artwork for Rusty McGee's writing

Observations of a Very English Nature in This Jubilee Year
Rusty McGee (@RustyMcGee)

Tweets of an anonymous teacher, April to June 2012, not in chronological order and arranged by theme.

On Weather and Work
I’m sad today, people. Probably the weather. Or maybe I didn’t sleep well. Or perhaps it’s that gnawing sense that the world as we see it is pure illusion, existence transitory and we’re all going to die someday. Yeah, probably the weather. I could have done more today, but I didn’t. I did get my ukelele back out though, so a bit of a victory there. I accomplished getting a child to climb back out of a tree today and come back in class. That was pretty good. You got to take a minute to smell the roses, before someone tips shit on them. It’s a very Ferris way of life we all need.

I am quite a hateful cunt. I’m a fucking awful person. 12 years of teaching. The smell of tears in the morning is my only reason to wake. It’s my raison d’etre. I like it most when they’re teenagers and I’ve made them swear down the phone to their mothers. That works. Fuck yeah! Bring me some over confident tone deaf teens and I will drink their tears.

Last night I dreamt I had to stop an angry tiger getting into a building but the door was broken at the top. I had to tell the tiger off. Then the tiger roared and sat down at the side of the door. He didn’t try to get in. It’s obviously about work.

Kid in work told me his auntie doesn’t have a nose. I asked ‘does she smell?’. He told me it was only part of her nose missing. Joke dead. Would it have killed him to join in and say ‘Terrible!’?

‘Wednesday is hump day!’ they declare with glee. Well, Wednesday has certainly fucked me royally so I guess it’s true. I work with a Muscle Mary who thinks a size ten (uk size) is already too fat. His poisonous opinions will not, however, bring back his hair. To add to his attractiveness quotient, he is also ignorantly racist. His name is Richard. Never has a shortened name suited someone so well. Uncanny, really. I don’t have much more funnier news. Sorry. Well, I do but I could get sacked for sharing it.

On Europeaness
I once met an American girl called Lambrini in Madrid. My mate collapsed laughing on the floor shouting that it was shit wine in England. Great international relations there.

I am watching an Icelandic comedy and eating musk ox. Both brilliant. We can say ‘thank you’ in 15 languages. Sadly we only manage ‘fuck off’ in 6 of those.

I had a pretty nice day. I had a burrito and saw Carlos Ruiz Zafon. He was not having a burrito. Turns out I’m bold enough to hand him the Spanish edition to sign, but not talk to him in said language. What a nobber I am.

I’ll be barely tweeting for a few days as I will be in the city of beer & chocolate, which as we know, pisses all over milk & honey land. Every fucker on my timeline is watching the jubilee concert. I am sat in a bar in Brussels drinking quality beer. I think I win. Brussels in the drizzle makes me want to hug it.

On Being Stuck in England
Hello. I’m back in England. Did everybody have lots of jubilee? I left my bowl of it in the fridge before I went away. I’m a little afraid to move it. I think it may have grown teeth. Of course, these are covered by the masses of grey hair it grew … And on top of the hair sits a tiny crown, identical to the one the Queen wears when she drops trou to lay royal pipe.

I just ran for a bus. I am not in a rush so I’ve no idea why I did that. I am now bollocksed. I am on a bus. I forgot my ipod. I am coping at the moment, but fear the journey back. There is a woman on this bus drinking a mini bottle of rose wine. To clarify, in my time zone it is 9.38am. Really? A woman drinks a bottle of wine on the bus at 9.30am and nobody comments? The woman looks like she’s going to work. Does this help? she has a pink umbrella to match her wine. Train drinking is somehow more acceptable. Don’t know why.

On Special Skills
Earlier today, whilst drinking tea and thinking about the Parklife festival, I burped the sentence ‘You’re a dizzee rascal’.#proud I appreciate your appreciation. It is a skill that is sadly not a saleable commodity, or I’d be rolling in money.

We are all super extra heroes. My alter ego is Professor Fuckbuckets. For, like all good superheroes, I have a secret identity that only a few know! (note - may or may not include glasses and quiff). Two little boys by Rolf Harris is my kryptonite. My nemesis changes weekly and none of them know me here. Or care. Or know I exist (e.g. Celebrities).

I require a new confidante. Special skills - bringing wine and listening to me gripe for a little bit. Then I snap out and make you laugh. No experience necessary. No takers? Ah, well.

Saw ‘Dear John’ on listings. Sadly it isn’t the 80s sitcom with Ralph Bates. Hmmph. I saw an episode of it on ’Gold’ a few months ago. Ah! Kurt the spy! Maybe I should write a sitcom. I’'ll combine all of the greatest sitcoms ever made. In the UK. In the 70/80s. Except ’Sykes’ because it was shite.

On Aging
Just saw an advert for a teaching post in Spain asking for a photo with the application. Wha? Why? Is this even legal? I think it is as way around the age discrimination laws. “Oh No! Promise we’re not discriminating against you based on how you look!” Yeah. That works. I fear judgement, but I didn’t always. I realise that as I get older I also become more socially awkward and anxious. I should revive the old careless me of my twenties. On no, maybe not. Careless twenties me was a fucking idiot. I have to say my 30s have turned out much better than my 20s did. I’ll be sad to leave them. Really sad. I’m not giving up now either! Should I be worried about 40? Is that the marker for old now?

Just seen a newborn baby on ‘transgendered and pregnant’ that had the hugest balls ever. Man sized balls on a baby. I’m mentally scarred.

Table of Contents

FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | The Twitter Issue | Issue 37 | Summer 2012