Er, it goes without
saying that everyone had left when I hit the sack though I did try winding Phil up with
the notion that he'd missed out on some action with moderate success.
Well, the course went well and, even according to Phil, I was a complete star. The downside is that today, Thursday, I've been completely washed out and floppy. Whilst I'll admit that I've been working hard (and playing quite hard as well on Tuesday night), I've also been living with some sort of bug as my glands are up, I'm sweaty and completely exhausted beyond hard work.
Because of some changes in personnel and in timings, I practically ended up running the show and it doesn't look as though I shall be getting any extra money for it. Still all the feedback has been extremely positive.
In my usual manner, I'm not satisfied. I sort of wish the course was being given again in four weeks time so that I could re-work all the materials I had prepared and do a proper job this time. Phil did a good job of covering the section I normally deliver though it was obviously stressful for him having me in the room.
We took in some relaxation. On the Monday night we went to an educative theme ride called The Oxford Story. It was a bit like the set-up in the Yorvic Centre in York. You sit in a carriage and are taken round a series of tableaux displays whilst listening to a taped commentary. Simple. Except that for me it was a complete white knuckle ride.
OK picture the scene. To suit the theme of the ride (academia through the ages) the carriages you sit in are shaped like desks in a Victorian school. The ride takes place on two stories of a building. To get to the top of the building you go up a sharply angled corkscrew. And you ascend slowly and judderingly. Well, if you can imagine travelling in crepuscular gloom up the north face of the Eiger in a Victorian school desk that feels as though it's going to stop moving and slide back at any moment, you can imagine what a joy it was. My sense of relief when we did get to the top was tempered by the fact that we'd have to come back down again.
Tuesday night, after a rather good meal at Pierre Victoire, a few of us ended
up back in my room (because it was a certified smoking area) with three bottles of wine.
Phil was there and also included in the cast were two young colleagues from work, Emma
and Graham (Graham is a dinky twink with a cute bubble but), and Matt (who is a slightly
older dinky twink and similarly callipigeous) from Imperial College. Matt, hettie to be
sure, seemed fine about telling us all about what a good time he's had at Pride this year
with his girlfriend. He also seemed fine about sprawling all over my bed in a most
unselfconscious manner with the result that it was quite warm when I eventually climbed
into it at half past three. Er, it goes without
saying that everyone had left when I hit the sack though I did try winding Phil up with
the notion that he'd missed out on some action with moderate success.
By the time I got home on Wednesday I was shattered. So the hot meal was most welcome. As was blow job I received at about half past nine shortly before passing out and into a fitful and disturbed eleven hours of sleep.
Today, I've been so lacklustre, it's been unbelievable. I've just moped and listened to Talking Books; in particular finishing off Dickens's The Old Curiosity Shop which is a most peculiar piece of work. Must go to work tomorrow whatever. I've made the mistake of looking at my e-mail and there's stuff that needs to be cleared up before next week begins. Still, it'll be the weekend soon.