"-But... But.. didn't Phidippides* die?"

*Europe’s “The Final Countdown” plays in the background*

Two more days of teaching to go.
Two.
More.
Days.

*sigh*

Seems like a marathon… And a long marathon at that.

Yesterday a couple of my colleagues went into such a vituperative rant that even I was silenced momentarily (and I can be histrionically vicious with the best of them). The most amusing part was hearing the plans they had for the dismembered head of Managerzilla. Usually they show a tad more professionalism *cough* Well, OK, not much more professionalism, but they are usually more covert. The venting stopped briefly when Managerzilla walked past – but continued as soon as she was barely out of earshot. Oh, happy times… Christmas spirit and all that.

Anyhow. Like I said, two more teaching days.

Most office based folk have no comprehension of the sheer scale of knackerdom teaching at the arse-end of term creates and so I receive scant sympathy from my nearest and dearest (although my lovely sis shares my pain as she has a herd of excitable first year of primary school kiddiwinks under her charge. *shudder*) My students switched off some time last week and those that do still turn up have that loathful look in their eyes, as if to say , “Do we have to?...” or even “Can’t you just die?…” It makes the teaching bit require that little bit more effort and I am sucking the dregs from the bottom of the tank as it is (-which may well bugger my carburettor, should this metaphor be taken to its conclusion…) My response to their apathy has been to warn of impending exams and glower. Veiled threats are traditional, I believe. Ho-ho-ho…

Two more days to go.

*sigh*


(* Phidippides... just in case you weren't sure )