"Buona vacanza, maestra"

So, another school holiday, another stonking great cold. All through term time no matter how many noses running with luminous green toxic-looking stuff I wipe, no matter how many times during lunch hour some kid sneezes directly into my plate of pasta, I resist. As soon as I wave the kids off for the hols I'm snuffling like a pig and losing my voice.

Yesterday was the last day of school and most of the children will now be setting off on their 'settimana bianca', a skiing week up in the North of Italy. The mums turned up to collect the children already dresssed for the holidays, with furs and buoncy blow-drys, trilling 'buona vacanza maestra' as they waltzed out the door. The nannies, on the other hand looked glum and didn't wish anyone a happy holiday, grimly anticipating the week of hard work ahead.

I told my boyfriend on the phone last night that I couldn't see him becasue I'd got a bad cold and didn't fancy going out. This morning on his way to meet a friend he turns up at my house with a worried expression clutching orange juice and chocolate. Ah, gotta love the Italian hypochondria. "It's only a cold, I'm not bedridden!" I told him (but obviously took the goodies anyway). Oh, and the other thing he brought round? Antibiotics. Prescribed to him. He made me promise I'd take them. Think I might do what my cheeky grandma used to do and chuck them down the toilet.