Are all you lot on holiday, basking on some foreign beach turning golden brown and refreshing your jaundiced view of the world? Are you all chatting merrily away to friends and family, not having to watch what you say or explain why you said, “Where to?” rather than “To where?” Are you partying and sleeping in and blissfully ignoring any lingering thoughts of spiky profiles, telephone English and rising intonation?
Damn. I’m still here packing a 12 hour day; juggling timetables, teachers, bespoke programmes and requests for additional private lessons the desire for which I completely understand, but the efficacy of which I know instinctively will be minimal, if not nothing at all. Today I have video-ed and judged three presentations; transferred the videos to the computer for feedback and analysis, uploaded them to Dropbox, together with a lot of other materials; tried to set people up on the computers to do online feedback on a website that appears to be broken; booked taxis and theatre tickets, hotels and restaurants – changes to these are inevitable before I can go home; tried to print timetables for next week but the printer rejects my code and the only person who can help is 300 miles away; tried to get teachers in for two weeks time, but, guess what? They’re all on bally holiday (“Well, we’ve got to take our hoilday some time.” Yeah right, fine, go on your lovely well-earned holiday.)
What am I doing? Is this a result of terminal guilt bred into me by a Scottish Presbyterian mother and a five year stint at a convent? Is it a reflection of the joint effects of my neediness and my sad life? Is it a desperate attempt to appear efficient and knowledgeable and display my “can-do” attitude?
I fear it may be all of the above…