Teaching makes me "haggard"

Couple of hideous year ten classes today. The nicest thing that has ever happened to me on a friday is one single solitary child smiling apologetically at me after Becky stuck a sanitary towel on my back. I don't hang around on a Friday. I wait just long enough to avoid getting on a bus with kids, and then I'm out of there.

All this means that when I get home, at 4, I’m ready to start drinking. But here I am, neighbours o'clock, wine-less. How did this happen? The man in the corner shop has got to know me, and last week when I turned up said “ah! You come for your wine!! Friday is bad yes? You look little haggard”. The man can’t use words like “a” and “the”, but "haggard" he knows.

My alcoholic shame is going to mean I get properly pissed. I obviously can't go to the corner shop. I'm too exhausted to venture further afield. Only option left: the "magic moments" gin my flatmate's brother brought back from Kenya. Now only the happy people having a magic moment on the label are judging me.

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