I have problems with holidays of any kind. The longer they are, the worse it is.
Don’t get me wrong- spending Friday night in my lovely house, with my significant other, drinking Southern Comfort and lemonade, while listening, enraptured (cough), as he played stuff I like on the keyboard, was great.
Going out for dinner at our favourite Italian and then moseying on down to one of my preferred public houses to drink more Southern Comfort was charming.
Cooking someone’s special sausage, mash and leeks a la Danielle and then spending Sunday afternoon watching the wonderful Nathan Fillion (Firefly, Serenity) in ‘Slither’ was enthralling. So was the subsequent pub quiz at our local, even if the place does smell of greased up fat people and we lost. Any Shakespeare questions I may or may not have got wrong were irrelevant in light of ‘someone’ being a good 32 years out, as far as their guess for when the Lincoln memorial was erected was concerned.
Monday, likewise, was a festival of delights. I lounged around a lot, avoiding any marking, then made a lasagne and watched an old ‘Sharpe’ I purchased on DVD.
“Let’s get buggers tha’ d’it!” (I spent Sunday evening attempting to do a Yorkshire accent and shouting such things as “ You Sir, what business do you have telling an Officer of the British Army what to do?! Name and rank, you scurvy knave!” “Major Sharpe, Company of the South Essex” “Oh, I see, sorry Sir!”)
No, the problem is that it makes me realise how exquisite not being at school is and, in contrast, how much school is a syphilitic disfigurement on the face of my otherwise delightful life. This may sound a bit excessive and I suppose I am exaggerating but it doesn’t feel that way on a Monday, or in this case, Tuesday morning.
The thing is, I don’t know what else I’m good for. An uncertain future looms in front of me. I have lots of qualifications! Surely someone is willing to employ me to do something relatively easy for a large amount of money and still let me have school holidays off? No? Damn.
Don’t get me wrong- spending Friday night in my lovely house, with my significant other, drinking Southern Comfort and lemonade, while listening, enraptured (cough), as he played stuff I like on the keyboard, was great.
Going out for dinner at our favourite Italian and then moseying on down to one of my preferred public houses to drink more Southern Comfort was charming.
Cooking someone’s special sausage, mash and leeks a la Danielle and then spending Sunday afternoon watching the wonderful Nathan Fillion (Firefly, Serenity) in ‘Slither’ was enthralling. So was the subsequent pub quiz at our local, even if the place does smell of greased up fat people and we lost. Any Shakespeare questions I may or may not have got wrong were irrelevant in light of ‘someone’ being a good 32 years out, as far as their guess for when the Lincoln memorial was erected was concerned.
Monday, likewise, was a festival of delights. I lounged around a lot, avoiding any marking, then made a lasagne and watched an old ‘Sharpe’ I purchased on DVD.
“Let’s get buggers tha’ d’it!” (I spent Sunday evening attempting to do a Yorkshire accent and shouting such things as “ You Sir, what business do you have telling an Officer of the British Army what to do?! Name and rank, you scurvy knave!” “Major Sharpe, Company of the South Essex” “Oh, I see, sorry Sir!”)
No, the problem is that it makes me realise how exquisite not being at school is and, in contrast, how much school is a syphilitic disfigurement on the face of my otherwise delightful life. This may sound a bit excessive and I suppose I am exaggerating but it doesn’t feel that way on a Monday, or in this case, Tuesday morning.
The thing is, I don’t know what else I’m good for. An uncertain future looms in front of me. I have lots of qualifications! Surely someone is willing to employ me to do something relatively easy for a large amount of money and still let me have school holidays off? No? Damn.
posted by Danielle @ 10:53 am
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