Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;
When Milton wrote his Song on a May Morning, GCSEs and A levels has not been invented - oh bliss! In my household, three people who could fairly be described as "youth" have spent much of May seeking inspiration in revision notes and late night swotting sessions as the exam season starts to bite. Youngest son is ploughing through GCSEs with (mostly) equanimity: this may be either appropriate confidence or rash bravado. We shall find out at the end of August. Meanwhile, penultimate son and foster daughter approach AS exams in quite different ways. He has prolonged bursts of intense activity punctuated by indolent lounging in front of the computer, while she runs an anxious treadmill of perpetual re-reading notes and self testing. My role in all this is to
provide suitable light relief at intervals to punctuate the steady rise of stress levels. An excellently done am-dram farce in Hathersage and the latest Indiana Jones film both provided just the right level of escapism.After an almost unbearably busy and stressful Spring term, things have become lighter at work. Although my colleague had two weeks off following surgery, her more regular presence has lifted much of the teaching load for this term. Once last term's marking was out of the way in mid-May, I have had something that almost looks like leisure time. Of course, on closer inspection, this is merely a redistribution of energy to other,
less pressing matters, but it has given me time to fit in some work on other academic interests, including a presentation in London which gave me the rare opportunity to see second son. All this hardly constitutes "mirth", but it has led to a marked lightening of a mood which was becoming increasingly black and sour.Warm desire is better represented. Spring throws up more flexibility in my lover's life so that we have been able to work and relax together more than usual. I am learning to enjoy fine dining and nice hotels without feeling guilty that I wake up relaxed, comfortable and warm, overcoming the self-righteous legacy of decades of rough camping. Not that camping is off the agenda: I have promised foster daughter a weekend under canvas so that she can learn to pitch a tent, fire up a primus, and enjoy the best bacon-and-egg experience of her life.
