Forgive me

Yes, yes, I know. I realize I've been a delinquent. I offer no excuses, only updates.

Since last I wrote the weather has improved and my mandolin skills have declined, each with equal sharpness. The sky remains light until nine in the evening, making it a pleasure indeed to stroll the Bryanston grounds and neglect indoor pursuits.

Even the week where my boarding house was on "School Duty" was pleasant because of the weather.

NB: School Duty is the week where you and the other faculty attached to your boarding house police the dining hall queue, provide supervision of school activities, and trawl the nooks and crannies of the school's acreage for smokers.

With the weather so mild, I could complete my patrolling of said smokers' favorite hideouts in relative comfort. I'd go out accompanied by the scent of fresh-mown grass and encounter the scent of tobacco; I'd begin my walk accompanied by the sight of bluebells languidly draping the slopes and end it spying skinny-jean-clad teens scampering off into the dusk. Better luck next time, I'd think.

Whenever I did manage to corner them, the smokers seemed less embittered than usual to be caught and have their lighters confiscated. The sunshine had lulled them into apathy even over losing six quid in good German tobacco.

Meanwhile, I'm tackling Twelfth Night with my English class.

I welcome the practical grind of constant resistance to Shakespeare. The kids walk in with that special thousand-yard stare they acquire from reading Elizabethan blank verse, saying "I read the whole act. I'm still so confused." I mentally steeple my fingers and think: Excellent. Here we go.

On good days it's hilarious and fun. On difficult days it's like herding cats, then training those cats to perform Swan Lake.

But it's Summer Term. The weather is fine, and I'm doing what I ought. Call me spoiled, and you'd be close; call me blessed, and you'd be right on the money.