So the week was more than usually testing and for a number of utterly unrelated reasons. Exchanging one kind of trauma (family) for another (Ofsted) is par for the course with me and mine, but the comic elements do not usually make themselves so obvious, or so it seems.

This week started with all marking to be completed, all lesson plans completed, (in triplicate) and everything tidy by Wednesday - when you have more than 200 students, this is no mean task. But it was done - within reason and on Wednesday morning I arrived (somewhat bedraggled and very cold) on the dot of 7.45 am wearing a very endearing bucket style hat which had somehow slipped down over my eyes, so that I looked a lot like a flowerpot man, my not too clean waterproof coat, and a bag of marked folders in each hand as well as my bag on my back. Elegant is nowhere near what I was, and of course my arrival coincided perfectly with the arrival of the Ofsted inspector being greeted by our perfectly coiffed and beautiful head teacher and her immaculately suited deputy. There being nowhere to hide, and unable to drag by key fob from the depth of my third bag, I could only wait until the party made their way through the security door with me in their wake. At least, I reasoned, they would never be able to recognise me once I had removed the outer gear.

And that proved to be the case - after four days of marking and preparing and a day of delivering truly outstanding and innovate lessons in which children were unusually engaged and learned a lot - I wasn't observed. Now, if you've been in this situation, you will know the mixture of relief and disappointment I felt; it's only possible to give a shrug and look to the second day of the torture.

Which is when the weather stepped in with a vengeance. Like many parts of our county we were already blanketed with the white stuff which had fallen on Tuesday but Thursday was something different - deep, deep snow lying like icing on the road and relentlessly driving and swirling from the leaden sky. Snowploughs made little impact, we could not drive up the steep bank into the town and geography made it impossible to leave. Imagine a ring mould - the type used for making fancy rice dishes for buffets, or jelly circles for children's parties; now you see the problem - you either live on the top of the circle (great views over Weardale), in the bowl (no phone reception, protection from the weather) or, like us, on one of the sides (in our case facing outwards). Whereever you are there is no avoiding a steep hill either to leave the town or to return. With two rivers wound around the town when snow comes we are trapped.

Eventually a snow day was called - I sat in exhaustion in front of the tele watching all sorts of nonsense - and woke the next day refreshed to find that the inspection team had left and we were deemed satisfactory.

All in all a somewhat sudden end to the drama - just what will next week bring?