Well, it's coursework deadline season. The deadline passes. Do they come and see you, clutching their cherished handful of sheets, hollow-eyed from staying up a little too late but glad it's over?
Do they come in fear and trembling, begging for an extension and crying with relief when you offer an extra night?
Do they come at all?
You see them on the corridor and you say 'Coursework, Boris?' 'Oh, yes, I can let you have it next week.'
No apology, no embarrassment, no shame. No doubt in their minds that they will be able to hand it in right up to the night before the exam board deadline. (Or even after. And they know this deadline because they have read it on the exam board web site.) And no doubt in their minds that the worst we will do is shout at them a bit, which they will deal with using their best Cool Hand Luke impressions. They know that they are untouchable for the simple reason that we cannot afford to let them fail.
So you come home from a day of pre-emptive rants (If you haven't got your coursework tomorrow you will at the very least treat me like a human being and find me in the building and preface your excuse with an apology) to listen to attempts to sort out the problems with the Northern Ireland Assembly which seems to be about one missed deadline after another.
In fact, just look at the first ten hits on a Google search on 'deadline missed' . Maybe the kids are more in tune with the real world than we are.