The day before I’d had a cyst the size of an egg removed from up my back passage and was now lying in a hospital bed recovering. I hadn’t been able to vacate my bowels properly for weeks and, as a result, was lying in a bed full of… I’ll spare you the details… so it probably wasn’t the ideal time to ask me if I would go out on a blind date.Continue reading How Embarrassing
Tracey Emin gets up one morning, takes a look at her bed, the sheets all scrunched up and messy, the floor around it littered with all kinds of crap… and she is lauded as being an artistic genius and makes a fortune out of it. Me, I get up in the morning, look at my bed, the top sheet slightly creased from where I turned over in the night, a tissue accidentally falls out of the pocket of my jimjams, lands the floor… and the only reward I get is a b******ing from Mrs T for being slovenly. Where’s the justice in that? Being rewarded for turning out crap.Continue reading Life Isn’t Fair
The Fat Barmaid, a nickname coined by one of my colleagues for our then director of quality and vindictive personal vendettas for the educational institute in which I worked, was out to get me… and a rehearsal for a forthcoming higher education inspection was the perfect place to start.Continue reading The Fat Barmaid
One afternoon I was just dozing off in my cuddle chair when this loud mouthed b*****d woke me up by yelling at the top of his voice “It’s Christmas” before banging on about me hanging up my stocking on the wall. He scared the shit out’f me.Continue reading MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE
My mate, Ken, can be… I’m sorry, there’s no other way of putting it, a liability. On a whim he will suddenly disappear and not return unless accompanied by the police, an irate shopkeeper or some woman belting him around the head with her shoe. I’ve often wondered where Christian Louboutin got the idea for his red soled shoes from, well now I know, it was from some woman staining her shoe with Ken’s blood. Which is why, frankly, I’m worried.Continue reading THE CAMERA CAVALIER
During my years working in education I heard more than my fair share of pathetic excuses for students being late or not turning up for lectures. Like the girl who texted in one morning half an hour after the session started to say “sorry I’m late, but I’m waiting for the dog to have a shit in the garden”. Or another who, only half-dressed and sweating like she’d just run the London marathon (either that or she’d been having shenanigans with her boyfriend for breakfast), burst into the room one day just before lunch and blurted breathlessly, “Sorry I’m late – I thought I was in already”.
LET THERE BE MUSIC
After years of being asked “which was the worst group you ever taught?” Well, here goes.
As we were walking towards reception to meet the External Vilifier, sorry, Verifier, the examiner sent into the college by the awarding body to verify students’ marks near the end of the year, the boss looked at me with ashen face. “What are you going to say to him?” she asked, clearly not wanting to hear the answer in the mistaken belief that what she didn’t know about she couldn’t be blamed for.