What a Hectic Week

So this week has been all kinds of crazy.

First off, work is a real pain at the moment.  We have to write end of year reports for all our kids.  This is a nightmare, because each child needs a custom written report; not like England, where each kid falls into one of three pre-defined categories, each with a standard form.  I've known classmates who received identical school reports, with someone else's name and date of birth.  Each comment is bespoke, and each one requires five to ten minutes.  Multiply that by eighty or so and you see how annoying this particular task is.  It would be okay if we had fewer daily and weekly tasks to complete - but I guess there is never enough time.

My finger is officially healing in the wrong direction.  It's pointing outwards, where the same finger on the other hand is pointing inwards.  I've managed to keep the actual pain of it from my manager and co-workers, so I shan't be discouraged from playing sport by them.

On the sporting side-note, I might finally have cracked the american football conundrum.  There is a training session next Wednesday, and I've been invited along with a couple of colleagues.  It's not rugby, but beggars can't be choosers.  Plus I'll finally be able to fold some chumps and work out the inner aggression I've been barricading inside.  Who knows, maybe I'll be able to lay out some of the aforementioned colleagues too!

I made a girl in my year six cry by pronouncing her name incorrectly.  I checked, it wasn't swearing, and it wasn't rude - I just said it wrong.  If she hasn't figured out that people make mistakes by the age of twelve, I fear for her growing up.  When she steps outside of the school gates for the first time, her little head will explode.

We played a little basketball on Wednesday and Thursday of last week, and again on Wednesday this week.  Basketball is fun, but there are a couple of societal rejects who play, who score fewer than I do.  This would not normally be a problem, but they whoop and yell and shout and scream as if they were gods.  Not to mention that they hit me and push me, (past the point of it being a foul) and jump on my toes; and when I run at them with the ball they call fouls that would make a footballer blush.  They're pathetic, and must have been bullied by someone who looks like me at some stage in their lives.  I have heard that one of them plays american football though, so I will go out of my way to destroy him.  If I break both of his legs, then he can't play basketball next week and I will be much happier.

We played football with a group on Wednesday.  It was good fitness, but I'm worse than hopeless at football.  I still can't see the appeal of it, if I'm honest.  I'd play any day of the week though, I was up and down the pitch like a terrier (a mentally handicapped one, but a terrier nonetheless) and as a result have surely gained .1% lunch capacity over my previous fitness.

So basically between the gym, basketball/football and work, I've had no time to even write an entry on my blog.  (I finished at 7pm today, went to the gym but wasn't really feeling up to it and came back early.)

I'm going to finally pick up an alarm that works this weekend, if I survive tomorrow, that is.