room full of people all looking to me to teach them something. Once I got over the initial nerves, I actually found that I enjoyed myself and only tripped over my words a couple of times. I think I did OK, taking everything in to consideration.
I drove back home on the Friday morning, only slightly disappointed that I didn’t see Robin Hood or any of his band of merry men. I made pretty good time considering that I had to drive nearly 200 miles. The whole week was exhausting but also extremely enjoyable and I now even have a couple of real-life training sessions under my belt. This week I am in Luton with another teacher/trainer and so I’m getting used to living out of a suitcase, the plus side being that I don’t have to make my bed or cook any of my own meals while I’m away.
It’s hard work being a T.I.T but there are also a lot of perks, so maybe being one isn’t such a bad thing after all….