It’s Sunday… It’s Tuesday…

It’s Sunday and Tuesday.

Finally, this awful week (weeek?) is over. I supposed it could’ve been worse because today might have been Friday. Instead, it was Tuesday, which lasts till period 10 and ends with the pre-IB speaking classes, which have even less point to them than a sphere. (I suppose someone will probably tell me that a sphere has an infinite number of points; since it’s Tuesday or Sunday or something, don’t expect me to be coherent.)

This morning I felt jet-lagged. If I hadn’t made myself put my shoes on, I’d probably still be sitting here saying to myself that I should put my shoes on. (Although you won’t see it, I just repeated myself in that sentence without noticing until I re-read it, which just goes to show that Mr Bamboo’s brain is somewhere beyond out-to-lunch.) I did go so far as to insist on class since the exams are too close for them to be slacking off.

With that in mind, Daniel and I looked at what time we have left before the English exam. Even if there are no exams to interrupt our classes, the answer is “precious little”. Besides, it’s too late in the day for any further improvement. At best the little things such as topic sentences and paragraphing, or the final sentence in Ex. 3 might stick.

And so the week ends. I might have had hopes to do something productive during the May Day Bank Holiday, but I think I’ll probably end up wasting most of it.


Tomorrow is some other day

Normal happens in other countries, Part LXXVII.

In the normal world, tomorrow will be Saturday and the day after will be Sunday – in the normal world.

In 梦国, Monday and Tuesday will be arriving this weekend as the tyrants ruin another holiday weekend and steal time off us.

Because I needed to prepare something for class while I was dealing with speaking exams, last Sunday was a work-at-home day.

I’m seriously knackered (had snooze when I got home after school, and had to give myself a kick to stop doing that and deal with other things) and we still have another two days of fun and games. In addition, another week has passed and I haven’t been able to leave school early as I’d normally be permitted to do on Wednesdays.

“Work, work, not dare to shirk…” as the goblins sang in The Hobbit.

Rust in pieces

You evil woman.

As you might guess, I did not like Margaret Thatcher. In fact, I loathed her and all that she stood for. I didn’t loathe her in the same way the miners did, but rather because just as James I and Charles I believed in the Divine Right of Kings, so Thatcher believed in the Divine Right of Prime Ministers, and Blair after her. That kind of pseudo-religious fervour makes me uncomfortable because it’s blind and unthinking, and it’s expected that the adherents should be just as blind and unthinking. In the same vein, I could never abide the Tories inability to com­pre­hend that not everyone is born with the same opportunities and that hard work is not always rewarded.

There always seemed to be a little too much of “I’m wealthy; my friends are wealthy; how can the rest of society not be as successful as me?”

I also loathed her because of her destructive impact on the universities, which, I suspect, had its roots in Oxford refusing to award her with an honorary degree. One course of the destruction was regarding universities as mere adjuncts to business and industry (up with science; down with humanities); another course of the destruction was allowing polys to award degrees, which effectively increased the number of universities. This might look good on paper, but it devalued degrees. It also seemed to allow the government to play the spoilt university student card. The populace, by and large not so privileged, were not going to foot the bill for so many indolent middle class layabouts.

The whole business almost certainly contributed to my stillborn academic career as the universities were vindictively squeezed while being encouraged to overburden themselves with students.

Eventually, I came to see Thatcher as a dinosaur whose views and attitudes were out of date and belonged to a different age. She seemed to be as out of touch with reality as every other tyrant is. (Oddly enough – if I might be permitted an aside – I tend to see the EU in much the same way: it is an organisation which is a consequence of the aftermath of World War II, but which makes less sense in the modern world.)

I see the funeral is going to cost £10 million and that William Hague is saying the country can afford it. I’m sure it can, William, but there are much better and undoubtedly more urgent things on which to spend that sort of money than some divisive and deranged old woman.

Thursday, Saturday, some day

It’s a day of the week.

It’s Qingming (清明) when the Chinese go and tidy up the tombs of their ancestors unless corrupt developers have sunk the lot beneath a new Party HQ while the locals struggle in grinding poverty. Ah, cynicism in springtime. You just can’t beat it.

I know it’s meant to be Thursday and everyone’s wondering whether this new version of bird flu is going to turn out to be SARS again (though worse), but just to compound that Saturday feeling, I did some washing this morning. It’s going to be Friday on Sunday because (yes) we’re have our free time stolen from us as usual.

Once again, I wish we’d just get the official time off so that we wouldn’t end up with weeks that are six or seven days long after the event; and even before the event is intolerable. But ever doth common sense get lost or forgotten at the back of the imperial cupboard along with humanity.

I also did some marking today, but not a lot. You don’t go “to everywhere”. Pluralise “car” when you’re writing about them as a class of things. Excuse me while I quote directly:

[W]e can driver a car to everywhere which place we can do and car is very faster than the business.

Apparently “Tax is fast” as well. This is seriously painful (and rather extreme even by the appallingly low standard of English prose I have to tolerate) and yet even this level of brainless drivel will often result in a fairly respectable mark. (Actually, not on this occasion.)

It’s also that time of the year when I’m always reminded of how pitifully small this desk is (because I need to be marking here and not while I’m sitting on the bed), which then reminds me that I want to go to Ikea and buy a nice chair, but need to find the bus that goes there. (To Ikea, that is, and not to some chair.)

This is also the time when I move back into the bedroom even although it’s still winter in the morning and spring in the afternoon.

Break a leg

But not in a good way.

Late last night I saw a message from Dan, our new CP, informing us that Lisa had broken her fibula and tibia. I’m not aware of the full details, but it had something to do with a step to a balcony, and I guess that there was an awkward turn or some such which caused her to take a tumble. It’s one of those breaks which is going to involve surgery, metal plates, and screws.

But Lisa isn’t the only local news. At the meeting we had this afternoon, it was announced that Fred is off to become the CP at some IB school in Hangzhou (once it’s been accredited). It means we’ll be getting a new HOD, but since Fred’s been doing CP training, the powers must’ve been aware of this.

All the teachers come and go…