On the good side, the inhabitants of Maggot City are obviously in the process of re-strategizing and haven’t sent any more special envoys into the battlefield that is my pantry.
Perhaps they haven’t noticed that I killed a core member of their flying squad yet?
Their timing is uncharacteristically considerate because…
On the bad side, it is Kurt’s parents evening tonight and it is looming over me like a huge black and menacing shadow.
The early signs are not looking good and I have to go it alone as the old man is busy washing his hair.
Should I be worried about the letter that was sent home yesterday with a warning about lack of commitment from the Board of Studies?
I know that Kurt is trying (and you can interpret that either way) but it’s probably five years too late. Having said that, our little session of reading his Y11 English text (A Beautiful Life) together last night turned out to be quite entertaining. I think he now realises that it does actually help if you read the text before you write an essay on the subject.
It turns out that I have a hidden talent for Iranian accents too, although Kurt said I sounded like a Russian from James Bond.
But I did manage to ask him seriously last night where, on a scale of one to ten, (‘one’ being dismal and ‘ten’ being the sort of parents evening you would expect from an average student), he imagined his would sit.
He didn’t have a straight answer.
Apparently, some teachers are more tolerant of talking, shouting out and surfing Facebook than others.
I’ve got three bottles in the fridge and the drip set up.