My Innermost Circle of Hell


I hate a staffroom with prickles in it. I hate the freedom to choose any cup in the staffroom cupboard that is in reality an elaborate but secret system of cup choice only hinted at by the odd, fleeting grimace and veiled umbrage at my choice of cup. I hate – but hate – the sinking feeling (pants already long around ankles and minutes before the bell chimes for my next lesson) as my hand reaches deeper into the toilet roll holder and my fingertips frantically scrape around the cardboard roll – around and around and around, as if one, two, three turns of the screw will begin to set in train a miraculous process of the regeneration of the now nonexistent toilet paper.

Oh, but I reserve a special, most sadistic circle of Hell for the poorly-made education resource. I’m not shy to admit that I use textbooks in…

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