Up The Potters on Parents’ Day


Oh. My. Dog.

Head's buzzing, hands are shaking, stomach’s really really not settled… Yeah. Me and Bestest Flatmate stayed after winning the pub quiz last night to watch Stoke City fetch into the premiership. Not a Stokie myself, but as there were only three others in the whole of Wan Chai last night, felt I should add moral support.

This translates into the above symptoms and me really really not wanting to go to work in about twenty minutes. Still, self-inflicted it was, and paying for it now I am. Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah: Parents’ Day.

Three hours, non-stop, of parents asking me how their kids are doing in class. Three hours, non-stop, of coffee refills, smiles and euphamisms. Three hours of unexpected heroine worship. That last bit was directed at me, of course. Apparently I have my own groupies who like my lessons enough to tell their parents that I’m cool and make learning fun.

I’m not going to argue with that, am I? I actually think I’m quite cool too, on a good day.

So I don’t wear suits or speak like Elizabeth Hurley (or Bela Talbot). So I wear Converse All-Stars most days and my t-shirts tend towards cartoons or smart-arse film or TV quotes (“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole”). Apparently that dunt matter to these kids and their parents think I’m the best thing since sliced pain au chocolat. Suits me.

The next post shall be on ‘Doctor bloody Who’, I promise. And / or ‘Supernatural’. Cos they’re both gearing up for Big Things.

Soopytwist.

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