Je ne regrette rien

Which means, “The guard never surrenders”.

I was the last man standing today. Yesterday, Glen came down with the dreaded lurgi and Row and I took over his classes. Row said she was feeling seedy as well, and this morning I found that I was the sole survivor. Hwær comon colleagues? as the Anglo-Saxon poet said. I’m hoping that one or both of them will be well enough to resume teaching on Monday. If not, we may be looking at Mr Bamboo’s Last Stand, a heroic tale as the unenlightening attempts to teach the unenlightenable. The film version, if it’d been made about fifty years ago, would’ve starred Charlton Heston armed with a high-powered rifle, driving a chariot, and impaling Egyptians with famous lines such as “Eat javelin, Pharaoh bin Laden!” They just don’t make films like that any more.

Since it was a media studies day today, the only arduous aspect of it was repeated viewings of the latest Mummy film. In fact, I read some of the tales from Classic Victorian and Edwardian Ghost Stories, which include The Spectre of Tappington. I don’t know whether the author was paid by the word for his work, but the story rambles on and on until it’s revealed that the trouser thief is the sleep-walking Lieutenant Seaforth who’s been burying them in a grave. It’s a shaggy dog story without the merits of brevity.

Meanwhile, Chengdu seems to be looking about as awful as Glen and Row probably feel. By the time school finished, it’d turned very grey, gloomy and hazy, which contributed to my inclination that it’s time to hibernate.

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