Last lesson of the afternoon

The parking spaces around the cathedral have all been taken.  It's a week day so I don't quite get it.  It's as if Mirepoix is a pilgrimage destination and its venerated saint has come to life in the form of tables, chairs and awnings and the pilgrims are keen to see the spectacle.
The hills seem a better bet, but Mu had got Camus' Etranger in her head and pestered me for meanings.  All I could remember was the mother dying and Meursault shooting the Arab and my murky mind could only come up with  European colonialism.  Turns out it's just existential angst but I think my theory holds water and I fleetingly imagine myself in an ivory tower writing a thesis which throws all camus academics into turmoil.
The ivory tower metamorphosed into a 1960s comprehensive, where I was ambushed by pupils asking why their average was under 15/2O.  I told them 'because' which kind of made them shut up. 
I excluded on average three pupils from each class because my patience is running thin.
My little heart-soaring moment was when my Pineapple Boy was verbally engrossed in an online grammar exercise which probably also had something to do with the imminent ringing of the last bell of the week.