Everybody know that studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Marking, though, is a right pain in the arse.

Soon, I should be handing back essays to all the wonderful Being Bad students. However, they haven't all been marked, and as it's not fair and equitable for some students to get their grades and feedback before others, no one will get them.

I expect this delay will annoy many - perhaps most - students. In their position, I'd be pretty pissed off too. However, I'm not in the position of anxiously waiting for the verdict on a piece of work that I sweated over for many weeks, and put heart and soul into. Neither am I desperately hoping that the last minute piece of crap I threw together on the morning of the deadline has just about managed to scrape a bare pass.

Instead, I'm in the position where I seem to be hacking my way through a never ending Amazonian jungle, and never getting any closer to the lost opera house I'm sure is somewhere around here. If you think that's a strange image to come up with, you should catch me when I've just spent several days, evenings, and nights marking dozens of very similar essays, knowing that I've still as many to do.

I'm not asking for any sympathy - it is, after all one of the things I'm paid to do. But it's not the only thing I'm contractually obliged to do, and not everything can be done at the same time.