Luckily my Beloved didn't spot my previous blog on her addiction (almost female universal) to shoes of many colours, so I can enjoy the beautiful New Zealand Spring.
The teachers are almost frisky, going to their assigned classes with hardly a grimace of pain or horror.
The pupils are enjoying the full flower of springtime hormonal excess, with cuddling couples and coupling crowds everywhere.
It really puts me off my Horlicks and Digestives,
We have only 7 more days to go before the release of the Spring break, and I for one am really looking forward to days of completely bugger all.
- No lessons.
- No students.
- No Ringo
- AND ABSOLUTELY NO BLOODY RELIEF.
It's not that I object to my poorly remunerated task, or not-so-sick colleagues putting on I'm really sick voices (quite a laugh really. I wonder if they know I record each and every one. My compilation audio blog at the year end should be an absolute cracker.) it's just that I'm getting tired of:
- Being awoken at 4:30am by a text message detailing symptoms and a provisional diagnosis.
- Getting the late call at 8:55 saying they've suddenly developed dysentery and probably The Black Death in the last 10 minutes.
- Not getting any bloody call at all, but them not turning up.
- Getting the message that they're sick, arranging a relief teacher and then they actually turn up for work
- All of the above, but NOT sending in anything for their classes to do. (Quite honestly, a lesson plan of "SIT AND WATCH THE F*CKING
VIDEODVD OF SCHINDLERS BLOODY LIST " is not what I would call a lesson plan. Neither is "Here's 20 pages of word searches based on my subject", or even "Colour in the map of the world. When they've finished they can start on the book of individual countries" Come on.
|If you look like this, you can have ½ day off|
I'm looking forward to the plaintive cry of the Tui, the sweet twitter of the Parakeets as they skitter down our gully, the demented groans of the English, Irish, Australian, South African and English teams as the Mighty All Blacks whip their collective backsides to quivering jelly. (I know I mentioned the English twice. I just want them to suffer. Much)
Until then, I can sit quietly on our deck,
Or my neighbour, who always give me a wave when I'm walking our little shit machine (The dog, not m'son)