Memories are made of this…
I don’t know who I prefer, the pissed-up Pict in beach shorts annoying the hell out of the locals or the mad witch in my department.
No; pissed-up Pict every time.
She was at it again today. When does somebody eventually realise when they have been defeated? Mad eyes were revolving in their sockets as she came to get Brodie. I heard her from the shelter of my classroom. She was pecking at him, pecking him towards madness. She was also pecking away at my newly-found sanity. Claire joined the fray in an effort to save Brodie any more pecks but it was too late; the harpy was in proper pecking mode. Any students around must have thought that this was a rehearsal for Eastenders (or the Mallorcan equivalent). I told them to stop, but that didn’t work. And then she was in my classroom like a spent breath.
Just…
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