Flamenco

The flamenco destroyed my shoes. They were already falling to pieces, but an hour of tapping - toe-heel-strike! - has made the soles begin to fall off. I wouldn't have minded the dance this morning, but I do wish she hadn't run over by twenty minutes. No rest for the wicked.

[By the way, scarlatti, those were the twenty minutes I was going to use to beta your fic. I'm very sorry... unfortunately my life is full of unexpected flamenco]

I tottered off to English, during which I lay on the desk. For some reason at that time of the morning I am the only person the sun shines on in that classroom, and I get the full force of it and it sends me to sleep. A pleasant hour catching up on sleep, that was.

Drama... Mr Dunne turned up late with his baby daughter in tow. Her name is Phoebe, she's two-and-a-half, thank you very much, and a veritable little angel in her Winnie-the-Pooh hoodie.

And nothing much else. The quiz is tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to it. Judging from last year, should be fun, and I get to spend tomorrow morning apologising to everyone who's supposed to teach me...

And that's that, I guess. I was going to write all this earlier... but Pedar suddenly announced he was going on a domicillary and I must come or the world would end... seriously, I always seem to go with him on these things, even though I find them depressing. All nursing homes are depressing. The old people are quiet and sad and the nurses are plastic and cheerful and it smells of disinfectant and the walls always have prints of Monet's paintings.

I decided I want to be as sarcastic and lazy as I am now my entire life, and drop dead on January 20th 2053.

Anyway. Becca seems to have arrived on Livejournal again - (she's chanandlerbong) and I'm holding my breath...