footling about

Gosh -- no visitors ever and then two in a day and the place is a mess. What shall I tell you? I've just got back from work, where I spent the morning trying to infuse my first-years with enthusiasm for the poetry of John Donne -- a personal favourite of mine, but one who often defeats all but the brightest. Luckily I do have at least one of these in the group. The place I teach in is the newest of the new universities but we are blessed with a percentage of mature students who make it all worthwhile. Having done my own degree as a mature student I have a particular fondness for these people, who have sometimes given up quite good jobs to come and study Eng Lit. And of course being a bit older (occasionally a lot older) they have plenty to say, though they do feel at times like they  are saying too much. The young ones rarely speak at all, which can be a bit of strain in a two-hour seminar.
I should now be knuckling down to some writing but I'm such a morning person that to start at this time of day seems out of the question. I've just started writing an article on some visits I made to India over the last year, to observe a series of workshops for new playwrights, run by the Royal Court Theatre. My first day on this went really well, and my second day went really badly, resulting in one feeble paragraph which will probably be chucked out anyway. But writing is like that, and I kind of accept it now.
Meanwhile, the kettle is on, the home-made biscuits (present from next door neighbour) are waiting to be nibbled and Timmy the cat is rather attractively placed in a pergola in the back garden (yes, I really should remove last year's growth of golden hops, but I am a fairweather gardener so they will go when the weather warms up a bit).