A Day in the Life of...Sixth Form

So. A day in the life...

Today I quote the dear Kathryn:

"Look. Will you just fucking stop fucking criticising me! I've had enough! Fuck off!"

At which point Kirstin and I looked at each other, in that way we so often do, and burst into silent laughter. You know the kind: shoulders shaking, hand over mouth, helpless, childlish giggling. We've perfected it over the years.

Anyway. I digress.

The point is, despite Kat's little outburst (which yet again she blames on the leprechaun - a feeble excuse, methinks) it's all, as Sophie would say, good. Actually! No. Sophie got knocked off her moped, so she isn't. But she is a trouper, so turned up at school regardless, and we had a bit of fun at break yelling at people to get out of the way as she walked.

"I'm practically a princess." she noted, as Rob tittered behind.

But these days I'm even enjoying History (although, weirdly, it rains every single time we have it). Today was, as ever, bizarre, as Mr McIrish danced about (much like the leprechaun in Kat's head), sing-songing facts at us about inflation, deflation, hyperinflation, reinflating a deflated economy, etc. etc.

"And how," he yelped, "do you measure inflation?"

The class looked blank, whilst between them Tom and James suggested everything short of measuring it with a ruler.

"Go to Tescos?" I said to Yasmin, at which point he jumped up as if the two of us had simultaneously discovered electricity.

"Yes! Yesssss!" And he proceeded to do a checkout demonstration using a chair, whilst Kathryn stared as if he was straight out of the asylum.

But, as I enthused to Yas afterwards, "It's so much fun now!".

Unfortunately, it was less fun walking home, when the heavens opened and it began to rain like it had never, ever rained before. My jeans were wet up to my knees.

Ugh. I have to go to fucking work tomorrow. At the fucking weekend.

* * *

My favourite class this week is...Philosophy, Mr. C style. Truth be told, I was a little frustrated with the slow pace at the beginning of the week, but now it seems to have turned into a fully-fledged political debating society. Generally speaking this creates a minefield, but Mr. C always manages to weave some hidden Platonism into proceedings and soon we are all back to discussing the structure of democracy and reality.

"I apologise," said Mr. C, "to Robyn, after what you said earlier. But I'm going to show you all this clip."

I racked my brains as to what I might have said, then laughed when the WebCameron site flashed up on the screen, just minutes after I had basically denounced him as "an idiot with absolutely no policy, except for a squiggly tree."

"Yes," said Alex approvingly, "And a car follows him on his bike! A jeep! What. A Twat."

Unfortunately, though, the clip didn't work. So people started arguing, each more agitated and loud than the one before.

"We need taxes! High taxes!" Emma yelped savagely, glaring at Josh, who had had the nerve to suggest that Cameron might be more than just an irritating pretty boy.

"Shut up. Just shut up." she barked, "I mean, Margaret Thatcher destroyed this country! Privatisation? Privatisation?" she spat, whilst Alex rattled off a few words of admiration for the welfare state, the other Alex looking on bewilderedly.

Thank Christ the bell went.

And you have no idea how it feels

To be on your own, in your own home

With the fuckin' phone,

And the mother of doom in your bedroom...