Mar 21st

Good friday, though for the life of me I can't imagine how it ever got such a name. At least we are not in Ireland. I remember the shock and dismay when I found myself there a few years back to discover every pub shut on a Friday night. Even if you are a Jesus lovin christian it's hard to see how you'd view the day as a success. What the hell is Easter doing at this time of year anyway. I wish they'd just leave things alone. Come to think of it. when did the budget change back to March. For years and years it was there, then all of a sudden it moved to November. Now it's back where it should e and I have only just noticed the changed. The likely onset of Alzheimer's
can only be hastened by such messing around with my mind.
Winds battered at the windows all night and they showed no signs of relenting as I bit the M40.Magnificent blue skies and pale yellow sunshine were the order of the morning, but woe betide I step from the car. The gale tears through my clothing, ignores the skin and heads straight for the bone.

S is remarkably chipper, having had a rare early night. I see the inside of the house, and it is in the true tradition of an all male student "bordelle".

another good morning with S. It really is gratifying. On Monday he'd never turned a wheel in a car. Today we are hareing alond the dual carriageways at 70mph.

Next up it is so different. I have been teaching S for nearly a year now (I didn't want to mention that to him, but he brought it up) and frankly he is not at the level of his Ocfordian initialsake, who has been driving for some 5 days and 23 hours. A shame, as he is a really nice chap. To be honest i am not sure he'll ever be ready to take a test with confidence. I suspect he'll take three or four of them until he just about learns what to do to scrape through on one of them. But it could just as easily be five or six, and I can say with some confidence that even when he finally passes, I won't be waiting for him in the test centre with any raised degree of expectation.
Friday night follows the usual tedious routine. Wouldn't it be great to be 20 and go out, excited at what lay ahead. That glow as the alcohol starts to take control of the brain, moving from pub to pub (usually driving and usually pissed) and bumping into new acquaintances, expected and unexpected at each one. The faint hope of sexual intrigue refusing to die entirely, despite experience suggesting everything to the contrary. Throwing up, trying to avoid being beaten up, illicit drugs, scary drives home convinced the police are behind.
But what now? A single pint, alone in the dismal Wetherspoons joint, surrounded by oafish louts ane trollops teetering around on heels without any inkling of how to do so with the arrogance and aplomb which might make them so appealing. The bar staff seemed to have been through a charm class at Auschwitz, this being their break from a hard week at the Bucks "New Uni", loafing around between irregular lectures on meeja studies, or something still more arcane and less useful. A module on relative horseradish perhaps.
Again I play fast and loose with my wife the Curry Centre and dally with my Mistress the Bombay Nights.I know I'll always go back to the wife, but the Mistress knows how to get to me, the Bombay Duck the equivalent of seamed stockings and steel heelled stilletos. Mmmmmmm!!!