The Curse of Bevan Jones Pt. 4 - Ode to Bevan

London is dusted with white snow today, on my last Friday and last day of work at the ICLC.
It's almost as if London is doing it's hardest to prepare me for my return to the land of ice and snow where Metrodome roofs falls in and my 60-year-old mother shovels 3 feet of snow like a 24-year-old man.
So on this epic day there really is only one thing to write my blog about...

Bevan Jones. (I mean come on, did we ever REALLY finish the curse?)

Therefore, for your reading pleasure, I bring you
The Curse of Bevan Jones Pt. 4 - Ode to Bevan

It is quite important to start by reminding everyone that, despite all hope and in class dreaming, there really is no cure to the curse. Even in my final days with the great, and curse ridden, Bevan I felt my eyes growing heavy as the documentaries and TV programs carried on.

To prove this, let's look back on my final day of class with Bevan. It was last Wednesday, and as I watched the funny and lovely old British movie that Bevan played for us I found myself slipping into a dream land that seemed like the film, but not quite.

But that is not the point of this blog entry, the point of this blog to to honor the wonderful Bevan.

Bevan, the man who looks like he could have easily been the secret member of The Pythons.
Bevan, the man who will make you smile in a picture by saying 'lesbians'.
Bevan, the man who, according to Latrice, dresses a bit like a 4-year-old and sometimes looks like oatmeal (clothing wise).
Bevan, the man who is confidant in his belief that TJ is called TG.
Bevan, the man who never gave us quite enough information about our papers, but always trusted us to make them great.
Bevan, the man who has connections EVERYWHERE.
Beven, the man who will give his class a confused look if they forget to greet him with a cheery 'Good morning!'
Bevan, the man who, according to the ICLC library database, needs to return his copy of Eureka Street, when in reality it's probably in the hands of a young man with the same last name. (yeah Claire, I threw some work in here)
Bevan, the man who knows pretty much everything there is to know about British media and comedy.
Bevan, the man adored by all his students and can do very little wrong.
Bevan, the man who can do every British accent perfectly. 
And, of course, Bevan Jones, the man who cursed me with sleep every Monday and Wednesday morning because of his Welshness.

So now, in the words of the great Bevan Jones...

Oooooo-kay, I think that's it.