whereisthisgoing?

Despite spending much of my waking life -and an icreasingly large proportion of my non-waking life telling students what to do, helping them organise themselves, motivate them into getting work completed, submitted and correct; I have still spent most of the last week avoiding completing the final 400 words of an essay, the bulk of which was written and fine months ago.
This reluctance to accept what has to be done has been the background of my existence since about last Friday, which was a day of self motivated study, set aside with the sole purpose of completing said pedagogic wafflings.
Whilst not doing my essay I have:
Played scrabble.
On Thursday I decided that the house was a bit chilly and knowing I didn't have to get up on Friday, I enlisted the Boredom relief of Richard Disaster and went to the Hare and Hounds for a game of scrabble and a few bottles of wine. I'm on a economy binge at the moment so wine is the poison. The closer to vinegar an further from swigable the better. The recession and lack of custom meant that the "scrabble" room / back bar was shut and so we continued to play in the mainroom where everybody has a better word than you. On a number of occassions throughout the evening, some good samaritain / twat would invite themselves to where our hotly contested game and offer indispensable nuggets of information like "can you see what you can do there?". Scrabble is a magnet for the drunk, coked-up and autistic. Worse being the people who claim nonsense like qokktz is a word and you feel obliged to put letters down on their advice, partly out of pitty, partly of politeness, mostly in the hope that they'll spot someone doing a crossword and leave you alone. The H&H is, I conclude, a hotbed of know-it-all-know-chuff-all deviants who are starved of human company.

I walked back to Cotteridge that night and didn't see another soul.

I spent Friday not doing my essay. Who could possibily waste a day writing an essay when there's facebook to sit and watch.
Then, Last Friday evening at The sunflower lounge it was Elvis night, mainly due to it being Elvis' birthday had he still been alive and not died of massive obesity and constipation. Not that is was really Elvis night, more a good opportunity for the bands involved to chuck in a couple of Elivs numbers.
Opened by the almighty Magnificatz who stand shoving shoulders alongside The Destroyers and Zatopeks as my favourite Birmingham (ish) groups. As authentic as they could be they play a fusion of country and rockabilly. A recent addition of upright bass is ace and the band look like 1950's greaser villains like you might encounter in Back to the future, or the first, not quite as shit part of the movie adaptation of Stephen King's IT. Second band I can't name but thought were fantastic in a Nick Cavey sort of way. Headliners were the Alchohol-licks, which is an appalling name. Luckily the downpoints stop at the name. Fronted by Sam who is one of the most cheerful, unique looking centerpieces in music - with a hairdo that resembles a lionfish they play a mix of decent punk rock as well as well executed ska and dub. And the obligatory Elvis cover. Swish stuff.I somehow managed to drag myself away from the aftermingle and a phantom 47 (complete with a huge, crudley drawn cock on the whole backseats) home.
This was a good way to avoid writing an essay.

Instead of doing my essay on Saturday, I welcomed home my better half who slept.
It looked highly likely that nothing was going on Saturday night so I attempted to organise a poker night. Everyone was poor as reluctant so we dusted off the television and sat and watched final destination 3. This gave me the chance to finish off the many bottles of rum with a finger or so left in the bottom. Everyone left and I wandered the house post film observing just how deadly all common or garden objects can be shortly before nodding off infront of Most Haunted live.

Rather than complete my essay, I spent Sunday doing almost nothing. I think I might have cooked a veggie curry with limited ingredients.

From then on I had the genuine excuse of not completing my essay due to being at work all the time and having spent so much time at work, I was insistent at trying extra hard to not do anything remotely academic in my free time. I have drawn a lot of giant squids. I opened the document from time to time and saved it somewhere else, just in case I lost one version. I watched Trainspotting for what must be the first time in a decade the other night and marveled at how bloody good it is and also that I seem to have lost a decade somewhere. I have also rediscovered how ace Stiff Little Fingers are.

Which brings me creaking and panting up to now.
I have finally squeezed out the last couple of hundred words and am now faced with the predicament of what to do to put off arriving at the pub before 4 o'clock and thus making a royal tit of myself by nine before retiring confused to bed at ten.

Who knows what adventures I may encounter. Amazing how much life is taken up by waiting for or avoiding something.