Eine Habe My Diary

Today I was not required to attend university for very long. After spending sometime in a class that frankly does not stimulate me I headed home.

Since I now had some extra time (no sessions at Jason Mega College (JMC), the street fighter instructor was on holiday also) I decided that some confectionary was in order and proceeded to the appropriate location, and my delicatessens of choice, Woodwoods.

I keep this location secret for now as my associates will envy me since they are used to the less quality establishments near the university and their homes no doubt. For me it is a special place where the quality of items matches my class of personality. Both of these concepts are not applicable to student life.

I arrived at the shop (only to be knocked aside slightly by some stroppy woman leaving) where the very pleasant young lad Jeremy satisfied my desires.

After a relatively pleasant ride on the bus and several pages of what I now know to be somewhat of an erotic novel (about the cowboys), I arrived home to see my father only for a few moments preparing to leave for work. He did seem irritated for some reason coming from the rose garden with what I can only describe as an empty, mega size bottle of some super strength cider! No wonder he was shaking his head. Its presence in our domain is unfathomable and was promptly slammed into the recycling.

I have often heard my father, the educator, complaining about the prices of the parking at JMC. I mention the establishment by name as I believe that they should not castrate their key members of staff with insane fees to make sure their vehicles are safe.

My father, the educator, needs not to tell me about his methods of gaining rear entry into work for reasons of personal honour. He poses as auxiliary staff for means of cheaper parking. I have derived his devious plan from his wearing of a high-vis vest when he leaves for work and use of the support staff parking sticker in his car. Under normal circumstances this would obviously be unacceptable, however, the principle of making the richer pay because we are more intelligent is equally unacceptable.

After a light meal of traditional Sheppard’s pie, a helping of robustly green peas twinned with a slightly melting knob of creamy Irish butter (the white kind) and lashings of steaming gravy eventually complimented with one of my prizes from Woodwoods and warm Devon custard I felt adequately recharged. I felt like all British tonight.

My mother, the writer, was out socialising with some of her industry associates and knowing that I had the house to myself for most of the evening I retired to the study as opposed to my bedroom where I used the internet to stimulate my throbbing intellect with the intention of learning more about the history of my home country, Germany.

The study is generally the domain of my father, the educator. I took the opportunity to peruse the some of the various pieces of coursework about his desk, no doubt from his current students.

In a macabre twist of intellects my father, the educator, seems to have a student with exactly the same name as him, (since the first initial and surname are the same).

Unfortunately, this person does not seem to be very suited for computing; for the most part only being able to score just above a pass in most of the modules studied judging from other pieces of paper on the desk. Whilst this work was database based and yet to be marked, I could see it was likely to fail having studied the topic of Databases and more specifically logical data modelling myself and scored very high in the class. This person had yet again wrongly designed a database for a leaflet printing and distribution operation based on an archaic relational design when clearly it should be hierarchical.

Clearly this student has not been listening in lectures and is very arrogant proceeding on his own self-indulged course which will lead to his academic demise. I know I could never work with people like that.

Episode 3

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