Well it must be that time of year again. The lad is all of a fluster, "just marking time", he says. I always thought marking time was what those lovely soldiers did, stamping their feet in time to the band. But apparently I'm just a stupid old thing, who wouldn't understand.
Large piles of exercise books have arrived, and the lad is locked away with them, a manic look on his face, and he's even put on his best suit to open them. I politely asked why some are pink, and some are yellow, and just got "the look" - you know, that one, the one that he practises when he's talking to his children. The "God, I'm so superior, no wonder they all love me" look that you all adore.
