Week 6...It Must Be Wednesday...

Week 6) It must be Wednesday.


When you’re in a funny mood, under no circumstances should you attend a W.E.A. class.
No sooner had I seated myself on my paralysing plastic chair I spied know it all, sporting his latest hideous t-shirt, emblazoned with a rather unconvincing tiger.
For reasons, which remain unclear, this induced in me a mad fit of the giggles. Fortunately this weeks enthralling lecture had not yet got underway, so I made a hasty exit to the ladies to compose myself and vainly attempted a more appropriate demeanour.
A particularly bizarre knock-on effect of my impromptu sniggers was that the lecturer assumed that his abysmal jokes were actually hilarious, and with his ego getting the better of him the deluded old fool turned into Ken Dodd.
Oh how we laughed at man's recently acquired ability to generate fire, which helped to give pwotection fwom pweditows.
I had to pinch myself quite hard to see if I was having some peculiar nightmare. No. It was all horribly real.
You should really avoid caffeine if you are already feeling hyperactive…. was the thought that entered my sadly dysfunctional brain on gulping the last dregs of my unspeakably strong Nescafe.
Know it all subsequently decided to stand directly behind me and proclaim loudly "There are no tigers in Africa!".
Not wishing to look like a particularly reluctant ventriloquists dummy, I shuffled a few feet to the left and stared intently at my nice, shiny spoon.
The pompous old lush continued; "Tigers are from India!".
Not a soul responded, and an awkward silence fell upon the canteen, leaving me with the distinct impression that everyone wished that India was where know it all was at this moment in time, preferably in close proximity to large, hungry, stripey mammals of the feline variety.
I decided to return to the relative sanity of the classroom.
It seemed a very good idea to disassociate myself from my surroundings, which I considered to be the root of the mirth predicament, and I promptly became literarily productive. I completed my entire weeks shopping list, and was busy compiling my Christmas card list. All was going swimmingly until Space Invader suddenly became interested in my unnaturally studious alter ego, and leant over to peer at my lecture notes. My cover blown, all I could do was smile politely and turn to a fresh page, and at least look like I was actually paying attention to comedy act fuelled with Nescafe that was currently entertaining the masses.
With the room hermetically sealed, the heating on full blast, and oxygen supplies running low, it seemed more than coincidence that we had to hear all about sleeping sickness. Space Invader actually asked me to nudge her if she dropped off! It's a crying shame I never actually got the opportunity to give the old crone a hearty shove.
The recent postal strike turned out to be something of a blessing in disguise, as the pre-ordered slides of more maps failed to materialise and we were treated to a re-run of dubious the cave painting slides that were shown last week.
An exceptionally vivid imagination, and possibly hallucinogenic drugs, would've possibly helped to convince me that the non-descript ochre blob on the screen was a Stone Age hippo.
Last orders were done and dusted and we were turned out promptly at noon, by way of a change from running into overtime.
I have no idea if I shall complete all twenty of the classes. I am already growing ever more senile and it must be only a matter of time before I swap my combats for beige polyester slacks. We shall see…..