Because I seem to be developing a fetish for lists (Not useful lists you must understand, these won't aid any planning of chapters, shopping, getting things done around the house or naming victims. I enjoy pointless lists, abstract lists and obviously untrue lists.
Work I have done today:
Finally finished my marking,
Degunked the gutters,
Taught a child to read,
Solve world hunger - with chips and mayo.) I have a list for you.
Childhood Dreams Achieved:
1. Be a published writer - and yes, this is a childhood dream. Since Primary school actually. I'm a slow worker... and yes I know I'm not actually published yet but tough. I'm claiming it.
2. Play football at St James' Park - actually I'm not playing at St James' - I'm playing at The Arnott Stadium in Durham. And I haven't done it yet. I'm doing it tonight. Playing at Left Back (and no, not 'left back in the changing room'. Nasty pasties...) against the school Sixth Form. It's the grudge match. The decider. A must win...
So I'm muchos excited, about geet loads of stuff. I got an invite to Roz's book launch from the lady herself, which made feel loved and bizarrely has set off a very girlie (sorry) worry about what to wear to meet real authors - including, of course, my Most Wise and Trusted Mentor who will be there. Very exciting. Can't wait. Free bar?
But I've just realised something...
Childhood Dreams Achieved as of right now, at this precise moment:
0 - technically.
Damn. - Could owning a Disco Kettle be a childhood dream? I didn't want one back then, but only because I didn't know such a thing as magical could ever exist in the real world. Could I count it anyway?
Moments of Victory # 1
Bare with me as this will take a little bit of explaining...
Once upon a time there was a union named Unison. Unison was very popular with all the other unions and used to have parties and tea and cake and jelly and stay up late talking about boys etc etc.
One day though Unison woke up, padded down the stairs, yawned it's little morning yawn, tiny little fist in it's mouth, little eyes scrunched shut and looked out of the window.
All Unison's little friends had nicer cars, and looked well fed and didn't do half as much work as little Unison did.
So it went on strike. For two whole days.
Meanwhile in a school somewhere outside of Gotham:
Well ok, so they have two days off. The support staff are on strike, nothing we can do about that. Can we get the teaching staff in anyway? No? Balls! I know, we'll make them fill in a form stating how much work they will be doing instead. Then I will make an announcement saying that if teaching staff are caught out in public, not working, then I will chop off their heads. Mwahahhahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa.
(Deputy and Assistant Heads cheer)
Right. So now you know the back story. I'm not allowed out. I'm marking and working on a presentation I haven't given yet - and probably never will - I am certainly not sat in the Theatre coffee shop reading a book with my feet up on the opposite chair...
Our eyes meet across the crowded room. For a moment I don't know what to do. My brain just stops. Hot porcelain blisters my lip, coffee melts my teeth. She looks at me and I look at her. I swallow and nod my head toward her very slightly. She nods her Assistant Head back. She smiles and so do I.
She sneers and my eyes widen.
She stares at me and I stare at her and she glances to my coffee and flicks a gaze at my book and my dirty shoes on the clean chair opposite me. I stare at her and work quickly through my list of Emergency Excuses. I stare at the sneer and at the sharpened teeth and the trickle of blood which oozes from between tight lips. I stare at her shopping bags, clothes and books and household paraphernalia. So does she.
Ah, shopping when you should be working - no worse that reading when you should be working surely?
I smile again. Raise my coffee to my lips and my eyebrows to the ceiling and sip happily at my coffee. She goes. Flushing red and grinding teeth.
I will of course suffer for this in some horrible way I'm sure. But not today. Today I will enjoy Moment of Victory # 1
Why I wrote Disraeli Avenue for charity - The houses on Disraeli Avenue all looked the same, the same shape, the same size but behind each coloured front door there was a story, a secret, a need....
3 years ago