Decisions, decisions...

"We think it might be 'Wasn't I yours?' or 'Wasn't I enough?'. Or PacFro."

"PacFro?"

"Oh, didn't I mention that Kat's been impregnated with Disco Steve's child?"

- More of the trademark evil-twin Ellis wit.

.....

We had our sixth form taster day today; all of it was excellent, all was thought provoking, yet none of it made the slightest bit of difference to my subject. Once my mind is set upon something, it's very difficult to persuade me otherwise.

So, then. First is English Literature; the very idea of reading books for credit appeals enormously to me, and Mr Hall spoke highly of my Soundtrack work: "I so enjoyed reading your work". Flattery will get you everywhere with me.

Secondly, French. Upon announcing my new venture into the world of A-Level MFL, Richard, Kieran, Yasmin, Matt and just about everyone else had a good old laugh at my expense. Justifiably too, I'd guess. It's a bloody hard syllabus. Francophony is difficult enough to research and write about in my mother tongue, let alone in French. But the universities like it, and therefore it must be endured. And I like speaking, so that's something, I suppose.

History. I have been absolutely certain about taking History for at least two years, so not too much thinking required when making that choice.

And finally, Philosophy. Now this is an interesting one. All my friends who took the taster class with me were put off completely: "But it just wasn't going anywhere!". I, however, think I'm going to really enjoy the challenge. Yes, I may have to kill Ask-Me-Anything-Emma ("Well, I'm a Catholic, and so this is what I believe. And listen well, because no one else's opinion is in any way valid whilst I'm here!") in order to make it through the course. But once she has fallen out of a window in a carefully orchestrated 'freak accident', everything will be fine.

And that's my lot. Four doses of extreme academic agony, quite possibly. Or it could be quite fun, you never know.

.....

I spent three and a half sodding hours at after-hours dance on Thursday night. But I got the unadulterated attention of Miss Warfield, who devoted our brief time together to improving my spatial design. Hopefully it has worked, but I don't really give a toss about my compostion grade anymore. It feels like we started working on it at least a million years ago, not three tiny, insignificant months.

Wednesday night was lots more fun, though; I shall miss Rory's gorgeousness when he's gone. Which, unfortunately, is far too soon. But we had a good time: Tan pretended to be an England selector and called up Matt ("Would you consider flying out to Pakistan?") whilst we laughed in the background. Matt saw the funny side, at least:

"Tan! You imposter!"

Then we all bundled in the car and went home. Like I said, we'll miss him when he's gone.