I am tired of parents who change the spelling of traditional names or combine two or three parts of various names to make an “original” and even more tired of students who roll their eyes and act as though you are so stupid because you mispronounce their name due to the fact that their parents couldn’t spell it correctly to start with! (Remember Monty Python’s Raymond Luxury-Yacht (pronounced Throatwobbler Mangrove?)
I realise that trying to get a group of teachers to agree on anything is harder than herding cats. There is always someone complaining about something, which always means yet another meeting, to disagree again. If only we would disagree on holding another meeting!
It’s Saturday night, the rain is pouring down outside, and I am lying on my bed. My idea of a perfect night. Mr FD is downstairs watching football on TV, so it is even more perfect!
We had to go back to the ballot boxes this weekend to vote for Mayor and city councillors. The way Federal politics is going we may have an early election this year also. I am so over Australian politics with its sniping, back stabbing and negativity that I really could move far, far away. The fact that it was raining made it even less palatable. If only they realised that I am the answer to all the world’s problems. I have the answer for everything, just let me get on with the job.
The school is holding an Open Day tomorrow (Sunday) to market to prospective students and their parents. The library, being the gem in the crown, is central to all activities, so we had to make the place shine. I found a number of articles, such as old photographs and early uniforms which I used to create a display. I have to admit that I did advertise that I was open to bribes from teachers so that they could avoid embarrassment due to unflattering photos. Not only as staff, but many of the teachers are former students, so there are more than a few of them in school uniform. Oh what fun!
Speaking of bribes, I am seriously considering introducing a tribute system. I am worth it, after all. Additionally, for a large number of gold coins I shall drive past a pleb’s (your) house, toot the car horn and wave, so that the neighbours think the pleb (you) are almost important. For even more gold coins and a few of those polymer notes I will even slow down and call out “Oh hello!” before planting my foot and accelerating away before pleb germs settle on my vehicle (I can’t risk becoming ordinary). I know it will be the highlight of your little existence, not to mention my rightful due. Stay tuned for advertised dues, rates and services; it is the least I can do for the little people.
Thinking about my Mum last night led me to consuming a box of cheezels and half a block of turkish dellight chocolate. I love cheezels, but my tongue always feels as though it has been chemically burnt after I eat any, well usually it is the whole box. Not that it stops me from eating them, I just look upon it more as a scientific experiment now than comfort eating.
Have you noticed that now days, when someone says they painted a room, and you ask “oh what colour?” that they answer “scarecrow”, “misty wind” or “scallywag”. What the hell description is that? What happened to the good old days when we just had red, green, pink, blue, yellow? Same with clothing, a pair of black trousers can be anything from “midnight” to “burnt wood”. Why can’t we just call it as we see it?
Our bookclub is reading The Great Gatsby. Can anyone tell me why it is a classic? A group of shallow, self indulgent unhappy rich people, who pretend it is a classless society when it so definitely is. It is such a chore to read and as hard as I try, I can not see the genius in it. To make it worse I am the one who suggested it for this month, and now I have to admit that I am fallible. Just as some bad teachers mark according to a student’s reputation, I think Fitzgerald got a get out of the reject pile free card on the Great Gatsby. This month’s meeting shall need cocktails to start and finish!
We have decided to sell our house, which means that I have to actually unpack the boxes in the garage that have remained unpacked since our move to this house in 2002. We think we know what is in them, but obviously we don’t know anymore, and even more obviously we don’t appear to need it, so logically we need to get rid of it. However, that means we really should go through it just to make sure we haven’t left some piece of family treasure in one of the boxes (yeah like that is a real possibility!) but one really has to do it, because wouldn’t I be really angry if I saw someone selling a rejected macaroni necklace one of our children made in kindergarten on ebay for a fortune and setting a new fashion trend that makes them the fourth richest person in the world? Slothfulness always comes back to bite you, eventually.
I need to move on to more important things, like finishing the remaining turkish delight chocolate. Amuse yourself with the mistaken belief I care about you.