Wobbles and Bubble Wrap

Tomorrow is our third day in school. At. 9.am. I. Am. Teaching.
The. Whole. Class.
Maths.
On. My. Own.

There's been a dreadful mistake.
I got on the wrong bus;
No, NO, No, you don't understand, I'm here to clean the windows;
I'm here to do a complicated social science experiment, the University sent me;
No, you've got it all wrong, I couldn't possibly teach, I'll be far too busy, I'm doing an audit of how many millilitres of green ink there is in the average UK primary school classroom.

Holy, sweet, chocolate covered spatulas. It sunk in about 2 hours ago - all in all, it's not been a great evening for sinking. After reading "Handbook" number 5 million, and realising the true scale of the impending mountain we have to overcome before Christmas, I totally flipped and found myself jumping up and down on sheets of bubble wrap. That didn't help much so then I sat my housemate down and forced him to endure a picture book. ("Can you see the magic fairy dust, Peter? Good Boy, Well Done.") That helped a bit, (and I also think there's a good chance Peter won't even be psychologically scarred) but I thought maybe pouring out my inner wobble onto the web would work best.

Thus:

wobble WOBBLE wOBBle

WOBBLE wOBble WobbLE

WOBBLE WoBblE

Wobble WOBblE WoBBlE WoBBLe

Wobble WObbLe WoBBLE

I'm a bit worried about my partner, because at least I've had this evening to wobble. It was her wedding anniversary this evening, so she hasn't had chance to look over all the stuff yet (apparantly the Partnership in Education Handbook and Romantic Evening In With Husband don't go well together, I can't imagine why); I'll have to summarize it for her at twenty to nine. I think I'd better take some bubble-wrap to school.