Whenever your term ends, it is the rule that you feel it should have ended a week earlier. Those last few days stretch into eternity.
Is my throat sore? I feel a bit achey.
Tell yourself you don’t!
Swallow crates of vitamin C tablets and chug Echinacea. The end of term is coming and you will survive.
Don’t picture the soft bed, the warm central heating, the decadence of a lie-in. It will soften; with near fatal consequences.
Instead, greet the predawn gloom, shunt the car into first gear and keep going.
Oh, sorry. Up until now, I’d been writing this piece for both commuting schoolteachers like myself and university students like my children, but I now realise I need to re-write that last bit for students:
“Instead, get up when it’s well and truly light. On December days when this doesn’t happen, don’t bother to get up.
If you do get up, saunter along to the railings where you last chained your bike and discern whether it’s still there. If it is, meander into lectures; if not, go back to bed (default setting).”
And this, my friend, is why a degree is a bad thing – it means that adult life never looks good, by comparison. Never again will you have so much fun, or so many lie-ins.