During the 7 or so months when I was rather pre-occupied with trivia, I was unable to blog.
It wasn't the fact that I had very little spare time, although that was partly true. It was the fact that my creative juices had been completely sucked out of me by the endless waves of crap produced by both students and staff at Nuova Lazio High School.
|An extra large wave of crap|
I was dry inside.
I was as dry as a mummified desert rat after having been run over by a Grant tank in 1942 and left exposed to the elements under the searing African sun for 70 years.
I was as dry as the inside of a Mr Kipling's Bakewell Tart bought from the back shelves of Barnsley Cooperative Store.
I was almost as dry as a gloom of teachers suffering the endless waves of boredom during a Professional Learning session on a Wednesday morning at NLHS, which is about as dry as it gets. Think dehydrated water at 1000ºC.
I ignored the plaintive pleas from all and sundry, the begging emails, the offers of bribes (of a vague but slightly disquieting nature), all entreating me to continue blogging to keep a little ray of sunshine in their lives of quiet desperation and depression.
|No Richard, no more posts.|
I hardened my heart to their beseeching cries, but I had a problem.
If I wasn't going to be spending my time on reading others blogs, writing and answering comments, then what was I going to do with my few seconds of spare time?
I thought of imbibing whisky during my working day. Now normally imbibing whisky is a good thing.
|My heartache is not like this|
It numbs the heartache produced when I have to send a student home for not wearing a tie. It makes it so much easier to stand a little scrote down for 2 days for smoking a fag in the toilets. It makes bearable the anguish produced when I had to tell a particularly obnoxious proto-Neanderthal that because he pushed a teacher out of his way we were NOT letting him return to school.
|Now that's more like it|
I rejoiced inwardly every time.
I did celebrate such victories over the unwashed with a small libation of uisge beatha, but drinking the stuff during school hours is frowned upon. I don't mind the frowns, but if any of the milling thugs that we (attempt to) teach discovered that I kept any of the precious fluid in my office, then it would almost certainly mysteriously disappear.
|Where's my bloody bottle gone?|
So, what to do.
The I discovered ARRSE.
During an investigation (more, much, much more later) I had to delve into the murky depths of the British Army archives, and I discovered a rare and treasured beauty. The British ARmy Rumour SErvice.
This is a web-based forum dedicated to all aspects of British Military life. There are many serious discussion areas discussing pay, entering civilian life after the stupid bloody government's defence cuts, weapon performance etc, but then there is The Badger's ARRSE.
This is used for less serious discussions/arguments/ fights, and is not really a very nice place to visit.
And then, inside The Badger's ARRSE we have the NAAFI bar, where things get even more raucous.
To the uninitiated, the NAAFI was/is the canteen used by the soldiery for their primitive recreation. Supplying cheap beer, cheap food, and even (so it has been rumoured ) cheap women.
Then there is Now That's What I Call NAAFI Bar. This is the most Politically Incorrect area on the planet. Persons of a fragile disposition should not enter. Women are allowed, but only if they accept that about 50% of the discussion is about sex of a particularly unsavoury nature. It is the veritable core of the scum of the earth enlisted for drink.
Then there is the Arrsehole.
I had found my home.
I'm not joking. This area will probably end up being banned by the wishy-washy liberals that seem to be taking over the world with their strange ideas that everybody is nice. Sorry pinky-pukes, they're not. There are many, many bastards out there. However. DO NOT enter this area unless you are prepared. Or even better, go and have a nice cup of camomile tea.
If you still want to read about life in HM forces, click here.