Fetch me my child-battering stick!

My eightieth post! Wooooooo! ... ooooooooo...ooo. Enough of that, let's cut straight to the mindless grousing, shall we?

You'll no doubt be pleased to know that my finger is much better after its mortal paper cut wound. I still have a mark, which I will no doubt bear 'til the end of my days. Or at least the end of the week. I'm having a day of procrastinating, how unlike me! *glances at blog title...* Which reads 'procrastinatio...' for some reason. No room for an 'n' but all the space in the world for an ellipses. Good grief!

I have exams to be heartily disappointed with, so my marking is calling me. This kid came in today for an interview and although he at first seemed OK, then turned out to be a flaming pain in the ass. Knowing my luck, we'll end up taking him with great delight. What is it with children today, seriously? How did they get to be so arrogant and pretentious? Perhaps this is just the business of getting older, when you suspect that all children are getting worse, when in fact the only thing changing is your nostalgic memories of olden times. Am I becoming my father? Will every sentence I say to children start 'when I was your age...' and conclude with 'and I walked eight miles a day in shoes I made myself from old hessian sacks.' Mind you, my father spent all his time being beaten by nuns, so I think his rather odd outlook on life can be explained right there. Of course, there's no point saying 'when I was your age' to children, because they are of the opinion that you magically sprang into being at exactly the age you are now. The thought of you having ever been a child is completely nonsensical. Plus if you did have a childhood, it was played out entirely in black and white and at double speed like those Victorian films.

Heaven forfend. Never mind, the little wart is coming to lunch so I shall encourage the other boys to flick peas at him and 'accidentally' kick him under the table. Which they have mastered over long periods of time. Christmas hols can't come quickly enough, let me tell you! Prepare the beating stick!! Surely nuns shouldn't have all the child battering fun.