The recurring happy realisation that it is only two more effective days until the half-terms struck me today. Again. For the fourth time. And I could only beam at a world that turned beautiful, like sun coming out from behind the clouds to sprinkle magical fairy dust upon our dreary school existences.
And thanks to Pink’s suggestion of a site, we have a flat in St Marcel in Paris, that’s going to be our from Friday to Sunday. We’re going by Eurostar on Friday, and we’ll be back on Monday. Last time we went we had no itinerary as such, but this time Mark has been planning every minute of our trip, and keep texting or asking if I want to do this or that, so he’s looking forward to the trip too.
Of course I’m going to have to sabotage his meticulous planning of every minute of our time there, or there won’t be any time of energy for walking along the Seine in the evening eating shoddy baguettes from a street vendor.
Tomorrow we’re having another free day, and it will mostly be spent shopping. Come on, we’re a couple of gay boys that’s going to Paris, so of course we need to improve our wardrobes!
I’m looking for a thin coat, for instance, and for once I’ve extracted a promise from Mark that he won’t bring his now hideous Denim-jacket. That thing needs to be retired to the nearest dustbin. Tomorrow we’re going to raid the second-hand shops here in town and see what we find.
I’m not too fond of shopping for clothes, though. Mark loves it. I want to spend my shopping hours in a book store, but he wants to spend it going from rack to rack from one end of High Street to the other.
But tomorrow I’m going to have to do it Mark’s way, and I’m not sure that I look forward to it. However, it has to be done.
I was over at Auntie’s to give her the spare keys so that she can fetch the dogs on Friday when we’ve left, and when I came there a strange man was sitting at her kitchen table drinking tea. He looked entirely too comfortable in the place since he stood up and fetched a cup from her cupboard when I arrived.
I’m not sure what is going on, but that kind of familiarity seems a bit suspicious. But she didn’t say anything about it, and I didn’t ask because it’s none of my business. She decides herself if she wants to speak.
Maybe she finally has found someone? There is something going on here, and my need for juicy gossip has been raised. Maybe I’ll give the cuz a ring and ask. That could end with her laughing and saying, “Oh that’s just Uncle Phil from the plumbers. You actually thought mum would shag him? You have such a filthy mind, Col”.
I called a teacher an “effing wanker” today, and had to go to the Head Master’s office where I had to listen to a fifteen minute lecture about respect for authority and the staff, and he wanted me to apologize for the words, but I refused, and in the end he had to send me home with a dark threat about the consequences of such behaviour in the future.
The teacher was one of the science teachers who substituted as a monitor for the free period in one of the rooms we used, and he started to talk about how same-sex marriage was bad for the country, and that it shouldn’t be introduced, and that it would be the ruination of the family. This was in context of a question where he was asked about his personal opinion.
When I told him that he was wrong, and that I was getting married in august, he said that I didn’t know anything, and that I was just too young to understand the wider principles at stake. So, I said those words, and then I had that talk with the head master, and then I could go home. I’m not always such a nice fella. Sometimes I drama queen with the best of them.