Bluffing and blogging. That's my life as I currently live it.
I have three classes left to give, only three, and I'm fucking delighted because I've filled them up with guest speakers and exercises. Hence I'm getting paid to sit a lot, bluff a little and interject in all the right places.
I talk a great journalist, all boundless enthusiasm and feature-writing savvy. The reality, between you and me, sees me sat in Setanta Towers loathing the barefaced screen in front of me. Every day.
Particularly gruesome are the 7am shifts. I did one yesterday. The sheer horror of it would kill a dead pig.
I don't tell the class this. "Get in there, follow my notes, and you'll be sitting one-on-one with Mourinho, sipping mojitos and accessing his mojo, before the year is out."
One of them mentioned yesterday he'd picked up the Setanta annual and failed to see any of my articles. I said I wrote under a pseudonym, 'Tom Humphries', and quickly directed him to shut the fuck up and give me five paragraphs on the vagaries of the transfer window.
That'll learn him.