A full day in school and a union meeting after numbed me sufficiently that the writing of my blog yesterday was lost in a mist of tiredness.
The whole of our being as an institution has been taken over by the immanence of a four day holiday incorporating May Day. May Day is taken seriously here and signs have already gone up on electronic gantries informing lorries that they must stay off the motorways on May Day. One colleague informed me that her furniture was supposed to be delivered on the May Day holiday. The lorry was stopped by the police and he had to pull over and park up for the day. Her furniture was not delivered in spite of the fact that it was tantalizingly near!
All I ask is that there be sunshine. (And that construction confused the hell out of a student in class today. Word doesn’t like it either, but what the hell does a mere machine program know about language!)
Perhaps what also sapped the writing strength out of me was emerging yesterday afternoon and finding that someone had smashed into the back of my parked car. Well, not exactly the back but the driver’s side rear bumper under the light. A cursory glance revealed that the small amount of damage was actually connected to a massive chunk of the car. And my insurance is not comprehensive – in spite of the fact that I thought it was. It’s always when there is an accident that you suddenly find out just how much you are covered.
The sad thing is that the probability is that the damage was caused by the car of a parent and as they are not short of a bob or two then I probably had the equivalent of a domestic tank hit the car. It says something about the essential duplicity of the parents of our school that no note was left so I am going to have a substantial bill to pay. God rot them to the everlasting pits of a particularly fiery hell. Please!
I cannot rely on my writing to be the enjoyable displacement activity which is so often the balm of a full day as I have to write examination questions for consideration in a meeting tomorrow. This piece of work has crept up on me, but the horror is mitigated by the fact that the sort of questions I have to produce are types that I quite enjoy writing is a ‘sad-sod’ sort of way!
And dinner to cook, so that kitchen activity will have to fill the place of the writing.
Never a dull unfilled moment.