|At our local IKEA they have actual clay cups|
but the point is the same. Coffee. Black.
Later in the day I had a phone-call from a parent - there is bullying afoot. The nasty sly kind. I spent a couple of hours chasing down evidence to confirm or deny the claims and was somewhat appalled by what I found. I taught, I investigated, I spoke to various people, I supported colleague who had an observation today to plan and be ready. It was... it was a busy day. At the end of it I was quite tired. Once home, I was spurned by the Boy and so I went to charge the car. I had a coffee. It was 8pm.
|I can haz caek?|
I had a slice of cake with my free coffee in an effort to not
have coffee but remain on the fizzy raspberry drink.
It was not effective.
At 11pm I went to bed, Tilly was still reading, and we brought the Boy in with us - he wouldn't let go of me after I took him to the loo (it prevents bed-wetting) - and so I attempted to sleep. Tilly joined us about half an hour later, and attempted to have a conversation about her research. By this point I had realised the impact of my error with the coffee and was vainly attempting to actually go to sleep. After being kicked in the crotch about five times I gave up, but I still couldn't follow Tilly's half-asleep commentary on her research. It was an odd moment of half-life: Boy kicking me, Tilly half-mumbling and half-zoning out mid-sentence or mid-word with me tryin (and failing) to follow her line of thought and respond appropriately. I dozed ineffectively until about 3.30am when I needed the toilet myself.
In any case: why I shouldn't be allowed coffee.