And Everything We've Done

"Well, I've already lost twenty sodding marks because I didn't bring any colouring pencils. That's not fair. "

- But such is life, as we have discovered over the past few days. Whilst Richard's downfall was merely a lack of colouring pencils, my utter inability to do the maths paper has been the stumbling block.

. . . . .

Well, we have been busy.

It is, of course, mock week. Or, week and two days. And whilst, in normal terms, this doesn't sound like a long time, once you've spent what would normally be breaktime staring mournfully at the clock, the days do tend to drag on.

And so a quick summary of the exams so far:

First, Art. Hmmm. Well, the disaster of the day happened approximately three seconds into the exam, when my armature collapsed as soon as clay so much touched it. Luckily, Mr B, in his resourcefulness, managed to bang another one together in about a minute, and the rest of the day passed pretty much without incident, save Kat's bleeding hand. And I was vaguely pleased with the results. Dance. Two hours. Two bloody hours. It felt like I'd aged a couple of years by the time I got out. But again, I was pretty pleased. We all were, actually. Until, of course, Miss X appeared today with a devillish smile, and announced:-

"Sophie, you did really well on your dance exam. Better than Kathryn."

At which point my dear friend (Kat, not Miss X) looked stricken, and spent the rest of the afternoon gabbling "I knew I finished early! And now I know why! Because I only got four marks, probably!". Nonsense, of course, because she's practically Einstein. And I mean that sincerely.

French. A foundation paper warm-up. Easy. English. Actually, it was, in a perverse way, rather fun. The Inspector question was dull (but then, so was the play), but the war poetry essay was good, mainly because of my love of Sassoon. And then 'Of Mice and Men'. I ended up doing a character essay on George, getting slightly ridiculous and sentimental on the page about his 'ultimate act of heroism'. The words 'carried away' spring to mind. Ahem.

Science. OK, but not fun. As you'd expect. Tech. Good. I like drawing and annotating.

But then, the sting in the bloody tail, Maths non-calculator. Which I staggered through like a drunk trying to walk in a straight line. An A? Ha bloody ha.

. . . . .

"So then, Robyn. You've got a day off tomorrow. And what exactly what are you going to do? Make yourself useful? You can tidy my room if you like."

Well, as I don't do either Business Studies or German, I intend to lie in until an ungodly hour, then sprawl on the sofa and watch the cricket. Watching sixes being hit left, right and centre is good for the soul I think. Unless Punter's doing the hitting. Oh, and of course, somewhere on the agenda is History revision, but I think I'll play that down a bit. Ahem.

Now, I'm not usually one to go on about TV programmes, but The Thick Of It (BBC2, Mondays) is absolutely the funniest thing I have seen in an age. Very, very good, and all the demented characters are quite like all my demented friends. So you should watch it. And I shall sign off on a quote:

"I know I'm good. But I can't hold back the fucking tide, can I?"

- Exactly.