You’ve trawled through the emotional minefield of the jolly season with its welter of tawdry sentiment, high wire tension and the annual unsolicited insult of your kinfolk’s more toxic opinions on teachers and teaching.
“Teachers are too soft.”
“I would hit the bastards, me!”
“Teaching’s a doss with your 12 week holidays!”
You nod in agreement. So it goes. New Year’s Eve can be even more challenging. I don’t go out. I abandon society. I seek the solace of the “green muse”, of a little absinthe. It usually does the trick. The heart grows fonder, the memories more luxuriant, and I grow pleasantly blotto. This New Year’s Eve was, however, more disquieting than usual...
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