A kind of madness grips Dr Criminale as his allocated pile of exam papers doesn't seem to diminish ... The academic art of staying conscious while assessing the work of students ... The production mill that manufactures new lawyers
IT squats there, staring at me like a hideous gnome.
I'm referring, of course, to the pile of papers that represents my end-of-session marking obligation.
Days of procrastination hoping for some excuse not to start - sickness, an earthquake, anything - have produced nothing.
I have no option: the dreaded task must be undertaken.
I mark for a couple of hours. The height of the pile barely changes. I wonder about my stamina. Having delayed the task until the last minute my deadline is pressing hard and if I don't do long stints I won't finish.
The university must have some means of accommodating delays? After all, I could die doing this and not be found for days ... surely the students would still get their grades?
My allocation, as usual, is some number in the hundreds, which I have chosen to forget since it is less depressing to measure one's marking obligation by height or weight.
If I can carry the pile to my car in one go then I have a light marking load.
I find myself hoping for the papers of slackers. The less a student has written, the less I have to read and the quicker that dreadful pile goes down.
A blank paper is sheer joy - no soul-searching about whether to pass or fail the student, no hieroglyphics to translate, just a big fat zero and a sigh of relief.
I try to maintain concentration. The same question, answered over and over ... sticking with the task is more like boxing than scholarship.
I feel like I am in the ring with a bigger opponent who is hitting me in the head again and again. I wonder whether any academic has actually gone mad doing this.
The only way of coping is to offer myself little rewards. Ten papers, then a cup of tea. Another ten papers, a cup of tea and the washing up. Another ten, tea and toast.
I start to get sick of tea. I would love a stronger drink. Alas, alcohol is out of the question. It numbs the pain, but reduces the concentration and therefore the rate of progress.
So I invent a little game: student bingo. Every time I fail a paper I make a note of the number of papers I've passed since the last fail. Later, I'll combine the numbers somehow to produce a lottery entry.
Surely the universe must have some reason for putting me through all this? I imagine winning the jackpot and escaping to some exotic locale, grinning as I sip my cocktail in the knowledge that I'll never have to see another exam script.
I drag my mind back to the task. The spidery scrawl says something about a "criminal sindicate" and mentions offences that are "generally considered unlaw".
Not a great start. I turn the page and ... nothing.
Bingo! I write "3" on my early retirement memo and take the next paper off the pile.