A life in the year of Emily Shark
i wish I was the Easter Bunny. She’s only got one deadline and one thing to do. And it’s pretty simple. Bounce, bounce, here’s an egg, yum, yum, the end. No mad end-of-term clash of competing deadlines in a school about to explode - and if you don’t get everything done, then you’re going up in smoke with it.
This term I have to take all my wall displays down, too. The droopy fairies of last summer and the dusty ghosts of Hallowe’en. Why? Apparently, my displays look “tired”. Of course they do. They’ve been pawed and slobbered on for months, mostly by alien Year 9s on breaktime invasions. Humph. Well, I’m not binning these fairies. They can be re-glittered for Christmas.
“Emily? Er - sorry, I just wondered.”
“Oh, hello, Jon!” Mr Gorgeous. Speak on, dark lord of impure thoughts.
“Are you coming round to the Horse and Hounds?”
I would brave all beasts merely to watch you dance.
“Yes. Just a few more things to finish off and I’ll join you.”
“Great. Well, I’m taking Melinda in my car, and Marian’ll meet us there. So come when you can, OK?”
Melinda’s going in his car? Marian’s coming, of course? Shark, move! The fairies go in the cupboard, everything else gets binned or ignored until next term. Wait - what the hell is this? “Please let your head of year have your detention slips and merit certificates (orange and yellow separately!) by the end of term. Thanks.”
Thanks my arse! Yet another thing the Easter Bunny escapes. Not only having to do everything but also to file bits of paper that say you’ve done everything. She doesn’t have to worry about making sure she leaves her bureaucratic paw-prints all over the budding spring. But I would object to the uniform pastel niceness expected of the Easter Bunny. She has to give every malicious little git a chocolate egg, even those who have spent the whole year stamping on her paws, twisting her ears and calling her fat. At least I get to discriminate between the ones who’ve been fluffy and those who haven’t. Having to write it all down and file it is a bore, but it’s better than having to bounce about being thanklessly sweet.
So, let’s see. I gave 22 detentions and they’ve all been and gone, so those detention slips are shopping lists by now. Tough. Merit certificates? I gave 13, and they were all orange, so there! If anybody squeaks for them next term, I’ll call the parents myself and make their day. Bye-bye, desky - see you next term. Now, let’s go and get drunk with that sexy Italian teacher before the other cats get him. I am sooo glad I’m not the Easter Bunny. Poor cow.
More from Emily in a fortnight
A life in the year of Emily Shark
i wish I was the Easter Bunny. She’s only got one deadline and one thing to do. And it’s pretty simple. Bounce, bounce, here’s an egg, yum, yum, the end. No mad end-of-term clash of competing deadlines in a school about to explode - and if you don’t get everything done, then you’re going up in smoke with it.
This term I have to take all my wall displays down, too. The droopy fairies of last summer and the dusty ghosts of Hallowe’en. Why? Apparently, my displays look “tired”. Of course they do. They’ve been pawed and slobbered on for months, mostly by alien Year 9s on breaktime invasions. Humph. Well, I’m not binning these fairies. They can be re-glittered for Christmas.
“Emily? Er - sorry, I just wondered.”
“Oh, hello, Jon!” Mr Gorgeous. Speak on, dark lord of impure thoughts.
“Are you coming round to the Horse and Hounds?”
I would brave all beasts merely to watch you dance.
“Yes. Just a few more things to finish off and I’ll join you.”
“Great. Well, I’m taking Melinda in my car, and Marian’ll meet us there. So come when you can, OK?”
Melinda’s going in his car? Marian’s coming, of course? Shark, move! The fairies go in the cupboard, everything else gets binned or ignored until next term. Wait - what the hell is this? “Please let your head of year have your detention slips and merit certificates (orange and yellow separately!) by the end of term. Thanks.”
Thanks my arse! Yet another thing the Easter Bunny escapes. Not only having to do everything but also to file bits of paper that say you’ve done everything. She doesn’t have to worry about making sure she leaves her bureaucratic paw-prints all over the budding spring. But I would object to the uniform pastel niceness expected of the Easter Bunny. She has to give every malicious little git a chocolate egg, even those who have spent the whole year stamping on her paws, twisting her ears and calling her fat. At least I get to discriminate between the ones who’ve been fluffy and those who haven’t. Having to write it all down and file it is a bore, but it’s better than having to bounce about being thanklessly sweet.
So, let’s see. I gave 22 detentions and they’ve all been and gone, so those detention slips are shopping lists by now. Tough. Merit certificates? I gave 13, and they were all orange, so there! If anybody squeaks for them next term, I’ll call the parents myself and make their day. Bye-bye, desky - see you next term. Now, let’s go and get drunk with that sexy Italian teacher before the other cats get him. I am sooo glad I’m not the Easter Bunny. Poor cow.
More from Emily in a fortnight
