I seem to have spent the past few days judging people.
On Friday it was a War Studies exam (no, I don't teach War Studies), which at least allowed me to try a few one-liners. 'It'll all be over for Christmas' was one. 'You can only leave early if you put underpants on your head, pencils up your nose and say "Wibble" was another, and finally, when the allotted time was up, 'For you, the War Studies is over'.
They laughed, more from the tension and embarrassment than genuine humour, I suspect.
Then I spent the weekend setting up, refereeing, then taking down the British U10s foil competition. The endless, searing heat was utterly horrible. How the kids managed to fight at high tempo is beyond me. Anyway, it was, as always, stressful fun. Trying to call decisions correctly while international standard referees, stroppy coaches and (worst of all) pushy parents mutter or shout with every point is really quite hard.
Luckily, the proletariat of the fencing world is much nicer - the good parents, the volunteer referees, the computer operators and the armourers form a delightful, gossipy, mutinous subculture which meets every two or three weeks in the darker corners of anonymous sports halls to talk heavy metal, operating systems, duct tape qualities, the virtues of the bayonet over the twin-socket, spool resistance and other affairs of major importance. I love it.
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