To the rubble...

Oh my good God.

A lot has happened since I last wrote. Or typed, depending on how you like to look at it.

I have a job now. I am going to be queen of the checkouts at Tescos (perhaps, though, I will start out as a princess and work my way up to being a queen). It is a job sent straight form the Gods; the hours are perfect, the money is good, and I will be able to buy so many clothes for sixth form - it will be like a dream. For I am very, very poor at the moment. Anyway, I start on Saturday.

And now mentoring is going full speed ahead; I am working on not one but two articles/press releases, and arranging a photoshoot (very time consuming), so, as the headline of the newspaper article regarding the mentoring project (namely Si, Kirstin and I) says, we are "on the road to a profession". I do get the sense that it's going to be a pretty rocky road, but it's better than being stuck in the middle of nowhere, isn't it?

My brother and his band of merry men are striding towards being the most fabulous (though quite ridiculous) young cricket team in the region; beaten only once (and that was only by three runs - though they were distraught nevertheless) and thrashing their closest rivals by 80 runs along the way. My heroes, every last one of 'em. Naturally, the county team is still crap ("Right, I refuse to come and watch unless you start winning), but at least they are consistent in their uselessness, much like our beloved national team (crocks).

And the day after tomorrow it's porm; such a nice way to wind down now our exams are final over and we have been (semi)formally inducted into the sixth form. We're all adults now... that's the scariest thought of all...

So I'll leave you with my quote of the day, from, in this case, the mouth of babes:

-"You utter, utter, complete moron. You fucking stupid gobshite. I fucking hate you!".

-"Oh, shut up, you tosspot. I hope you fall in a ditch."

- OK, so I didn't say the cricket team actually liked each other...

A quickie

"Oh God, I'm so unhappy."

"Why?"

"Because you don't have to go to school anymore and I do. And I've been rejected."

"I don't think it's really that bad -"

"Oh no. No no. It is. And Patrick Dempsey is 40! Forty! So I'll never be able to marry him..."

- Ah, to be sixteen with nothing to do...

* * *

The days are now long and gloriously hot and sticky; most afternoons are now spent either flat-out in the garden or impishly insulting erstwhile colleagues at various cricket greens. Now I remember why the summer is so much fun, in spite of the exam chaos and feelings of inadequacy that you weren't able to identify all that was said on the French speaking exam.

I was at St. Joes, in the company of Una, whilst she tested me on the Cold War; I think that was an exam I did alright in. Though it was hard to concentrate on the revision with Ben desperately trying to behead someone with his slog-sweeps ("Mind the bloody hire car!") and trying to avoid Hunny's irritating brother (who is slightly older and therefore thinks he is in charge of me). But I did it.

Oh, it is so, so hot. So hot, in fact that I can no longer type sensible sentences.

So I will finishe up with the quotes that have summed up the week - so much easier to do than coherent description:

1) "Woah, dude. That's a load of algebra."

- The man with the mahogany tan (all natural), Will.

2) "Monty! Monty! Monty!"

- Because who doesn't love an underdog?

3) "Oh crap. I'm gonna fail, aren't I?"

-Kat, on the prospect of facing a History exam.

4) "Well, it's hard. Loads of people will fail it."

- I've never been very good at sympathy.