If it's Hatfield, it must be Monday

The guy opposite me on the bus looks like he wants to give me a slap. Funny, I want to give me a slap too.

I'm heading to Hatfield for Day One of my Iris training. It's not unheard of for me to go into a training course half dead after five hours sleep (disasterous journey home and poorly timed bout of insomnia). Except of course I'm running the training. Shit.

From my previous post you might have noticed that I have a few reservations in teaching this big budget behemoth to my brilliant but only partly computer-literate team. And last week's staffing crisis precluded any lesson planning on my part. And I don't where the place is, so I'm hoping I can keep my wits about me when I get to town.

On the bright side I can blame my mum. I always need a drink after asking her advice:
"Well, I'm not going to say it, but you had all that time to learn to drive when you were 17."
"But you did say it."

It's either the smart phone, the flat hair, or the Cappucino-shaped travel mug (probably the least cool thing I've bought in my adult life), but I feel a right berk this morning. Maybe a slap would help.

And I'm praying that's not my breath.