Evidence that Fran's Bank Holiday weekend was not consistently entertaining
Saturday morning: Rehearse for evening's gig. Practise in front of mirror for 3 seconds holding a Sure deodorant as a microphone and trying to make 'I'm relaxed' faces. Practise without mirror.
Saturday afternoon: Go and see granny in care home. (My Granny, not just anyone's - I don't just drop in and demand to visit an octogenarian on a whim.) Accept offer of cup of tea from one of the carers. Tell her 'just milk, no sugar, please'. Drink tea with fourteen sugars in, trying to keep a normal face, eg one that doesn't look like a cat's anus.
Saturday evening: Do gig. Do poem about apostrophes, then one about colons, then read out a chapter from my book which has the phrase 'glamour model' in it. (Don't ask.) Pronounce it as 'grammar model'. Carry out tricky backtracking manoeuvre and just about get away with it.
Sunday morning: Go to church in a pub, and sing songs to God while looking at a fruit machine. Straight after church, order glass of wine and have a lasagne and garlic bread. Vow never to go to church in a church again.
Sunday afternoon: Mark essays.
Sunday evening: Mark essays.
Monday morning: Mark essays.
Monday afternoon: Mark essays.
Monday evening: Mark essays. Plan lessons. Write this blog.
Is it just my imagination, or did the general tenor of my weekend deteriorate?
|Somewhere in the pile, Fran hoped, was a student who knew the difference between they're, their and there|