Rabble Rouser

Have I told you about my english relief teacher?

Perhaps it is better not to, not at this moment. She's quite pitiable. The last of a dying breed.

Today she said I had rebel sympathies and called me a few names which were not very nice. This was because I helped someone bring her chair out of the classroom. That was because that person hadn't done her homework. I think she thought I was undermining her supreme authority. She challenged me to pick this bone with her after class, shouting her lungs hoarse, her neck turning slightly purple. I paid the due lip service while she railed at the apparant effect we were having on her blood pressure -- threatening to faint, of all things -- and dropped a few hints about how she was going to dabble and edit our bloody school testimonials. Then she shouted a bit about how much she cared about us and harangued us some more upon the sad state of youth today in general.

One has to wonder at the malicious delight at which she blasted me after the deed was done, especially when she was watching me all the time while I was doing it and let me dig myself deeper in. Her conduct was ungracious and rather dishonourable. But, unfortunately, very funny.

Poor old girl. An unmitigated photocopy of Emily of Emerald Hill, only with a lot more children who probably all didn't like her very much.

I wonder what her son is like. The sorry sod will probably never get married for fear of what he might inflict on the next generation.