horrified to find self channelling Bob Geldorf. Geldof. Whatever.

I love the bit where I tell a room full of anxious first-years that it's actually significantly difficult to get thrown out of the faculty, they're fine if they pass three courses in their first year. The sharp intake of breath. The helpless, relieved grins. The relaxation of the shoulders as hope dawns. Until this point most of them are petrified that they'll be flung out into the snow if they fail one. Sometimes I really enjoy my job.

Back to lecturing today, which also possibly explains my unusually buoyant mood, to the extent of wandering down the corridor singing "Tell me why! I don't like Mondays..." happily to myself. (Bob Geldorf notwithstanding. Lord, that's an irritating little man). Holding forth for forty-five minutes on the essential unreality of sex in representation seems to calm my inner kvetch quite nicely, thank you, which is fortunate as the Monday shock after a three-day weekend is usually quite nasty. Also, bonus, made a point of using both "resonate" and "evoke" at least once during the lecture. Just for you, stvil. Plus mandatory references to Buffy, Anne Rice diss, and revelation of the existence of Weasleycest to stunned and disbelieving Humanities third-years.

I miss teaching. Memo to self, trade in career, it is skraaatched.