Jeremy Dennis is Jeremy Day (cleanskies) wrote,
Jeremy Dennis is Jeremy Day
cleanskies

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it's that time of the (academic) year again

This morning, on the way into work, the bus went past a girl wearing a dogtooth tweed ra-ra skirt over chocolate brown baggy cargoes. An unusual combination, but on her it really worked.

This morning, at work, I received my first badly-spelled request for information from someone doing research. "I would loike to ask you a few questions regarding your web site and hope that you do not find them to inconvenent." The temptation to send her back the link to the Basic Skills page is overwelming. Apparently she is "doing some research into webs that cater for Teenagers and the sorts of information that they posess which both attracts and intrests youthto them". Oh, goodie.

This morning (earlier) my alarm clock failed to go off, but I couldn't really hold it against it as I was having a long and involved dream about going skinny-dipping with Madonna. It was (as you might expect) all Madonna's idea. She was with this Guy (Ritchie? No idea what he looks like) and I happened to be down on the beach and it was a lovely night. Moon on the water and all that. Where other people have flying dreams, I have swimming dreams. I don't swim too well in real life, but in dreams it's the most astonishing and wonderful thing. So were Madonna's breasts, but I digress.

Anyway, I eventually hauled myself back to the school grounds, only to find that my shed (I'd decided I didn't like the dorms and had set myself up in a shed inside a disused building of some sort some time ago) had been lifted up and moved somewhere as part of the end of term shenanigans. I then proceeded to work my way round the school, chatting to various people (pupils, teachers) about what might have happened and where my shed might be. Some of the pupils either knew or pretended they did, but I didn't press them on the issue, preferring to make my own investigations; the teachers made it clear that they'd never liked the shed idea anyway, and something like this was bound to happen, and to them I spent most of my time justifying the shed.

As I worked my way round the school grounds it became clear that it had been a night of major chaos and misbehaving, worse even than the time the sailing team erected the school boat in the dining hall, worse than the time they carried a Mini through the front doors, up the stairs and left it parked in the wide corridoor outside the headmaster's office. There were greenhouses on their sides in pathways, outhouses had been rearranged into unworkable patterns, and garden equipment had been left in long trails through the halls. There were drifts of leaves and open doors everywhere, but no sign of my shed.

It came to me that in all probability they had chucked it into the sea while I was off skinny-dipping with Madonna, although I was oddly unconcerned by this, as if it were pretty much what should be expected. I wondered if it would wash up on the beach later, and if so, what the sea would have made of all my things.

I should probably figure out what's wrong with my alarm clock before tomorrow.
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