"Art for art's sake makes no more sense than gin for gin's sake."

I've always considered myself an aesthete.

Well, not really - but I do like gin.

What a week: a Monday evening briefing for all departments involved in the upcoming inspection; another parents' evening; a full staff meeting; trying to cover a group who don't have a teacher, and have done surprisingly little coursework after the departure of the talented, dedicated and professional RD (If only it had been teaching he'd been talented, dedicated and professional about, gentle reader, rather than bullshit). And, to cap it all, the week of the Year 12 coursework deadline - a week in which lazy, uninterested, worthless slackers metamorphose into keen, anxious scholars - like Kafka in reverse - desperate to interrupt my free lessons and fill my evenings with their tawdry little offerings.

They will be outside now. It happens every year. Minutes before the deadline and their little fingers are still scrabbling, scrabbling over the keyboard in one last wretched effort to overreach their stars.

But today is when I get my revenge. This afternoon I get to revel in the sadistic power that teaching is really about, as at 4.15:01, I tick off the names of those students from whom I have submissions, open the workroom door, and inform those students still floundering that they have missed the deadline. Then I shall smile, and in a quavering voice that cannot hide my joy, will say those words I've been longing to say: "I'm afraid I can no longer accept your coursework. You will need to submit it to - the Head of Department"

Then I shall go home and drink gin. And all will be right with the world once more...