Personal Blogs

Will be another bad day for me, I wish that I could bet upon such things.

We had meetings, conditions were agreed upon, assurances were given. Guess what, they were lying. Each, all and severally. By commission and omission.

I've spent the last three days cleaning my school, the promised cleaners have been, as I thought that they might be, imaginary. Tomorrow Danny and I have to clean a building that workies are still working on, tomorrow I will get into a swearing argument with joiners because they feel that fixing the windows, that we never asked to be fixed, is more important than that kids can be taught Tuesday. [They will mention their boss.]

They, the joiners, will assume that elves clean up after them.

The joiners shouldn't be a problem, they've fucked me off so I'll be mouthy, and only the mad would tackle Danny physically. We have all their kit locked away in a somewhere that only we can get to; their rage will be meaningless.

It shouldn't have to be like this. It always is.

Come Tuesday the teachers will trockle back with a particular Anderson in their periscopes, they will be looking for fault, I will be dragged before the powers that are and be judged lacking. For something.

I was trying to explain all this to Danny when we were having our fag break, he felt that we should be thanked for all our work, of which there has been much. Which I thought was rather sweet—he didn't see. I could discover the cure for cancer, I'd still be a nil in the eyes of my workmates. Nothing that I can do matters—it's only what doesn't happen that's important. And I'm never included in what they actually want.

So why do I put up with this? Some people keep newts...I keep teachers. I resist flushing any of them down the toilet.

Mostly.