I have now checked through yet another examination and it is ready to be printed. The answers have been written out for the examiners and I am waiting for the next batch of scripts to come my way.
Of course, in the perverse way in which these things happen I have a non-contact period and no scripts to mark. When my non-contact period has expired then two more examinations will take place but I will have no more “free” time in our absurdly long day and there is the Barça game this evening. As usual everything is going to be packed into too little time.
Our campaign against The School That Sacked Me seems to have faltered yet again and the collection of evidence from various sources which was going to be the basis of a newspaper article has now faded away. I await more information to see why something which seems such an obvious next step has been abandoned. It is at times like these that one can understand why an institution so unfit for purpose that it is almost comical has managed to survive for so long. Initiatives seem to sink into the sand and disappear with monotonous regularity. One has to remember Steve’s injunction to keep going on because one day, no matter how repetitive the actions taken against the school may be, one day, for no apparent reason, suddenly effective and The Thing That Brings Her Down. By such self-deluding, but persuasive arguments do we keep our collective sanity! Or not!
A colleague shared with us the fact that her husband tossed and turned throughout the night and when he finally woke from his troubled sleep he told her that he had had two nightmares and in both Barça had lost! She, being English, had comforted him by saying, “That is because you are Catalan, my love!” She explained that Catalans are only truly happy when they are wallowing in poignant misery flavoured with a distinct dash of injustice!
I have now taken the unprecedented step of purchasing a weekly ticket for the ONCE as a realistic step in my well argued financial planning strategy. This “cupon” gives me daily chances to win the lottery with the same number for each day. On the ordinary tickets there are special numbers at the start or end (or sometimes both) of your full number where, if you get the number, you get your money back. I am not quite sure how this works with mine and I may have to do some heavy duty reading of the small print on the back before I find out exactly how to play. This is going to be a one-off experiment unless I get my money back at least!
Tomorrow my school day is going to start at eight-fifteen in the morning and end at something like nine-thirty at night. This is going to be a day of considerable horror as, from 4.45pm to 7.00pm there is going to have to be some fairly frantic marking done if the fantasy deadlines self-imposed by our masochistic school are to be realized!
I have to say that the weekend has never looked so inviting!
Of course, in the perverse way in which these things happen I have a non-contact period and no scripts to mark. When my non-contact period has expired then two more examinations will take place but I will have no more “free” time in our absurdly long day and there is the Barça game this evening. As usual everything is going to be packed into too little time.
Our campaign against The School That Sacked Me seems to have faltered yet again and the collection of evidence from various sources which was going to be the basis of a newspaper article has now faded away. I await more information to see why something which seems such an obvious next step has been abandoned. It is at times like these that one can understand why an institution so unfit for purpose that it is almost comical has managed to survive for so long. Initiatives seem to sink into the sand and disappear with monotonous regularity. One has to remember Steve’s injunction to keep going on because one day, no matter how repetitive the actions taken against the school may be, one day, for no apparent reason, suddenly effective and The Thing That Brings Her Down. By such self-deluding, but persuasive arguments do we keep our collective sanity! Or not!
A colleague shared with us the fact that her husband tossed and turned throughout the night and when he finally woke from his troubled sleep he told her that he had had two nightmares and in both Barça had lost! She, being English, had comforted him by saying, “That is because you are Catalan, my love!” She explained that Catalans are only truly happy when they are wallowing in poignant misery flavoured with a distinct dash of injustice!
I have now taken the unprecedented step of purchasing a weekly ticket for the ONCE as a realistic step in my well argued financial planning strategy. This “cupon” gives me daily chances to win the lottery with the same number for each day. On the ordinary tickets there are special numbers at the start or end (or sometimes both) of your full number where, if you get the number, you get your money back. I am not quite sure how this works with mine and I may have to do some heavy duty reading of the small print on the back before I find out exactly how to play. This is going to be a one-off experiment unless I get my money back at least!
Tomorrow my school day is going to start at eight-fifteen in the morning and end at something like nine-thirty at night. This is going to be a day of considerable horror as, from 4.45pm to 7.00pm there is going to have to be some fairly frantic marking done if the fantasy deadlines self-imposed by our masochistic school are to be realized!
I have to say that the weekend has never looked so inviting!
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