Oh when the Saints come marching in...

-"Har-ry. You are gay."

"Come on Danny boy, back to the pavillion with you."

. . . . .

I am soon to cease to be an ingénue, and instead become a hard-hitting, brilliant young journalist in the manner of Jeremy Paxman, sternly growling "come on, come on" when grilling some American government minister on Newsnight. Or presenting University Challenge.

Well, perhaps not, but I am finally to meet my mentor on Friday morning and, if all goes well, (and Mr. B doesn't forbid me in a Will-induced fury) I may be writing a diminutive article (i.e. paragraph) to accompany a little bit of school-based news. I see potential. And Mr. K, when informing me of the news this afternoon, told me I was "resolute and high-achieving", which has made me, well, resolve, to revise a bit harder in science. Not that that will help me pass Thursdays test in any way, shape or form.

. . . . .

The weekend was reassuringly busy; my mind, for once, was in a place other than the art department, which was most helpful for relaxation purposes. We went to Manchester on Saturday - of that there is little to speak, other than that it was really, really sunny, and on Sunday my brother, with his brilliant cricket brain and gorgeous straight drive, made his fabulous debut captaining his school cricket team.

It all began brilliantly, with Joe and Matt hitting a few cover drives and putting on a nice partnership. Then, of course, there was the obligatory wobble, until Ben 'Yes, these are designer sunglasses' Tester began to club a few balls out of the park. And so, with a useful total, they stood their ground on the field, telling the opposition batsmen how bad they were whilst forgetting their field settings:

"Freddie. Get. Back. On the bloody boundary! Now!"

I never knew what a forceful gentleman my brother was.

They won, and it was great to see much hugging, camaraderie and back-slapping between the genuinely decent lads. Even Harry.

So the summer is looking up.

. . . . .

Meanwhile, there are just three weeks for me to prove my i) artistic abilities, ii) my ability to add up and iii) my ability to do it all with a little sanity and a gracious smile. We'll see how it all pans out, I suppose. And I also must finish The Constant Gardener. Which, like Rachel Weisz in the film of said book, is superb.